Farewell to Nova Scotia

North Sydney, Aug 20

Today, 100km. Total, 2280km

Last night, we decided to pay a visit to the pub down the road for dinner, and listen to some Irish singing by Fran Doyle, the chap I had met (in another bar) at lunchtime. The logistics were a bit complicated; we couldn't use our bikes because it would mean a Clockwork Orange ride over several miles of darkened highway back to the campground.  There was always the possibility (however remote) that we might accidentally be overserved during the course of the entertainment.  After careful analysis of the situation, we decided to hitchhike to the pub, and worry about getting back when the time came.

The pub had an attached restaurant, and we got some of the best sea-food we have seen so far.  Bellies full, we went downstairs to the pub, where Fran had already started singing. He is a good entertainer, and enjoyed organizing drinking races between some of the younger patrons; we, of course out on our "boys will be boys" facesand watched the procedings with detachment. Fran has a good baritone voice and a wide repertoire of Irish and Canadian maritime pub songs, and doesn't let the fact that he doesn't know all the words get in the way of his act. He has an interesting way of inserting "didley-dum" syllables as required, and you wouldn't notice if you weren't paying attention - most of the audience weren't.

It was a fun evening,helped by the fact that it was "wacky wednesday" with pitchers of beer for $10. Unfortunately, the rickards red keg ran dry before our first pitcher was filled, which completely flummoxed the server, who was apparently equipped with read-only memory.  We stopped her from pouring away the half-full pitcher, and explained how a different product could be used in subsequent refills.

As it got dark outside, the sky was lit by an electrical storm, making us happy to stay in these cozy surroundingsuntil the rain subsided. The restaurant called a taxi for us, which took us into the campground and dropped us right in front of our tents, and so to bed.

This morning dawned cool and blue, perfect biking weather.  We decided to ride to the lodge for breakfast, to give our tents a chance to air before final packing.  Pete was in good spirits as today marks two landmarks in his epic ride - his Judy is joining us tonight, and this is the last day he will have to drag his 80lb bob trailer up a mountain (it will be in the back of the SAG wagon for the trip across Newfoundland.

Spent an hour creating the usual devastation to the lodge's buffet; I upped the ante by adding fruit, yoghourt and home-made granola to the usual fry-up, while Pete, who is more of a purist in these matters, stuck to making multiple trips to the hot trays and baked goods.

Following standard procedure in these parts, the day's ride started with a stiff climb over a height of land called Cape Smokey, a grinding little-ring ascent to about 850 feet. None of the ultra-steep 15 percenter pitches of the  climbs in nthe northern part of the trail, however, so I was able to top out with no problem, stopping only occasionally to admire the view. My new 27-tooth gear, and the out of the saddle pedalling techniques that Pete has shown me bothe helped me in a big way.

The back side of the ridge was a different matter, an amazing descent that rival in steepness, if not in length, anything we have encountered on Cape Breton.  We both agreed that we probably chose he kindest direction to circulate the Cabot trail, though the choice would be a tough call.

With Cape Smokey out of the way, the road followed the coastline with the usual succession of power-climbs, nothing too serious.  Pete saw a moose crossing the road, the first one we have encountered. We stopped for a snack at the celtic tea-room in one end of a church - unfortunately no chocolate eclairs.  This area of the coast looks pretty badly hit by the economy, lots of boarded-up businesses.

We saved a 16km detaour by taking the little ferry across the narrows cearted by a sand-spit in St Annes bay.  This is an interesting craft which drags itself across the strong tidal rip by a cable fastened to the shore at both ends.

One more long climb over he ridge that separates St Annes Channel from Bras d'Or lake, then ncruise control with a nice tail-wind into North Sydney.  By the time we arrived, I had developed a craving for a chocolate milk-shake, so while Pete made his usual pilgimage to the Subway shrine I searched the entire town for a milk-bar.  Eventually found what I needed at MacDonalds, and immediately downed two large ones.  Never did that before.

Managed to phone Bill, Judy and Ryan in the car.  They were three hours out from North Sydney, and will be here before tonight's ferry leaves at 11pm, so we have moved our reservation forward by a whole day.  This will save staying in North Sydney, which has rather limited attractions, and will hopefully give us an extra day's riding before the expected tropical storm hits (!)

Pete and I are waiting in the ferry terminal, showered, shaved and looking fairly respectable for a change.

Tomorrow, another province!

Best wishes, Barney

PS Pete's blog www.transcanada09.blogspot.com