there's also a beautiful economy enforced by the new car's lack of trunk space that's supremely liberating. One pair of shorts. One pair of jeans. One pair of pants that'll get a person into the top-shelf seafood place on Morris Street. The small cooler. (But don't worry, it easily fits a couple of six-packs even so). No golf clubs, extraneous outfits, or pretension. (Though you know I wouldn't pack golf clubs even if I had my own tour bus). Yup, just roll into the Super 8, pull out the gym bag and toss it on the floor, and hit the hay. (Ok, the place in downtown Halifax is a bit more up the scale than Super 8, but the concept remains the same). meals (other than the afore-referenced five star seafood ecstasy on Saturday night) are planned, if you can use that word, to be taken at roadside lobster shacks up the coast, and wherever they serve a decent (imperial-sized, not US) pint. (henry house for sure). maybe a person might get to the citadel for some sightseeing, and maybe a person will get way-laid somewhere on argyle street on the way up the hill, and have to make do with a picture postcard instead.
mostly it's about not having anything or anybody to push oneself out of bed in the morning, or to put oneself into it the night before. maybe there'll be speeding tickets, (lets hope not), or maybe there won't. what there won't be for sure is anybody telling anyone else which way to go, or what pace to go to get there. i'm sad for anyone not free to take off on such an adventure with me, but you know you'd be welcome just the same.