Beginning To Think I Hate Endings

Nova Scotia Beach
June 25 pic3 beach camping, N.S. cloud, cape britian

Sunshine in the morning, what a great experience! Last night the sky
was full of stars. It was the kind of sky that begged me to sleep
outside my tent. It was cold, though, and my bones ached. I
reluctantly climbed into my tent. In the morning, the sun heated
things back up again. I had found the perfect place to camp. I was
eating my raisin toast and drinking hot coffee away from the Parkman's
eyes behind a concave sand dune. I decided to stay. I needed the rest
anyway.

It was a great day to be on the ocean, but I couldn't shake my
negative mood. I wasn't sure where that mood was taking me, either. It
became more intense when I finished Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle
Maintenance. It was such a good book; why then was I left hanging? I
expected the author to tie up the loose ends, but that didn't happen.
Instead, in the end, there was some kind of reconnect between the boy
and his father-- Phaedrus. After that, father and son rode off into
the sunset. I can't explain it, but that ending devastated me. It was
awful. I guess I expected the bells and whistles to ring, but that
didn't happen. In fact, I'm not sure what happened. Maybe nothing
happened, and that nothing sent me straight into depression. Maybe I
read too much into the book. Maybe I wanted more than the book could
give, more than any book could give. Maybe that's the way it had to
end. I'm beginning to think I hate endings.

There was an open-air canteen down the road. For lunch I had chips
and clams. That was my second hot meal since I began this trip. The
clams were delicious. After lunch I washed my clothes down at the
stream and then jumped into the ocean to wash my body. Up here, off
shore, it's the Labrador Current—that means cold, cold, water. There
were two girls on the beach watching me as I took my very short swim.
They told me about a river not far from the picnic area, where the
water would be warmer, and offered to take me there. I agreed, and the
three of us enjoyed a nice swim in "regular cold water."

I ate four hot dogs for dinner. I liked them fire-blackened and I
wasn't disappointed. An old man strolled by as I was eating. After we
exchanged greetings, I gave the old man a hot dog and the two of us
sat on the picnic table enjoying the ocean view. We sat there for
about an hour without speaking. It was not uncomfortable. When I
picked up my journal and started writing, he said, "Time to be
moseying on," and walked away. I felt good vibes from that old man.
Tomorrow I will be pushing myself down the highway. I would like to
use a different word to describe leaving this place, but I can't. I'm
too close to Cape Briton and Prince Edward Island to think about
heading for home. If push is the word that will get me moving again
then so be it. If I have to push to get to see the rest of this
beautiful island peninsula, then so be it, I will push.