Campfire coffee and toast put some life into a morning of mist and
dampness. After breakfast, and back on the highway, the rain started
coming down so hard that I couldn’t continue biking. I stopped and
looked at my map for a possible campsite. There wasn’t any. At the gas
Station where I bought a candy bar and coke, I saw a sign that read:
“Scallop shockers wanted,” and under the message was an attached
phone number. When I called the number, there was no answer.
I needed that job, not to mention a place to get out of the weather, too.
I spent the rest of the day walking around Barrington, N.S.—consuming
coffee, cookies, anything that would get me out of the rain. At each stop,
I would read a few pages of my book. At a Laundromat I found a home.
I must have called that scallop guy seven times before I gave up. I was in
a rotten mood and my common sense told me to get a hotel room, but,
instead, I got on my bike and started peddling in the rain. I pulled
off the main highway at the first gravel road, and started walking my
bike. There were houses all around me. I hadn’t really gotten away
from town. It didn’t look good, and then I walked by an abandoned
house. Behind that house, in a garage, I found shelter. It kept
raining, but the garage was comfortable enough. I watched the rain
fall until the end of daylight.
When I’m lonely, I tend to write more in my journal. I guess that’s
natural. I don’t generally feel lonely, or at least I don’t admit to
it, but my frequent journal entries have made me aware of it.