To Ignace, ON

Travel is not simply the act of bringing yourself to a new location, it is meeting new people, trying new foods and discovering the differences, obvious and subtle, in how people, just like you, live in other parts of the world even if that "other part" is simply the next town over. In my conversation with the locals of Schreiber, Ontario the previous evening, the conversation drifted into some of the delicacies of life that are unavailable in the States.

"Gravy," One fellow offered.

The whole table assented

"Oh yeh," he continued, "I went down to the States to go to a NASCAR race, eh. I was at a restaurant. I asked if they have any gravy for my fries. The waitress said she didn't know and went into the kitchen to ask. She came back and said 'We have ketchup.' What kind of restaurant doesn't have any gravy, eh? Up here we put gravy on everything."

"Oh and tea," one of the women offered, "You have to try the iced tea when you are up here. When I tried the iced tea down there it had no flavor. It wasn't sweet and it had no flavor."

"Well you might have to go further south to get iced tea that is stronger," I offered, "but if you want it sweet you will have to ask for 'Sweet Tea.' I think you'll have better luck then."

I had my first experience with Canadian Gravy the night before. I had ordered a sandwich that came with fries.

"Gravy?" The one-word question caught me off guard and I had no idea what she was referring to.

"But of course," I replied. When in Rome and all that... yes to everything.

French Fries with Gravy is not a finger food. Perhaps it is more civilized to eat ones fries with a fork--I have watched people trained to eat in Europe, unable to break free of their cultural constraints and suffer through the awkward process of eating fries without gravy using a knife and fork, even though they are eating their hamburger with their hands. I certainly felt more civilized eating my fries with gravy. I would most decidedly have looked beastly if I had attempted to eat gravy'd fries with my hands. With gravy, fries taste less like junk food and more like food food. Much less guilt. The Canadians might be onto something with that, eh?

What a lovely day for a drive it was. Once again the coast of Lake Superior was offering splendid views. Today I was going to try and take a short cut. I had a Canadian map that showed some nearly invisible traces that might be roads, I figured I would find out if that were so. There was supposed to be a road just south of Nipigon, Ontario that would cut 20 miles off of my drive and take twice as long to travel. Sounds like my kind of road. I found a dirt trail in just about the right spot and turned off the blacktop. What a wonderful road. It wound around and over, past some lovely lakes. The road then began a series of switchbacks up the side of a mountain and in the process became rougher, it was becoming interesting. Finally, I reached the top and the road leveled off. A few hundred yards ahead the road ended at a radio tower. To my left was a cliff that offered an amazing view. This called for a break. By the time I had turned around and made my way back to the paved road I had driven about 25 miles and taken two hours doing so... Well spent time.

So the first "short cut" proved to be a wash out and a sucessfully huge time sink. I continued the drive on asphalt. Encouraged by the results of my last "short cut" I found on my map what might be another opportunity to get lost on a "short cut" in Dorian, Ontario. Unfortunately, this latter divergence wasn't nearly as lovely or as fun to drive. And if only killed about 20 minutes.

Half the morning spent, I figured I would end my drive in Thunder Bay. Billboards as I approached Thunder Bay announced a motel that had a gymnasium. This sounded good to me. Driving day after day, ones body doesn't always get the activity it needs and my shoulders were feeling tight. But it was funny when I reached Thunder Bay, something told me not to stop. And even though I was more than ready to pull over, I continued on. I turned inland taking highway 17 away from the lake and West across Ontario. Every time I reached a small town with motels something told me to keep driving.

I have mentioned previously the distances in Ontario are immense. Every opportunity to rest I passed seemed to add 50 or 60 miles to the drive. Finally I reached Ignace, Ontario. I would drive no further no matter what my intuition told me. But my intuition was cooperative and I only had to choose which motel to stay at. I drove up and down the "motel strip" of the town and was about to choose one of the motels when my eye caught a sign I hadn't noticed on my previous passes. "Lone Pine Motel, 2 km" What was another two kilometers after having driven over 350 miles. I turned down the road indicated and found a heavenly place. A nice, tidy motel by a lake. It had recently changed hands, The new owner, Troy LeBarge just took over operations nine days earlier on September first. It turns out Troy owned the health club at the Motel I was considering staying in had I stopped at Thunder Bay--an odd little synchronicity.

I decided to layover a day to get caught up on writing and to make some modifications to the database that runs this site. The motel is situated on the Eastern edge of McNamara Lake, I had a room of the second floor which promised a lovely view of the sunset. Troy gave me a good rate on my room and I decided I would give him a set of decent pictures of the Motel in exchange. The long light of the late day coming across the lake would light the building nicely. But there were a few hours to go until the light would be right. Until then I was hungry.

When you are on the road, eating the fare that is typical, you might find yourself craving vegetables. At least a vegetable other than potatoes. One of my solutions for this is to try a Chinese restaurant. It doesn't always work, sometimes the restaurant is Chinese only by name and has a menu that is all based around meat. But I was fortunate, the Chinese restaurant in Ignace is run by a nice Oriental couple who have a good vegetable stir-fry. It is also a popular place in that town. I had been in the restaurant a while when 36 women of all ages came in all wearing bright red hats. Clearly this was a local social club and they were having a marvelous time. The restaurant was filled with laughter and chatter that was as bright as the hats. The woman who owned the restaurant smiled broadly and ran back to tell the chef to start frying up more buffet dishes. A clatter of activity rang out from the kitchen.

It was a lovely sunset. I didn't see it from my room. I took a canoe out on the lake so I could pictures of the Motel from the water with the sun at my back. I stayed out on the water, paddling around an island, watching the horizon in all directions. To the West there were yellows and golds, to the East lavender blended to rose which blended into the darkening blue of the evening. The water quieted to almost mirrored stillness broken only by the dip of my paddle and the wake of the canoe. It was enchanting.