Each turn in the road a triumph.
Topping Out.
Piped in to Cape North.
Ingonish, NS Aug 18
Today: 76 Km, Total: 2180km
Awoke before 7am in our coed dorm room - me, Pete, a quebecois motorcyclyst, a cyclist named Ralph and a lady from Manitoba. The lady slipped out early, probably because she knew what to expect when the motley assortment of room-mates finally stirred. I was next out, and while sitting on the porch with my OJ and vitamins, the lady came out and offered me a cup of coffee. She told me that she was in the area for the hiking, and had already explored 16 of the local trails. I made a pre-emptive apology for my snoring, and she was kind enough to say she had experienced much worse in similar circumstances.
When Pete emerged, we decided that since we were planning another short day we would walk the kilometer to the nearest breakfast place and return to pack. In the restaurant, we met Ralph, who is doing a solo tour of the cabot trail. Pete and I ordered the hungry man breakfast, but this time we passed on the pancake option.
Back to the hostel and on the road about 10am, while Ralph took to the road straight from the restaurant.
We had been forewarned that this morning's ride would cover the toughest part of the Cabot Trail, and sure enough after a brief 4 km warm-up, we were heading for the sky. The sign at the start of the climb told us what to expect - 6km at 11% grade. This is unusual; grades are only usually posted for downhill sections. Nothing to do but crank her into low gear and start pedalling.
Due to my higher gearing (pete has mountain-bike ratios) I passed Pete on the starting pitch, but I knew that wouldn't last long with his superior strength and technique, and sure enough after a few hundred meters he was in front and I was struggling to stay on his rear wheel. The slow-motion chase continued until I ran out of breath and my pulse-rate started to red-line and I stopped for a breather as Pete headed for the skyline.
This was a climb where it didn't matter if you were having a good day or a bad day - it was just plain bloody hard. I plodded on pitcha after pitch, stopping frequently to catch my breath and to marvel at the vistas unfolding behind me. Time after time I would look ahead to where the road seemed to level out temporarily, but always the apparent flat stretches would curl up before my eyes into another grinding climb. On and on, with the stinging sweat running into my eyes and soaking my clothes. Even the cooling effect of the strong tailwind couldn't stop the torrents of perspiration running down my face and arms, dripping off my bike frame and onto the road.
The suddenly it was over. Less than 10km from our starting point, there was Pete with his camera capturing my final efforts, and the road leveled out into the same plateau-land of moose-pasture we had seen yesterday. I ground on past him until we reached th sign anouncing the summit of North Mountain at 445 mketres. We stopped to relish the moment, we had conquered one of the most fearsome climbs in Canada - few places have such a relentless ascent compressed into such a short distance, and there we were at the top, with all our camping gear and paraphernalia intact. Today, I would have benefitted greatly fom the boost of a side of pancakes and a pint of maple syrup!
Nothing now but to enjoy the relaxing ride across the plateau, scanning the bushes for that elusive moose, then the exhilaring 1500 foot plunge into the village of Cape North. Arriving inthe village, we met three people, a young piper in full sporran, his mother and the local mountie. They were all interested to talk to us, and it wasn't hard to coax the piper into some choruses of "Road to the Isles". The mountie told us that there weren't many camping or dining opportunities in Cape North, so we decided to press on the additional 40km to the village of Ingonish.
Stopped off at the local store to polish off a pound or so of date squares. The cashier told us about an alterantive "scenic" coastal route which we decided to explore. It was ceratinly scenic, and Pete was able to get some great shots. However, scenic translates into hilly, and this road had some doosies, just climb after intense climb. In at least one spot, I was completely flat-lined: lowest possible gear and standing on the pedals using every ounce of muscle and weight. And each time, just when I was ready to say "uncle" we would drop out into a pictureesque little cove filled with colourful fishing boats.
Finally, the scenic route merged back into the main highway, and we continued over the well-maintained surface through the National Park. Just as I reached the white wooden church at the approach to Ingonish, I became aware of a strange floating sensation. Sure enough, my first flat of the trip. I sat on the church steps, took all my panniers offf and soon fixed the problem - a ripped valve connection - but as I was reassembling, I noticed a more serious problem - a deep cut in the tire tread exposing the inner kevlar casing for several inches. Nothing can be done, but Pete offered me his spare Schwalbe Marathon. Hopefully we will be able to replace it soon, but at least the damaged tire holds air and we can use it as a backup.
At the Ingonish Campground, we met up with Ralph. Pete went off for beer while I changed my tire again. When Pete came back, he had provisioned for the three of us, but it turned out that Ralph is not a great beer-drinker. However, we were able do devise a paln to accommodate the over-supply.
We all ended the evening at the local seafood restaurant; unfortunately rather mediocre, expensive and dreadful service. By the time we left it was dark, and we had the interesting experience of riding back to the campground under IFR.
A tough, rewarding and crazy day,
"it turned out that Ralph is not a great beer-drinker. However, we were able do devise a plann to accommodate the over-supply."
ReplyDeleteThat's the way, Barney. There's generally an answer to most challenges.
Must say, I'm full of admiration for you on those mountains.