Friday 26th April was another bright and sunny day. It was warmer than forecast, so I cancelled my extra night with the delightful Elaine and left after my familiar breakfast.
Before doing so, however, I discovered a new use for a microwave; it works well in lieu of a tumble dryer. However as with anything culinary, you have to keep and eye on things, or they can quickly become overdone.
I was on the road by 1100, and there is little to say about the ride to Moncton. I made good time to the bridge where the toll was CAD 20; they charge you to leave the Island, but not to enter! Halfway across, I noticed a considerable drop in temperature and increase in the wind. Before long, it was numb hands and chilled core time again.
At Amherst, I pulled into a service station to meet 3 guys heading to PEI on a 4-day camping trip; I wished them well! J On to Moncton where I stayed at one of the best, in terms of cleanliness and equipment, BnBs I’ve experienced, if not anywhere, certainly since arriving in Canada
It was owned by a lady called Lynn, whom I didn’t meet, but who, in her previous life, must either have been a sergeant-major, or an old-style nursing matron. The place was spotless – I had visions of her on her knees with a toothbrush cleaning the grouting – and all around were lists of to-do’s, not-to-do’s and how-to’s. If she’s like this at home, I pity her husband and kids – big assumption there. However, whatever I might say, her system works.
Dinner was, it being a Friday, fish and chips from Deluxe French Fries, delivered by Uber-eats.
Next day, on towards St John in New Brunswick. On the advice of my future host, I went via the Bay of Fundy. This stretch of water between Nova Scotia and New Brunswick has the highest tidal range in the world, with the tidal flow of 100 billion tonnes of water causing a 48’ (14,6m) difference between low and high tides.
According to a National geographic article, it is also the place of origin of the scuba tank, the combined hot/cold water tap and … the sardine can! I didn’t sit to watch the tide rise and fall, but I did have coffee in Tipsy Tails restaurant, run by a Canadian with an Irish wife.
Then on through the National Park, on more great winding empty roads this time with a clear blue sky above.
My stop, for the next few days, was at two friends of Jen (from Halifax, or more accurately, Waverly), who welcomed me with an open door, open arms and open cupboards. A more welcoming and easy-going couple, you’d be hard pushed to find; I spent a very pleasant few days at their delightful home on the edge of a small wood which is frequented by a herd of 12 deer, which unfortunately I didn’t get to see. I was however introduced to a wonderful new confectionery; at first I was very sceptical of the idea of peanut butter encase in dark chocolate, but after one or two of these things I was firmly hooked.
The ongoing saga of the missing GPS caused a degree of astonishment and frustration all round and necessitated my staying for one night more than planned; it was hard, but a man’s gotta do … However, on 30th April, it was time to take my leave and face that formidable obstacle, the border with the USA. To sustain me en route, I was sent on my way with a supply of peanut butter chocolates! 🙂
Into the US of A
Riding to the border was a straightforward run along Highway 1 and took no more than 90 minutes. Just to be sure I asked on the Canadian side if there was anything I had to do before leaving; receiving a negative answer, I headed over to the other side.
From the traffic booth, I was escorted into the main building which was empty, save for the 10 or so Customs and Border Security officers doing not very much, clearly a quiet day! The chap processing me was a little confused about a number of things. Somehow, he realised I was from N Ireland which he correctly pointed out was part of the UK; so why did I have an Irish passport? A brief geo-political lesson resolved that issue. Then the fact that I was eligible for an ETA but had a visa further confused him. Apparently, he had not come across this situation before and had to check twice, with two different superiors, to ensure that it was OK for him to process this. And finally, the length of my planned stay in the US was important. The way he kept asking, made me think this was a trick question; maybe he kept asking because I kept saying, “I’m not sure, as long as the trip takes; my visa is for 6 months.” Finally realising only a definite time period would suffice, I said, “5 months.” This was written down on a little yellow note pad.
I looked at his supervisor, who was standing beside him and said,
“My visa is for 6 months, is that OK.”
“Sure”, she replied.
“So can I say 6 months then?” I enquired.
“Sure,” she replied.
Looking back to My Man, I said, “Six months then!”
So, he counted the months on his fingers and duly noted the date on his little notepad; I now have until 29 October 2024 to leave the USA.
That hurdle cleared, I then had to have my fingerprints taken. The device for doing this was playing up and the process took about 10 minutes; in Highlands Police Station in Harare, the same process using an ink pad and paper used to take about 2 minutes; providing there was ink on the pad, or they could find some, of course! J
Finally, there was the issue of my bike. Everything I had read online informed me I needed an EPA exemption letter and duly completed forms “3520-1” and “hs799short” to temporarily import the bike. “No so!” said my new-found friends. As long as I’m not planning to sell it or leave it in the country, I don’t have to do anything ; just take it with me when I go.
That was it; I was in the USA! Although the process was a little prolonged, it was quite pleasant. Helped by his supervisor’s less formal attitude, My Man relaxed somewhat as time went on and even began to smile at some of my dry comments; “You’re a bit of a joker,” he opined; I went out to the bike and returned with a B2B2 sticker for each of them
Oh, I had to pay $6 US for the stamp in my passport, whether I waned my passport stamped or not. Although not required, since I was paying for it anyway, I opted for the stamp, which delayed my departure for another five minutes, as he had to go and get it, then set the date correctly and finally test it, before actually doing the deed on my passport.
Bellmard Inn, Estb 1866 ….
My first night in the US was to be spent in Princeton, Maine, in an establishment named the Bellmard Inn. I had woken the proprietor last night to book my room, and at the same time had booked two nights camping just outside Belfast, Maine.
I arrived there about 40 minutes after leaving the border. Princeton is a town on Highway No 1, and apart from the fact that it is a dry town, and doesn’t allow the sale of marijuana, there’s little to say about it.
Bellmard Inn is, however, is another story. It is owned by a remarkable lady by the name of Sandra Smith, aided by her son – I think he is her son, but I didn’t establish that for certain – Doug (Ian).
The Inn itself is in a house, dating from 1859, although the original was burned down and rebuilt in 1896. It is tightly furnished with aged, though not aging, furniture from the earlier part of the last century and before. For me the best things were the clocks; wall clocks, mantel clocks; a grandmother clock… None were running but I was assured that all were in working order. My favourite was one that puzzled me for several moments when I saw it first. Then I realised what it was; the numbers were upside down at the bottom. They are written as if viewed from the centre of the clock face, and while this is not unknown with Roman numerals – the “VI” looks like this “ΛI”, I could find no other example online.
There was a collection of old dolls reclining on the chairs and other places, and there were some fine-looking lamps that would, once upon a time, have lit the rooms with the yellow glow of burning paraffin. Roisin (my daughter) thought the dolls were creepy, and when you look at the fearsome specimen guarding my bedroom door, you can see why; that left eye follows you as you cross the landing! There is a short video of the dolls here, if you’re interested.
Sandra and her daughter Tracy have the unusual practice of not celebrating Christmas at the same time as normal folk. That’s not to say they are not normal, but Tracy lives far away and they feel that packing and posting presents is such a faff, they wait until she comes to visit and exchange presents then. Tracy arrived shortly after I did, and while I did not join in the festivities, I was invited later to share the butterscotch pie, Sandra had been making as I arrived at Tracy’s request. It was delicious, as was the glass of Italian wine I forced myself to drink – just to prevent Tracy having to drink on her own, which is a very bad habit, and apparently, not at all good for you.
I can wholeheartedly recommend staying at Sandra’s place, the Bellmard Inn, and if you can, have dinner there also; if her butterscotch pie was anything to go by, you won’t be disappointed.
Belfast-2-Belfast-By-Bike 