Days 10 - 13

Day 10

Today we made it to London, a town just above Chicago, to the CanAm Airstream dealer to try and get the toilet and black water tank valves working.  We got there at closing but they let us hook up in their parking light for the night and would get to us the next morning.  So beneath the sodium vapor light we bedded down.

Day 11

Today CanAm worked on the Airstream while Jo and I went into town and restocked and had a real bar and grill lunch and the first beer of the trip.  You have heard that a six pack of beer runs about $15.00!  

They finished the Airstream too late in the day for us to make it very far and everyone says forget trying to get through Toronto traffic at that time of day.  It is considered the worst traffic on the North Continent.  Pretty daunting words.  And, they say that holds the same for Montreal.  We were not looking forward to our jousts with French driver traffic.  I remember French traffic from 45 years ago in France and was horrified then.  Surely they’ve gotten better haven’t they?

Rather than fight it we turned in early at Milton Heights Campground about an hour before the dreaded gridlocks began.

It was a beautiful and idyllic site with mature trees all around, well laid out and a firm rustling sound of breezes through the canopy of leaves.  Oh yes, also the freeway noise.  But it was the first time we had turned in early and it was very relaxing indeed.

One of the giant coach motorhomes pulled in next to us later that evening with an elderly couple at the wheel.  When he got out with a cane his upper body was bent 90 degrees to the ground with age! they were not giving up easily to the sedentary life but driving like that? More frightening thoughts about the safety of the road.

Day 12

We made it just past the Toronto traffic around mid morning but we hit the Montreal traffic at the worst time.  It was slow and stop then stomp on it when any spaces cleared.  The lane engineering and signage were dumfounding but with Jo navigating and me grumbling and groaning and yelling at yet another cut off driver we managed to make it through the massive confusion that is Montreal.  Definitely the worst on the North Continent.  Very rarely will the French driver signal his intentions.  We were continually overtaken and cut in front of by drivers speeding just inches in front of my front wheel fender when the swooped in.  Perhaps its a national pride thing?

So we made it out of Montreal and up along the Saint 
Lawrence River. Impressive once you got out into the countryside and found the Alouette Camping Grounds north of Montreal.

Now Alouette Camping, some of these places get huge, 400-450 sites w/2 heated pools, Service centers, driving range, stores, car washes etc., etc.  Some of these rigs are in here full time with picket fences, decks, screen houses.  monthly fees about 500-800 a month so I guess it makes sense for some families to go in on permanent vacation sites with used trailers not a lot of money.  But the gargantuan coach motorhomes running from 250-450 thousand dollars are here aplenty.  We estimated that there must be well over a billion dollars worth of coaches alone here and the campground must average a daily income of 40-50 thousand for dirt plots albeit with water, a 30 amp outlet and a sewer pipe.

I think its a natural evolution of the European,especially the French and Germans, love of motor camping.  Its just evolved from tents to trailers to 5th wheelers to coach motor homes. White haired, shorts, polo shirts and tennis shoes are of the de rigor for these captains of the road.  Then there is the bouffant tressed wife with one or two, preferably white, fluffy dogs that snarl and bark at every passing person as they pass back and forth on the dashboard 8’ above the ground.

And its a bon jour & au revoir to you my fine fluffy friends.

Day 13

We are getting close to New Brunswick and the first of the Maritime provinces.  But first we stopped in at an IGA in a quaint river town near Saint Antonin and my God, the food!  The French Canadians are not like the English Canadians.  The French verve for food has always been a beacon to the world and the selections that face us in the IGA of this French town was a drooling testament to the possibilities.  The breads, the fresh fruits, the massive cuts of quality meats, chickens as large as turkeys and more cheese and pates than countable.  We loaded up.

Our campground tonight, Camp Lido, was certainly not as pretentious as the Alouette.

Vehicles not as grandiose and all a little older. There was French Acadian music played by a group of campers early into the dinner hour.  Crackling campfires and soft French words made for a pleasant evening stroll.

I set the radio volume so low that it was almost imperceptible near my ear.  Almost a subconscious presence that wove itself in and out of my dreams with chansons Francais.  Then in the morning a program of Middle Eastern Muslim plaintiff chanting slowly awoke me into a state of confusion as to where the hell was I!

Must be time to hitch up and clear my dusty sleepy head with a dose of road grind coffee.