Trip 45 — Prince Edward Island Walk

Day 3: Victoria to Borden-Carleton
Tuesday, 29 July 2025

Today: 24568 steps/18.34 km/11.40 mi/3h 28m
Total: 109002 steps/84.33 km/52.40 mi/15h 15m

The shih tzus woke me up as they welcomed Susan's friend to the house. The friend had arrived two days early for their planned excursion to Costco, about an hour and a half's drive to New Brunswick. I fell back to sleep and then awoke to the sweet aroma of freshly baked banana bread.

The bread was a bonus to today's breakfast, which included fried eggs, sausages, a full plate of fruit, yogurt, and a potato patty. I thought that was it until Susan brought me slices of her own pepper-and-cheese bread.

"It's all right if you can't finish it all," Susan said. "I've got dogs." In addition to the black and white shih tzus was a small, hairy, gray dog, blind, approaching her 16th birthday.

Before leaving Victoria, I took a walk through the four-block town. It's now a peaceful holiday destination with artisan boutiques and dog-walking visitors, but it started out 200 years ago as a prominent port that connected the island with the United States and Europe, Susan told me. The giant linden tree in her yard dates from this time, having been brought from the United States before the house's construction in 1915.

Main Street smelled like the sea and sunscreen. I headed west out of town and the air was fragrant with pine. The pavement ended and it became a hard-packed dirt road. When I started passing farms, the air smelled of sweet earth, especially as the road's shoulder had been recently mown.

Birds were singing. The Merlin bird app identified them as song sparrows, but I wanted to call them "oh" birds, since their call matched the Morse Code pattern for those two letters — three long, vibrating blasts followed by four short chirps.

The potato-processing farms gave the air a starchy aroma — or was I imagining it? The day was warm but slightly breezy, with occasional cloud cover tempering the heat.

At the intersection in Tryon, opposite the church, I found one of those Little Free Libraries. It's always interesting to see what's inside them. This one had Lisa Wojna's book "Weird Canadian Laws," featuring a couple of entries on Summerside, where I'll spend tomorrow night. But I'm unlikely to run afoul of any ordinances, unless I try to move an outhouse between 4 a.m. and 10 p.m. in 1897. I'd be fine skinny-dipping a few years later, however, provided I do it at night.

I headed west on Route 10, passing through Augustine Cove and Cape Traverse. Midway through the walk, I sat down on the sloping grass — a better angle than yesterday — and ate the apple that Susan had given me as a snack. I intended a short break, but it must have been closer to half an hour — 30 minutes of walking can seem like twice that, but 30 minutes of a rest often feels like just a few.

Occasionally I passed by marshy areas, and I paused to look out at the brackish water and grass and hoped to catch sight of osprey. Susan said one could often find them in this area, swooping down to catch fish and sometimes having their catch repossessed in midair by eagles. The eagles also posed a danger to her shih tzus.

The Carleton Motel and Coffee Shop had everything a motel should — a couple dozen rooms on a single floor, a neon "Motel Office" sign, lightly rusted chairs in front of the rooms, the whoosh of the highway in front, even a pay phone. The manager assigned me to room 1, the farthest from the office, and unlocking or locking the door required a maneuver with the key that seemed to defy the laws of physics and drew embarrassing attention from guests sitting in front of their rooms.

The motel was near the junction of Route 10 and the Trans-Canada Highway. But the town of Borden-Carleton was two kilometers away, at the entrance to the Confederation Bridge, which connects PEI with New Brunswick. The town was established in 1995, combining the old port community of Borden with the farming community of Carleton. It exists mainly because of the bridge, which opened in 1997 and replaced the old ferry service from Borden.

The bridge has been in the news this week. The current toll, paid only on departure from PEI, is $50.25, but starting this Friday it will be cut to only $20. This is an initiative by Prime Minister Mark Carney to promote interprovincial trade. Also, the fares for the ferries that connect PEI with Nova Scotia and Îles-de-la-Madeleine (part of Quebec) are being halved.

Residents have mixed feelings about the reduced tolls, as I experienced yesterday at the Blue Goose convenience store ("a real island place," Susan had said).

"I think they should make the toll a hundred and twenty dollars," one customer said, evidently hoping against an influx of tourists.

"Part of me agrees with you," the cashier said. "But I would also like to go visit my family."

As for Susan and her friend, well, they may be happy to delay their trip to Costco until Friday.

The prime minister made a rare appearance on PEI to announce the change, and an even rarer appearance in Victoria yesterday — this was the first time a prime minister has visited the town.

"It was unannounced and it felt like a family gathering," Susan said. "I got to shake his hand. No bodyguards. Like if you saw Trump on the street and got to meet him."

"I'm not sure I'd be enthusiastic about that," I said. I'd take Obama, though.

The Boat Traffic Oatmeal Stout that accompanied my salad and chicken flatbread at the Lone Oak Brewing Company was fantastic — dark, smooth, and just a little sweet — and then I headed down to the bridge for the sunset. The sun dropped under the narrow opening under the bridge, and then the pink of dusk highlighted the bridge's stretch toward infinity.

I lingered too long at the bridge and missed the 9 p.m. curfew. There was nothing legally stopping me from staying out later, but just as in Victoria, that's when the mosquitoes began their attack. They came at me like a gang ambush, and the pressure to outrun them made me forget about any lingering ache in my legs as I hurried the three kilometers back to the motel.

Safely in my room, I drank a can of Boat Traffic Oatmeal Stout I'd brought back from the brewery, with the purple glow of the motel's lighting framing my window and the air conditioner almost drowning out the sound of the traffic speeding to and from the bridge. Give me a rusty old pickup truck — a normal-sized one from way back — and I could almost be in a country song.

Go on to day 4