A fine day for transit

A warm storm blew in during the night and this morning was a rage of wind and thick rain. I walked to the ferry because standing and wating at any of the bus stops along Barrington (where there are no bus shelters) seemed a less pleasant option. The wind blew my umbrella inside out at least 20 times and yet it survived. No one else seemed to be battling his or her umbrella along the route–and yes, there were other pedestrians–so Canada must make hecka strong brollies.

Although the umbrella helped keep me relatively dry on the head and shoulders and my rain coat reached my knees, my calves were sodden, underneath the corduroy, by the time I got to the ferry. Oh, well, mama said there’d be days like this….

By noon, I was still dampish between knee and ankle but the rain had stopped. My plan for the afternoon was to visit a branch I haven’t reached yet. According to my calculations, it is only a bus ride away but my coworkers were so appalled by the idea that I would take that means that I allowed myself to be talked into a cab ride instead, an effort on my part to keep the peace rather than to avoid trammelling strange waters.

The cabby was grumpier and more protected against his passengers (by voluminous amounts of plexiglass) than any I’ve ever seen. And I’ve ridden in cabs in Oakland, Los Angeles, New York City, Boston–not little backwater comparisons.

The branch visit was delightful and I decided I couldn’t stand a second cab ride in one day so I caught a nearby bus. There was a bus shelter at this point and it even had a display board with routes and schedules–both unreadable due to some hurricane force that had wended into the copy holder and crunched the posting into a good approximation of a roller coaster model. Oh well. When a bus came along tht said “Bridge,” I took it–the bridges in Dartmouth (which is where I was) go to Halifax so at least I’d be headed in the right direction.

When I was a kid, my mother tried to teach me a few things about travelling in new cities. Her most important rules were oft repeated (and so stuck): “If in doubt, eat at Woolworth’s” is now useless advice (except in Britain). But: “If you don’t know where anything is, get on a bus and take it to the end of the route.” Now, I’m sure she seasoned this maxim with appropriate add-ons that wouldn’t have one haring toward the outskirts of town, but I no longer remember the details.

In this case, the advice worked like a charm: the bus went to the Dartmouth side of the Angus MacDonald Bridge and there indeed I could catch a bus across that then headed to Spring Garden Road, just about 10 blocks from my apartment. Home again home again jiggety jig.

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