Day 64-65 Kingston to Johnstown, ON September 7-8, 2009

Day 64-65 Kingston to Johnstown, ON September 7-8, 2009
71 Miles
3095 total miles

Don't know how long this run will last, but we have just had another 2 days of brilliant weather. A streak of nine in all. I spent such a full day in Kingston that I didn't leave until mid-afternoon. I rolled down the shore to a campground just outside of Gananoque, looking out at the 1000 Islands and woke up to a foggy morning down by the river. It didn't last long and as the fog lifted I was treated to expansive views of the myriad of islands and of the cottages to castles upon them. I splurged and took the tour boat out to the islands, including Heart Island, home of the Boldt Castle, heritage of the Waldorf-Astoria fortune and ostentatious reminder of another age of excess. For whatever reason, this part of the country has never before been prominent in my imagination, but is gaining in appreciation. Perhaps it is in part due to the neglected chapters in my 11th grade American history book! Vague recollections of a French and Indian War and Arnold's march on Quebec are about the extent of my memory banks. The 5 nations of the Haudenosaunee, the St. Lawrence Seaway and the flooding of historic towns to make it, the Loyalists who fled the American colonies and resettled here in historic villages and towns built of limestone, the logging and fur trades, maritime activities, canals, etc., all become matter for musing as I rolled through the towns of Gananoque, Brockfield, Maitland, and Prescott. In many places, old colonial limestone homes, surrounded by stone walls and shade trees, open expansively down sloping hills with St. Lawrence overlooks, which also afford the passerby to catch glimpses of the sparkling waters below.

Upon reaching the town of Prescott, I pulled into the Red George Public House which is a true community fixture, with 50 local owners participating in the equity of the place. The owner of the building in which it is housed, Scotty Hubbard, is also the manager of the place. In another strange turn of events Scotty was born in the same place and same era as my older brother Christopher. Scotty came into this world at Thayer Hospital in Waterville, ME in February 1954. His father Cal Hubbard went to Colby College as did my father, but they weren't contemporaries-- Cal matriculated before the war and returned to finish at Colby afterwards. He was a DKE and my dad was an ATO.

This next part goes out to all the mothers out there reading this and in counterpart to their children: Dear moms, I would like to thank you for standing by your children no matter how old or young, happy or sad, healthy or sick, famous or infamous. While I was at the pub I was witness to a sad, dysfunctional man who had obvious drinking problems which were becoming a public matter to everyone's discomfort. His mother came to help him out and he was less than kind to her, despite her patient and caring manner in dealing with him. He obviously needed help, but I couldn't help but think that there comes a time in life, when despite the unconditional love of a mother directed at a troubled 40 year old son, it needs to give way to a caring loving child returning the sentiment. There ought to come a time when we as children in this world stop demanding things of our parents and turn in their direction to help them as they become older and more frail. Thanks to all you moms (and dads!) out there who give life and love to their children. May we, the children, someday be able to return that love in whatever ways we can.