A cell phone call notifying us of a stroke suffered by my wife, Sheila's father caused us to turn around and head back for Nova Scotia.

Yet, for several days we had done the old New England tour, buoyed by the strong Canadian dollar. We figured we would avoid impersonal hotels and motels and stay at bed and breakfasts, so we plotted a route that took us through the small highways of three states. It turned out to be a wonderful way to travel.

We planned to book our bed and breakfasts as we travelled, landing where whim took us. Our first was in Naples, Maine, after taking Highway 115 west from a spot south of Freeport. Naples is between two huge lakes, Long Lake and Sebago Lake, and we booked a room at the Agustus-Bove House, an old hotel turned into a bed and breakfast. The place was all very Victorian, but the area itself was crowded with vacationers strolling the beach area and boating and swimming.

The marinas were packed with large inboard motor boats, people sitting in the cabins or on the decks having drinks. When we asked why the boats weren't out on the lakes on a beautiful day like this, the answer from the woman who ran the bed and breakfast was that the high price of gas meant that many were for sale. She was gruff but nice, and the next morning, when she offered eggs any style, I suggested poached. "No. I won't do those," she said, and that was that. The room was large and the king-sized bed comfortable, however, and we did end up with a nice breakfast.

We headed northwest, driving through a little town called Bridgton, with a fabulous bookstore. Independent bookstores always have interesting collections and are run by people who love their books, so a visit there is inspiring and personalized. We bought several, finding them much cheaper than in Canada.

On to the White Mountains, and the village of Bethel, called Maine's most beautiful mountain village, a well-earned title. We booked into the Chapman Inn, built in 1865 and lived in by William Rogers Chapman, who was a conductor, composer and impresario in New York, and who brought a wide variety of musicians to the little town. The inn, at $85 a night, was historic and comfortable and faced the village common, around which were the most beautiful huge clapboard houses, each one different.

We had supper at the nearby English pub, the Jolly Drayman, in the Briar and Lea Inn. We were brought mugs of ale and I ate a delicious grilled buffalo chicken sandwich, served with grilled vegetables and little potato pancakes. Back at the inn, we sat on benches facing the common, reading in the sunshine, the huge Bethel Inn Golf and Country club just beyond an opera house, to our right. The next morning we checked our email at the library, just to our left across the common.

We drove to the New Hampshire border and through the Green Mountains to the base of Mount Washington, where often-seen bumper stickers are dispensed that state, "I climbed Mt. Washington," but the car declined the honour and we continued on through incredibly scenic mountains to North Conway, a zoo of a place, crawling with people. We drove on to the village of North Woodstock, where we found a bed and breakfast called the Wilderness Inn.

This inn featured a little cottage with a Jacuzzi, nestled among the trees, so we took that, procured some wine, cheese, Genoa sausage, rye bread and fruit, and dined on its deck. Morning and another delicious breakfast, and we pushed on, stopping to visit beautiful red-brick libraries and interesting museums, homesteads, cafes and hiking trails. Ultimately we got to Dublin, New Hampshire, in the White Mountains, and found a great bed and breakfast called the Old Schoolhouse, where the husband ran a travel business while the wife taught dance at a college.

It was the next morning that we got the call about the illness, so we turned around and drove back through the bottom of the three states, a whole day of driving in 34-degree temperatures. The next morning we were on the Cat, and heading back to Nova Scotia.

- Tom Sheppard can be reached at twsheppard@gmail.com