Whether or not as a friend asserts I attract rain I am once again seated in my RV listening to the sound of rain on the awning outside my window. Certainly given the sight of fields upon fields of corn barely a few inches high rain is welcome here north of Lake Erie. Why it has to arrive at this precise moment is the issue.
In the first place may I make a pitch to those who read these ramblings that they leave a comment or let me know in an E-mail that they do so that I might know that my work is not entirely in vane. Secondly I would inform you that for the next 3 months as at present I am going to be without internet service for weeks at a time so that my postings and responses will be erratic. Yes, I have decided that my odyssey will continue, I have not yet exhausted my wanderlust nor have I seen as much of America as I would like to visit.
After sweltering in the Gatineau I crossed back across the Ottawa River for a couple nights in Renfrew. There was a time when I might have been attracted to the idea of white-water rafting in nearby Beachburg but having done so in an open canoe the idea no longer holds so much appeal. Instead I spent a good deal of time attempting to catch up with a week’s worth of E-mail and browsing. On Monday, June 29th I drove down to Marmora on Highway 7 through rolling farm country and forests with my host’s words in my ears. “Highway 7 is like Highway 17, either it’s under construction or it should be.” For a good part of the trip I drove over newly paved roads so fresh they lacked proper markings. At least I was fortunate in not being held up by flagmen or jostled across newly built washboard.
In Marmora I was faced by towering thunderheads and failed to get off the highway to visit the local cheese factories or go to a grocery store. Highway 7 is much improved since I drove it decades ago. When the rain held off I decided to join the campground hosted ‘hayride’ around the park. It was not as lame as it first appeared, seeing how people have their seasonal campsites set up from an elevated view was interesting. The rains did not in fact come until I set out for Oakville next morning.
My return home was for the purpose of tying up loose ends. It’s discouraging how matters one believed to be dealt with keep coming undone because others can’t seem to get it right the first time. When cloudbursts returned with a vengeance I decided to find a place to park and sleep in my own bed overnight.
Canada Day Morning I arose early and drove out to the RBG where I found the Centre still in the throes of remodelling and everything else gated and locked. Giving up on that idea I drove out Governors Rd, Hwy 99, in Dundas toward Brantford and checked out an RV park near Burford—no I had no idea it existed either—and decided it was an old folks home in a trailer park. When did Brantford rename the town Gretskyville? From a large parking lot at the LCBO in Burford I decided to head south to Lake Erie and try out Woodland RV Park in St Williams. Sad to say its now cheaper to camp in a private campground than in nearby Turkey Point Provincial Park. I have electrical, water and sewer hook-ups here but no internet access.
St Williams is a crossroads community with a garage, general store, grocery store, Book Nook, and pizzeria. For anything else it’s a 10 km trip to Turkey Point with its shoppes catering to beachfront clientele or the small town of Port Rowan where the Legion has a weekly Friday Fish Fry. My campground has a heated swimming pool with adults only hours, a couple of trampolines, the requisite horseshoe pitches which seem to be a campground staple and here in use, a games room with “penny arcade”, and the usual laundry room and play areas. As suggested by the name the park is surrounded by the St Williams Forest and infested with black flies.
I still need to sort through the clothes in my RV wardrobe and see what else needs to be removed in a weeks time when I drive through Oakville once more but otherwise I seem to be ready to strike out again. Before I leave here I should take time to give myself a haircut for the sake of my 88-year-old Aunt in Oakhill. One of these rainy days I’ll probably spend some time planning a route to Nova Scotia. This time I’ll probably take a route along New Brunswick’s Atlantic Coastline.
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