Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Death Drive - and not in the Freudian sense

When the fog was still romantic

Guest post by the ladyfriend: 
We just arrived in Corner Brook Newfoundland after the longest 200 kilometers I have ever driven.  The ferry from Nova Scotia docked at around 9:00 pm Newfie time, and there was a lovely mist blanketing the craggy rocks and the tiny sea village of Port-Aux-Basques. In the waning light we were sure we had just awakened Brigadoon.  But  really, we had just entered a our worst nightmare.  As we climbed out of the port, the fog thickened, and after the first 75 kms, with the sun completely set, we found ourselves driving into a wall of fog. We literally couldn't see more than ten feet in front of the car. There were no other vehicles on the road except a couple of 18-wheelers passing the other direction.  And given that this is moose country, I couldn't really drive more than 80 kms per hour because I have been warned that if you hit a moose traveling over this speed, the moose ends up in your lap and you die.  Again, we couldn't see more than ten feet in front of the car, so if there was a moose, or anything else in the road, we'd have hit it.  Claudia was a great co-pilot - she read all the signs, "curving left" and "passing lane ending," and tried to watch for moose and other large obstacles, because I was looking at the only place I could see anything - the road right in front of the car.  After several hours we made it to the Comfort Inn safely. The woman at the desk asked us if we had come from the ferry as they were waiting for a party of 20 who were also coming from the ferry. I bet they are still out in the fog.
Our cozy little cabin
Yes, Claudia is outside, on the deck of the ferry. That whiteness behind her - you guessed it, fog.


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