Voila, regardez! - Une porcupine! No, deux porcupines, NO, TROIS! Trois porcupines! Oui! Hellz, it's porcupine city here in Gaspe National Park, precisely where the St. Lawrence meets the sea. The water is clear as ever, yet salty. hiccup. Well, Cara has the hiccups, and I just told her that peanut butter can cure the hiccups, or so old wives say. Well, a certain beautiful young wife doesn't believe me, so next time you see her, do explain to her that a heaping teaspoon full of peanut butter will cure the hiccups.
Anyhoo, let's see, I believe we left off in the mariner motel, a strange little place where a storm rolled in minutes after we disembarked from the convertible and then an explosion nixed the power. Well after that, we jumped in the car and kept on kickin it on route 132 east. The drive was great - we ran into occasional rain, but we also figured out that the windsheild of a convertible takes care of all the rain and just pushes it over your heads. So sent time you're driving around in the rain and you see a convertible with it's top up, give them the same thumbs=down that you would if it was a beautiful day and the top was up...
Yes, we left the Mariner, ran into a few showers, then wound up eating at some kitchy roadside lobster shack. It was great, dinner for lunch sort of. After a lot of flat terrain and the recurring smell of cow poo, we finally hit the money - somewhere after Rimouski, the road turned scenic like the fron cover of a road map, and we were the stars... At every stop people continued to congratulate us, and we were definitely driving the sexiest convertible on this side of the peninsula. For probably a couple hundred miles the road was perched at sea lever between huge cliffs and mountains and st. lawrence, twisting and turning with the curves and meandering theough little towns every 8 or 10 miles or so. Very cool business. As it neared evening, we decided to again scope out the local motels, and in a particularly breathtaking town called Mont St Pierre, we saw a sign outside a motel advertising $25 - sounds perfect. Knowing that that was likely an off=season 0single person rate in a bad room, we met the owner and bushed a mean barter to get a private chalet on the water for $45, not too shabby. We were the first to stay at the motel, and afterwards we saw countless cars to the same as us, drive into town, slow to a near stop in front of our motel, and then continue on, only to drive back and have another look. Funny how tourism works.
After settling in, we set out and visited the stony beach right in front of our litle hut. While there Car had a stone skipping lesson - sonething curiously missing from her formative years, and I'm proud to say that she is now a stone-skipping professional. Every beach we hit she's finding skipping stones and tearing up the water... We continued on and hit the little store where they had a very amusing selection of beer... Including La Fin Du Monde and all it's sister brews, as well as Labatt's Porter, and Labatt's Wildcat. And let's not forgett Old Mil and Old Mil Dry, in 32 ounce bottles.... mmmm beer. So we decided to forgo dinner and blow our remaining $40 on wine, beer, cereal, milk, carrots, and watermelon. Back to our chalet we went and downed an amazing one beer and one glass of wine before hitting the sack - I think the 12 hours of sleep that we got were the last of catching up from all the wedding stress...
It was a nice little town and the drive only got more beautiful the next day (today). After continuing to follow the beautiful road, eventually it tunred inland and gave some spectacular mountain driving. And now cara's hiccups are gone thanks to the peanutbutter and it is time for bed again. She'll complete a follow onpost soon. Adosious.
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