safe and secure

in all these trees a bridge gives you good views

Our timing is quite poor.  It's about 4.30 on a Friday afternoon and we've just arrived in Port Cartier after a long and flat ride along the coast.  The town is a teeming metropolis by the standards of the small villages we've passed through since we left Ken and Marie-Elaine.  There's a hospital, a McDonalds and, most importantly a Tim Hortons. Tim is ubiquitous in Canada.  It's a Drive-Thru cafe/fast-food joint started by a Canadian ice-hockey player who died in a drink-driving accident. 

Bought out by the American Burger King, Tim is everywhere.  And everyone is queuing in their motors at Tim's.  It's an incredible sight: a long line of pick-ups, SUV's and assorted big cars burping and belching before their occupants can collect a coffee with doughnuts and zoom off back to their own neck of the woods.  You always know when you're approaching a place with a Tim Hortons because the paper cups are tossed into the long grass at the roadside for several miles.  They tell us that they are celebrating 150 years.  Not 150 years of bad coffee but 150 years since confederation and quasi-independence from the UK.  Or maybe it's commemorating 150 years of environmental exploitation and destruction. Food for thought, if not the stomach.

no alarms and no surprises

But that's not helping right now.  The tourist information office is about to close and we're wondering about where to camp for the night.  In the meantime we wander over to a picnic bench in a carpark to cook our tea.  We are behind the fire and police stations.  Gayle has a scout around and comes back to report - there's a little spot in the trees.  Okay - that will do.  And what could be safer than camping behind the cop shop?




Hot sunny days make for slow progress as we take long lunch and rest stops.  We couldn't skip through Pointe des Anglais, could we?  This stretch of the North Shore has been labelled the Route des Balleines, and although there are lots of stops with sea views we spot only seals basking on rocky outcrops.  Happily each village has a tourist information office and we always stop to use their facilities, replenish water supplies and, let's face it, meals are more enjoyable sat at a picnic table than sitting in the dirt beside the road.

breakfast

lunch

mid-afternoon break at Pointe des Anglais

Before the big town of Sept-Iles we come across a little recreation area by the river with a lovely grassy plot and walking trails.  Unusually for us, we opt to camp here, right beside the car park, but only after we realise there are a couple of Canadian campervans doing the same thing.  I guess in the back of my mind there's also the thought that we're not in bear country, which seems quite appealing.  It's quiet at dusk and only a few anglers and nosey marmots come by.  As I nod off I wonder about buying some pepper spray.  Gayle thinks I'm barking.  I just want to be safe and secure.  

my kind of wildlife visitor

 

dusk

the next morning