I’ll be upfront and confess that I did not give my column my full attention this week. Usually I’ll devote some time on the weekend to brainstorm a topic and lay out a few bullet points so I can get to work on it right away on Monday.
But I threw that routine out the window and watched it plummet to the pavement this week. I’m furiously typing this half-baked column on my laptop at 11:08 p.m. (Atlantic time), mere hours before it’s due. I am under the wire.
Can you blame me, though? I’ve been busy soaking in the salt air, rampant humidity, and heavily-forested vistas of Nova Scotia for the past week. I’ve had a full plate of meeting friends, swimming, and general loafing. When I’m on vacation, the column slides to the very bottom of my to-do list.
So, again, I apologize if this column seems rambly, disjointed, or thematically-light. I’ve been too busy being not busy at all. Instead of reflecting on my last year in Saskatchewan or the differences between the Prairies and the Maritimes, I’m just going to talk about a failed trip to Peggy’s Cove. Simple as that.
Peggy’s Cove, of course, is a Nova Scotian landmark. It’s the number-one tourist trap you have to visit in the Maritimes. I’ve made it my mission to go once every summer for the last four years.
Last Thursday, my friend and I decided to make the trek to the coastal lighthouse. He had to go to work at 6 p.m., so we left around 1 p.m. We figured that would give us plenty of time to drive to Peggy’s Cove, snap some photos, grab lunch, and head home.
We hit the road, snaking our way through Dartmouth, Halifax, and beyond. I marveled at the countless turns and bends in the highway. After a year of straight Saskatchewan roads, riding the Nova Scotia highway was like strapping onto a rollercoaster.
We spotted the sign that said “Peggy’s Cove,” so we followed it and drove down the highway. And drove. And drove. We kept going forward, certain that the lighthouse would be around the next corner.
Finally, I checked the map app in my phone. Our car was far down the Nova Scotia coastline. Peggy’s Cove was 40 minutes behind us. We’d overshot our goal, to say the least.
We were faced with a conundrum. We’d been on the road for two hours. My friend had to get ready for his job by 5 p.m. We simply didn’t have the time to go to Peggy’s Cove. We abandoned the trip, defeated by our own highway idiocy.
It wasn’t a complete wash, though. We stumbled across a retro 50s diner on our way back. It had a decent selection of fries and sandwiches. It didn’t completely make up for the bungled trip and a total of four hours spent in the car, but it was an alright consolation prize.
Perhaps there’s a lesson in there about the journey being more important than the destination. Yeah, sure, go with that.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get back to my vacation workload, which consists of nothing, nada, and napping.
