You drive me crazy

The scene: B and I are on vacation in Nova Scotia, on the last and longest day of a road trip around the Cabot Trail and then off of Cape Breton Island. I am behind the wheel of our rental car we have nicknamed the Gangsta-car. (For the record, we ordered a compact, this is what they gave us.)

B: "There's an on-ramp ahead, better move over to the left."

Me: "Yah, O.K."

B: "It's clear on the left, you can switch lanes now."

Me: "I can see that, thank you."

B: "Are we going to get off at the next exit for gas?"

Me: "Yes, that's what I said I was going to do two minutes ago."

[A few kilometres later:]

B: "There's a gas station, on the left. You can go in there."

Me: "I see it."

B: " There's no left turn lane, you'll have to wait at the light now."

Me: "I'm aware of that."

B: "Wait, wait, not yet... O.K., all clear, you can turn in now. Bay two is empty, pull in there."

Me: "SWEET MOTHER OF GOD!!! Please stop the CONSTANT FREAKIN' NARRATIVE about my driving. I've been driving for 34 years without a single accident. When I got my licence you were still getting dinky toys for Christmas. Relax, enjoy the scenery."

B: "Sorry, I was trying to be helpful."

Me: "Well you're helping me go insane."

For the next 50 kilometres or so B silently studies the map and the road signs.

Me: "I'm getting tired, do you want to drive for a while?"

We pull over and change places. A few minutes later:

Me: "You're going too fast for this curvy road. And we are too close to that truck ahead."

B gives me a quick icy stare.

Me: "Sorry, I'll keep quiet."

B and I are incredibly compatible. Soulmates. But, Oh. My. God. we do not drive together well. We both know we drive better than the other. In fact, better than most anybody else on the road.

In between nattering at each other, we did catch glimpses of the scenery. Which ranged from the sublime:



To the ridiculous:

Which fork now?

Now I am over the shock of turning...um...ah...oh shit...fifty. Oh yes, sooo over it.

So, let's get back to where we left off just before that b..b..b.b.birth.d.d.day.

On vacation in Nova Scotia in early September. We headed up to Cape Breton Island. It is spectacular and rugged, much of it national park. We hiked in the brilliant, fall-kissed sunshine. Our first morning we hiked to Ingonish beach and around the lake behind it. I have never seen such a beach: Salt water on one side, and a freshwater beach behind the long spit. Except for a few terns and gulls, we had it to ourselves.







Then we took Middle Head trail out to the end of a peninsula for a picnic lunch high on the headland.



Late in the afternoon, with pleasantly achy leg muscles, we got back to our:
Tent? no.....
Backpacker's hostel? no...
Inexpensive cabin?...no

Because we were staying at the luxurious, decadent, way out-of-our-budget Keltic Lodge. This was a birthday gift from my generous parents. If you ever want to treat yourself, oh man, this is the place to do it. Look:











When the third course of our four course dinner was served B whispered: "Which fork do we use this time?"

I shrugged. Even If I knew, I could not have answered. My mouth was full of lobster. Succulent, pink and white, tender lobster, drenched in fresh squeezed lemon. This was worth turning fifty for! Thanks Mom and Dad.