Kingston to Lyndhurst

I spent the evening in Kingston eating Swiss Chalet, wandering Dad's neighbourhood, and staying pretty much glued to my smartphone.

This morning Dad woke me up at the ungodly hour of 8:30 am mainly because he wanted a box of plastic zip bags that were in the Room of Requirement that is his basement guest room, where I slept guarded over by two fridges, a kitchenette, two bags of loose plaster, fifty thousand pillows, a bunch of boxes and another entire bed, propped up vertically between my bed and the wall. Which was actually pretty cosy, once I clarified with Dad that it wouldn't fall over and smother me in the night.

I tried to ignore him and mumble that my sleep situation was under control, ie, I wasn't going to be late. I should explain that lateness is genetically impossible in the lineage that comes through Dad into me. My mother and sister seem not to share that genetic code. We told the cottage people we'd be there at noon. I knew we would be there at 10:30, no matter how hard we might try to relax and take it easy. And if any family was going to find a way to try hard to relax, it would be ours.

A few minutes later I eased myself out of bed and into the day. The next hour was filled by loading the car and making sure nothing was forgotten.

First stop, grocery store. It seemed like Dad had taken out almost all the food from the cupboards and fridges and packed it into an ever multiplying number of boxes, coolers, and his familiar spirit, the milk crate (as I was taking this picture for my readers who have no idea what this is, Dad told me that in fact, in University he'd had every colour of milk crate to house his record collection, including "The Holy Grail" of milk crate, the only yellow one he'd ever seen)

milk crates, the pride and joy of dudes of the 70s

 yet there was still more I wanted to get so we chugged down the road in probably the most un-roadworthy hunk of metal Dad's ever driven, a rusty, dirty 199- Chevy Cavalier he pulled out of storage for the trip. CAA picking us up is to some degree built into our travel plans. I'm impressed by my ability to not freak out about that. Anyway, we made it to the grocery store and Dad did this victory dance for finding a grocery cart that didn't require a quarter.

victory dance

Back on the road, I realized that although Dad knew where Lyndhurst was, and I had a Google Maps image in my head, I had forgotten to write down directions, address or contact information for the cottages. I look, hopelessly and futilely, at the dashboard of old 'Fire. No GPS there. The dusty dash mocked me like an ancient artifact from a forgotten civilization.

"We're fine," Dad said, "I know where Lyndhurst is. We'll ask around!"

Shades of Steckle. My bad!

Dad informed me that the gas needle of the 'Cav had been going up the more he drove, so we decided to get gas right away. I texted a friend from the station and she texted me back the cottages address. Internet of life!

Fully gassed and knowledged up, we headed east on the 401 and then moved over to the 15.  What the 'Cav lacks in cleanliness and current dash tech, it makes up for in retro awesomness, and we both enjoyed Sting's ...Nothing Like the Sun album on tape. The weather was warm (A/C broke) and the roads were good. I enjoy a good farmland scene and there was plenty of those.

nothing like the gps

farms are so romantic to urban-dwellers

Lyndhurst is just about as small as it seemed on Google Maps, and a little more paint-peely, but from what I saw driving through, I like it. The cottage we rented is amazing (although as a person who hasn't travelled much, I'm not sure I am the best judge - but Dad agrees and he's seasoned traveller). I'm really into the cottage look so right away for me, aesthetically, I'm in heaven. There are some nice extra touches too, a little hipster chic in the metals and woods of the bathroom. Dad was confused by a fake squash on the table: "What the heck is this for??" "It's a fake decor squash, Dad!" "...??".

hipster can

Stopping only to empty all the stuff from the car into the cottage and put the cold food away, I changed right into my bathing suit. I wanted to be in my bathing suit literally the second my vacation started and remove it when I left. I told Dad that and added that I even brought a pack of Canestan for the inevitable but well worth it yeast infection.

The lake is gorgeous. There's a bit of that wonderful green slime of an eastern ontario lake of my youth. Beyond, the vast rippling water. Along the shores, the canoes and boats I'm excited to use.

water!! big water!!

I ran down the hill and out to the end of the dock and prepared myself for joyous, reckless, splashing entry.

I stopped.

The lake was dark and had many weeds (as lakes will do).

I eyeballed them.

A fish swam by.

I put a toe in the water.

I climbed halfway into the water on the little ladder.

I curled in a fetal ball as close as I could to the dock, trying to get as much of my body in while touching as little weeds as possible and keeping my feet at maximum distance for the lake bottom.

I shuddered at the thought of weeds touching my bum.

I enjoyed myself tensely for a proud sunny moment.

I got out and back on the dock.

I've faced a lot of fears in the past two days.

I'll get this one tomorrow!

Plus Dad told me that the propietor here told him there is a sand beach in Lyndhurst. We'll go there this evening after we rest up.

But by the end of this week, I will be swimming in that lake!