Monday, July 27, 2009It turned out the campground was in a bog, so after Carol jumped into the pool and I pooped the dog, we headed out of there. Still, we didn't get out of “Foggy Bottom” until after noon. I found the Interstate and soon after found Plattsburg. Carol has become a master with the Blackberry. She can get directions and names of places that we need to get to while I'm driving. This time I needed an RV repair center. There were nagging problems to get straightened out before getting into Canada. Carol located Bulls RV Center and we were lucky they could get us in without an appointment. While I was explaining to the mechanic what to weld on the bike rack, he asked me where I was from. I pointed to the plates and said Arizona. No, he said, where are you from originally? Sounds like a New York accent. Yeah, I told him. New York City. Some things never change.
Anyway, by the time we left Bulls it was too late to comfortably cross into Canada. Carol, the peerless navigator that she is, consulted the oracle and saw that the closest campground would be on La Motte island in Vermont, just across the state line. So that's where we went. I tucked into our spot around sundown and we took a bike ride down to Lake Champlain. It looked good enough to jump in, but that would have to wait until tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment