August 7 & 8

August 6
I decide to take August 6th off work to enjoy a leisurely long weekend. The following Monday is my husband’s birthday and the 15th is my eldest’s, Jacqueline’s 17th birthday. Jac wants to have a haircut/spa day and the 6th works for all of us. Jac, Livs and I descend upon the salon for a morning of pampering and intensive hair therapy. We finish things off with a light lunch on the patio at Cucci’s. My husband, Tim is invited to join us but due to work commitments, arrives in time for a slice of chocolate lava cake and a cool drink on the sun drenched patio.

En route home, we have to pass through downtown Oakville which results in another side trip to my favourite card shop and then some discount (yes! even in Oakville!) dress shopping for the girls. We finally pull up in the driveway at 2:00 with the goal to be out the door at 2:30 PM. We leave at 2:45 PM and embark on the "North on Trafalgar" route to the Bruce.

Somewhere just before Shelburne, my car begins making an alarming noise. Even over the blaring beat of Lady Gaga, I tune into the uncharacteristic sounds of my vehicle. To provide some background as to the extent of my attention to the "sounds of my car", as a young driver, my father, a very practical man , purchased a car for me for my 16th birthday. The caveat attached to the ten year old VW Bug car was that I had to rebuild the engine. In a stroke of generosity, Dad supplied assistance on the rebuild but I had to be there every step of the air cooled engine make over. "Always listen to your engine" was one of his rebuild mantras. And the Bug, in turn, with its regular breakdowns, stranding me numerous times, honed my skills in this regard.

So I know my "bad engine sounds" and I am worried. Still in my spa morning skirt and top, I take a side road and unfurl a towel on the ground. Without providing the entertainment portion to "Alejandro", I kneel down to take a look at the under carriage of the car. Despite the vision of a muffler throwing up a trail of sparks behind us, there is nothing dragging on the ground. There is a loose housing that is vibrating in the most precarious manner. I need to seek professional advice. I am afraid that our trip may be ruined.

Our side road dumps us one block from the central intersection in Shelburne. We are greeted by a cop on point duty. The traffic is wild for a community of this size. Later, we discover that it is the weekend of the Shelburne Fiddle Competition. I remember seeing a car dealership towards the outskirts of town so I head away from the lines of traffic to sanity. I see a Ford dealership on Hwy 24 and decide to take my chances at 4:30 PM on a beautiful Friday afternoon.

I park the car and get my foot in the door of the service office. The posted closing is 5 PM. In Oakville, the automotive service centres provide service much like Parisian waiters deal with the inconvenience of patrons. After a haughty evaluation of my moment in need, I may be provided with an appointment a week out. I am expecting the worst.

When I nervously ask where the closest Toyota dealership is, the lady behind the desk smiles at me and chirps that they don’t have one here. I explain my predicament. While the kind lady pats my hand and calls one of the men in who has miraculously just finished a job, I text my husband who tells me he is busy in a meeting and can fetch us later if required. The kind gentleman hoists my car up, graciously confirms my "bad sound" diagnosis and calms my nerves by tie wrapping my heat shield to get us through the weekend. It sounds worse than it is, he consoles. All between 4:30 PM and 4:45 PM. I am beyond thankful and am prepared to pay them what ever it takes to compensate these fine people for their trouble.

The kind lady evaluates the tie wrap and warns me that she has to charge me something. I say that I am totally prepared for that and have my Visa poised to pay the bill. "But," she reasons, "it wasn’t a big deal so just head off on your hiking trip." I look at her in disbelief and insist on paying something. "No," she says, "it is your lucky day." I insist on leaving some money for a round of coffee and donuts for the group - something. "No," she insists, "We will not take your money." In addition to this kindness, the folks at the dealership provide a route which bypasses the downtown mayhem and we are back on our way by 5 PM and pulling up into Wiarton by 6 PM. Thank you Trillium Lincoln Ford! Chivalry is not dead!

We grab fish and chips at an Indian trading post further North on Hwy #6. This was a spot recommended by Dave at Taylor Made. The fish is indeed tasty, deep fried in a batter that tastes like it has been combined with chopped pieces of fresh tarragon such that the tarragon becomes crispy flecks as well. There are a lot of chips included in the serving of which Olivia and I only have a few. Once we get through the fish, there is not much room for the chips. Later that night, maybe due to an atypical deep fried dinner, neither of us are feeling well.

We pull into Cape Chin Connection Country Inn (not sure about the inclusion of the word "connection") but we will call it "the Inn" for short. An experience at the Inn is like an encounter with a unique culture. There may be some very interesting attributes which you love but also there will be some traditions which you take into consideration and won’t miss when you leave that country or culture. Having said that the Inn is a local icon and revered as the upscale place to hangout for celebrations and a nice night out. When we arrive, the place is packed with no vacancy. It’s pretty much the only game in the Cape Chin area. It has been for sale for approximately 3 years and is currently listed for $575K. Contrary to our typical B&B experience, the Inn is an mini-hotel and serves breakfast, lunch and diiner and is licensed for liquor. Like learning any new culture, one gets to understand the "Do’s and Don’t’s" and I would stay there again.
When we walk in, the main and only entrance dumps you into the middle of the small, packed dining room. The conversation stops and everyone looks up from their meals to survey the intruders. There are couples, foursomes, a large family congregation with only a couple of feet between tables. The servers are busy. I look behind us to figure out if we have entered by the correct door. We pause to take in the situation and try to grab the eye of a waitress – which doesn’t work. We carefully make our way through the tables, proceeding on through the dining room to the base of some stairs. We find a waitress who tells us to wait there, she will be right with us.
We wait for a while and finally introduce ourselves. The lady says that they have been expecting us and show us our room. They give us a bright airy corner room flanked with windows on two sides, two beds a small desk and closet. We will share a washroom with what turns out to be one of our Leaders on the hike. It is inevitable that we will share accommodations with some of our fellow hikers. As we head further North, the options narrow and we will be bumping elbows in no time. This is not a bad thing as so far all of the people in our regular hiking group are good folks.
We proceed back to our car and start lugging our things upstairs – yes – through the dining room, trying not to knock food off of the diners’ plates. I approach the kitchen where Anne, the owner looking remarkably like my own Grandmother, levels me a look which thankfully I had never seen on my Grandma’s face. I stop in my tracks and ask if there is a place to store our water. She says no – they are not allowed outside food in their kitchen. I ask if there are any other separate guest fridges on the property. No, there is not. Topic is dropped.
After we finish unloading our luggage, we decide to take advantage of the hot tub. Though not a big fan of hot tubs, Olivia is pumped so I think what the heck. While we are pulling towels from the car, Walter arrives and unpacks his things. We discover that he is the single gentleman we will be sharing the bathroom with. Walter later recounts how he made the mistake of actually putting a foot in the kitchen before he was stopped in his tracks and ordered to step back. Customers were not allowed in the kitchen and he was shown the surveillance camera sign. He was given the same marching orders about storing his water as we were. Thankfully, it was to cool down to single digits in the evening and water left in the car was suitably cold by the morning.
Olivia’s best friend owns a hot tub so under her direction, we remove the cover and get things bubbling. I find hot tubs "chemically" but it was nice to rest our bones after our eventful trip up and slow down before heading to bed. By the time we head back in, Olivia wants a dessert which she spotted during our invasion of the dining room. The dining room closes at 8:00 PM. It is 8:00PM and ice cream is no longer available.
We sleep very soundly with our windows open as the night air dips to a refreshing 8 C.

August 7 – 15.2 km
Hot breakfast is served at 8:00PM sharp. There is a toaster and sweet buns on a sideboard as well as coffee which can be had in advance. When breakfast arrives it is delicious (eggs, texas toast and bacon/sausage, home made jams) but leaves us scrambling to get to the meeting place on time. Walter has bolted ahead of us and we arrive at 9:15 AM. We apologize to the group and promptly drive back whence we came to start at the beginning of the day’s hike.

The hiking is again perfect. After a boardwalk section through a swampy patch, we are making our way through a forest section when we encounter a snake in full rattle. The snake is camouflaged , tucked in by a stump. The sound is like a high pitch cicada and we can all here it loud and clear. We make a wide circle around the agitated fellow and continue on our way.
Shortly there after, we encounter the Toronto Chapter hiking in the opposite direction. We warn them about the snake and briefly share pleasantries before going our separate ways.
We walk past the driveway of the Inn, reminding us of its blissful convenience and head to Devil’s Monument.
Devil’s Monument is a spectacular land formation that reminds me of a giant interpretative rock sculpture of a DNA double helix. It is truly fascinating. We make our way down to the rocky shore where several other tourists have staked their claim. Nothing feels quite like perching your butt on a large flat rock that juts out into the water, peeling off your hiking shoes and wet socks and soaking your tired feet in the cool waters of Georgian Bay
On this day, the bays look particularly spectacular with the azure waters rimmed in Caribbean blues and greens for as far as the eye can see.
When we return to the B&B, we beat Walter to the shower and head downstairs to the spacious deck for cold drinks. We have made reservations for 6 PM when dining opens. We overhear an exasperated bride try to wrangle the details of their wedding dinner at the Inn. They will be taking over the entire Inn for their festivities. As I sit in the warmth and fresh air of the patio, I envision how beautiful the wedding will be. The wedding party will be dancing on this very deck to the strains of their live band. But there are some dinner details that are playing havoc with the execution. The couple leave, the details yet unestablished. I listen to the groom light into the bride in the parking lot "Where did you find this place?!" The exasperated bride tries to justify her selection. I can see her dream. I know why she has chosen this place. But they just need to learn the culture to make it happen.
John and Walter join Olivia and I on the deck. The Inn has an impressive selection of micro-brewery beers. They even offer my beverage of choice, apple cider. We decide to have dinner together. This poses an issue for the Inn. I ask maybe if they can put two tables close by so that we can talk across to one another. In the end, they concede in placing us in a back dining room where we can all sit together.
Dinner is a lively affair with topics ranging from micro-breweries, hikes, trips, computer programming and the list goes on. Olivia is on the verge of tears when initially ordering. She says she wants a grill cheese from the lunch menu. The waitress snaps that she has to order from the middle of the menu. Taken aback, Olivia views the offerings and asks for the catch of the day not really sure what that is. My dinner is very English, boiled potatoes with beef along with the traditional lack of tastiness. John and Walter chose braised ribs and say that their meal is exceptional. I envision how far a round of Martha Stewart Greek potatoes would gone – something with some zing with virtually no extra effort. I think that the area has been settled with English stock and this is what you get. Like my Grandmother, spaghetti is probably considered foreign food (not very tantalizing foreign food at that!).
There is a heavenly smell emanating from the kitchen but we can not have that. It is the lamb being prepared for the buffet dinner on Sunday night. Olivia asks for the ice cream again tonight. We can’t have that either. That is not what is the dessert for tonight. Instead she has to settle for an apple blossom – no ice cream.
We bid good night to our dinner mates and tuck into bed.

August 8 – 15.3 km
When I wake up, I look through the bathroom window and see what initially I take to be deer stalking in the mist in the field. As I cart items to the car, I realize that they are sandhill cranes. I should add that I dart to the car in between down pours of rain. The Inn concedes to get us rolling on breakfast 5 minutes early. We are still late connecting with the group.
We hike through the pouring rain all day. Don and Walter are all blustery that the weather had the nerve to actually rain. They are worried about people not having a good time. Several of us do not even bother with rain gear as submit ourselves to the grey sheets of warm rain. We have had such idyllic hiking weather up to this point, we are in no position to complain. Even Olivia does not complain.
Sandhill cranes are everywhere in the fields. We encounter another rattle snake on the road. There are rumours that the Trail has been closed due to an aggressive bear. Out come the bear bells but we never encounter a problem.

We are drenched entirely through. We progress through areas where the locals are not supportive of the Bruce Trail and its hikers. We warily eye passing vehicles that storm past in sections of the Trails that transpose onto dirt roads

It is still a great hiking day. By the time we

return to our cars, the women who have arrived before the men, are already stripping in the open air and slipping into dry clothes. We all head home, cleansed of our worries and embraced by the spirit of the Bruce.