A strange thing happened as we neared the border between Manitoba and Ontario, the rolling canola fields ended and the Land of Many Lakes began. I don’t suppose Canada’s Drawers-of-Lines-that-Mark-Provincial-Borders did that on purpose, but even if they did, it was a nice surprise to drive right by lumps of earth and rock higher than a few meters.

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All the lakes had names, but in a part of the world that has a gazillion lakes, I guess the person who named ‘em got in touch with their inner whimsey. We passed ‘Mom Lake’, closely followed by ‘Dad Lake’.

Now, you’d expect that if names continued in this vein next would be ‘Kid Lake’, or ‘Children Lake’. We certainly expected that, but no, the next lake was ‘Orphan Lake’!

Someone had a delightfully twisted sense of humour.

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Most of the mosquito bites I’m still scratching I got during our first night in Ontario. They even had these little buggers that bit chunks out of me and left trails of blood running down my legs to freak me the hell out.

Skeeters have always liked the taste of my blood. Every Summer it’s my lot to either be smothered in nasty chemicals to keep ‘em away, or be smothered in nasty bitey insects that WILL NOT leave me alone.

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Enough about blood-suckers, lets talk about Amethysts.

About 45 minutes north of Thunder Bay is a little dirt road that winds up the side of a mountain. Travelers like us are encouraged to leave their RV’s back at their campsites or deposit them at a turnout at the bottom of the mountain. We opted for the ‘leave the rig at home’ option.

At the top of the mountain is a quarry where some of the finest amethyst in the world is mined. It’s called Amethyst Mine Panorama and you get to dig for your very own amethysts.

All for $3 per pound (the decimal system hasn’t quite reached them yet)

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Ever onward we drove. North then east then south around Lake Superior. We drove through White River where we had the best donuts since Tim Hortons, and met a very special sort of bear, but more of that later.

 We pulled into here for gas, but didn’t have enough time to explore the hidden delights within. We vowed to do so on our return journey. Turns out something magical was waiting for me. (also, more later 🙂 )

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We stopped in Sault Ste Marie, exhausted from yet another 8 hour drive. We knew it would be our last for a while so we took ourselves into town for to stock up on fresh veggies, and thusly fortified we slept the sleep of the dead … until 6am when we took off for parts East, and the South Baymouth/Tobermory Ferry.

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There’s a little fish and chip cafe just off the main drag at the South Baymouth ferry terminal.

When I saw such a huge expanse of water, with the opposite shore being below the horizon, I expected to smell that unmistakable salty, slightly fishy ocean smell. Nope, it was a slightly fishy, freshwater smell. All that water and not a whiff of salt. Who’d’a thunk!

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We followed Hwy 6 South and got turned around in Owen Sound, and drove for most of the journey to Hamilton at an average of 60 k an hour. Every little hamlet and village and town was ‘speed quietened’. Mrs Widds surmised that a couple of centuries ago they sprang up like weeds along this route at about a day’s horseback ride from each other.

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Negotiating the Hamilton bypass, (Queen Elizabeth Way, no less) was an exercise in controlled terror. Eight lanes of peak-hour traffic. We couldn’t understand why all those other drivers weren’t as laid back as us. (or as laid back as we were before we got on the bypass!) Wasn’t everyone on a grand adventure holiday?

A couple of semi truck drivers got downright nasty. Most kinda good-naturedly gave us a wide berth, but those two … I do believe there’s a hell especially reserved for arrogant aggressive asshole truck drivers, and every now and then Patrick Swayze drops by and beats the living crap outta them. Cue ‘Roadhouse’. 

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So, Niagara Falls at last. Our campground was on Lundys Lane, quite cosmopolitan as it turns out, and just down the road a couple of ‘gentleman’s clubs’ and massage parlours. We’d landed on the edge of a red light district!

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The last word … I must’ve walked by this sign half a dozen times before Mrs Widds pointed out how special it was.

 

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Next: Over and Under the Falls