Trip 45 — Prince Edward Island Walk

Day 5: Summerside to St. Nicholas
Thursday, 31 July 2025

Today: 27725 steps/19.67 km/12.22 mi/3h 50m
Total: 168569 steps/127.53 km/79.24 mi/23h 22m

This morning's news, like so many things in life, focused on alcohol, as people prepared for the impending war against Trump's tariffs. Several months ago, Canadian liquor stores started pulling bourbon and wine imported from the United States, and the premier of Manitoba had remarked, "The good news is that the Canadian booze is way better than the American stuff!"

Now, owners of border duty-free shops fear they're on the brink of going out of business. Anyone who purchases from them has to go directly to the United States, and border crossings are down a third from last year. One owner has cut his staff from 15 to three.

I had left my window open overnight and woken up a few times to the comforting sound of heavy rain — made all the more blissful when my hopes for it to end by morning were fulfilled. The air was markedly cooler than yesterday as I left the Sunflower Guest Suites and wended my way amid the lawn's numerous trees to reach Water Street, the main thoroughfare into Summerside.

In the center, I picked up the Confederation Trail and crossed waypoint 4 of the Island Walk near Summerside's old train-station building, now a brewery. Trains came here until 1989. Summerside was also the birthplace of the Trans Canada Trail; it was here that a resolution was passed to construct Canada's Great Trail, which stretches 24,000 kilometers from coast to coast.

Summerside is the last town I'll see until Tuesday, and with food sources sparse, it was important to stock up. The JMK seafood market, next to the shore at the west end of town, had many enticing options, but carrying a lobster for eight hours seemed inadvisable. Instead they sold me a children's book about the history of the consumption of lobster: how lobsters were formerly so abundant that they were used as fertilizer and to feed prisoners and train passengers. "My uncles would never bring a lobster sandwich to school," wrote the author, Justin Chiasson. The whimsical illustrations — lobsters drinking tea, lobsters sunbathing — were done by 12-year-old Ella Classen-Kearney.

Farther west, I stopped at Bernard's Grocery and Laundromat, where I could wash my clothes and find snacks all in the same place. They had ten washing machines, one of which was out of order and seven of which were in use when I arrived. I needed three loonies (dollar coins). I had only two, but purchasing detergent left me with a third.

I returned to the laundry room to find that a gray-haired man had set up at the last two machines. He wore shorts held up with suspenders and looked to be just shy of his 115th birthday.

The machines were the old kind that don't have timers, so I had to hunt around and try to see which were on their final spin cycles. One machine seemed not to have any lights on, and I opened the lid but found clothes inside. I closed it and walked away from the machine, and the old man went over to it and pressed the start button.

"Sorry, I didn't know it was in use," I said.

"I'm yooz'n!" he shouted.

"This one's almost finished," said a woman who had seen me come in earlier. I had a hunch that the old man wanted that one too (he hadn't done laundry since he was 98), but her statement conferred on me permission to use it next.

I inserted the three loonies and the machine wouldn't start. Perhaps it had a problem with one of them, which I had received as change from the supermarket in Cornwall and was a limited-edition mintage with a decal of an airplane on it. I summoned the friendly manager, who took my word that I had deposited the coins and brought out three new ones to begin the cycle.

While the machine ran, I picked out provisions. Most important was sunscreen. I should have gotten it a few days ago, but I was eager to get going from the airport and I didn't want to carry it all the way around Rocky Point. The upshot was tan lines on my legs that, if I were to hike up my shorts, would make people shield their eyes and put their sunglasses on (and also run the other way).

Next up was bug repellent, so that my belligerent half-century-old body can stay out late without fear of being eaten. And some bigger bandages; I had small ones for my little toes, but my left heel now had the remains of a blister. My right foot was doing fine, but if anything happened to that one, I was going to run out of feet.

As for food, I took a stick of spicy pepperoni, cheese slices, and pieces of fudge to supplement the giant cucumber and the protein bar Susan had given me. My host tonight had agreed to make me a basic dinner, and they would also provide breakfast. I just had to get through tomorrow's long walk in order to arrive at West Point before its only restaurant closed.

I wasn't about to fight the old man for the dryers. When the washer finished, I removed the clothes and carried them over to St. Eleanor's Dairy Bar & Restaurant. I spread them out on the seat at one of the picnic tables and on my bag on the grass, letting them dry for an hour while I ate my coconut shrimp and fries.

I detoured slightly inland so that I could follow the Confederation Trail for two hours. Shaded by pine and birch trees and with only the sounds of birds, my footsteps, and the occasional biker, I tried to imagine that trains used to come through here. I was grateful for a breeze and the absence of traffic. At one point I went almost an hour without seeing anyone, with the dead-straight dirt trail stretching forever ahead and behind me.

The island is narrow here, and when I passed just south of Miscouche, I was less than a five-minute walk — yet several hundred thousand steps away — from next Thursday's lodging. The western part of this stretch of trail was a wetland, with swallows and white cedar.

I turned left off the trail toward St. Nicholas. When I reached Route 11, I saw that the bridge was out in the Summerside direction. I'd have ended up on the trail regardless.

Marian welcomed me to the Sunbury Cove Winery. He and his partner, Lorne, bought it in 2013, taking over a derelict farm. They have 150 acres but lease most of it to potato farmers.

"Don't buy potatoes," Marian said. "There are so many chemicals added. They're sprayed with Roundup three times, guaranteed, and then they're sprayed again when they're picked."

As for the wine, he grows four reds and one white. The only export is to a friend in South Korea whom he met at the University of Toronto. As the only immigrants (Marian is Austrian), they were ignored by the primarily Canadian student base.

"But I thought all Canadians were friendly!" I said.

Marian plans to expand his production into a new building that he started construction on himself last year. "I don't like to rush," he said, indicating the half-finished building. The lack of urgency in his craft was matched by his soft, gentle speech.

He moved to PEI to get away from the crowds of Toronto. "When you have people, you have problems," he said — which may not be the optimal attitude for a B&B owner. But he and Lorne operate the lodging only ten weeks a year. Then he's happy to take care of the land. He doesn't even go to Summerside unless it's essential.

Because of my extremely long walking segment tomorrow, and the isolation of Sunbury Cove, they agreed to a 6 a.m. breakfast and to prepare dinner. The evening meal was a giant cold-cuts sandwich with a Caesar salad, cheese, pate, and lemon cake. And of course his wine, which he keeps out on the counter so that guests can help themselves.

"What do you think of the wine?" he asked.

"I love it. Very smooth, with just a little sweetness."

"I don't like that wine," he said. "I make much better wine than that crap. But if you like it..."

He might be soft-spoken, but his words are potent.

Go on to day 6