Bob Cajun is not a Zydeco musician from The Big Easy.
It is a one-time logging community on the fringes of northern Ontario, Canada. And it's spelled Bobcaygeon, after the Ojibwa word for "place of the shallow rapids."
By default, it's also the half-way point of my diesel dalliance: 573 km down, 590 km to go. (In miles, that's 356 and 366, respectively.)
Observation No.3: Despite the chest thumping of today's compression-ignition advocates, gasoline-powered engines are quieter. No question. Especially under throttle.
But in applications such as a large utility vehicle that sees little stop-and-go traffic (Note to self: Never again try a shortcut through Toronto), I'll trade that minor inconvenience for diesel's triumphant torque.
Not to mention the prodigious fuel economy (a steady 30+ mpg in this case.)
However, I am feeling early symptoms of range anxiety. Passing glances at the occasional filling stations in these parts reveal diesel availability is a hit-and-miss proposition.
Observation No.4: Youngest daughter could show more respect for Bruce Springsteen.