And The Rains Fell on Cape Breton

August 14, 2016

After breakfast together in the Victorian dining room of the Inn’s restaurant we gathered whatever we might need for the day and boarded the bus, setting out for the Cabot Trail.  I sank into my seat anticipating fresh adventures.  Stowing my backpack, I tucked my phone behind the seat in front of me only to find that I had the TV remote in my hand instead.  Hopefully the maid wasn’t planning to watch reality shows while she cleaned our room.

Adin gave a short meditation as we rode up the winding, scenic highway after which we all sang a few songs.  Singing “How Great Thou Art” while seeing the majestic evidence of His incredible creation passing by outside the windows lends a profundity to the words beyond that found inside a building.

We meandered through hills, valleys, and mountains, although the mountains barely qualified as such when compared with the towering, snow-covered peaks of the Canadian Rockies.  But they were still ear-popping as the bus slowly climbed upward.  For many miles there were few trees except for small pines, water visible on both sides of the highway.  A scattering of homes rested on bluffs overlooking the rocky cliffs that fell straight into the water below, no sandy beaches in sight. Road signs held names impossible to pronounce: Nyanza, Whycocoma, Hautes-Terres-du-Cap-Breton.   Okay, so I'd like to see them pronounce Gnadenhutten. 

Our first bathroom break was at the park visitor's center.  I was one of the first off the bus and made my way quickly to the washrooms behind the main building.  As soon as I saw the urinal I knew I had made the wrong choice.  I did an about-face and rushed outside only to meet one of the men who had been behind me on my exit from the bus.  Neither of us had looked at the door signs very closely. When I took one door he automatically took the other.  It didn't take him long to realize his mistake either.  We both laughed and switched rooms without a word. First the TV remote and now this. I'm beginning to think I need a personal escort.

We stopped for a hike at Cape Breton Park only to find that the trails were closed with signs proclaiming them too great a risk for fire hazards.  Ironic, since it’s been raining steadily all day and everything is sopping wet.  We returned to the enclosed pavilion to find a sumptuous picnic lunch spread out for us.  Irene and several others had fixed ham, turkey, and cheese sandwiches, fresh fruit, potato salad, chips, carrot cake, blueberry cake, and cookies.  There was more than what we needed so Dave hollered out the door to a few campers straggling by and invited them in.  Several mothers with their children in tow, one of them from Quebec, one from somewhere undetermined, came in looking mightily appreciative.  A young man and woman from Montreal were biking through and ate their fill, likely very happy to have found our picnic in the middle of nowhere. I had to think of Paul Stutzman and how pleased he would have been with some unexpected calories during his various journeys across the globe.  The way these two were eating I supposed they felt the same. The leftover chips and cookies were sent with the children who didn’t need any persuasion to relieve us of them.

Full of food and feeling satisfied in spite of our thwarted hiking plans we set off up the mountain once again, on the bus. The rain continued and we returned to the Inn, each going our own way for supper.  We ended up at Wong’s Family Restaurant and it turned out to be the Wong Decision.  Sorry.  Couldn’t help myself.  Bland and pretty much tasteless, it was.  First less than satisfactory meal I’ve had on this trip though, so that’s pretty good, I’d say.

Paul disappeared with his cards in hand again.  I decided not to follow.  The Inn had no good place for everyone to congregate so the die-hards met in one of the rooms and hunched over tiny tables they pilfered from various locations.  The rest of us relaxed and went to bed.  Paul informed me the next day his luck had still not changed.  The man is a is either a sucker for punishment or stubborn. Or both.