So having thrashed down the Trans-Canada Highway in hot pursuit of a diesel train, I made it to Florenceville and from there, eventually to Centreville.

Here, I had a brief wait for someone to answer the phone. I didn't know where I was going once I made Centreville (I never know where I'm going at the best of times, but that's another story) so I needed directions.

And I'm not afraid to ask, either.

In case you are wondering, I had two good reasons for visiting Centreville, and they are clearly shown in the photograph her on the left.

These are my two great nieces Hannah Marie and Zoe Lynne, who I had never ever met before. Don't you think that they are sooooooo cute?

It was nice to meet up with Rachel and Darren again - I hadn't seen them since their wedding in Crewe in 1992.

I can always remember the wedding for an incident that occurred when Rachel's French friend Laurence from Macon was struggling with her English, and trying to describe our Aunt Mary who, like myself doesn't eat animal products.
"Aunt Mary - she is a v-v-v-veg-vegetable"
And who was it who said "you are what you eat"? In which case, i'm nuts.

But you knew that anyway

Where Darren and Rachel live is right up close to the border with the USA.
"You can spit into the United States from here" said Darren.
So I did.
Frequently.
So did everyone else who lived here.

It reminds me of the story I was told about the North American Free Trade Association.
"The United States joined NAFTA to trade with the poor, backward and undeveloped country on their southern border. Canada did the same".

But cute little great-nieces notwithstanding, there are other things to see in Canada. Like Darren and Rachel's new pickup, for example.

Nice big V8 diesel too. I have to admit though that it's not my cup of tea - I prefer a late 60's or early 70's straight 6 diesel F350, especially with a flatbed body. Having said that though, this would do me to be going on with while someone sorts me something out.

If you have one, then and we'll see if we can't do a deal.

Incidentally, I did end up with my own pickup in Canada many years later. Unfortunately, something rather more banal and ordinary. However, it did the job that I wanted it for, so who's complaining?

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, It didn't take me long to get taken out for a drive in Darren's new pick-up. If anyone is offering anyone a sightseeing trip, well, I'm first in the queue for that.

Especially in one of these beasties. Mind you, I had to wait for nearly two years before I got a turn behind the wheel. I was just content to be a passenger.

Being from Europe, I'd never ridden in one of these before

We had a nice spin out in the Chevy.

Darren gave me quite a good sightseeing tour of the local area, and we ended up at the Hartland Bridge over the Saint John River, just down the road from where they live.

Hartland Bridge, as you can see, is one of this area's legendary covered bridges. And of all the covered bridges, this is claimed to be the longest in the world.

They used to call them "kissing bridges" in days of yore, because the local youths of the day used to take their girlfriends into them in horsedrawn buggies in the 19th Century and ... er ... embrace them during the crossing, out of sight of passers-by.

However most of the bridges were nothing like this long, and that made me wonder what you could get up to in a buggy with a nice young girl going across this bridge, what with all the time it would take to ride through here.

Perhaps I ought to call for volunteers of the female sex with which to conduct experiments.

This photograph on the left shows the Saint John river - as in the legendary "Babe I'm Going To Leave You" written by Anne Bredon.

But forget the insipid Led Zeppelin cover version - the best ever was by Quicksilver Messenger Service and is on their double album Sons of Mercury. In fact, the version by Man off Maximum Darkness which by pure coincidence features the legendary, late, great John Cipollina, is almost as good.

The Saint John River flows into the ocean down at Saint John, by the way, which is a fair drive from here.

There was something about Saint John that rung a little bell with me, buried deep in the back of my mind. It was perplexing me as to what exactly it was. But I reckoned that if I needed to know, I'd find out soon enough.

You know just how well you get on with someone when his idea of a good day out is to go to visit all the local scrapyards and vehicle dumps in the area. Consequently I got on with Darren very well indeed.

I just wish it had been a little warmer - it was far too flaming cold to take off my gloves otherwise there'd be a lot more interesting photos of interesting items around here.

Of course, in North America there is a different quality of scrap than in Europe, and the authorities are a lot more laid back about it being available for inspection by the casual passer-by, such as yours truly.

Not like in Europe where everyone has to conform to the stereotype of the nuclear-age family ideal with 1.7 children and 1.2 cars with an average age of 3.7 years (the cars, not the children, although I could see that happening soon enough), otherwise the local authority simply hounds them out.

The idea of running an old car and keeping a donor car for spares like I did until I emigrated in the early 1990s, and I still can do in France, and my friends who remain in the UK want to do it - well, it's just out of the window now.

My idea of paradise would be to build a little community of vehicle enthusiasts on an island somewhere off the mainland - each one living in his own little cabin, and all the cabins forming a circle surrounding the communal vehicle dump.

And I think that in rural Canada this dream could become a reality.

But I digress ... "now there's a surprise!" - ed

Now this is what I call an interesting vehicle. It was lying all parked up and abandoned in a truck scrapyard in Connell, New Brunswick, just down the road from Darren and Rachel. You've probably worked out what it is already. It's an under-wing aircraft refueller, quite probably ex-military judging by the colour.

But as for the manufacturer, there are several good possibilities. I ruled out Foden of course. It's certainly not one of those. But other names that were suggested included "Thorneycroft Military", "Crane Carrier Company" and "Proflo Industrial", one of their "Garsite" 8,000 tankers.

I sent a couple of e-mails to the latter company to ask what they knew about it, but they never replied to my maisl so I left it at that. Nevertheless I was curious to know just how it ended up here.

You would have thought that the easieest way to find out about it would have been to ask, but there was no-one about.

You have to admit that it's a serious piece of kit, but I'm not sure exactly what purpose it's serving being here. The only thing that came into my mind was that someone is stripping it for the engine, the tank and the pump.

Actually, now I come to think about it, I could do some serious good with that tank.

You have to admit though that Connell, New Brunswick, was almost the last place on earth you'd expect to see one of these.

I spent a pleasant 24 hours or so with my family here, but all good things have to come to an end sooner or later. I had to move on, so I would just have to come back again.

The next step for me to take was in the direction of Bar Harbor, Maine, where I had some friends in the radio broadcasting business at The Broadcast Web. They had asked me if I would do some voice-overs and publicity adverts for them.

So taking my leave of Darren and Rachel and the kids, I set off into the night. A stop at Woodstock for a coffee and a look at the map for for the best way to get there. Quickest way was to head west from here and down the highway to the U.S. border and I could be there tonight.

But something else caught my eye.

Saint John, and the Bay of Fundy was only 250 km away - the Bay of Fundy as sung about by Joni Mitchell - the Bay of Fundy of romatic school geography lessons (I enjoyed geography at school but then I always was a bit bizarre) with its 12-metre tides the highest in the world, its fogs, its squalls and storms, its whales.

And Nova Scotia too on the other side. You only pass some roads once in your life, but it would take a good day out of my holiday and I only had 8 to play with. There just wasn't any decision to take really. I got back behind the wheel of the car.

Three hours later, I was in Saint John.

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