Evenings on the St. Lawrence

Ya, good proteome

Well, alright. The technology has spoken. You have been named by my erring phone swipe thing. Proteome instead of people.

Really my excessive bluetooth keyboard absconded itself, along with my journal. I left it carelessly on the top of the only tuned street piano I’ve met on this hike, in the massive wonderful chaos of music and swing dance and wonderful folk I found in Rimouski, and when my musician traveller friend (who plays the saw, y’all, and she is incredible!) walked back with me, both the keyboard and my journal had disappeared. Highly mysterious.

That’s ok. Obviously I didn’t need the things anyways, kerfuffle it.

So, now, instead of telling you about things here are three pictures:

Anyways, I hope y’all are well. It is my last evening along the St. Lawrence River for a while, at least until I traipse through the Chic Chocs which is what this section of the Appalachian mountains is called donchaknow.

I got to meet the mayor of Rimouski, and an incredible number of people, and learned stories involving the sister ship of the Titanic, which sunk here in this area and now contributes in part to the small town economy… Umm… Got circled by buzzards while sprawling on a rock looking at ants in the Parc du Bic…

buzzaaaaard

Oh lordy what a fine park that was. I can’t wait to get off this hundredsofmileslong strip of mashed rocks and tar and go-very-fast-ing, and get back into the woods. I love the mountains. People are scary. And interesting. Here is a view from the park:

I sat out the rain this afternoon in a teeny restaurant shack, ate gratuitous chocolate cake with my wooden spoon, and pretended I was reading the French paper.

This was literally a wall of cloud. It moved very fast, and passed over me, and behind it was the storm. It was terrifying but at least no ice

Our mass shooting in El Paso made the front page; it was printed before the second one in Dayton. I hope you all are doing ok.

A brief excursion on local trails in Rimouski

The Canadians are horrified and confused. “But…. why do you even need guns?” In general, when the confirmation that I’m an American isn’t followed by a question involving my ethnicity, people opt for some variation of, “Sooooooo…. how’s it going over there?” Since I personally enjoy talking race, religion, and politics with complete strangers, when probably never we shall meet again

yaaaaa foods and cattail bits, and leftover poutine!

Um… I forget. Anyways, it’s late. Probably I forgot because its late…

and I’m now on a schedule because I have a specific date to start on the Quebec trails. Can’t miss the date. And can’t hitchike on trail, man, gotta walk it all out blast dadgum cattail fishes.

What decade is this anyways?

I strongly dislike any schedules at all when I’m in the wilds, but it is a requirement of walking on the Quebec IAT. So if I’m grumpy…

You won’t know.

Be well, and take care of each other please.

Sail