Day 10

Just another day here in paradise. As much as the aches and pains of doing this get to me after a while, every now and then the thought comes to me of what I might be doing if I weren't here. Working probably, making money, which undoubtedly would be nice, but being out here and doing my own thing in my own time, without anyone to tell me how to do it or when to do it except myself is a pretty awesome feeling. Don't get me wrong, I keep a pretty tight schedule, but only out of the desire to actually reach the other coast within a reasonable time.
Today saw another cloudless sky dawning above southern ontario. I forgot that this coast is like Key West for Canadians. I can understand why. It was darn hot today. I even whipped out my orange shorty shorts for the first time of the trip.
 I loaded up and finally split camp at around 10:30, a little late for me, but I had a big breakfast to make up for skipping dinner last night. On the way out I passed yet more proof that Canadians have their s*** together:

Just look at that recycling. Compare this to the recycling at the American State Park I passed through just days ago, which had two metal garbage cans (what is this, 1950?) And a note that said "Please recycle. We all must help," sitting next to two overflowing dumpsters.
Further down the line I was surrounded by yet more wind turbines, and I got the closest to any wind turbine  I've ever been. Those things are truly massive, and still so quiet.

 The wind was great for them, but not for me. I fought fierce headwinds most of the afternoon.
In stark contrast to the wind turbines, I passed another large power plant of some unknown but certainly antiquated fuel source.

I could see it smoke rising from miles away. Around mid-morning  I wave to a man on his porch  who called back "Hello American!" The flag really gives me away. Later I pulled into Port Dover, a beach town complete with Surf Shop and taco stand.

I rolled up to the beach for a minute, and then rolled down Main Street, as I try and do with every small town I go through. It was cute but I liked the next town better. I stopped in Port Rowan for groceries, but had to get a cone when I saw this classic place across the street.

Standing on the corner licking the scoop of black cherry, a fellow pulled up and asked where I was headed. I told him Seattle, and he said, " I envy you, son. I've done the trip to Boston and back a few times. I envy you." That made me feel fine and I told him it wasn't too late to hop back on the bike. You said sure and perhaps maybe when his daughter got older they go together to Boston.
After Port Rowan, it was another 20 miles to camp, and in the afternoon with the sun shining in my eyes from the West, I made slow progress. This one road however, was very pleasant at first, so much so that it taunted me off the route, but turned out to be rather Sandy and made me walk.

The last 10 miles of every day are always the hardest. And it doesn't matter how hilly or flat the day was, when I get to Camp I'm still dog tired. I made it to Port Burwell, and pulled into a marina that had a conjoined campground and made camp, but not before noticing this massive submarine:

Don't know what the story is with that one... perhaps I'll roll through town tomorrow before I leave. I took a shower this evening, and founded the best way to do laundry is to take it in the shower with you. I put soap everywhere then give me and the bag of laundry all a good scrub. It's hanging now to dry in the evening breeze. Dinner called for a nice big bowl of cheesy pasta with summer sausage. I'm hoping the jello I made solidifies overnight. Feeling sore and satisfied, without a clue what tomorrow holds.