Corner Brook

Corner Brook, Newfoundland, Aug 22

Today, 120km, Total, 2415km

First one awake, at 7am. only the odd snore to hint that there could be othr humans on the planet. Warp three wind blowing directly along our route, probably related to Hurricane Bill, which is heading up the eastern seaboard straight for Newfoundlad. Skies pretty leadfe3n, but could be a dynamite ride today.

I had my tent down and gear packed before anyone stirred, and sat at the picnic table thinking about breakfast. Finally, around 8:30, bleary faces started to emerge. Nobody in a particular hurry, so I decided to solo on my bike to the Irving Oil gas station restaurant a couple of clicks up the road. had a coffee and read the local weekly, and was waiting for my trucker's breakfast with short stack side order when the others arrived in the van.

All squeezed around my 3 place table and ordered variants of the big boy. While we were eating, a huge rainstorm came though, wth a wind that blew over my bike parked outside, so we sat and drank a few coffees until it had gone by, then back to the campground to pack the van and hit the road with Judy driving sag.

Right from the tart, this huge tailwind grabbed us from behind and pushed us up and down the never-endibg succession of moorland hills. I felt like superman, racing up long climbs in big ring, and upshifting to ride out of the saddle on the steep pitches with almost no reduction in speed. The downhill sections seemed pretty ordinary, ubtil a glance at the computer showed 50-60 km/hr or more.

I started infront of the group, and was going gangbusters for abot 15 km, then I heard the creaking of Pete's saddle behind me. Pete and Ryan, still both suffering from sinus infections, blew by me and were soon receding a kilometer into the distance. I upped the pace, and was able to haul them in and pass them, but then on a long uphill, they wound by me and were gone again. Those guys are strong!

We hadn't really discussed a destination for the day, but it became obvious that Cornjerbrook, at 120km, would be easily attainable, and Judy confirmed this when she stopped by to give me a coke.

Around Stephensville, I caught up with a guy we had passed yesterday. He was wearing a Tilley shirt that looked freshly pressed, and long pants, whiched looked pretty odd given the impending rain, wet road and truck spray. He was carrying a huge load in panniers and other luggage, and was going so slowly that he looked in imminent danger of falling off. He seemed disinclined to talk at first, which I realised was due to a language problem, but I pressed him and found out that he was from Taiwan, and had left Toronto June 29th and was heading for St John's. Last year he did Victoria to Toronto. An amazingly determined individual.

As I pulled away from him, he called "sir, sir!" and I let him pull up beside me again. He pointed at the deep grooves ground into the narrow shoulder and asked me what they were for. I explained that they are rumble strips, intended to jar any driver who falls asleep and wanders off the road onto the shoulder. He had a lot of trouble pronouncing he word, and even after I spelt it and he repeated back R U M B L E, the closest he could get was "number". he hated these devices, which he emphasised by spitting on the offending strip; I can see why, as they are horrible to ride on; they shake your whole bike to the point of losing control, and when they are full of water, you get a good splashing as a bonus. When the soulder is narrow, you often have less than a foot of smooth shoulder to ride on, and with his outsized panniers, he couldn't help wandering into them. It's often safer to ride in the traffic lane.

Coming into Corner Brook Judy came by one last time and called to me to wait at MacDonalds, which I did. My bike computer showed 120km at average speed of 29km/hr - I have never done anything close to that before. After an Angus Burger and a couple of shakes, she came back with the rest of the crew. We all went down to the info booth to look for accomodation. The best we could get was basement room in a fleabag hotel, with a 3am disco on the floor above - thanks to the hotel clerk for giving us a heads-up on that. Accommodation is limited due to the cancellation of mainland ferries for 3 metre wave heights related to Hurricane Bill - lucky we came across when we did!

So back to plan A - found a rustic campsite and settled in for the night. Hoping that the threatened bad weather holds off for a day so that we can get in another overdrive ride.

Goodnight till then
Barney
Pete's blog is at www.transcanada09.blogspot.com

Travelling Light

Why it's worth getting kevlar-reinforced tires!

Crabbies River, NF August 21

Today, 95km. Total 2,295km

Pete and I waited in the Ferry building until about 8:30, then Pete went up to the vehicle entrance to wait for the rest of the crew to arrive and give them their boarding cards. A few minutes later, I saw Ryan at the window, looking fit and relaxed after his vacation with his daughter Quinn in California. Hard to believe that he as been away for 2 1/2 weeks, and how much has happened in that time.He had had some great family time, and gave Quinn her first surfing lessons.

We quickly went out to meet Judy and Bill. I have spoken to them both on skype, and now was able to match faces and voices. They had driven non-stop from Cleveland, over 24 hours, aqnde were pretty bagged, so we all set about packing all our gear, including 5 bikes, into Pete's Van. That done, we were able to board the ship.

The trip from North Sydney to Port-aux-Basques, Newfoundland is over a hundred miles, on a route that can be stormy; however, tonight the water was calm. The ferry is a huge ship, with restaurants and a casino. We chose to sleep on the couches in the saloon, rather than take cabins.not the most comfortable way to spend a night, but a professioanl entertainment duo was there to help pas the time with Newfie music and, of course, jokes. It was apretty good show. The food we got from the snack-bar was so-so, mostly prepackaged sandwiches, but e were able to wsh them down with a few beers from the bar.

None of us slept well, and we were all pretty groggy; this was not helped by the fact that we have now entered the NF time zone, which is an odd-ball 1/2 hour ahead of Atlantic time. When the ship docked in the sunny and picturesque Port-aux-Basques harbour, Our first act was to drive the streets to look for breakfast. Although it was after 8am, with lots of other travellers on the same quest, everywhere was closed, except Tim Hortons, which had cares linedup for several blocks. We eventually found a hotel,which provided a good meal, with amazingly slow service. Welcome to island time!

Fed, we went to the Tourist Info to get maps, and chnged into our riding gear in the washroom. Pete and Judy had been here before and wanted to show us a trail on an old railway bed the wound along the coastline with beautiful beach vistas. Unfortunately, the gravelled surface had been ruined by ATVs, and it was really heavy going, even without our touring loads, which we had left in the van. In places, the ballast was several inches deep, and I actually fell off twice trying to negotiate it. After 20km, we were all getting tired, and ready to get back onto the trans-canada. Judy rode back to get the van and the rest of us pressed off along the highway.

The 800 Km ride to St Johns will be a slog if today is anything to judge by. We had a mild headwind that at least provided cooling across the interminable series of power-climbs ofer the rolling heathlands After 90 km, we all met outside a campground and decided to call it a day. Pete and Ryan are both suffering from sinus infections, and the rest of us were just bonked.

I'm writing in my tent with no wifi, so I don't know when I will be able to post this.
Until next time,
Barney
See Pete's blog www.transcanada09.blogspot.com

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

Lazy Day

Ingonish, NS
Day off
First one up today was Ralph. He wanted to get moving before the heat and get back to his car, which he had left at Baddeck. Nice, friendly chap.
Pete and I struggled to our feet at about 7:30, both feeling petty limp after yesterday's exertions. Neither of us wanted to go back to last night's restaurant, so we rode over to the Keltic Lodge, a classy resort operated by the NS government. Nice dining room with an all-you-can-eat buffet; felt a bit out of place in my scruffy, oily biking garb and did notice that the polo-shirt set were viewing us with interest - from a distance.
So we set about eliminating the restaurant's daily profit margin. Actually, the cost of the buffet compared well with what we have been paing for double-down breakfasts in the roadside cafes.
A man from a nearby table came over and asked us where we were going today. we said we had to be in North Sydney tomorrow, and he looked amazed then rushed off to tell his wife. He asked the wrong question.
Went and sat in the comfortable chairs in the lobby and scammed some free wifi for half an hour. Pete suggested that we stick around in Ingonish for another day, and much to my relief, I agreed. temperature was already getting into the nineties, and we were both ready for a recovery day.
Sitting in the lobby, we were amused to hear a young man, apparently with the use of all his limbs, asking the bell-captain if the hotel had a shuttle to the parking lot. "Of course, sir... step this way".
When I got back to the campground, I met a young couple who were biking the Cabot trail in the opposite direction to us. I made a remark about the stiff climing ahead of them, and they said they did that yesterday. I realized that they were talking abou "big smokey" a ridge that we will be crossing tomorow, and nothing compared to French Mountain and North Mountain that we crossed in the last two days. They are in for a reality-check! You will never hear me criticize anyone who has the gumption to get out and ride these roads. But those who don't research or prepare even slightly for what they are getting into must surely enjoy the experience less because of it.
Now we had declared a day off, Pete decided to hang out at the beach, a beautiful crescent of golden sand that stretches right across the Ingonish Bay. I waited until the respectable hour of noon, then hit the Keltic lodge bar for a pint of the local brew. Got into conversation with Fran, a guy from Dublin who entertains at a pub a few miles down the road. We plan to hitchhike down there tonight and grab some fish and chips so we can hear him.
This afternoon I hiked along Middle Head, a narrow spur of land that juts into the Atlantic from Ingonish for about 4 km. Beatiful walk, with sheer granite cliffs on both sides tumbling down into the waves. Sat at the tip for an hour, watching the waves and the birds, and watched a pilot whale swim leisurely around the point.
Hiking back, I got a great chocolate milkshake at the lodge concession, then found Pete in the camp shelter, writing his journal. Quick ride into town for some brews, then I joined him. And that's the news as it happens, folks,
More tomorrow,
Barney
PS Petes blog: http://www.transcanada09.blogspot.com/

Shoulda had the Pancakes!

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,

Barney
PS: Pete's blog http://www.transcanada09.blogspot.com/

Timb to climb

For once, Barney gets to the top first for a photo-op.
We just did a 6k 10% cimb

We did that!

Still smiling.

Pleasant Bay, Nova Scotia, August 17

Today 40km, total 2104 km

We planned a short day to begin the "interesting" part of the Cabot Trail. This was a matter of necessity, as facilities are limited, and the next place we could stop is Cape North, which was reachable but it would have been a hard first day. were not in a hurry, as we don't have to be in N Sydney to meet the rest of the crew until Thursday or Friday.
Might as well relax and enjoy the scenery.

So, a leisurely start to the day. We tried to clean the abrasive dust from our drive-trains that had accumulated on yesterday's rail-bed run, then walked to the restaurant for breakfast with wifi.

Coming out of Cheticamp, the road starts to climb almost immediately into the misty highlands. We stopped to pay $15 for Natioanl park passes, which I thought was like having to buy thr bullets for your firing squad. The man told me I could get a refund if I did it in one day.

The first climbing pitch took us to a pullout at about the 450 foot level. I got into my stride immediately, and was feeling great; felt like I could climb forever. Just cranked 'er in to four-by low range and went at it. This is the first time I used my new 27 tooth cog, and it makes a difference. I could spin up a brick wall.
At the pull-out, we met Jean-Sebastian, a young guy who started his ride in Alaska. Always someone to one-up you. He was going strong, also heading for St John's but was planning a longer day than us, so likely we won't see him again.

In the sea far below, we could see a pod of whales breaching and diving.

Pete was not feeling quite as sprightly as me today, and was happy to make several stops to shoot some pics with his big Nikon. Not often that I get to wait for him at the top of a climb. We were now on a pitch called French Mountain that runs up to 455 metres over 6 km, so nothing to do but keep spinning. The day was hot and humid, and I had to make two or three stops, not to rest, just to get the blinding sweat out of my eyes. At times, I literally couldn't see a thing, and the stinging in my eyes was quite painful. The vistas forward and backward along the road were spectacular, and somewhat intimidating, but once I got going, it was just one pitch at a time.

As we climbed, the scenery unfolded. The soft sandstones and shales of yesterday's coastal plains gave way to the more resistant Precambrian slates and granites that form the Cape Breton massif. The vegetation was mostly a low spruce forest, with deep river-carved valleys.

Quite suddenly, the steep climb ended and flattened into a plateau of boggy moose-pasture. We didn't see a moose, but a motorist a few minutes behind us had seen one crossing the highway. We stopped for a long while at a summit lookout, enjoying the view and eating beef jerky, then descended the roller coaster into Pleasant Bay. Perhaps for my own good, I got stuck behind a carload of sight-seers, so had to keep my speed down to about 50 k. I could have passed them, but I'm much too grown-up to do stuff like that...

In Pleasant Bay, we found an inviting hostel, with wi-fi and reasonable rates, so we will be sleeping in shared dorm accommodation tonight. I hope Pete doesn't embarrass me by snoring. We have been sitting in the common-room for an hour catching up with email and blogging. Now off to hunt for food. If we have any adventures tonight, I'll tell you about them tomorrow.

All for now,

Barney

PS Pete's blog is http://www.transcanada09.blogspot.com/

Salt Marsh Near Mabou
Yet another spoke

Cheticamp, NS Aug 16
Today 102 km, Total 2064km
So the plan was... Get an early start and do the 100km to Cheticamp before the day warmed up. Do the 40km to Inverness before breakfast, as the place in Port Hood didn't open til 9am. My suggestion, which Pete agreed to without much enthusiasm. Didn't rouse myself until 7:15, after which it was a simple matter to futz around until 9am. The best laid plans...
Got to the restaurant, and they let us in 15 minutes early (same place that let us in 15 mins late last night). Ordered the standard Big Boy breakfast with a side of pancakes, and Pete got the fish cake breakfast ditto.
I knew when the pancakes arrived that I had met my match. These were the real McCoy monster flapjacks, 10 inch diameter, half inch thick, two containers of syrup. The big boy lived up to its name too. Half an hour later I admitted defeat with half a pancake, a small mound of potatoes and couple of slices of flax toast left behind. Pete, of course cleared all his plates.
We hit the road at about 10, off to a roaring start, just chewing up the hills as they appeared, with a slight headwind that cooled us rather than impeding us. Twenty-five km in, we met up with the railway trail that we had seen yesterday. The surface was good, finely crushed granite, so we decided to give it a try. The trail at first followed the shoreline at a distance, mostly through woodlands with the occasional bridge across marshy salt-water inlets, very pretty. 10 km in, the surface started to deteriorate into lumpy, rocky ballast, and the fun was over. Too far in to turn back, and the occasional cross road that might have taken us back to the highway looked in worse shape than the trail. In some places we were riding over the ridges left when the railroad ties were removed. To make things worse, the dreaded "ping" as another spoke snapped in Pete's rear wheel due to the rough surface.
Finally, after about 20km we crossed a paved road. Flagged down a truck towing a horse-box to ask which way we should turn. The truck was carrying a two wheeled racing cart, probably coming home from the big harness race we had heard about in Charlottetown. The road took us down to Inverness, a pretty coastal village where we stopped opposite a bakeshop while Pete fixed his broken spoke.
By the time we got going again, I had lost the rhythm from the earlier part of the ride. I was getting up the hills OK, but it seemed like work, and the final 60km to Cheticamp seemed to take for ever. There were, however, some rewarding vistas across the gulf: in one place I could convince myself that a smudge on the horizon was PEI, 60km away.
Coming into Cheticamp, we were surprised to see French signs, and the red, white and blue Acadian flags. I hadn't realized that there is a francophone community in this part of Nova Scotia.
Caught up with Pete at the entrance to town, and he grinned and handed me a cold beer. A passing motorist had stopped to chat, and given him a couple of cans.
We decided to spring for a motel so that we would be close to downtown. The sign said free wifi, but neither of us could connect to it. We picked a sea-food restaurant down the road, I had a lobster and Pete had an enormous crab - both very good but hard work to disassemble.
I talked to Valerie, and she gave me the sad news that our friend Judy Griffiths is in the last stage of her battle with pancreatic cancer. Judy, I send you love. You have been an inspiration to all of us in the way that you have lived through these incredibly difficult years, with your sense of fun and your dedication to your family. We will never forget you.
Now it's morning, it rained during the night but it looks like the good weather will come back. I'm sitting writing in a chair outside the room, hoping that we can score some wifi later today to upload.
Until then,
Best wishes,
Barney
PS Pete's blog is at www.transcanada09.blogspot.com