The ferry docked at 7AM and I rolled onto the province of Nova Scotia with a yawn. I was tired! After a visit to the grocery store, I pulled in front of the McDonalds for wifi and to make my own cup of free coffee in the parking lot. Waiting for the water to boil, I noticed a man ogling the Ruckus while walking inside. I greeted him my characteristic greeting, "Howdy" and was surprised when he replied "Howdy". That's a first up here. Approaching me, I realized his face was familiar...then it dawned on me...this was Kendall Cranston, the Texan rider on a Triumph Tiger who shared his two bedroom lodging at Deadhorse Camp with me. Truly Remarkable. What are the chances of our meeting here in Port Sydney, Nova Scotia over a year later? Accompanied by his lovely wife Kaye in their large RV, this summer's caravan club is heading to Newfoundland for a couple weeks of travel. I was happy to hear the Triumph was nestled in the storage area for short trips exploring the island. Cape Breton offers some of the best motorcycling in Nova Scotia. I often describe the twisting curves of the Cabot Trail as "The blue ridge parkway meets the sea", very similar to California 1 on the west coast. Alas, I have enjoyed numerous rides up here before and know the steep grades and limitations of La Tortuga in such conditions. Perhaps it was my fatigue or desire to continue south but I started down the familiar Scotch Lake Rd through the center of the island of Cape Breton. Road signs are bilingual here in English and Gaelic, a direct identification of the highland Scottish ancestry of the region. Canadian Gaelic has been spoken here since the first Scotts arrived in 1773 but the language is in sharp decline with fewer than 1'500 speakers in Canada today. The lilting language bent my ear when I overheard a conversation in a Sherbrooke pharmacy. Travelling south through Cape Breton, the climate was noticeably more humid and warmer than Newfoundland. The abundance of deciduous flora, birch and various pine trees gave both the promise of milder climates ahead mixed with the emotions of leaving Newfoundland behind. The landscape there had really taken a hold on me and I know I will return. I explored a variety of gravel and sand roads south through the center of Cape Breton, eventually arriving at Port Hawkesburry and the Canso Causeway by 2 in the afternoon. A stiff wind tossed me around on the causeway which crosses onto the mainland of Nova Scotia, returning me to mainland North America. I celebrated by treating the empty fuel tank to a gallon of Canada's (re)finest. Turning east, I followed the Straight of Canso until it began to rain. Sure it was 70 and a warm rain but my body screamed for rest. I found my way to an abandoned section of road along the water and two apple trees which had grown into one whose sheltering interior provided an ideal site for the hammock. Feeling like Rip Van Winkle, I awoke after sleeping for 14 hours straight. It felt good to be rested and I enjoyed the following few days heading south along the shore. through numerous communities of Acadian heritage. There was a small ferry crossing in Country Harbour to which I found the $7 flat rate vehicle fee somewhat humorous when a loaded dump truck and trailer disembarked, countless times heavier than my Ruckus. After a few days, I finally was nearing Halifax. The night grew cloudy but I found a busy beach front park at Cow Head that emptied out by 9pm after the ominous sunset. Tomorrow, Halifax.
I headed directly for the ferry with knowledge that most of the cars and trucks passing me through the afternoon were also intending to take the 12AM crossing. I paid the $98 to the attendant and received a card putting me into the "late arrivals" line with no guarantee that I'd make it aboard the night crossing. My boarding pass read TUESDAY but if I had to kill a couple days here I could. After the rows of vehicles loaded on the full ship, the ferry terminal crew waved for all the bikers in line 18 to come forward and proceed onto the ship. There was just barely enough room in the stern to accommodate the bikes but I had made it! WIth the scooter strapped down, I grabbed my air pad and started up for the upper decks to watch the island of Newfoundland slip away in the yellow harbour illumination lights. Saddened to see the magnificent island slip away behind me, I rejoiced at the opportunity to ride in Nova Scotia and the myriad of adventures which lay ahead. Eventually I made my way to the bar where I found Milt, the Santa Claus reinactor and Justin, a sailor and wrestler, sharing a table and sipping back some brews. I grabbed a round and joined them for a number of Milt's fabulous one-liners and to hear Justin's story of growing up in Corner Brook, getting into motorcycling on his Vulcan and seeing the world differently on two wheels. By 2AM, the bar maid was well ready for us to leave the area so I retired to the only place on board fit for a cheapskate like me, the kid's room! Muting the annoying TV show, I prepared my air mattress, tossed the Aerostich jacket over me and prepared for a few hours of rest before the boat docked at 7AM. Nova Scotia...here I come :)
One benefit of the many potholes along the Burgeo Road is they forced me to slow down and enjoy the scenery. The barren landscape exhibits a stark beauty with each life form struggling to maintain it's hold in this land of ice, frigid temperatures and wind. The retreat of glaciers that once scoured this land, left behind many small lakes, raging rivers and the occasional boulder fields placed randomly like child's marbles about the landscape. It was nearly 100 mi to the TCH but I had a full tank of fuel and a gas can as well. To my dismay I noticed some water settling in the bottom of my fuel can and a few black flies that had worked their way in past the seal. They really are tenacious bugs! As the day slipped forward, I realized that the Port Aux Basques ferry was easily within range for the evening crossing. I had planned to spend a bit more time cruising around the west coast but something inside me told me it was time for a change. Perhaps it was the mental strain of the journey and lack of sleep but I was ready to get a move on and knock out the miles. Port au Port Peninsula and it's memories from the last trip would have to be enough to hold on to until next time. |
Mike SaundersIn May 2014 I quit my job to ride a Honda Ruckus over 69'000 mi and counting. Wild camping most nights and cooking most of my own meals, I keep the costs low and the landscape changing. Archives
April 2018
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