St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, 11 kilometres walked
Sluggish. Dopey. Blurry. Those were the themes for the day as we lounged around St-Jean nursing hangovers.
We visited the lockmaster to check on the situation and were told the big boss had approved more staffing for Friday so there was a chance we'd get through sometime in the afternoon, but by latest it would be Saturday.
The mushroom, cheese, and ham omlettes kicked off the healing process, aided in no small part by the addition of the last of the tubed pork sausage we picked up in the US. It's strange this particular product is competely unavailable in Canada. Makes me think it's either deathly carcinogenic or America's best kept secret.
Curt and I walked to the Super C grocery store and loaded up on groceries, which were strangely inexpensive. We also tried to buy two boxes of Carboardeaux, but the clerk pulled out their weekly flyer and insisted we return tomorrow when they would be fifteen bucks off. We then moved onto a hardware store where I grabbed some adhesive for a little boat job. Lastly, we stopped at a gas station near the locks for two more cases of fresh beer as our supply was running dangerously low. Magnus stayed back and did some exploring on his own.
As I had neglected to bring the buggy we had to carry our purchases back and we returned to the boat with lengthened arms (I was immensely happy Curtis got to experience the all-day expedition known as Grocery Shopping for Cruisers). As we were loading up the refrigerator Curt dropped a beer on a sharp edge and exploded it, spraying a fine mist of Saporo over the rest of the provisions. The fridge needed a good cleaning and defrosting anyway.
We moved onto the boat job for the day - resticking the flooring tiles in the cockpit and stern which had become untethered. The product we got was a Lepage No More Nails, marine version, and it worked like a charm.
The three of us took a walk back to the lock to check on things, then strolled back through downtown and ran into our new Quebecer friend Richard, who was standing in front of Tavernn La Soif, our favourite dive bar, where we'd left him last night, but now he was smoking a joint with some buddies. He was thrilled to see us and offered the spliff, but we made the strangely mature decision to pass on the opportunity, fearing it would lead to another blinder.
Back at the boat we had dinner, played a game of dice, listened to some vintage Mitsou tunes, then watched a fabulous documentary called A Song of Hope, which was the story of Dread Zeppelin. The band's specialty was, of course, Led Zeppelin covers done in a reggae style led by an Elvis impersonator who was handed water and towels on stage by his man-slave Charlie Haj. We were early fans of the band, seeing them a couple times at the campus bar in Saskatoon, and it brought back many fond, though fogged memories.
We all went to bed early, in need of a nourishing deep cell recharge.
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