On the road again

Well, this post comes to you from the Newcastle Library in Miramichi, N.B.. The train trip was a blast. I was very exicited when I boarded the train. I was even more plushed to be asked if I wanted to be the designated Able Body by the car attendants. This meant, that I would someone they could call upon to lend a hand in the event of an emergency. I accepted.

When the parents joined the train in Drummondville, they were as excited at myself. The next morning saw us arrive in Bathurst very much on schedule. Thank you Via Rail. Unfortunately, Mummy's front tire was flat on arrival, and Pappy managed to pinch her spare while putting it in, so it blew after I pumped it up. Luckily, I knew the location of a pretty good bike store in Bathurst from my previous trip. I was also not impressed to learn that my father hadn't actually tried putting his new saddle bags on his bike before hand. This was particularly unfortunate as his back rack lacked a lower attachment point. I improvised points using zip ties. However, his bike and preparation leave much to be desired. If I had a mantra for patience, I would have worn it out by now.

Weather has been as expected. Mostly cool and clear except for Sunday when it rained. We have come a bit too early and a lot of things are shut. The forecast is for decent weather until at least Thursday, possibly Friday. I have been mostly wearing my merino cycling jersey, under my rain jacket. My father brought a dark grey (almost black) gore-tex jacket that makes A. look like an old man, and B. isn't nearly conspicuous enough. Sunday night, I made him start wearing my high-visibility vest.

Leaving Bathurst, we found an old railbed that had been converted into a multi-use trail. After about a kilometer, the surface degenerated into dirt and large stones. These jarred loose one of the bolts securing my front panniers.

This miserable trail persisted for a bit too long. We knew that it would be crossed by Highway 11 at some point. My Father declared that we would turn off the trail at that point. I pointed out that the sensible thing would be to see if the trail changed at that point and then make a decision. I quipped that it might become a smoothly paved trail. Mummy responded that "Pigs might fly". We took Highway 11.

The next day, we were coming into Bertrand, N.B., when I saw the trail cross the road. In the direction we wanted to go, the trail was smoothly paved. I turned onto it, and waited for the others. I greeted my mother with the words: "Beware of low-flying pigs.

There might be more, but I can't think of anything else to write at this point.