[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
been a temporary engagement. No lord, not even a commoner, I could truthfully
say, had proposed to me, and I had left no boy-friend behind. I don't think
she believed this.
She was complimentary about my looks. I had become
"une belle fille."
It seemed that I had developed
"beaucoup de tempérament"
a French euphemism for "sex appeal" or at any rate the appearance of it, and
it seemed incredible to her that at twenty-three there was no man in my life.
She was horrified at my plans and painted a doomful picture of the dangers
that awaited me on the road. America was full of gangsters. I would be knocked
down on the highway and
"ravagée."
Anyway it was unladylike to travel on a scooter. She hoped that I would be
careful to ride sidesaddle. I explained that my Vespa was a most respectable
machine and, when I went to Montreal and, thrilling with every mile, rode it
back to the house, in my full regalia, she was slightly mollified, while
commenting dubiously that I would
"faire sensation."
And then, on September the fifteenth, I drew a thousand dollars in American
Express travelers' checks from my small bank balance, scientifically packed my
saddlebags with what I thought would be a minimum wardrobe, kissed Aunt
Florence good-by, and set off down the Saint Lawrence on Route 2.
Route 2 from Quebec southward to Montreal could be one of the most beautiful
roads in the world if it weren't for the clutter of villas and bathing huts
that have mushroomed along it since the war. It follows the great river
exactly, clinging to the north bank, and I knew it well from bathing picnics
as a child. But the Saint Lawrence Seaway had been opened since then, and the
steady stream of big ships with their thudding engines and haunting sirens and
whistles were a new thrill.
The Vespa hummed happily along at about forty. I had decided to stick to an
Page 26
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
average daily run of between a hundred and fifty and two hundred miles, or
about six hours' actual driving, but I had no intention of being bound by any
schedule. I wanted to see everything. If there was an intriguing side road, I
would go up it, and, if I came to a beautiful or interesting place, I would
stop and look at it.
A good invention in Canada and the northern part of the States is the "picnic
area" clearings carved out of the forest or beside a lake or river, with
plenty of isolated rough-hewn benches and tables tucked away among the trees
for privacy. I proposed to use these for luncheon every day when it wasn't
raining, not buying expensive foods at stores, but making egg-and-bacon
sandwiches on toast before I left each night's motel. They, with fruit and a
Thermos of coffee, would be my midday meal and I would make up each evening
with a good dinner. I budgeted for a daily expenditure of fifteen dollars.
Most motels cost eight dollars single, but there are state taxes added, so I
made it nine plus coffee and a roll for breakfast. Gas would not be more than
a dollar a day, and that left five for luncheon and dinner, an occasional
drink, and the few cigarettes I smoked. I wanted to try and keep inside this.
The Esso map
14
and route I had, and the A.A.A. literature, listed countless sights to see
after I had crossed the border I would be going right through the Indian
country of Fennimore Cooper, and then across some of the great battlefields of
the American Revolution, for instance and many of them cost around a dollar
entrance fee. But I thought I would get by, and if on some days I didn't, I
would eat less on others.
The Vespa was far more stable than I had expected and wonderfully easy to run.
As I got better at the twist-grip gears, I began really to drive the little
machine instead of just riding on it. The acceleration up to fifty in twenty
seconds was good enough to give the ordinary American sedan quite a shock, and
I soared up hills like a bird with the exhaust purring sweetly under my tail.
Of course I had to put up with a good deal of wolf-whistling from the young,
and grinning and handwaving from the old, but I'm afraid
I rather enjoyed being something of the sensation my aunt had predicted, and I
smiled with varying sweetness at all and sundry. The shoulders of most North
American roads are bad, and I had been afraid that people would crowd my tiny
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]