Driving to Nova Scotia this summer changed my life. I think about those drives every single day. Every day. And today, I realized something.
Those drives were the happiest times in my life. Looking back, there is not one time in my life where I have been more elated.
Waking up at 4AM, packing up the car and heading out onto the road. I had a special playlist I made--it was 18 hours long, just in case--and I listened to it on both trips. Watching the sun start to rise in my rearview mirror across Quebec at 6AM was a pretty sight.
I love every single moment of those 4 fourteen hour drives I did. They were incredible. I remember every gas station I stopped at. I'd never let the tank go lower than 1/4, since sometimes the gas stations were few and far between. I'd get out, swing my torso side to side to crack my back, shake out my legs and start filling the tank. I'd yawn and give my joints a few cracks, getting loose again. I'd reach into the back seat, pull out my 10-cup thermos and fill my travel mug with another shot of coffee--then it was back in the car and off I went.
I remember the 10-mile stretch of construction in Eastern Quebec that slowed me down a bit. It seemed to go on forever, winding up a dirt mountain with no rails. I passed a town called "St-Louis de Ha!-Ha!" and proceeded to crack up over it. "Sleeping Sickness" by City and Colour was playing on the radio.
I slipped into New Brunswick without ever really being sure when I did, since all I saw was "New Brunswick Tourist Information" on a street sign. Some highway signs in New Brunswick are blue. It seemed calmer than the ugly green Quebec insists on using.
My GPS lost signal for two hours crossing through New Brunswick. On my first trip I panicked, but when it did it again on my second trip, I knew to just keep going straight. I was on the "2" autoroute, and as long as I kept seeing that, I knew it would turn into the 104 in Nova Scotia and then I'd be "home."
It's weird, but that's how I consider Nova Scotia. It feels like home.
New Brunswick has winding roads through deep pink, red and orange rock formations. I had been driving for about 7 hours already, only halfway there, when I noticed what was surrounding me. My ears popped a lot, since it's so hilly and just beautiful. The speed limit there was 110, but I cheated and stuck to 118. It's not that I wanted to get to my destination faster, but with a leg propped up against the door to stretch my hips, the sunroof open and my sunglasses on, I wanted to go faster. I turned my iPod off driving through New Brunswick. I wanted to hear the wind.
There's a good stretch of about 70 miles through New Brunswick with no gas station or rest stop. Throughout the entire thing, on my left was blue, beautiful ocean and trees. Just nature. The giant rock formations on my right were red and orange and pink, leading you up the mountains and back down again. There's not a trace of civilization in sight.
I like being the different licence plate. I still saw a fair bit of Quebec licence plates when I just crossed into New Brunswick, but as I got deeper into the province, it became all New Brunswick and Nova Scotia plates. People would honk and give me a thumbs up on the highway. When I stopped for gas in Moncton, NB, the guy beside me whistled.
"Helluva drive, eh?"
I laughed. I wasn't even halfway done yet.
At 1:00PM I had already been driving for 9 hours. In the early afternoon, I tend to get really sleepy. When I gassed up I pulled to the side, reclined my seat and lowered the windows to take a little nap. I love long drives, but they're hard on the eyes sometimes. After resting for 15 minutes, I was refreshed enough to keep going.
I hit Nova Scotia after 10 hours of driving. The entry to the province is presented by a big lighthouse and flower arrangement. The road suddenly turns light red, and the 2 autoroute becomes the 104 and has a little Scotland flag underneath every sign. The road sign said Amherst, and I was confused since I had seen an Amherst in New Brunswick. I thought I might have been going to wrong way, but the fog cleared up soon enough.
I remember the road signs approaching Cobequid Pass, telling you to get your $4 toll charge ready. I paid mine with a roll of quarters. Once I passed through, I had no idea which part of Nova Scotia I was in...I'm still not sure.
Even after 10 hours, I felt like I could have driven 10 more. The air is different in Nova Scotia. It's vibrant. Vivid. It's incredible. It smells like ocean and trees.
After another hour of driving on the two-lane 104 East, I started to recognize some towns that sounded familiar. Lower Sackville, Bedford, and finally, Halifax.
Before I knew it I was, somehow, driving right through Cole Harbour. I'm not sure how I pulled that off, but it happened on both trips and it doesn't make any sense. The route that I was driving, I should have ended up smack in Halifax. Instead, I ended up across the Harbour in Dartmouth and had to cross the Angus L. Macdonald bridge to get into Halifax.
The bridge toll is 75 cents. There are four lanes and the fog makes it a little scary at night, especially since I had to make a sharp right turn at the end of the bridge onto a road that quite literally spits you into the middle of busy downtown Halifax.
At 8:30PM Montreal time--9:30PM Halifax time-- I remember pulling up to the hotel and reluctantly handing the valet my keys. He put my luggage on the trolley, closed my trunk, and let out that low whistle when he saw my licence plate.
"What've you been driving for a week? Jeez!" he laughed heartily.
I wish I had been.
I don't remember much about the drives home, mostly because I was sad to be leaving. I always ended up leaving Nova Scotia later in the morning than planned because I over-accounted for the hour I'd gain on the way back, and simply because I just didn't want to go back. It poured rain at some point during the drive.
I remember stopping at a Tim Horton's when I was at the most northern tip in Nova Scotia, nearing New Brunswick--I think it might have been Truro. After walking back to the car with my bagel, I popped the back hatch and sat cross-legged in it, watching the cars whirl by on the highway. I had a few sips of coffee and a cookie dough cupcake I saved from Susie's Treats on Dresden Row. I had gotten it that morning because I knew I'd need a sugar rush.
I remember pulling back into my driveway after 14 hours and feeling like I had just driven 14 hours in the wrong direction. I shouldn't be in Montreal. This is not home.
One moment will stick with me forever. It was at 10:30 at night, on the Halifax Harbourfront near where the ships dock. I was polishing off a Sugar's maple fudge ice cream cone, sitting on a bench. I was all alone, it was dark out save for a few lights lining the harbour. The lights reflected off of the ocean below them, casting an eerie yet comforting glow. I listened to the sound of the small waves. The air smelled like saltwater and summer. This is home, I thought, this right here.
And then, the three words that haunted my entire second trip came into my head in a manner so clear that I thought somebody had spoken them aloud to me. I haven't told a soul what those three words were. But when they happen, I will.
Those drives, those trips, changed my life. They are the happiest times I've ever had, alone for 14 hours, with nothing but open road and a faraway concept of home.
I can't wait to move there this summer. I think a part of me will die if I have to fly there.
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