7/4/17, “It’s Not the Years,
Honey, It’s the Mileage” (Goals 11/17 and 12/17 Complete)
Gros Morne National Park,
Newfoundland and Labrador (Tablelands)
Five years ago today, I began
this quest, and today, I have achieved a major milestone. I have just said, “North America
Complete.” All 23 countries and their
national legislative assembly buildings, all 108 World Heritage Sites, all 5
Olympic Stadiums, all 6 Winter Olympic Stadiums, and more Official meals than I
can count. It has been a grueling quest,
probably the hardest thing I have ever done, but, here at the Tablelands in
Gros Morne National Park, I have reaped the rewards of the prices I paid in Honduras,
in Alaska, and in Haiti.
It is not just
a material price, but rather a physical and emotional one, the toll the past
five years has taken on me, but it has all been worth it. In two months, I will visit American Oceania
(Hawaii, Guam, Northern Mariana Islands, and American Samoa), which will mark
the last piece of the puzzle to complete all Seventeen Goals I set for
myself. Five Years, Seventeen Goals,
that is the name of this blog. That is a
bit of a misnomer, as I had actually allowed myself from 7/4/12 to 9/12/17 to
complete the mission, and, on 9/12/17 the day before I turn 30, I will have
completed the last of the Seventeen Goals when I visit Hawaii Volcanoes
National Park, but I have now completed twelve of those Seventeen Goals.
After I closed last night, I went inside to
publish, and I was ready to pass out, but first I needed to publish my entry,
which took too long, and reorganize my bags.
I fell asleep around 1 AM and woke up naturally around 8 AM, which put
me right on schedule and left me well-rested.
I packed my car and headed out for breakfast, to a nice spot called the
Treasure Box, which had plenty of local breakfast specialties and free
coffee. I opted for partridgeberry
pancakes, fried eggs, toutons, and fried bologna. It was perfect. Every good National Park has a small town
attached to it with quaint shops and great breakfast spots. Reader, it is very hard to get a breakfast
this good in a big city, even at the fancy hotels. The best breakfasts are usually found in
these small towns at the outskirts of National Parks.
I was well fed and ready to take on the
world, or, more accurately, my last WHS in North America. I headed to the VC, and I was glad to see the
Plaque right outside. I had caught a
little bit of a break with the weather, but not much. It wasn’t raining, and there was decent
visibility, but the fog was too low to allow good distant views, which was what
I needed for inscription photo. Further,
it seemed that the inscription photo was taken from outside the boundaries of
the NP. I made a rare tactical error,
but it worked out in the end. What I
should have done was done a hike inside the NP with my Cuban and then went to
the view point with the last few puffs to take a ceremonial picture there, but
I wanted instead to get a ceremonial picture inside the boundaries of the NP
with a good view. Short of a two-hour
hike, even if the weather cooperated, that was not possible, and I did not gave
time for a two-hour hike.
Instead, I got
some souvenirs from the disappointing souvenir shop, but they had pins, so that
was enough, though I still want to find a t-shirt and keychain. I then went outside and enlisted someone to
take a picture of me with the Plaque.
The Fourth has always been for Plaques.
Mammoth Caves NP (2012), Wood Buffalo NP (2013), Glacier Bay NP&Pres
(2014), Yellowstone NP (2015), Joggins Fossil Cliffs (2016), and now Gros Morne
NP (2017). Well, I’m fresh out of
Plaques in North America now.
It would
be about an hour to drive to the spot where I hoped to find the good view in
the Tablelands, so I stopped at the Gros Morne Mountain Trail to hike a bit
with the Fuente that I liked from my first day here. I hiked the trail a bit before turning around
and driving to the Discovery Centre in Woody Point, ditching my cigar
there. I then learned the disappointing
news. I should have just done the Cuban
at Gros Morne Mountain Trail and then went to the viewpoint nearby that was
outside of the boundaries of the NP.
Instead I went to the Tablelands Trail, which had excellent rock
formations and was actually very similar to the picture on the cover of the
brochure. That would do. It would do real nice. I lit up a Bolivar, bought in Mexico, the
same cigar I smoked at the Ilulissat Icefjords, a very North American cigar,
and got on the trail. As soon as I found
a nice view, I took my ceremonial picture.
I then made my pronouncement, taking a sip of water before each
iteration and a puff of cigar after each time I said the word “complete.” “Newfoundland and Labrador Complete.” “All Canadian World Heritage Sites. Goal 11/17 Complete.” “Canada Complete.” “All North American World Heritage Sites. Goal 12/17 Complete.” “North America Complete,” adding an expletive
after that last one for emphasis. I had
done it. I walked a little more and then
turned around and retrieved my laptop. I
found a bench at the start of the trail, where I sat down and proceeded to
write this entry, which I will now close so that I can make my way to St.
John’s. This has been an amazing trip,
and now it is time to begin The Return Journey.
St. John’s, Newfoundland and
Labrador
Nautical twilight is setting in
on my last night in Newfoundland and Labrador, my last night in Canada for the
foreseeable future, for that matter, as I stare across the harbor of St. John’s
at Signal Hill, where the first transcontinental wireless signal was sent. That is just one minor tidbit of history that
is owed to its unique and strategic location in the North Atlantic. There are others, both in nautical and
aviation history, including the role that Gander played in housing stranded
passengers after the 9/11 attacks.
I was
going to say that the landscapes here are nothing special, but that would not
be accurate. What is accurate is to
reiterate that they are no different from the landscapes I so loved in
Greenland. This history, though, is
unique to Newfoundland. The cod,
however, well, it’s no different here than it is in Iceland or Greenland. I didn’t get to try the lamb, but I expect
that that, too, would be the same. I think
in this entire trip, that is what I found most fascinating, the cultural
similarities among Iceland, Greenland, and Newfoundland. I know very little about the history of those
islands since the Vikings stopped raiding, so I do not know how much intercourse
there was between these islands in the past millennium, but I cannot imagine
that the similarities would be coincidental.
I do not have much to report since I closed at Gros Morne, other than a
harrowing drive. It is rare that a
day-lit drive after a full night of sleep is harrowing, but this was. Four years ago, this very day in fact, I
effortlessly drove 16 hours from Edmonton to Wood Buffalo National Park, all
during daylight, and I did not feel a modicum of exhaustion. Today, I drove 7 hours from Gros Morne
National Park to St. John’s, and it was draining. Maybe it was the rain, or maybe the past four
years have taken their toll on me.
I do
not own a car, and I do not drive at home.
Still, I have driven tens of thousands of miles, maybe close to a
hundred thousand miles, since I set out to see the world five years ago
today. It’s not the years, honey, it’s
the mileage. Oh my god, that quote, it’s
so perfect for this entry. I’m changing
the title of this entry (and if my reader does not know the provenance of that quote, I encourage him or her to look it up). The title was “Five
Years Later,” but this is far better. I have also gone just as
many miles by air, sea, and rail as I have by road. It truly is the mileage, and I am not 25
anymore. In two months, one week, and
two days, I will be 30, but it's not the years, reader, it's the mileage.
After I closed
at Gros Morne, I got on the road, stopping at a souvenir shop, which was a
letdown, as it did not have any Gros Morne souvenirs besides a hat, which I
didn’t like. I had a bag of chips,
knowing I would probably wind up having just a gas station hot dog for lunch
whenever I gassed up, and I lit up a Nat Sherman’s.
It would be about a 7-hour drive, and I was
hoping for a hard 8:30 PM arrival at my hotel, including two stops for gas,
having lunch at the first station and cleaning out the car at the second gas
station. That would be if all went
well. I figured I would need to be done
eating by 10 PM if I wanted to risk going to sleep at midnight, which was what
I needed to get two full REM cycles before I woke up for my flight. All did not go well. Before long, I was on the Trans-Canada
Highway, and my GPS said to stay at that road for 630 klicks. 630 klicks.
That would take me close to 6 hours.
It wound up taking more.
First
there was the construction, which reduced the biggest highway on this island to
one lane. Not one lane in each
direction, one lane, full stop. That was
a 10-minute delay. Then, I decided to
stop at a food truck on the side of the road, but they said the quickest food
would take 8 minutes to cook. I didn’t
want to wait 8 minutes for food. In the
end, that’s what I should have done. I
had a Kit Kat and kept driving.
I
stopped at the next Irving gas station that I saw, and I couldn’t figure out
the pump. I tried three different pumps,
but none of them worked. I went inside
and asked what I was doing wrong. They
were out of gas. She told me there were
other gas stations further up the road, and I had enough gas to make it, but my
hunger would not hold out that long. A
bag of cheese crackers, a hot dog, and a cup of coffee. That was lunch. I got to the next gas station, and they had
gas. They did not have food. I had a Bounty bar, and that was the rest of
my lunch.
From there, it would be a
straight shot to my hotel. I lit up an
Avo South American, which was new, and which I had been anxious to try. I was quite pleased with it. After all of this, I did not see how I could
possibly make a hard 9 PM arrival at the hotel, especially if I had to stop
again to top off the tank and clean out the car. Oh, reader, did I mention that it was
raining. I have had unpleasant weather
all trip, but I actually lucked out that it didn’t ruin any of my activities or
mess up my transportation beyond that first night. It could have been a lot worse.
As I drove, I set cruise control for 116
km/h, and then I felt myself slowing down, and I noticed that the cruise
control was off. What was
happening? It was a safety measure
because, guess what, reader? I was
skidding. Badly. I struggled to maintain
control, and this happened multiple times.
Soon enough, the rain stopped, and I had an open road in front of me,
just the familiar foggy weather I had been seeing all trip.
Then the sun came out, and I had a nice drive
ahead of me. After 620 klicks on the
TCH, I finally came to my turn. As I was
getting in to town, I saw a gas station right next to me, and I knew I would
not have another chance, so I stopped to top off and clean out my car. I then headed to my hotel, the iconic
Sheraton Hotel Newfoundland.
I got my
stuff out of the car, and, I got to the check-in counter at 8:59 PM. I had made the hard 9 PM arrival. This hotel seemed to be where service went to
die. The check-in clerk was rude and
surly, and he was no help with a dinner recommendation. All I really wanted was a nice piece of
Newfoundland cod, and it turned out that their restaurant had it, but he almost
seemed to be talking me out of it. The
restaurant was closed, but the lounge would be serving until 11 PM. I was debating between that and Chinese food. I went to my room, and it was still civil
twilight, so I got a nice picture out the window.
I almost immediately headed downstairs, not
changing, just taking my sweatshirt around my waist and my day bag over my
shoulder. I looked at the menu in the lounge,
and I decided I would eat there. I sat
down and a waitress soon came to take my order.
She was even worse than the check-in clerk. She asked what I wanted to drink, and I told
her I wanted “a glass of Screech.” That
seemed to be too complicated for her.
She asked if I wanted a glass of Screech and Coke? No, just a glass of Screech. Oh, a double shot of Screech on the
rocks? No, a just a single shot. I got the Newfoundland cod with pork
scrunchions for my food. That was
exactly what I wanted, nothing more, nothing less.
Next thing I knew, she was asking the
bartender for a Sreech on the rocks. I
shouted back that I didn’t want ice, but it fell on deaf ears. When she brought it, I told her that I wanted
it without ice. She said she would go
back to “fix it.” She brought me a glass
of Screech without ice, but one sip, and I knew that she had just strained out
the ice. There were two problems with
that. First, it was already watered down
from the time it spent on the ice.
Second, I like my spirits at room temperature, not at ice
temperature. I didn’t feel like continuing
this debacle, so I didn’t say anything.
She brought the check even before she brought the food, which was rude,
but efficient.
My meal came out soon
enough, and it was perfect, exactly what I expected. I eagerly ate every bite and then headed outside
in search of a smoking area. It was
still nautical twilight, so I would get a nice establishing shot if I found a
good spot. I continued to the docks and
found a nice spot with a benches and a good view, where I sat down, lit up an
Ashton VSG, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I
can head back to my hotel and publish as I smoke my trusty Ardor before I go to
sleep and hopefully get two full REM cycles, and another two on my YYT-YYZ
flight. If I can manage that, I will actually
be functional at work tomorrow.
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