In Search of America's Heartbeat, Twelve Months on the Road by Robert Mottram

Author:Robert Mottram
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: road trip, rving, road travel united states, rving in the united states

Chapter 12

Karen and I leave Bar Harbor at 8 a.m. aboard “The Cat,” a BAY ferries high-speed catamaran that carries 900 passengers and more than 250 vehicles. It takes us east into the Atlantic in heavy fog toward the southern tip of Nova Scotia.

The crossing takes three hours at a blistering 41 or 42 knots; about 45 miles an hour. We lose an additional hour, however, because Nova Scotia — and New Brunswick — operate on Atlantic time, which is one hour ahead of our own Eastern time.

We’d heard a lot about Nova Scotia and its people, and we’re anxious to catch our first glimpse of both. And suddenly, as the ferry slows for a cautious approach into fog-bound Yarmouth Harbour, there it is. A middle-school kid stands hunched at the end of a foggy wharf, his trousers about his knees, mooning the incoming vessel.

I think we’re going to like these folks.

We drive our truck ashore and head north along the Atlantic coast toward Halifax on Highway 3. It seems as though the speed limit — 60 — is awfully high for the narrow, winding road we’re on. Until we realize that’s kilometers, not miles an hour. In the town of Tusket we pass the Argyle Township

Court House, a white clapboard structure that is Canada’s oldest standing court house. We’re trying to find the real Nova Scotia. And we meet it head-on at Gwen’s Diner, a six-booth establishment beside Highway 3 in Lower East Pubnico, a few miles outside of Yarmouth.

As Karen and I walk into the place we see a guy stretched out across the seat in one of the booths, passed-out or asleep. A couple of rough-looking men in coveralls wolf down clams in another booth, and a middle-aged woman and her elderly parents eat lunch in another. Gwen herself — elderly and not too spry — shuffles from booth to booth, taking orders and delivering food.

We study the menu and listen idly to the conversation that comes from the adjoining booth, where the woman and her parents sit. It soon becomes apparent that the woman’s elderly father is suffering from senile dementia. His daughter coaches him as he eats. We’re touched by her patience and concern. I feel a connection with her, and wish I had the courage to speak. To offer her a word of support. But I don’t know what to say.

Gwen delivers someone else’s order, then ambles over to where we sit. We ask how she is, and she tells us. Apparently, she’s not well. In a couple of minutes she’s got our lunch order and we’ve got her medical history. She’s chatting as though we’re old friends, which we like, but I wonder if she’s mixed us up with somebody else.

A few minutes later, it’s clear she has not. Gwen “It’s Not My Real Name But Everybody Calls Me That,” bless her soul, shuffles back to our booth with a guest book, and asks us to sign. She’s a sweetheart, and she’s thrilled to find out we’re from Washington.

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