My tourist destination for the morning was the motorcycle museum at St-Jean-Port-Joli. I wanted to hit the road and stay on it, but I had to blow almost 3 hours messing with the stolen credit card crap. Between the bank and the credit card company, I was on hold for two of the three hours. Let me make this clear, I’m not a fan of capital punishment. However, I would fire one or two warning shots to the head of the bastard who caused all this trouble. Anyone that worthless ought to be dead or in massive pain
Once all the crap was done, I was ready to visit the museum and, then, hit the road. The museum is a cute little thing with about 100 mostly European vintage bikes. I would have bet that I could find a cool bumper sticker at the museum, but I was disappointed. For some reason, they have lapel pins but no bumper stickers. Foolish marketing plan. I took a load of pictures, stared at historic engineering tactics, wondered about the several bikes the museum has still in the crate, including a Bimoto db1 and a Ducati 900SS. Why anyone would buy those expensive wheels and never put them on the road is a little past my comprehension. Collectors, I guess. I got a picture of my fat self standing in front of the museum, post-maintenance work pre-museum opening. After gawking at bikes, I hit the road late, distracted, and a little tired.
I ended up in Frederickson, New Brunswick at about 6PM, following CA 2 most of the way. The once-two-lane is now a manicured 4-lane freeway. My GPS was so thrown off by the new route that it crashed and didn’t recover for 200 miles. Garmin ought to make the software a little more flexible or provide simple updates for downloading (free). A system that blows up when the road varies a few hundred feet isn’t particularly useful.
That’s not the route I planned, but with my wife meeting me in Halifax on Friday and the complications that will entail I decided to follow the “discretion is the better part of valor” route. My original route involved a two lane that would have taken me across the hills to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. There was a 100 mile stretch of nothing that really looked good, but I chickened out. My wife has a pair of flawed knees that are making it nearly impossible for her to get around much. I probably need to be at the airport when she arrives. I may take this path on the way home. Because of her visit and Scott’s work-search goals, the first week of this trip are more scheduled than I like to travel.