was costing us an extra $60 a day, so we were naturally eager to be rid of her. We'd made arrangements for a
storage space in which to stash our furniture and other detritus of civilized living, in a town about thirty miles west of us, locked Loki in the tent, and myself, Will and Murphy set off.The storage people smiled
pleasantly enough when they told us the only available space was on the second floor, but once again we had lttle choice; there was no other storage facility on the island. So we huffed and puffed our way through it in
the twenty-eight degree heat.
Amazingly enough there was only one casulty. The dresser was no match for us, and half way up I felt the muscle and sinew in my left elbow give way. I am left handed, of course. We saved
the dresser, but the arm was pretty much baggage.
Eight hours later, job done (singlehandedly), we still had to return the truck,which meant another long trip to another small town, only now there were several other
varibles to consider.
It was dark, the truck was now empty, which meant it handled like a kite in a wind storm, and it had begun to rain. The transport trucks were in a rush for the ferry to Newfoundland, and Goliath
could go no more than 70kph. The road was under construction, had no lines, soft shoulders, twisted and heaved like a mad snake and ran along about three feet from the deep, cold Bras d'or Lake.
Not a comforting thought.
About half way there we started looking for a gas station, and that's when we realised we really weren't in Kansas anymore.
Travelers beware: there is no such thing as a twenty-four hour
gas bar on Cape Breton Island.
We drove on through the pitch night. If we ran out of gas along this route we'd be in trouble. There were long stretches of isolated road, and in the settlements we passed through, not
a soul stirred. We had no blankets or other gear on board, and it was getting very cold outside. To make matters worse, we had no idea where the rental place was. If we had to drive around town looking for it, we were
screwed.
