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| Like in my brain, fog fell fast in Halifax. |
After breakfast at Becky’s Diner in Portland, we set our course and marvelled that there were fewer hours to go than anticipated.
On second look, I noted the GPS had us crossing the Bay of Fundy. While this may indeed have been the shortest route, there were no ferries to be found and I had not set the directions for an amphibious vehicle. I shook my head and recalculated. Somehow, we still made it.
Climbing into New Brunswick, I kept my eye out for the ever-elusive (to me) moose. At a distance would be fine. A blurry vision of a head poking out of the trees would do. Alas, my quest to see one of these big, dumb animals in the wild remains unfulfilled.
Thankfully, though, the coastal air has finally cleared the allergies that plagued me for most of the drive. We’re still so exhausted, though, it feels like the fog that rolled in over Halifax harbour tonight has settled into my brain.
I will, at least, use that as an excuse for my confusion at the toll bridge leading into the city. It turns out that when you seek change from the attendant, you will actually receive the full amount back – just in smaller denominations. I had not realized I was still required to drop the toll into the bucket.
As I pulled forward, the bar bounced in the breeze, but remained lowered authoritatively across my path – as though it were wagging a finger at me. The lane was too narrow to open my door and run back, and I eyed the motorcycle cop idling behind me.
The bar finally rose in a shrug.
I blame the GPS.
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