Truckin...

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Packed up, cleaned up, loaded up, locked up, revved up, and on our way by Tuesday early afternoon. Seems like the soundtrack should have been "Truckin", but somehow Susan was humming fiddle and cello by Alasdair Fraser and Natalie Haas, and that became the soundtrack for both of us.

Pointing vaguely north with a bed and breakfast reservation in Quebec City for Thursday night. By the time we were in New Hampshire, Susan had perused the AAA guide, and we hatched a plan to visit Lac Massawippi, not far from the Vermont/Quebec border, and hope to find a friendly accommodation. We discovered quickly that the tour guides are written by people who want you to visit places. I'm sure Lac Massawippi is a energized place in the summer, but in the winter, there wasn't much to recommend it. Our helpful AAA guide informed us that the area was settled by the British, and was frequented by Americans looking to escape the heat of summer. There were a few inns of good repute, listed at rates considerably higher than we were willing to spend, but we figured there may be some opportunities lurking in the shadows. The hamlet of Ayers Cliff boasted a 10-room creaky hotel above the bar/pool hall with a dining room was open for dinner on Thursday-Sunday. At a rate only a few dollars less than we'd be paying in Quebec City, we figured checking the north end of the lake, in North Hatley, would be worth a go. Sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose, and North Hatley was even less energetic than Ayers Cliff, so we set our sights on the biggest blob on the map -- Sherbrooke.

By now, we were well of the beaten path, and at what we found out later was the southern end of Sherbrooke, we found a variety of motels that were a throwback to 1958. Witness the postcard at the bottom of yesterday's entry. Clean, serviceable, and open. Room enough for our many bags. Free wifi. And time enough to forage for food in Sherbrooke proper.

Chez Charlie promised to be quick. And, boasted the local favorites of smoked meat and poutine. Open 24 hours. Smoked meat I knew about from my last trip to Montreal (though I hadn't had it). Poutine I had a vague memory of hearing about. Between Susan and I, we tried both. Now I've had them. The smoked meat was lean, tasty and salty. Smoother than corned beef. I don't know what kind of meat it is (I assumed beef -- my recollection was that smoked meat was a Montreal-Jewish kind of dish, so probably not pork). Served on bread in a big stack like a New York deli. With a tasty plate of fries, and a vinegared, slightly sweet cabbage salad, which despite its bland appearance, complemented the meat well.

Poutine. Hard to figure how this one was invented. A bed of french fries, topped with cheddar cheese curds and a brown gravy. Susan ordered hers with smoked meat, but there were other varieties as well. Salty. Tasty for sure. Would I order it again? Probably not. Wish I had brought my camera. Susan thought to take a picture with her camera phone.