We had done our packing and were prepared to go. Packing was complete, obviously, when everything was stowed neatly away in the car. My husband is a genius at packing, capable of utilizing every nook and cranny to figure out what best goes where, and he'd done a great job as usual. We left our house just after nine, after doing a turn in the front garden, marvelling how beautiful it still looked under the influence of the early morning sun glimmering on the colourful foliage and flowers.

The drive was uneventful just as it should be, allowing us to admire the autumn colours all along the way. A pleasant drive, even when the passage through Montreal was taken into account, slowly, slowly over the Champlain Bridge with the press of traffic, particularly trucks transporting goods and recreational vehicles transporting Thanksgiving week-end holidayers making their impact over the flow.

We learned what slow truly is, however, when we reached U.S. Customs at the Phoebe Line crossing; that was agonizingly interminable, our wait turned out to be one hour and a half before our cursory interrogation and passport inspection was concluded finally. At least this time, as in June, we happened by chance to be met at the border by a courteous customs and immigration individual, not the more familiar smirking snarl of those whose attitudes are capable of withering the enthusiasm to travel to the U.S.

We stopped shortly after the crossing at the Vermont State rest station, familiar to us and fondly regarded for its pleasant view, comfort station, and opportunity to rest before resuming our trip. There, as we enjoyed our late brunch on a picnic table, we watched as someone exited a van, unfolded a wire enclosure, establishing it firmly on the lawn, then made three trips from van to the pen to deposit six two-month-old fat, fluffy balls of mischievous curiosity. They were from Quebec City, en route to northern New York State. Individual personalities of the little creatures were soon revealed as we watched their activities; the shy, the bumptious, the ultra-curious, the assertive, the withdrawn runt, and the excessively emotional. We hoped the little Aussies would all find good, loving homes.

The rest of the trip is fairly short by comparison to the first portion. A pleasure to drive those mountain highways with the granite summits rising on the horizon, themselves partially covered in soft hues of colour as we drove along under lowering cloud formations. Passing through the Franconia Notch, we noted all the old familiar landmarks, the pond, our favourite Eagle's Cliff and towering above it Mount Lafayette, where we had several times clambered with huge determination to reach the summit with our children, decades ago. And the lesser heights which we also summitted as an energetically happy family.

We arrived finally at the cottage at four in the afternoon, unpacked, and set out to do the food shopping for the week to come. Enjoyed our dinner and went to bed a little earlier than is our wont, in a stupour of exhaustion. Grateful that little Riley is such a good traveller, his only concerns seeming to want to be with us, and to be assured plentiful food.