On getting me moose, b'ye!

Well, I made it. I got to Norris Point yesterday afternoon after some tough biking made more problematic by rain and wind. The road was tough with plenty of hills one of which I was very happy that I was going down and not up. In addition, I left under significant rain. It eased off after a spell, to the point that I no longer needed full rain gear. However, it wasn't warm and there was a fair bit of wind. Just before I entered Gros Morne park I changed my cycling jersey for a drier one. My outfit still wasn't optimum so eventually I changed again, this time into the merino shirt and my cycling tights. That worked quite well.

As I cycled through Gros Morne park, I reflected on the fact that I had yet to see a moose on the hoof. (I had seen a moose hoof, but that's another story.) I called out "Here, moosey, moosey, moosey," but none reared its head.

Then it happened. I was at the junction to the road that lead to Norris Point. Across from me were a number of signs for B&Bs and restaurants and, lurking among them, a cow moose. We looked at each other for a few seconds, then she turned away, and disappeared in a high-stepping trot into the dense woods.

This is where I saw the moose

I chortled out loud at the coincidence. I suspect that had anyone heard me, they might have questioned my sanity. Of course, many people question my sanity for biking as much as I do!

Mark was at home to greet me. Alice soon joined us and brought out the bubbly to celebrate my achievement. Exclesior!!!

Gros Morne Park is beautiful if at the mercy of the weather. I can't write long as the Norris Point Public Library will be closing shortly.

On penultimate day of cycling

A good day of cycling, but not exceptional. Rather hot and sweaty. When I was having lunch in Pasadena, someone asked me where I was going. When I said "Norris Point", he said "You'll see plenty of moose there." I laughed and said "I hope so!"

This post is coming to you from the Deer Lake Public Library, of which I am now a card-carrying visiting computer user of. The card is apparently good in other libraries in Newfoundland & Labrador. It would appear that this province is well in advance of Quebec with regards to libraries.

On the ferry crossing

Yes, this entry is arguably out of sequence, but I had to write about my great day yesterday, and didn't want to waste time writing about the ferry. Not the end of the world.

Getting on the ferry involved waiting around for a fair bit in the sun while Leif Eriksson was first unloaded. At first, I chatted with motorcyclist who was a trip that had taken him and his terrier (yorkie type) all around the coastline of the continental U.S.. I joked that it would be rather hard to do the same for Canada. A little while later, another cyclist showed up, namely an Israeli on a CCM bike wearing a huge backpack. From talking with him, I gathered that his deal was more being a backpacker with a bike, than true cycle-touring. When our paths crossed again as we were untying our bikes at the end of the crossing, he told me that he had cadged a lift from someone during the crossing.

On the whole, I think the crossing was pretty unremarkable. That almost makes it remarkable. It was quite sunny and warm at first, so I lay on a bench on the deck and suntanned for a stretch. I was half tempted to go to the bar and order a boat drink!

Later in the trip, I saw at least one whale. I had been reading the shade, when I happened to look out to sea. There I saw a whale blow. I jumped up and ran to rail, in time to see a second blow. Unfortunately, that was all I saw. Whether this was one whale blowing twice or two separate whales, I cannot swear to. Nor can I swear to the species. My pet theory is that it (or they) was (were) large rorqual type whales, likely fin or blue whales. This is based on the fact that the blows were fairly substantial (suggesting a large whale) and that I didn't see a back breaking the surface, thereby likely excluding humpbacks or sperm whales. Then again, it could have been minke whales closer than I thought.

It eventually became foggy, and it was in the fog that we made Port-aux-Basques. The town seems almost stereotypically Newfoundland with houses clinging to the rocky shore. Why someone hasn't built a subdivision a bit inland where it is flatter is a question for the philosophers or possibly the human geographers.

In any case, I should be off. Today will be a relatively short and easy day to Deer Lake.

On the best day of biking

Yesterday was a bit of a washout. The Nfld Trailway was an extreme disappointment with very little in the way of decent surfaces for biking even on the short distance I was on it. Just before I got off it, I hit some soft, deep, wet sand that clung to various surfaces on my bike and simply wasn't rideable. In addition, it was foggy and pissing with rain for much of the day.

On the plus side, over breakfast at the Radio Station Inn B&B someone recommended the Wreckhouse Haven Tea room to me. This proved to be a bit further along the road than I anticipated but was just right for lunch. Lunch was a clubhouse sandwich, a bowl of thick pea soup, partridgeberry pudding and warm Newfoundland hospitality. It was a bit like sitting in someone's kitchen listening to them gossip about so-and-so who was in the hospital. I almost broke down and ordered a second dessert in the form of the blueberry grunt that two other patrons were raving about. I probably should have.

I had opted for the Midway Motel as lodging for the night. Unfortunately, it didn't have much in the way of food, so supper was an egg salad sandwich, a bag of Doritos, a bottle of milk, a muffin, some pemmican, a fruit bar and some oatmeal cookies, the latter three items coming from my food reserves. My first breakfast was also ad hoc consisting of a banana, the remaining oatmeal cookies and some coffee. Needless to say, I was eager to pedal the 30 odd km to the Ultramar station where reliable intelligence suggested that breakfast might be had.

Yesterday evening I spoke with Alice, Mark and Olivier. The latter was in Corner Brook and offered me a sofa to sleep on. In my planning, I had been going to spend tonight in Stephenville. This would have been a mistake and I am glad I changed my plans. Today has probably been the finest day of cycling I have ever had. The weather was sunny with fluffy clouds and the wind was at my back. The Trans Canada Highway (or TCH to the locals) is a biker's dream. My average for the day was 26.1 km/h. The maximum speed was 69.6 km/h!!!! I am going to get Olivier to sign a piece of paper testifying to this result!!!!

In addition, the landscape is very scenic. About the only fault I can find with it is that I have yet to see a moose.
Today has been a blast. Olivier has made me feel very welcome and has served me some delicious clam chowder made from clams he caught a couple of days ago. Cheers.

On choices well made and musings on Scots

Well, I'm in North Sydney at a basic but comfortable B&B overlooking the harbour. With exception of one long, steepish hill, Route 223 was a blast. Not quite as fast as West Bay to Marble Mountain, but with better views. While there wasn't a paved shoulder, the traffic was quite light. I amused myself by counting how many cars went by in either direction. After half an hour, I had only counted 18. I would have counted for a full hour, but I came across a convenience store that was the obvious place to stop for elevenses, in this case an oatmeal cookie and some chocolate milk. Needless to say, by stopping I would have "upset" the data gathering. All things considered, I think I made the right choice.

Another interesting and correct choice I have made a couple of times is to get milk as a snack drink. To knock back lovely cold milk can really hit the spot. Unfortunately, milk doesn't work as a drink carry with you. If I may refer to this earlier post, I think I have proved point 7 of why it is better cycle tour in Canada than in Spain.

I did a load of laundry this afternoon in an actual laundromat as opposed to the old sink and Campsuds routine. While my clothes were in the dryer, a family came in from a SUV with a B.C. license plate. The elder of the children was moaning about having to wait. His mom shushed him saying they weren't going to go anywhere anyway until they got on the 10 AM ferry tomorrow morning, i.e. the same one as me. Using this point, I chatted with them for a bit.

Outside the public library there was a seriously long-distance touring bike. As in a spare tire in evidence along with the capacity to carry at least 5 liters of H2O. I was tempted to go in and see if I could figure out which person at which public access computer the bike belonged to. I didn't, partly out of shame of being a yuppie "wimp" de-caffeinated credit card cycle tourist. I went into the library later in the day and bought some old National Geographics to read on the ferry. My leisure reading material on this trip is Dickens' Bleak House which isn't a whole lot of fun.

When I came into North Sydney, I was greeted by the sight of the Caribou and the Leif Eriksson the ferry terminal. These Marine Atlantic ferries are bloody big ships. As I looked for somewhere for lunch, I was a bit surprised to see a number of people in safety vests walking around. I assumed they were ferry workers. After some thought, I began to realize just how much manpower it takes to run those ships and to insure smooth operation around the clock.

One of the things that struck me about the Highland Heritage Village was just how spartan the existence of the people in the houses would have been. The visitor follows a path leading him or her through a chronological sequence of houses that a family would have been living in. It begins with the Scottish black house. Next is a log cabin, a frame house, a central chimney house and a central corridor house. (At least I think that was the progression.) All of these houses were rather austere. The central chimney house, in particular, featured very thin internal walls. In effect, these types of houses were of relatively low quality and were not terribly comfortably built. I am suspicious that this might explain why I have seem so many abandoned old houses and many newish prefab houses. I suspect that to bring the old houses up to modern standards of comfort would require too much time and money for the return on the investment for the locals. The B&B I stayed in Port Hawksbury was the former residence of a Victorian-era ferry-boat captain. The owner described how when they renovated it, they didn't find any insulation. "Not even newspaper." And this was a "nice" house.

Another thing that I got out of the Highland Village was the very different fates of Scots in Nova Scotia. The Pictou Scots seem to have done very well for themselves, at least for a while, whereas the Bras d'Or Scots seem to have done relatively poorly. I suspect that my uncle Julian would say that I should write a research paper on the topic.

On the road taken

After much agonizing and heart searching, I ended choosing to take my originally planned route via Iona and route 223. This despite Victor Chislom's suggestion of going via Baddeck (see the comments on the last entry.)

I think I made the right decision as yesterday was a blast. The road from West Bay to Marble Mountain was a blast partly as it was about the first time on this trip when I have had the sea (or in this case Bras d'Or Lake) on my right (i.e. my side of the road). More importantly, I was in the zone on that road. I was going like a bomb up and down the hills. There may have been a magnetic hill effect at one point as I was going up (I thought) a slight hill and feeling good about my speed. I looked down to see that I was doing about 34 km/h! I was doing bloody good. I am feeling a bit tired but also very fit. I rock on a bike.

Marble Mountain was a beautiful spot. Unfortunately, not too long after that, the road degenerated to a dirt surface that wasn't as smooth. It was, however, fairly level so the biking wasn't too bad. The route took me through Orangedale where I stopped to see the surprisingly great railway museum. The place wasn't large, nor did it have that much in the way of rolling stock. However, it had a large number of railway station artifacts on hand, including a railway station building. It was obviously a labour of love of the old railway hand who is likely the driving force behind it. I can only hope that someone picks up the yoke when he dies, or else the place is likely to fade into nothing as it is well off the beaten path.

I stopped for the day in Iona. There I visited the Highland Village. One of the most interesting parts of it was to see a reproduction of a Highland "black house" circa 1790. The building might well be described as a miserable, sod roofed, stone walled hovel. I was struck by the contrast of this peasant building with the fine houses of Edinburgh that David Hume, Adam Smith and William Robertson would have been living in roughly the same time period. (To those who don't know, I wrote a master's dissertation on the historians (Hume and Robertson at the foremost) in Edinburgh in rough period 1740-1800.)

I think that if my parents are ever in this part of the world, they should make a stop at the Highland Village. My mother (née Mactaggart) would be interested in the Scottish history whereas my father would be fascinated by all the woodworking tools.

It began to rain near the end of my visit to the Highland Village, but my day was done so it didn't signify. There was something of a storm overnight but the day looks like it will be perfect. As I type this, I am looking out at the Barra Straits and mostly sunny skies.

I referred to Victor Chilsom earlier. He is a cyclist whom I believe is currently living in Montreal but is from these parts. It took a while to register but since I been in cycling in Nova Scotia, I have noticed a number of signs featuring the name Chilsom, including a road marked with intended irony "The Chilsom Trail". Eventually, I put two and two together and realised that it would appear there are a number of Chilsoms in the area.

I have booked passage on the 10 AM ferry to Port-Aux-Basques tomorrow along with a bed for tonight in a B&B that I believe is run by a Newfoundlander. I should be off to take advantage of the relatively short day today.

On bad days and good days

Yesterday was a lousy day for biking in Nova Scotia. It started off fairly well with overcast skies and the sighting of a fawn and its mother by the side of the road. Actually, I only really saw the fawn for certain. It crashed into the undergrowth in the woods next to the road. I glimpsed the flash of another deer's white tail moving through the trees. I therefore assumed that it was the mother. I had a bit difficulty figuring out if the road I thought was Glenfalloch (or Glen Phallic as I thought of it) was indeed that road. The volunteered assistance of a passing couple didn't help that much. In the event, I decided that it was said road and gaily rode down the gravel road which turned into a rather rutted dirt road where people had been logging. It was worth a picture or two that I will post in due time.

The road came out where I expected and I got on the Trans-Canada for a short while before turning off onto a lesser coastal road (highway 245). The road was okay but it began to rain fairly heavily and the going got slow. The road took me through a Gaelic area with signs in both English and Gaelic.

It also had St. Margaret of Scotland Roman Catholic Church which struck me as an odd mix. I later found out from my B&B hosts in Antigonish that the area was settled by Catholic Highlanders whereas the Highlanders in Pictou were Presbyterian.

At Malignant Cove, I decided not to take the Little Cabot Trail around Cape George, and instead opted for the shorter and flatter route directly into Antigonish. Nearing the town, I came across an area of construction where the asphalt had been partially ripped off leaving a washboard like surface to ride on. It was very unpleasant and exhausting. When I got to my B&B, the hosts remarked on how tired I looked. Fortunately, they had some excellent freshly made oatcakes on hand.

Today was another kettle of fish entirely. For one thing, the wind was at my back for most of the time and I fairly flew along. At one point, the average speed on my bike computer was 24 km/h! In addition, the weather was a beautiful mix of sun and cloud. The only problem was wiping off the sweat mostly caused by the relatively high humidity. This was a day made for biking.

Unfortunately, it was always going to be a short day on account of Antigonish being relatively close to the Canso Causeway. I was here in Port Hawksbury by lunch time. Going further wasn't an option as there isn't a good place to stop near enough to the Causeway for today. Today is therefore a bit of a rest day.

After I had wheeed across the Causeway (which could do with a better shoulder for bikes, please Transport Canada or Nova Scotia Highways), I stopped for a victory picture, arms in the air. Cape Breton is almost a province unto itself so in theory, I have mastered another province. However, I will settle for three and a half provinces down, one and half more to go.

One important sign of progress in this trip is people's reactions to my goal of biking from Montreal to Newfoundand. They are no longer impressed that I am intending on biking to Newfoundland: they are impressed that I have got to here from Montreal.

This evening I need to decide if I will be going via Baddeck or Iona on my way to North Sydney. Each route has its own advantages and disadvantages. The deciding factor will be whether the spouse of the goddaughter of a distant-ish cousin will be around. Having written that, I recognise that it sounds like a very tenuous connection.

Another thing that made today a good day was that I got to let the boy in me watch a train being held up by a tugboat going through the Canso Causeway Canal, and then the swing bridge going back into place. Good fun for the inner child.