back to the cottage
the journal of Michael Werneburg
twenty-seven years and one million words
We made our way from Espanola back onto the island, and had a rather good breakfast in Little Current at a greasy spoon full of bikers. I don't understand why "Hell's Angels" types are held in such regard in our society. The weekend warrior class of motorbike enthusiast may be pretentious and annoying (and somewhat pathetic) but at least they don't sell drugs to kids, peddle teenage prostitutes, or kill cops and reporters.
Anyway, I'm not sure if it had been done by someone who didn't like bikers, but we found the road west of Little Current had been liberally - and evenly - sprinkled with broken beer bottles. I imagine that it would be quite effective against motorbike tires. In any event, the message seemed to be 'go away'.
We toodled out to Gore Bay, where I took some pics (which didn't turn out to my satisfaction, as it turned out). Then we doubled back to a hiking trail that led to the top of the Niagara escarpment at its northernmost point in Canada. Along that length, it's a full-on cliff like it is around Hamilton. With the grey sky, the white-and-grey rock, and the mixed forest below, I was glad to be shooting black and white film.
After that, we headed for the ferry (stopping for a late lunch of Whitefish along the way) and found ourselves in deep fog for the entire trip back to the mainland. We wound up in Tobermory at around 8 PM. And there were no vacancies in town. None. Nothing in Tobermory, nothing in Wiarton, nothing in Owen Sound. And nothing in Collingwood or Wasaga Beach.
We decided to head for the cottage, and arrived at 12:30. So, I still haven't really seen the Bruce Peninsula!