Quebec City was our jumping off point for the Gaspè Peninsula. At this little sidewalk cafè, she said, "Let me see if I got this straight; we're going deep into French-speaking Quebec to see a rock with a hole in it?" "That's right." "How big is this rock?' "Big." And so the adventure began. We followed the north shore of the St. Lawrence River to St. Simèon, and took a side trip to see the Haute-Gorges, then we ferried across the St. Lawrence to Rivière-du-Loup, and followed the south shore of the St. Lawrence all the way to the Atlantic. We stayed in inimitably beautiful fishing villages, and the drive was one of the most scenic we've ever taken. And then there it was , Rocher Percè, the big rock with a hole in it. She said, "You weren't kidding." "About the hole?" "No, it's BIG." We found a cabin on the side of a mountain, overlooking my big rock. For a week we were totally alone, we rediscovered what attracted us to each other so many years ago, and we became lost in time. Before we had kids, before jobs, before the complications of life. Just the two of us. And a really big rock.