It usually takes us a good two hours just to get everyone dressed, serve breakfast, wash dishes, break down the tent, repack our gear, reorganize the car, deposit trash, re-ice the cooler, etc., etc. It was ambitious, but we figured that if we forced ourselves to get up by 6 a.m. (ugh), we could fit it all in AND make the ranger program at 9.
Then, at around 4 a.m., Keith and I both woke up to the sound of raindrops smattering against the tops of the tent and the Teardrop. Lots of it. The kind of soaking drizzle that lingers all day and makes you want to stay in bed with the covers up over your head. By 6 a.m., that was my vote. Screw the ranger program. It'll probably be canceled, anyway. Let's just stay in our sleeping bags for a few more hours and hope that the rain stops soon.
But Keith, ever-driven, parka-clad, made sure we were all up and moving shortly after 6. We left the camp as-is, went out to breakfast at Grumpy's, a cute little place in Southwest Harbor, and made the ranger program on Sand Beach with time to spare.
Sometime between breakfast and the beach the rain stopped; the program was not canceled, and Ranger Linda was waiting in the parking lot as if she was expecting us.
My husband, by the way, should have a button made with that motto: "Keith Long: Ever-driven, parka-clad."
So we spent an hour trolling the beach for interesting life forms and studying the geology of the area with Ranger Linda, who signed off on Natalie's Junior Ranger badge.
We then booked back to our campsite -- 40 minutes back -- to break it down and pack up the trailer. The rain had stopped more than an hour earlier; things were still pretty soggy, but it beats putting it all away in the rain.
On our way off the island, we stopped again at the ANP visitor's center for Junior Ranger badges. Hooray. Ranger Becky even introduced Acadia's newest Junior Rangers over the loudspeaker.
After that, we were on our way to Saint John, New Brunswick, via the Coastal Route 1, a very pretty drive, if not exactly on the coast. We crossed the Canadian border around 6 p.m. The customs officer asked if we had mace, firearms or beer (no, no and yes), then waved us on. We were subjected to tougher scrutiny trying to get into California last year.
From our very unscientific survey of the area, approximately three people live in Canada. In the 165 km between the border and the city of Saint John, there is exactly one gas station that services those three people. We were lucky enough to find it when we were on fumes.
We are staying in the Holiday Inn Express, in a jungle-themed "kidsuite," which has the kids totally tickled. We ordered pizza, took showers and put the kids to bed.
I'm doing laundry now, and am currently engaged in a courtesy competition with a couple of other Canadian guests. There are three of us jockeying to use -- or not to use, as the case may be -- two washing machines in the laundry room. Only in Canada: "You go first." "No, you go." "Please. You go. I can do my laundry tomorrow, eh?" "No, really. You go next. I don't really need the washing machine right now." I would not be surprised to go downstairs to find my laundry dried and neatly folded for me. (Note: I have since gone back down to the laundry room to discover that first prize went to the kind woman from Toronto, who had, in fact, put my waiting laundry into the dryer, and used her own money to turn it on.)
The washing machine takes dollar coins, which, in Canada, are so lovely with a little image of a loon on them. The clerk at the front desk called them "loonies," but I just can't quite bring myself to say that out loud, in case it's all a big Canadian conspiracy -- they laugh behind our backs when they get people from the States to say "loony." I went back with four quarters and handed them to him, saying, "Um, can you give me, um, a, you know, a coin ... for the washing machine ... the one with the bird?" "Oh! You'd like a loony!" he says with a wink." Yep. One of those.
Location:New Brunswick 100,St John,Canada
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