Goodness, what a chilly night. I roused myself at around seven, stepped outside to go to the shower block and thought I'd been transported to the far north in the night. The official temperature was 8C, not desperate, but it had been 22C the day before, so quite the difference. It was the north-west wind that was the culprit.
Shower done, and vents open in the trailer to disperse some of the condensation on the cold windows, I sat down at the Chromebook to jot down the previous day's doings. I didn't feel much like sitting outside, so I huddled indoors and pondered why I was being such a wimp. I could blame the previously sweltering heat and the sudden change, but really it was just me.
When we're camping, we're quite lucky to generally have good Internet access. We don't have twenty-foot poles with antennae atop, nor even a high gain aerial on the roof of the Airstream, we just use our cell phones and the WiFi Hotspot function, or in my case the USB tethering, to get access through our laptops. Our family cell phone plan is very generous with its data allowance, too, which helps. Airstreams are not great places for radio reception, given that they're made of two layers of reflective metal and have fine mesh metal fly screens over all the windows. FM radio, and even WiFi from your home network, simply won't penetrate it, but cell phone signals will. We can sit inside and get good cell phone reception, and therefore good Internet access, always assuming that we're in an area that has a good cell service in the first place. Rondeau Park, the campground end at least, has good reception, as does Selkirk Park, so we're quite happy. Yes, I could get one of those poles to make sure the cell signal was perfect, but you still have to get the signal inside the trailer and into a router, and that's way too much effort when you can rely on your handset to do the donkey work. I know, there are people that say you should go off-grid when you camp and keep off the Internet, but it's those same people that watch TV and have their air-conditioner going the whole time when they're camping. I'd rather be able to read the news and blog up a storm than watch TV. Talking of TVs, there is a fifth-wheel trailer here that has a TV fixed to its outside wall so it can be watched outside. I hadn't seen one in Canada before, although I had seen plenty in the US. Bad habits, folks, bad habits.
This was the day we needed to go off site to get some petrol for the Toadmobile. We opted to go to the little town of Cayuga, about fifteen kilometres away, where there was a Pioneer gas station, my preferred brand because I can collect all manner of points and prizes with that brand, and they're generally the cheapest. The nearest other brand, Esso, was about the same distance but in another town. Gas stations are few and far between outside of towns in south west Ontario, and I don't recall seeing a single gas station along the route we took to drive here. Obviously had we needed petrol we could have diverted to a town, but on these lesser roads, gas stations are a thing of the past, which given the prevalence of the automobile seems a wee bit ironic.
Anyway, we stopped in Cayuga for a quick walk along the bank of the Grand River. There was a little paved walkway with some adjacent parking, but it only extended about four hundred metres. We gamely carried on along the road when the path ended, just to get some steps in, and admired the extended trailer park along the river bank, home to what looked like the entire hoarding population of Ontario. I don't mean to be nasty about trailer folk or hoarders, but the two things seem to go together. Gas was bought, I clunked the hitch receiver on the steep ramp getting out of the gas station and bent one of the sticky-out bits on the hitch-slop stopper (hitch clamp would be a better term), so it'll be interesting to see how easy it'll come off when that time arrives. The Toadmobile is low and will clunk the receiver on steep ramps even when the hitch head isn't installed, but this day it was installed, as was the clamp and yes, I clunked it.
Rather than head back to the Park, DW suggested that we motor over to Port Dover which, as the name suggests, is a little port on the lake, just where the Lynn River meets it. We were after a lighthouse-shaped souvenir for the grand-baby, knowing his love of lighthouses, and a port seemed a good place to find one.
Port Dover is a fine little place, has a small harbour filled with commercial fishing vessels, and a nice sandy beach. It also has a dying Main Street, so like everywhere else in Ontario, and the usual array of fried-food emporia and gift shops that any little lakeside town would have. I say lakeside because it's right on Lake Erie, but it looked so like a little English seaside town that I was getting confused with all the "Lake Life" tat on sale in the shops, wondering why lake life when we were beside the sea. Of course Lake Erie is not the sea, but for an Englishman who grew up with the sea, it's hard to shake the idea that a massive body of water isn't the sea. It still gets me.
Anyway, we strolled by the river, walked by the beach (which was busy but emptying because a fresh south-westerly wind had sprung up and brought dark clouds), went into the tat shops, had an ice cream and also some fries, all those things you have to have when at the seaside, sorry, lakeside. We visited a bakery that had lots of vegan goodies for DW, and spoke to a man who worked there, or maybe owned it, who was from Mossley, near Manchester. We had a fine old chat about Saddleworth Moor, Myra Hindley and Ian Brady, and left the shop feeling quite depressed.
Port Dover is also the spiritual home of Ontario's motorcyclists. They have a gathering there every Friday 13th (I assume only when it falls outside the winter), and many of the shops there cater specifically for that event. These are not generally your Hell's Angel types, because the vast majority of bikers in these parts are oldiewonks like me. Bikes, Harleys being the favoured brand, are expensive, as is the insurance, and only old folks can afford them. However, there is a big bike community, and Port Dover is where they gather. Even though it wasn't Friday 13th, there were a few bikes about, and two caught my eye, ridden by a couple as far as I could tell. One was an original 1960s Triumph Bonneville, a noisy and oil-spewing 650 twin cylinder British bike, the other was a Yamaha 200cc, two-stroke twin cylinder, old enough to have drum brakes front and rear. It looked to be in good nick, too, so I guess the owners were real enthusiasts, although quite what the Hog owners would make of the Yammie oil-burner I don't know.
It was a lovely afternoon, despite the keen wind, and made all the better for being a spur of the moment thing. Port Dover might be a wee bit too far for a day trip for Charlie, but if we're in the area and staying, it'd be a great place for him.
When we returned to the Park, we sat out in the Pleasure Dome and had a wee drinkie-poo. It was warm and not windy where we were sitting. We spoke to a pair of fellow campers about the Pleasure Dome, about the trailer and of course, about the van that tows it. It's interesting to note that people in Canada raise their eyebrows and ask questions about how the van tows, but when we have been in the US, they just tell you outright that the van can't tow the Airstream, despite the fact that it's right there in front of them. Different cultures, and never the fifty-first State.
The weather forecast for our final full day isn't great, but the forecasts are not always accurate. We shall see what transpires. With a bit of luck, it'll be a wonderful day of doing not very much again.
