Old Quebec City

Aah, a beautiful day to wake up to. The sun is shining and Old Quebec is beckoning. There is no sign of the heavy rain that fell shortly after our arrival.

We enjoyed breakfast in the little kitchenette unit where we are staying then headed out to the bus stop just down the road. Today Jill is taking on the role of tour guide. Her ability to squeak out (pardonez-moi?) necessary French phrases is proving to be a priceless asset. On board the bus the driver attempts to be of help with no English being used. He tells us we need to transfer to bus vingt huit. Jill says that is 28, but I had a pretty good idea it was so. When we arrived at the mall where the transfer will happen, we are concerned about the return as well. The driver gets off the bus as his replacement gets on. He brings with him a booklet of the bus routes and timetables and low and behold he speaks English and does a wonderful job of setting us up for our day.

Getting down to the ferry terminal didn't take long and even less at the pace the driver of 28 drove. At the ferry terminal a very nice employee showed us where to purchase our tickets. Soon we were on board under sunny skies admiring the view of the St. Lawrence and Quebec City on the other side from the top deck.

Stepping off the ferry and crossing the street was like stepping into Europe. The buildings are solidly built of heavy stone with narrow cobble streets running between. One of the first shops that we entered had separate craftspeople demonstrating their work. A stone archway led to an adjacent storage room and the wall must have been 40" thick.

There are numerous galleries and arty shops with all kinds of unique items made exclusively by artisans from Quebec, but there also the usual touristy retail outlets with 'trade show' merchandise. The streets winding around the neighborhood seem like often seem like narrow alleys. It made me glad we had come over as foot passengers rather than bring the bikes. Everywhere you look the architecture is unlike anything you would see in Vancouver and the age of the city strikes you immediately. Many of the businesses had been there since the 1700's.

Above us was the part of the city with huge tiered buildings with a parliamentary feel to them. Like I said, it is above us meaning that there is a climb involved. Luckily there is a tram that carries passengers several streets up for minimal fee. We gladly took the ride on this warm day and disembarked on an old but very different part of Quebec. The buildings are much grander in style but still speak to the age of the city. Bravely we took the walk way towards what seemed to the old fort. By the time we reached about half way up the stairs to the top we began to question our decision, but we pressed on. At the top there are the battlements of the fortress complete with cannons and the Plains of Abraham. It was a very interesting walk around.

Rather than retrace our route of the stairway we circled around and down the city side of the park.

Our trek downward took us buy a number of park settings where entertainers were awing audiences with music and gymnastic talents. Horse drawn buggies were everywhere. We found a cozy little sandwich shop where we enjoyed a marvelous fresh sandwich and soup lunch. Finding our way back down to the ferry terminal was a bit of an adventure but well worth the travel. All through the day we took pictures to help us recall all that we have seen. These pics can be viewed at http://www.getdropbox.com/gallery/1520537/1/Quebec%20City?h=dd9e3b Seeing old Quebec city is really one of the highlights of the trip and we are glad to have done it.

With the terrific help of our earlier bus driver we were able to find our way back to the motel easily. the driver on the bus ride home even stopped the bus right across from the motel. A cooling dip in the pool rounded a glorious day in the sunshine.

Causapscal, PQ

We have been doing some “primitive camping” of late and been unable to blog.

We’ll attempt to catch up...

Saturday was a grey and chilly day. We decided to take the city bus and explore the heart of old Charlottetown. Some research on internet had helped us select our route and after a bit of a dash we found our seats on the #1. The buses are brightly coloured and built to resemble old tram cars. Leather loops hang on ether side of the interior , something to cling to if no seats are available. No suspended commuters on a Saturday and the seats inside were surprisingly comfortable for wooden benches.

Charlottletown is the largest city on PEI, but is relatively small. That is part of the charm of the province. Everything is a manageable size. In no time we were dropped off near the harbour in the historic heart of the city and enjoying the marvellous old buildings on University Avenue.

We were drawn to an interesting street with a huge arched wrought iron entrance that spelled out Victoria Row. It was lined with old maples and bordered with five storey 1800’s red brick buildings on one side and a modern theatre on the other. No cars were allowed and families under umbrellas wandered freely. The old buildings house galleries and cafés. We chose a café that was beautifully refurbished. The first two floors of the old building had been opened up with a loft at one side. Paintings hung on every wall and the red brick walls were warm and inviting.

We opted for the patio all the better to people watch and found two dry chairs under one of the umbrellas. Once again, lobsters buns and chowder.

“Chowder for breakfast. Chowder for lunch. Chowder for supper. Chowder until you search your clothes looking for fishbones poking through.” We saw this framed on the wall of Magnolia’s in Lunenburg & liked it, a quote from Moby Dick .

The theatre side of the street offered an “Always On Stage’’ and a young man played guitar and entertained with quiet ballads as we ate. We went through all the galleries and I saw a painter whose work I liked very much called Colin Paige. I’ll have to “google” him.

The bus driver had told us about the Boardwalk along the harbour so we enjoyed exploring the beautiful tree lined streets as we made our way there. There was a fine old basilica and we saw a young and very radiant bride and her entourage leave their limousine, cross in front of us and enter the church.

The storefronts along the Boardwalk was touristy in that “made in China” kind of way so we went down to the water . It was cold and blustery but we stopped to watch a car show that included classic cars of every description. A miniature racetrack hosted a very competitive race between remote controlled cars which crashed and flipped. One brave gentleman risked his ankles to upright cars that lay spinning useless on their backs like turtles. We wandered happily along the waterfront eating fudge purchased from a vendor and spent time reading the informational signage about the history and development of Charlottetown, the Charlottetown Accord and the important part it played in Confederation.

This city was also hit by an early fire, a common event in cities built of wood during the early days of gas lights. We enjoyed chatting to several people we met on the bus as we made our way back to the motel We stopped and did some shopping for essentials before returning to the motel. One of the realities of motorcycle touring is, sadly, there is no extra room for impulse purchases.

Sun was promised for Sunday and it was exciting to think of being on the bike again. I kept waking up in the night hoping it was morning and we could be off. When morning came, it was grey and cold.

Memories of our time in PEI are warm ones. We both will miss the gentle aspect and tranquility of the province. It offers beaches, beautiful rural farming countryside, history and culture yet small enough that everything is within a day’s journey. We leave our hearts here and would love to return.

Sunday morning, we put on all our warmest clothes and headed south to the Confederation Bridge. It extends 12.9km across the Northumberland Straight to New Brunswick. It is a toll bridge and the challenge of Grant paying two fares when the gate required one lift and descent per toll ended up with me having to cross on my own. It was a strangely uncomfortable experience.

The bridge has two lanes bordered with three and a half foot high concrete sides. It is a grey bridge and it was a grey day over a grey ocean. One drives across in what seems like a living perspective lesson. On and on and on, in a straight line to the vanishing point ahead.

There was a good crosswind blowing and it was not a good place to drift into the oncoming lane. I kept very focused stealing the occasional glance over the side at the ocean below. I think I was hoping to see a whale, but didn’t, just grey seas.

It was a relief to “make land” and I pulled over as soon as possible to wait for Grant’s welcome orange glow in my mirror.

We had done some research the previous night and made plans to camp near St. Louis-de-Kent. Living in the west, we had no idea of the amount of french spoken in the Maritimes. This area of New Brunswick is called the Acadian Trail and most of the signage, place names and language of choice is French. Conversations overheard may start in French, easily change to English mid-sentence then back again.

We were headed to a national park called Kouchibouguac. It drew our interest because the ocean there on the Gulf of St. Lawrence is proported to be the warmest north of Virginia. We wanted some more “beach” before we left the Maritimes and weren’t disappointed. The park is bordered on the coast by a sand spit and the mouth of the Kouchibouguac River is broken up with many small sand islands. It makes for lovely sunsets and early mornings.

One of the wonderful bilingual park employees told us about a camping area that she described as “primitive” with no services, but beautifully scattered along the shore amongst giant pine trees. We were too late to get a spot right on the beach, but were steps away and had a fine view of the ocean through the trees. It was lovely.

Those warm ocean currents make for warm air and I was left to explore the beach while Grant rode into town for supplies for supper.

We are getting very adept at putting together quite wonderful meals on our little propane stove. The night’s menu was chicken and pasta with a salad followed by coffee and liqueur. Not so primitive after all.

Grant had picked up a $5 bag of firewood which we supplemented with some driftwood collected from the beach. It was a lovely fire and had the added affect of keeping the mosquitoes down. They’ve enjoyed quite a feast and we expect to break out in lumps shortly.

At 9:30 pm after the supper dishes were done and we’d had a chance to enjoy the fire, the rain started to fall. We had sipped our liqueur and were in a mellow frame of mind so able to be grateful the rain had held off in such a timely fashion. It made up for it in the night and the possibility of a wet morning ride was miserable.

Monday morning- Woke early under grey skies and was able to enjoy an early morning walk on the beach. We took our chairs back to the shore and enjoyed our morning coffee there watching birds fish for their breakfast. An osprey flew overhead up river to it’s nest.

We stopped for gas and the day’s groceries before heading north on hwy. #11. The day was grey and the humidity so high it seemed to be an effort to breathe. It seemed prudent to put on rain gear so we stopped at Tim Horton’s, our home away from home, for a warming coffee and geared up.

An on road superstition has evolved. We’ve come to believe that if you put on rain gear, it won’t rain. If you don’t put on the gear, rain is a certainty. Well we did and it did. Not as hard as we’ve experienced in Nova Scotia, but certainly a good misting. The fog was so thick that we could smell the ocean and hear it on our right, but couldn’t see it. Visibility was terrible and that made riding tense work.

After a few hours, the air cleared a bit, the roads became dry and smooth and we crossed over to La Belle Province. Hwy. 132 follows alongside a wide river that flows between heavily treed islands. The hillsides are covered with old hardwood, mainly maples. It was a beautiful ride and would be a spectacular one in the Fall among the red maples.

I pulled alongside Grant when we had stopped for road construction and he turned to me and said with a panicky edge to his voice, “I can’t read any of the road signs.”

Understanding the road signs or not, the GPS helped me guide us onward to our proposed destination. Tonight would be the ‘Camping de Causapscal’ in Causapascal. Also with a bit of help at the town’s info centre we learned the site was only another one km down the road.

As we left, we ran into a charming forty something woman from Montreal who was riding a 750 Honda Shadow. She was returning from a solo ride along the Cabot Trail in Cape Breton. We were impressed by her pluck as we chatted and commiserated about the terrible weather.

When we arrived at the campground Grant got off his bike and discovered the girl at the office didn’t speak english. Fortunately the other woman did and we got ourselves situated in a lovely little spot near the river. For the past couple hours the sun had been shining and it was nearly hot. We set up the tent trailer and felt good about the chance to have it dry out from last night’s rainfall.

A careful unpack confirmed Jill’s worst fear. She had left her makeup case behind in some port of call. With her overgrown hair, styled only by the rain and a bike helmet, her wind weathered complexion and now, NO MAKEUP, her appearance has become enough to frighten small children. A mental inventory of the contents of said makeup bag would translate into several hundred dollars. (Ageing requires increasingly more expensive makeup) Near tears, Grant gamely commented that I was a “handsome woman” and for that I love him.

We took some leisure time and relaxed in our camp chairs then headed up to the showers for a much needed scrub down. Waiting for a turn to use the laundry facilities we decided to get on with dinner. Out timing could not have been better. Having just served up our plates, a few raindrops started to fall. Earlier Jill had suggested that we put up the rain sail on the front of the tent . Although I felt confident that the clouds moving in were just a tiny break in the sunshine, I (reluctantly)agreed and we had the rain cover set up when the rains arrived. Sitting under our little cover, elbows tucked in as we ate, we could only laugh (or cringe in the tent counting the ever decreasing seconds between thunder crack and lightening strike) as the thunder began to roll and lightning flashed. The air was still warm as we shared a bottle of wine and ate in relative comfort.

After dinner the laundry freed up and our clothes washed as the world washed with the heavy load cycle from above. Jill enjoyed a brief “chat” with five young French children who spoke no English at all. The required mime show resulted in lots of laughter, the universal language.

By the time our clothes were dry so was the sky. As we polished off the last of the red wine, the stars shining brightly overhead held promise of good weather.

The forecast is for sun for the next couple of days, but we’ve become cynical in that respect. Sadly, listening to my radio won’t be of much help trying get an up to date forecast. I’m sure I would have less luck with the broadcast than I do with the signs.

Causapscal seems to have a rich history and there is a gallery worth checking out so we may stay an extra day to let the sun dry us out, then on to old Quebec City.

Tuesday am-Morning brought sun and blue skies, but the clouds continue to pass overhead just to keep us on our toes. Feeling rather shy and uncertain about our lack of French, Jill woke feeling abit uncertain. A shy smile for fellow campers was the best she could muster then would look away to avoid the possibility of conversation. It’s possible this behaviour projected an unfriendly attitude as neighbouring campers avoided eye contact. Wondered if it was because we were bikers? It felt uncomfortable.

Then this morning while Grant was showering, I attempt to light the fire. The four young people opposite must have witnessed my frantic blowing and the several trips back for more matches. A young man came over with a cardboard carton and a glass jar of gasoline. His english was much better than my french. To save my pride he blamed the moisture left by the rainstorm, tore up the cardboard, opened the jar of gasoline and poured several fingers worth over the wood. He reserved alittle of the gas and poured it over a piece of cardboard held in his hand and lit a match. At that moment, Grant appeared and as he took it all in, I was treated to the look on his face and was barely able to stifle a laugh.

Both Grant and I held our breaths as the burning cardboard ignited the fumes in the fire pit with a tremendous whoosh. Everyone retained their eyebrows and in no time we had a roaring fire. As we carry a gerry can of gas for emergencies, I look forward to hours of fun teasing Grant.

Clouds thickened the sky as we attempted to improve our cover by setting up our largest tarp. Our designs differed somewhat, but after some bickering Grant’s suggestion was the most practical. Before we could finish setting our stakes, a sudden downpour drenched poor Grant who insisted I take cover. The wind blew and the stakes pulled out of the drenched ground so we retreated to the tent trailer in very low spirits indeed.

Just as suddenly as it started, the rain let up and we ventured outside to view the damage. The rain had come down with such force it washed out the road that curves down to our valley. We’re concerned about getting the trailer up the hill tomorrow morning. Grant made a run into town for a few things and assured me the bike would make the crest. “Just keep steady”, he said. When questioned, “steady” means don’t stop.

We’re getting quite fed up with this incessant rain and our spirits are lagging somewhat. I hope and pray that in some cruel touring irony, the rain will stop and the sun will come out in the east just as we leave only to hit the west in time for our travel there.

Tomorrow we intend to ride the 400km to Old Quebec, see the city, including the basilica that frightened me as a child, then beetle on until we find decent weather. That is if we make it up the hill.

Yeah! We made it up the hill, then had to climb another to get an internet signal.

PEI

Wednesday morning in Pictou was still showery. We took our time checking out of Lionstone Inn and by 10:30 the skies got a little lighter.

The drive to the ferry dock to PEI was short through a soft and misty air. Before long we were in line at the terminal and enjoying our books in the cafeteria building. There is no charge to take the ferry to the island but you pay to get off, by ferry or bridge. Dogs are welcome on the passenger deck and Grant's seatmate was an aging Spaniel who sat comfortably like a well seasoned traveller.

By the time we reached Prince Edward Island the sky was sunny and bright. First glimpses reveal the island to be low rolling, not flat. lush green landscape with sweeping expanses down to the shores. Not at all like the rocky shores of Nova Scotia and New Brusnwick.

The farmhouses on the southern shore east of the ferry terminal are old and stark. More of the three storey straight sided homes that are typical here in the Maritimes and unknown to us in the west. We have wondered why the houses are so big? Maybe the Catholic influence? Or multi-generational?

The farms we passed extended down to the shore, the cows grazing seaside in the sun. We passed some bright yellow fields of canola and of course, the dark green of potatoes. The famous red PEI soil stood out to mark any recently harvested rows.

We had a general route in mind that bordered the eastern shore up to St. Peters. Although the sun was shining the forecast mentioned showers by night and a wet Friday, Saturday. With some reluctance, as we enjoy our little home on the road, we decided that we would not be camping in the rain. We'd only just fully dried out from our to-the-bone soaking in Peggy's Cove and were anxious to avoid a repeat.

At the info centre at Woods Islands, near the PEI terminal, we inquired about camping and lodging in St. Peters. As I say we were reluctant to set up with the prospect of rain so we made a booking at Greenwich Gate Inn in St. Peters.

Travel around PEI does not involve long distances so we chose to take the most scenic route possible as we wound our way to our night's lodging. The road was an enjoyable ride with lots of twisty turns. In the beginning we drove by numerous farms that spread right down to the water's edge. Houses were set way back off the road with huge yards to mow. We have observed that Maritimers maintain beautifully manicured lawns the PEI in no exception.

The layout of the road grid system here is quite easy to follow. That didn't prevent the necessity of several U-turns, but our wrong turns have always led to a unique find. Today's was an abandoned light house and large adjacent home for sale. With unlimited funds and some fresh paint, it had outstanding B&B potential. As mum says, "If you can dream and not make dreams your master!"

One could venture off the main road and swoop down along the ocean then follow the loop back up to the main road again. The population here is sparse and scattered along the roadside. Many of the coves had lighthouses. It was very nice to take these side roads and enjoy the country and oceanside scenery along the way.

Arriving in Montague it felt like time for at least a coffee. Montague is a bright cheerful little harbour town with a marina filled with fishing boats. We parked on the main street and strolled down the the inlet where we found the Station Cafe. It is built in a historic red brick railway station and boasts a beautiful little courtyard over-looking over the marina. We decided to have a bit to eat and call it an early supper. Jill's fish cakes were superb and I really enjoyed a curried tuna and green apple baguette. The sun was shining and the temperature was warm.

The thought of camping still played heavy on us but we had made reservations so....

Passing through Cardigan we began to realize that the time was getting away on us. The charming detours to be near the water had burned up the afternoon. So reluctantly, we opted for more direct route to St. Peters. Direct, but through some back country long forgotten by the Department of Highways. We rode over some of the worst road we've seen and then saw a sign that read "Caution. broken pavement ahead." Time for second gear. Again, poor Grant pulling the trailer was at it's mercy. We passed impressive potato farms set in lovely rolling countryside. The air here is free of industry and constantly freshened by the warm breeze off the ocean.

In no time we arrived in St. Peters, a small picturesque village set at the very end of the longest bay on PEI. It is an old community originally a French trading centre and later settled by the Scotch. Our inn was a bright yellow set of buildings in a U shaped layout. The folks at the office were kind and welcoming. Our room, spacious and beautifully furnished. We settled in and enjoyed a quiet few moments in the gazebo enjoying a view of the bay then walked down to the harbour park.

The map designates that St. Peters has a resident population of under five hundred, but much work has been done to beautify the shoreline with a path system, benches and well kept gardens. The bay is home to a large cultured mussel industry and the orderly line of buoys supporting the columns of mussels criss-cross the bay. By late evening the clouds had rolled in but still no rain.

This morning a bit cloudy but lots of blue overhead and no rain. It was a pleasure to be on the bikes in the fresh morning air as we headed east to Cavendish. It is the site of a national park devoted to maintaining the beauty of PEI as depicted in Anne of Green Gables. As a young girl, I can remember my grandmother reading to me from the first "Anne" book and after learning to read went on to read all the books in the series. I was anxious to see the house which inspired the author, Lucy Maude Montgomery.

The park has done an excellent job of presenting the spirit of the book preserving the house where L.M. Montgomery spent a great deal of time. The house, countryside and sand dunes fall within the park boundaries and will be preserved.

Then for some culture... up the road to Ripley's Believe It or Not" Museum. I could hardly wait to see the two headed calf! Grant was a bit daunted by the $16 each entrance fee, but didn't want to disappoint so we spent a strange and exotic hour perusing the "oddities" and I was not disappointed. Also got to see the one eyed chick and the Lord's Prayer written on a grain of rice.

It felt strange, but somehow a relief to come out into the daylight and beauty of the day. The sky was darkening and we were anxious to avoid being caught in the 30 mm rain and gale force winds called for. We took the most direct route to Charlottetown and a recommended motel. So tonight we are cosy and dry in the Rodd Royalty Inn, it seems in the biker wing. Saying this because when we came in later in the evening there were a few other bikes parked in front of the rooms next to us. The motel is across the street from the Charlottetown Mall, a whole lotta retail and includes a multi-plex movie theatre. Our timing was such that after a quick bite of Korean food, we caught the new Harry Potter movie. (Jill-thumbs up, Grant-thumbs down)

The wind is howling outside as I write. Tomorrow we brave the rain and attempt to bus it down to the historic Charlottetown harbour.

Threat of Rain, No Idle Threat

Tuesday saw us pack up from Port Hood under lightly cloudy skies. (before we leave there, would like to mention the couple we met from Mass, US. They were in the campground in a classic re-done Airstream trailer. The exteriors aluminum was polished and the blue striped awning matched their blue gingham tablecloth. It was a beautiful rig. In conversation we learned that after "Ray" retired from the post office, he spotted an old "Bambi, Airstream" out behind a barn, bought it and spent the next four years re-doing it with hardwood floors etc. They enjoy making the rounds of the Airstream tours telling us there are even ones just for old classic Airstreams pulled by antique trucks. The Bambi is for sale... $15,000 US. Oh, to be rich! Also became intrigued with the small island off our shore called Hood Island. Jill just finished reading "The Guernsey Literary and Potatoe Peel Pie Society" set on Guernsey in the Channel Islands off England during the period just after WW2. Loved the book and the island characters so Hood Island duplicated what I envisioned Guernsey to be like. Through binoculars we could make out a group of about 14 well kept houses, three or four barns & two churches visible. We learned that there is only one die-hard full time resident. Everyone else had moved back to town, but kept ownership of the property and made regular trips over to maintain them. During the winter the harbour actually freezes and in the old day that was how supplies were transported.)

We headed up Hwy. 19 to the west side of the Cabot Trail. This is a beautiful road for motorcycles, especially without a tent trailer on behind. It winds up along the gorgeous coast of Cape Breton Island overlooking some magnificent shorelines lined with pink granite rock faces. There are numerous lookouts for sightseeing and photos. We took advantage of several of them but regrettably I missed the one where Jill caught a glimpse of a whale breeching. She tried horn beeping and yelling swear words for several kilometers until we reached our next stop, then told me, in machine gun like bursts, that I was paying too much attention to my radio and waving at other bikers. Perhaps I was because I did miss them. (Felt badly about my tirade after considering that Grant had the responsibility of leading the ride, setting the pace etc. , whilst I just merrily followed along) It was good though that I was picking up some weather forecasts. We encountered two long stretches of gravel construction zones. They seemed to go on forever.

Highland National Park is a true gem and as Bill had said, "It will be noticeable where Fed money is being put into the roads. The good surface starts exactly at the park boundary."

A lot of people were driving this road taking in the splendor. Many motorcycles and a lot of cyclist too. You really have to give the pedallers a lot of credit for being out there in the elements climbing those hills. We made a stop on the east side and used the binoculars to watch a couple of small boats out on the water with what appeared to be porpoises splashing around them.

The skies were still overcast but didn't look to bad, but I chose discretion over valor when we arrived at Ingonish Beach. I saw the Skyline Cabins sign and pulled off. The forecast still called for rain overnight and tomorrow. We checked into a nice little cabin and met Kramer their five year old golden lab who walked like he was fifteen. Maybe the extra weight he carried and the slope of the property contributed to this.

Here is where we made a decision that may surprise you. The facts are that the weather on Newfoundland has been very cool and the prospect is for rain in the long term. So with much disappointment we chose not to do the time, miles and expense of going over. (Jill, with some regret, takes the responsibility of this decision. We'd run into some bikers who lived in Newfoundland. They had left two days prior and the day time temp was a balmy 10 degrees. The weather is calling for several weather fronts to hit for the next few days. It was the end of the day. Felt tired and the sight of Donalda's Puffin Tours, departures daily, no longer held any interest. The fare to Newfoundland is $200 each way and the driving would amount to 1700 additional km. This decision is something I may come to regret, but Vancouver Island is a long way away and Jill is old.)

We settled in and decided to walk down to the foot of the steep driveway to the Main Street Restaurant across the highway. We had been warned that the food was good but the service was slow. We were not disappointed on either count. Our Steak Oscar was superb. Lots of scallops, crab and lobster in an asparagus cream sauce on top of a very nice cut of meat set in a pool of gravy and mushrooms. Baked potato and veggies to go along made for a very good meal. They also had a terrific selection of fresh baked goods to offer. We picked up a sample to take back to the cabin.

The rain still had not developed and the internet was spotty at best. So we relaxed into an old routine of watching Law & Order. The rich food disagreed with Jill's tummy so it was a restless night. The rain hit with full force justifying the extra cost of the cabin.

It was very hard to find the motivation to get out of bed the next morning with the sound of pelting rain outside, a box of Tums bedside & a flat screen TV overhead. But riding in the rain is the reality of motorcycle touring so donned the layers and set out for the last leg of the Cabot Trail, the descent of Old Smokie. We'd been warned it was pretty torturous and it was. Very poor road surface and a twisty turny descent. In the heavy rain we were riding in 2nd and 3rd gear and it was a tense ride which is tiring. Poor Grant took the brunt of it. The width of the trailer left him at the mercy of the road. The water sitting on the road surface filled any potholes. Jill riding behind took advantage of Grant's misfortune. When his wheel created a big splash warning a pothole lay underneath. The trees on either side of the road offered some protection from the wind, but once we hit open terrain the force of the wind off the Atlantic drove the rain up inside of our visors.

We took a short 10 minute ferry ride chatting briefly with a family motorcycle touring. They were from Ontario and their son rode behind the dad on his bike. This also gave us the opportunity to thank the driver of the car that had been stuck behind us during our Old Smokie descent. He was a local fella who had been most patient of our slow speeds and considerately kept way back.

The road from now on was smooth which was a blessing as the rainfall increased to the point that the tail lights and box of the semi ahead of us disappeared in a grey mist of water. Visibility was extremely poor. Grant was bravely in the lead. Jill laughed out loud at the lunacy of it, but there was no point in stopping as there were no villages or even gas stations for a 100k.

When we finally stopped at Port Hawkesbury, we looked at one another and burst out laughing. We plan to get some of the Arcteryx rain pants as our Marks Wearhouse ones were lacking abit, but for the most part we could travel swaddled with gear within our mini moving environments in relative comfort.Stopped with several other groups of "drowned rat" bikers at the A&W for a hot coffee and a brake.

The rain let up and we drove through New Glasgow on the semi-dry smooth highway thinking about our parting with Bill and Eunice at the Timmy's there. They have become our "face" of Nova Scotia and represent the kind and friendly Maritimers.

Great ride through to Pictou, just shy of Prince Edward Island. Grant, listening to the weather on the radio, pulled into the first motel, hoping for WiFi, but no rooms left. Lucky because we are not in a charming little cabin out behind the motel. It's fifty years old, cosy & freshly painted. As I write, I can hear the rain is back in full force. The motel and cabins are now full and two sorry looking riders were just turned away and the sky was dropping an ocean of water. Still we're warm and dry and will wait out the deluge then slip over for some supper.

Peggy's Cove to Cape Breton

I am writing tonight, Sunday, July 19th at our campsite in Port Hood, Cape Breton Island. Our spot, #26 is situated at the farthest corner of the park. We are on our own down here and have an unobstructed view of a sunset ocean. The air is warm.

We’ve been without internet of late and there is much to tell...

Our the 1st night in Nova Scotia...

Woke to the sound of rain and a grey outlook. Grant was kind enough to head to the main lodge and return with hot coffee & an English muffin so I could maximize my daudling.

Gassed up, suited up and took the complicated route out of town. I’m getting much better at U-turns. Yarmouth is a small town and we were soon on #103, a two lane highway with forest on both sides. The road had recently been paved so no lines and a slick feel.

My top layer was rain gear over several just for warmth. Knew at least if I slipped on the new tar, I would just safely bounce along by the side of the road like a beach ball. Kept to the highway for some time. No signs of life or view to speak of, just the green of second growth timber on either side for many miles.

The rain let off. the sky was grey, but the air was gentle and warm. Grant in the lead, did one of his unexpected spur of the moment changes of direction down a side road that would connect us with #3, a secondary highway. and much more picturesque. The road is off the tourist path & we stopped for a couple pictures of a small bay harbouring a gently rocking fish boat.

Still relatively quiet on the road as we passed through some small villages and wound up in Shelburne. Our next fuel stop offered a lobster sub we had to try. Loaded with lobster held together by a touch of mayo. Outside in the lot we met a local who also had a VTX. We got a into a lengthy discussion with him about bikes and traveling. He said that he wished he didn’t have to go back to work. He was a very kind gentleman and said that if we weren’t planning to head on that he would love to have us come to his home and stay the night and talk some more. His kids have all grown up and one daughter lives in Kelowna. Their five bedroom cape cod had lots of room and there was lot happening in Shelburne this weekend. But being the mighty travelers we are we had to press on. He was another fine example of the friendly nature of the folks here.

Jill and I both misread the sign at a corner and wound up back on 103 again. I had turned on the radio to catch a weather report and heard advertising for the festivities for ‘founding fathers’ day in Shelburne this weekend. Our next destination was Lunenburg the home of Bluenose II.

At the exit to Lunenburg the change in landscape and homes were a joy to see after the tedium of the highway. The road in through rolling hills dotted with farms changed to clusters of historical homes, beautifully restored with lovely English style gardens. The fences were covered with roses, pink, red and white. We paused at a stop sign uncertain about direction when Grant spotted was a large four bay fire hall with the doors wide open.

We knew that we wanted to spend some time looking around the town so we pulled into the Fire Hall entry and I went in. It was very quiet there and no sign of life so I yelled a ‘hello’. I got a ‘hello’ back and met Chad, one of the few paid firefighters on staff. I asked where there was a good place to park close enough to wander the town. He immediately said we could park out back and the path through the park behind led right down to the main streets. During our talk about where we were from and that I had been a firefighter too I learned that he grew up in Gibsons and his father lived out at Sproat Lake in Port Alberni. What a small world! He gave us a map of the town and off we went.

As I say, Lunenburg is the home of the Bluenose II and of world famous shipbuilders. Unfortunately, with the tall ships in Halifax this weekend there was no Bluenose to see. Colorful stores and restaurants lined the street running up the hill side parallel to the wharf. Evidence of old ship yards and a legacy of ship building were everywhere. We understood why Brian Portman, a shipbuilder, insisted we make a stop.

We passed a tiny cafe, maybe 25’ X25’ called Magnolias Grill. It had a funky fifties vibe and the collection of salt and pepper shakers that bordered with window sills caught my eye. Stopped at the door and read the reviews posted there... “top ten list of places to eat in Canada”, “Recommended by New York Times and Gourmet magazine” etc. Had to stop. Opted for the chowder, although the choice was a difficult one as the menu bragged fresh caught, home made. We weren’t disappointed. The chowder was heavenly, loaded with huge chucks of scallop and lobster, oyster and haddock served with fresh home made bread. A closer look revealed the walls of Magnolia’s where covered with signed pictures of movie stars and famous people usually including some affectionate first name basis comment. Grant said, “Well that was the most expensive bowl of soup I’ve ever had.” Seems our bill for two bowls of soup and water came to almost $32!

A small thing, but worthy of note. Beyond all the things that could be done to beautify the town with period signage and storefronts, lovely public gardens and paths, explantions about heritage etc., the public washroom is decorated with a row of 12”X12” tiles. The washrooms themselves are spotless and white, the only colour is the tiles, each one illustrated by a child. There are colourful and detailed drawings of historical houses and ships. What a great way to personalize the space and encourage the children to have a sense of civic pride.

We had arranged to phone Eunice and Bill Parks as we departed Lunenburg. Their son, Billie works with Kate at Arcteryx. Knowing Bill and Eunice are motorcyclists, the kids hooked us up. An email exchange led to a kind offer from Bill and Eunice to act as our hosts in the Halifax area, even offering to let us set up in their yard. We were unable to reach them during the work day so rode east just short of Halifax and stopped at a campsite near Peggy’s Cove. Eunice called as we were setting up and arranged to come and meet us in the morning. There was a bit of rain falling and we suggested they may not want to venture out given the weather. Eunice assurred Grant, “We ride in anything.”.

Like us, Bill and Eunice are early risers and arrived at our campsite around 9:30 on a very grey foggy and drizzley morning. Brave souls that they are, they were well geared up for any weather (Arcteryx well represented) riding a blue Harley. We threw a tarp over our picnic table and gear and on went the Gortex.

Bill had gone to the trouble of researching restaurants in the area and led us to a cozy spot in a house. The bikes and cars in the lot spoke to the home cooking and we enjoyed a fine breakfast together sharing stories about travel, kids, bikes... life.

It’s a bit awkward to write about Bill and Eunice knowing that they may read this. I’ll start by saying we immediately liked them and felt very comfortable chatting with them. Eunice seemed a warm and open woman. Bill had a twinkle in his eye and the story-teller gene backed up by an expressive face and quick smile. They’ve travelled all over Canada and the states on their bike. Bill shared that he enjoyed maps for bedtime reading, making notes and researching further on internet. We felt fortunate indeed to have literally, the most perfect Nova Scotian hosts.

Time flew over coffee and day was getting away from us so back on the bikes and a quick run to the Swiss Air Memorial nearby. The memorial is set near the water. It is reached by following a winding path from the parking lot over the rock face towards the sea. The shore has sparse vegetation and is littered with granite boulders tossed there by ancient glaciers. The fog was so thick it was impossible to see the water and all sound was deadened. An eerie place. As we walked, Bill told us the story of the pilot who experienced mechanical problems and followed procedure by flying out over the ocean to dump fuel before making for the nearby airport.

It was a dark night over a black sea. The houses and lights are sparse in the area. They theorize that a loss of power in the cockpit knocked out electronics and in the blackness, the pilot misjudged his distance from the water. The plane hit the water nose first at full power. The impact drove the plane back onto itself leaving the tail exposed about the surface. Townspeople from three nearby communities immediately launched boats to search for survivors, but it was clear all were lost. Bill, formerly in the navy, shared lots of behind the scene stories of the disaster. One man from Switzerland who had lost his wife and daughter in the tragedy came I suppose to the very spot where we stood. He was so taken by the kindness and charity of the locals that he moved there.

I think we all felt it time to leave the sadness behind and we rode on towards Peggy’s Cove. It’s a very winding road and the fog was so thick it was hard to make out the red circle of the Parks’ tail light. We weren’t the only crazies out on such a day. Several bikes passed us through the fog. We were glad that Bill and Eunice were ahead to guide us as scattered houses began to appear around us. There are no trees of any size here and the clean lines of the straight white clapboard houses and large granite boulders are the only break in the horizon. We parked at the information centre and set off on foot. Caught a quick glimpse of Biker John, from the St. John, NB campground pasing by on his black Shadow Ace.

Bill and Eunice pointed out that there are many, just as picturesque villages to stop at, but we could not come to Nova Scotia and say we didn’t visit Peggy’s Cove. The old road winds down to the lighthouse, which we could just make out through the mist. I could hear the faint sound of a piper and as we got closer saw a young woman playing Amazing Grace and then on to a jig or two. She had the chest for it and kept it up all the time we were there. The case for her pipes lay open at her feet and held it’s share of yankee dollars. A sign on it read “College or Bust”, but it seemed she was already doing rather well with the latter.

The cove itself is bordered by old grey weathered shake boat houses with dory’s tied to the small wharf. Bill said the dory never moves. As much as the sights were well orchestrated, they still told a story of simpler times and families living by and from the sea for generations. Thought back to the “those who perish...” memorial in Lunenburg. Imagine being out there in the fog jigging cod and becoming disoriented in the fog.

Our hosts warned us about the danger of climbing down on the rocks at the water’s edge. Rouge Atlantic waves regularly claim a tourist or two, much the way of the Pacific.

We followed Bill and Eunice’s red tail light through the gloom again towards Halifax, again feeling very grateful to be in their care. The road wound through the gloom until the city surrounded us. Couldn’t look around much as we followed the Parks’ Harley around corners, back lanes, through traffic circles on our way to the historic city’s core in the harbour. We passed “The Common”, scene of the recent Paul Mc Cartney concert. There were Semi parked along it’s perimeter unloading equipment for the night’s Kiss concert. I thought of the young and not so young claiming there spaces in the rain and mud. Still, it was a dry rain and it was Kiss.

The Tall Ships were in port so we walked along the wharf with families smiling from their rain gear. Halifax had done a remarkable job of providing families in period dress (mid 1700’s) working in traditional rope making, ship-building shops. A woman stopped us to offer a nip of rum to ward off the cold. There was a fine array of ships that must have served these waters and those of the northern states. There was a 5 masted Russian schooner there, which we didn’t see, but treated to a flotilla of dories each manned with 8 rowers sporting tri-corner hats. Each dory had a small cannon mounted on the bow and aimed at the Bounty. The Bounty was reciprocating with cannon fire and the already misty air combined with the cannon smoke obliterated the Bounty. This is how it much have been.

We were drawn back into modern times as Bill ran into a motorcycle officer he knew. Bill is an motorcycle instructor and teaches motorcycle officers. He said he starts the class by asking everyone to lift up their coats. They do and ask why so he tells him he’s just checking. Anyone he noted wearing a gun will not fail the course.

As the four of us walked down the hill past all the historical buildings, a huge old church, city hall, a beautifully carved bank, bill and Eunice talked about the Halifax explosion. Two ships collided in the narrows of the harbour and one was secretly carrying munitions. the explosion happened around nine in the morning and flattened most of the city core. Eunice’s grandma told her that as a child of 4 or 5, she was given 2 pennies and told to go out to buy a bundle of kindling. She was knocked unconscious by the blast and was horrified to wake up and find she’s lost the two pennies certain she’d catch it from her mum. She made her way home to find her house was gone. She and her family had to live in the meat locker of a relative’s store until their house was re-built.

Tired (at least I was) and hungry (at least I was), we made our way up the hill and found the last four seats in an old Gaelic pub. You had to be either Celtic or blind to know which washroom to use as they didn’t bother with english or french on the doors. There was some live fiddling and jig playing going on and we settled into our little room to enjoy our fish and chips.

The rain had let off by the time we found the bikes and I made an uneducated guess that the sky was clearing. As Bill and Eunice (thank you for this. We’d still be lost in Halifax) led us back to the campsite, the skies opened up. As we hit the free-way, cars ahead disappeared in waves of water. It had been a grand day!

I thought more than once I’d loved to have a tape recorder to retain the stories and jokes we’d enjoyed in Bill and Eunice’s company. Perhaps they didn’t mind us too much as they invited us to their house the following morning for breakfast, laundry facilities and the use of their long distance plan. We hugged feeling as we’d made good friends here hoping they’d come our way one day, perhaps on a Billie Jr. (their son at Arcteryx) run. Hope to meet Billie Jr. one day. What a fine family!

When we go to our campspot it wasn’t good. The tarp we’d casually thrown over all our worldly possessions had blown off in the storm and everything was wet through. We both said, well at least it will be dry in the tent trailer, but the egg crate mattress had shifted against the wall of the trailer and wicked the water into our bed. it was a near tears moment. After a moment of grieving, we pulled out the hair dryer and did a fair job of drying out the bed. All our riding gear, chaps and jackets were soaked through so we piled them in a corner, then gathered up anything that could be washed, grabbed the computer and headed on foot in the rain and the mud to the laundromat. A crowd had gathered. We commiserated and then chatted about where we were from etc. Nice people from Florida, Vernon. Two bikers from Creston who stripped down to shorts and washed everything they had on their bikes. No internet service at the laundry area and it was not a night to sit out on a bench outside the office.

I was able to get a good fire going and heated up some soup and hot chocolate. Our tent trailer has add-ons I’m still learning about. I was going to attempt to construct a lean to using a large tarp, a challenge with no nearby trees. Then Grant pulled out a rain sail he’d apparently been hiding. It gave us a 5 foot square of cover and we were able to put plastic bags on our wet chairs and eat our hot soup in, under the circumstances, relative comfort. After all, everything is relative.

Bill and his son Mike met us the next morning to escort us. Mike was a fine looking young man riding a Honda sports bike, very age appropriate. No rain for this ride, but given the state of my wet leathers I wore my rain pants under them. I’d had enough of being wet and chilled.

The Parks have a lovely country style home, the kind of place where you immediately feel at home. They shared pictures of their boys, Chris and Billie Jr. and we met Mike’s lovely fiancee. She contributed some home made jam to the breakfast feast. Yum! They told us stories about their surprise visit to about Bill’’s daughter and grandson in Calgary. They shared lots of stories, time and effort on us and we were deeply touched by their kindness. Eunice had prepared a great breakfast and I particularly enjoyed the fresh fruit salad full of cherries and all the best of the season. A nice treat after being on the road for, wow, over a month now.

Bill and Eunice rode with us to New Glasgow, a stones throw from Cape Breton Island. We said good-by over a coffee at Tim Horton’s where again, Bill ran into several bike buddies, one of them one of his instructors. It pulled at my heart to say good-bye.

Off we rode through some glorious hilly green countryside opening onto vistas of ocean. The sun was out in full glory and the mildew was retreating. We crossed the causeway over to Cape Breton elated to be here and stopped at the Information booth for camping recommendations. I also wanted to find out about kitchen parties and beach recommendations.

Giby’s turn again. Our general feeling at the information centre was of elation. The temperature was extremely warm and the skies a beautiful blue. The lady in the centre inquired what we wanted to see and in the end we chose to take a route along the western shore with her making a booking for us at Sunset Sands Park in Port Hood. It boasts three beaches, warm water, a swimming pool, hot tub and internet. So with enthusiasm in out hearts we drove out route 19 enjoying fabulous views of the shores and spacious farms. I could already see the tent trailer set up and drying out with everything returning to normal. This was all in my mind but in the sky a huge dark cloud began to block out all the sunlight and as we were about 5 minutes from Port Hood I felt the first raindrop about the size of a quarter hit me. By the time we reached the turn off into Port Hood I could barely see the road or signs. (note from rear bike... At this point, saw evidence of several pronounced head bobs from the bike ahead, indicative of extreme swearing)

Entering town Jill spotted a restaurant (said a prayer of thanks as the rain was teeming and drowning seemed a distinct possibility), beeped and pulled over. I did a U-turn and came back. The first words out of my mouth were ‘I’m not staying here, I’m heading back inland’. We went into the Manitou Cafe and joined several others beating it for cover. Within minutes the rain was a torrent. Everyone was quite shocked as it had been a gorgeous day to that point.

We enjoyed a nice meal but after looking around I realized that I should have had the seafood taster platter, it looked mouthwatering. Before we finished our meal the sun came out again and things even looked to be drying out. So with new found hope we headed to the campground. It is a sparse park with no trees but makes up for it with an amazing view of a sandy beach and blue ocean a few feet away. The office is in the rec centre across the way and is operated by volunteers of a not-for-profit organization. We got ourselves set up and left the windows all open to allow the blowing wind to dry out the trailer. Just at the edge of the park is a short trail down to the beach. We took the camera and headed down. It turned into and very nice evening as we sat down on a formation of rocks that looked a lot like sandstone and watched the sun go down. Truly our spirits were lifted again grateful to find ourselves in paradise.

Over night the tent trailer buffeted about like a sail in a gale but we had a terrific sleep. Morning came with blue cloudless skies. The washrooms are clean and the shower stalls the best we have had to date. Unfortunately the internet is not working. It was hit by lightning and they are waiting for new part. No-one seems in any hurry so we are heading to the bench outside the post office to see if we can pick up a signal.

I called the Atlantic Marine Ferry booking to see if we could reserve the trip to New Foundland on Wednesday (two days away). All they had was the late sailing which would get us into Port-aux-Basque at 11:30 at night. So I had to book for the afternoon sailing on Thursday. Well, we will just relax for today. Cruise around locally and restock our groceries. Perhaps find a wifi site too. Tomorrow we will head out for the Cabot Trail and camp along the way. No rush to make North Sydney as we don’t need to get to the ferry till 2:00 Thursday. Yes, today will be a free mind day. Just chill out.

Nova Scotia

Yesterday gave us a few surprises. One being my bike would not start in the morning. Lost all power. It seemed to come back after a while then click off when I hit the starter button. I made a call to the local Honda dealer and discussed what it might be. They ordered a part and expected it early enough for us to make the ferry the next day. Not really sure that it is the issue though.

Grant asked me to muck about with his draft for this entry as he'd "run out of descriptors". I'd like to interject that in an effort to be democratic, we'd agreed to each take a day and make choices about activities. The 14th was Grant's day and he chose a route from the NB motorcyclist's handbook. (The Maritimes are no slouches at marketing themselves and could teach BC a thing or 2) It was a good run through some lovely countryside with a stop at an organic market for organic fudge and organic ice cream. As an after-thought, we did pick up some chicken and nice veg for a supper feast.

The 15th was to be MY day. I had wanted to go to the coastal nature preserve, again there courtesy of the Irving family. Then wanted to head downtown to see some of the historical buildings and take a peek at the "Old Market" which sounded intriguing in the guide book. But things changed...

Jill discovered that a tour bus came to the campground and did a two hour tour of the city. We hung around the campground taking it easy till the bus arrived then hoped on board. We were the only ones on the bus till the driver Grant went to pick up a mob from a cruise ship. Saint John gets a lot of cruise ships, this one alone comes 13 times a year.

The tour took us to the four corners of the city. It was very interesting hearing about the history. We were told the background of all the monuments in King Park. One of the interesting stories was about a young man working at a shipyard who saw two boys playing near the ocean edge. One fell in and was being pulled out by the strong tide. Seeing the risk to himself he grabbed a length of rope and handed one end to the one boy and jumped in to save the other. The boy on shore panicked and dropped the end of the rope. The would be saviour and victim were both drawn out with the tide and perished. The mayor asked citizens to contribute and the response was so overwhelming, they had to put a limit of $1 per household. There is an enormous statue of this young man.

ldlings... We saw the house that Donald Sutherland grew up in. Many interesting stories went along with the homes.

The old market is the oldest market of it's kind in North American. It was one of the few buildings in St. John's to have survived the fire of 1877. It is one city block long and the roof is made from an inverted ship's hull. The ribs are all visible. An effort has been made to retain the historical feel with signage and vendor displays. Saw an interesting young man there who can best be described an Celtic Goth. He was tall, hale and hearty and wearing a plaid kilt. He had wild hair, the de rigeur piercings and a T shirt with a political message. I thought he had the same dash and presence a young Scot might have in the 1700's.

The city has some wonderful historic homes with the traditional widow's walk at the peak. Much of the building was made with ballast discarded at the bay by incoming empty ships hungry for local soft wood. The materials used for ballast were granite and Honduras mahogany, all left free for the taking by any enterprising soul, making for some lovely homes.

One of the stops was reversing falls, but with a guide we learned a little more about it. Over 20 million gallons of water pass through the narrow passage per second. Jet boats were treating thrill seekers to a wet, cold ride. The water temp only changes 5 degrees through the year, currently a balmy 45 F.

The gorge is only navigable for 20 minutes during slack tides. There is a $40,000 fine for going through when unsafe.

We were dropped off back at the campground with a new found respect for the history of the area. That evening there was a live performance by two musicians out on the lawn at the campground. A nice bonus to the day.

Today we woke early to break camp and go to the bike shop (my bike was starting now) before the 12:30 ferry to Nova Scotia.

When we got the (Harley/Honda) shop it was obvious that the part they ordered was not the issue. I spoke with the guys in the service dept. and one suggested checking my negative battery connection. I did that and found that I could tighten it a bit. Since then everything has been working fine.

We headed off to get to the ferry early. We followed the signage from Hwy 1 and could not believe the terrible condition of the road to the ferry. Most all of the roads we drove around Saint John were rough and hard on the back.

At the ferry terminal we chatted with some of the other riders there and got some feedback on routes to take in Nova Scotia. On board, the woman at the tourism desk was outstanding. She gave us a motorcycle handbook for Nova Scotia that was Reader's Digest size, but thicker. This gave the trip a new edge of excitement. The trip across the Bay of Fundy is 3 hours and BC Ferries could take some tips from Bay Ferries. They have a full length movie on board (this trip the new Bond. Witnessed an older woman with a very complicated arrangement of what must have been floor length hair giving the purser an earful about the "unsuitable" movie. They should play "the classics" she said. Maybe she's right), a St. John's Museum rep who does three different presentations people of the Bay of Fundy, Shipbuilding and ocean wild life, including some whale watching. He promised the odds of seeing a whale were about 50/50, enough to make us want to brave the Atlantic wind, but sadly, the odds were not in our favour. When the movie was not playing there were info pieces about the area's ecology. It was interesting and informative much like watching discovery channel.

Off the ferry at Digby, we took the southern route towards Yarmouth. On the advice of the tourism gal we took exit 28 and rode along the water all the way. The landscape and ocean vistas were awesome.

The homes were not all colorful like Newfoundland is advertised but beautifully kept with clean lines standing out along against the green.

There were vistas of shoreline with light houses and bays with their docks and fishing boats tied up like some painting out of a gallery. Sadly this highway although easy and beautiful to ride does not lend space to pull over for pictures. Where we did find a place to pull over were the enormous Roman Catholic churches that every little village had. All the churches were impressive buildings but two in particular caught our interest. One was a huge stone church at St. Bernard. All the stone was brought by two men with mule and cart. The building took 30 years to complete.

The other was Saint Marie. It is the largest wooden church in the world. It is unbelievable the dedication that has gone into building these churches.

This is an Acadian area and French is predominant. They have their own flag, a french tri-colour with a gold star. We learned that the Acadians were banished to the US in 1746 and allowed to return in 1768 to settle in the area. Must have given them the determination to keep their culture alive.

With rain threatening, we took refuge just in time at Lakelawn Motel. The main part of the motel is an old house built in 1864 by a wealthy shipbuilder.

It actually began to rain hard just after we went down the road to the Austrian Inn for dinner. It was cosy and we enjoyed our red wine by the fireplace. Jill enjoyed local scallops in garlic butter. Yum. Grant went for the pork chop special with included the most marvellous cauliflower soup.

Luckily there was a break at the time we returned to the motel but it started up just after and continued through the night.

We're gearing up for a wet ride with plans to link up with Bill Sr. and Eunice from Halifax, the parents of Kate's colleague Billy Jr.

Bill Sr. has stayed in touch via email and he and Eunice want to ride up to meet us. Wonder how they'll feel when they watch the weather?

A Day in Saint John, NB

Lordy, lordy another sunny day. Jill got up first and waved goodbye to our neighbor Biker John leaving as I dragged my achy back into a nearly upright position. For a pair of thrill seekers we got on our way a bit late.

The road out of the campsite was being worked on so we had to go the "long way round" about way through Rockwood Park. At a fork in the road I took a left that led us through an older residential neighborhood. Like winding through West Van I chose to follow the streets that had yellow centre lines.

With luck we wound up on a road that felt like the right way to go but not knowing east from north we stopped in at a Petro Can for fuel. A fellow with a Harley T shirt rode in on his riding mower to fill up too. He had long wild blonde hair trailing out from his baseball cap and a wide full of beans grin. Jill commented on his unknown model of Harley and struck up a friendly conversation. Telling him that we were looking to see Reversing Falls he indicated that we were but a mile or so from it. At that time I realized that I had forgotten my wallet at the campsite. While Jill went to pay, the Harley mower guy gave me instructions on how to find our way back to the campground. Following his guidance and recognizing some of the streets we had been on we took the"long way back" and eventually found my wallet.

Once again I had to retrace our way back to the corner with the gas station. (Jill interjects... these back street are bumpy with potholes right down to the bedrock. Must have been murderous on Grant's back) We got lucky as this addled brain is not always reliable. We did get to Reversing Falls but missed the most impressive tide change. This is a spot where the waters of Grand Bay and Saint John Harbour meet and depending whether it is high or low tide one body of water is higher or lower than the other. This makes for a water fall at this point. Boats do not pass through it during that time.

We left Reversing Falls and headed to Hampton going east on Hwy 1 which felt like west to me (talk about your reversing falls). A swift ride for about 40 kms and we turned into the town of Hampton.

There was a visitor centre there so we pulled in. I asked if the road by the centre went into the heart of town to which the young man said 'this is the heart of town'. Kitty corner there was a grand old building that could have been a church or town hall. I found out it was a law office. The lad then pointed out on his map a route that is a very nice motorcycle loop to take. It goes toward Kingston and up to Belleisle Bay. So we headed down the road to Kredl's Corner Market and hung a left to check out this ride. The road was fair but by no means good. As we got up into the countryside some of the houses and properties were amazing. Not the kind of thing you would expect off on an old country road. As we turned from Kingston toward Belleisle Bay there were some openings in the trees and views from some large lots. The Bay was glorious and the views that some of these houses had were what some people pay a million for.

The loop took about an hour and we wound up back at Kredl's Corner. We stopped at for an ice cream and decided to buy some groceries too. While there I overheard a fellow commenting that he had just managed to stay ahead of the rain in his convertible, I guess the top didn't go up. He said it was coming from Saint John. We could see that the wind was picking up outside and some clouds had come in. Oh well we would have to take whatever came. But as luck would have it we hit no rain at all and only some parts of the road that looked as though it had sprinkled a bit earlier.

So we were in luck, and to further that the road that leads up to our campground is an exit off Hwy 1. Back at our campsite there was no evidence of anything but sun all day. I took a rest and a pill for the back and now we will sit down for a lovely campsite dinner.

The Maritimes! Yeah!

I am very proud to think I made it to the Maritimes and without once dropping my bike or crying.

In the days or should I say nights prior to our departure, I was beginning to doubt myself. Well here I am.

There was a time, as we were waiting to board the ferry from Manitoulin Island which would take us another 2 hours further from home, when I felt that childhood feeling. Wanting to swim to the raft & getting out so far out there feeling unsure.Looking back, shore seems a long way away. Sometimes you just have to keep going.

Mind you, I've had to discard any semblance of feminine notions about being clean, moisturized, mascara, hair, nails, even earrings. I can wear lipstick so completely out of character, bought a colour called Ruby,

The part of the trip I'm enjoying the most is waking up in the morning with this new shiny day full of unknowns. That is the trade off for being away from loved ones. And the dog.

Grant's back gave him some grief yesterday. His bike wasn't happy either, refusing to start several times.

There is a mysterious electrical issue that is frustrating. The fix involves removing all his luggage and gear, the passenger seat, the driver's seat and fiddling around with hidden fuses and series of connections that require contortion on his part maybe the bike just wants attention, because Grant is never sure of any specific action, but the bike always starts after a good fussing over.

We have decided to stay here in St. John's for three days. Grant will be able to enjoy some touring without having the trailer in tow. We can re-group, rest, get clean and repack.

During our night in Holdem just outside Bangor we were treated to a copy of the thunder storm we had avoided the night before. Bright flashes of lightning and rolling thunder brought some heavy rain but by morning the sun was shining bright. The drive across northern Maine was an easy one. Very few signs of life up there, just trees. We were glad we'd gassed up (although that stop killed Grant's bike again) as there was nothing. Houses and old resorts were empty and abandoned after the inter-state. Finally, after a long climb saw the Hill Top Cafe, a warm and friendly place with yellow seats and curtains. Enjoyed the best muffin of my life!

A local there advised us to take the Milltown border crossing instead of Calais (aka Callous). Take note if you're in the areas. We only had one small truck ahead of us and within minutes were on Canadian soil. It felt good to "be home". Not sure why as the differences are minimal, but it was nice not having to do math to adjust my speed on my kilo only speedometer and then there's the money.

We stopped in St. Stephen at a tourist info place and had some great fish and chips at Nautical Nancy's, (Nautical Nancy's - Ample Annie's) housed in a beautiful blue shake cottage, with window casings painted a deep gold. It was set on the banks of a river and we ate our fish and chips and watched fisherman messing about with their boats (mum what is that quote???) chatting to one another in the local tongue. The stripers are running!

We learned about a spectacular gorge nearby, so after another bike breakdown, found our way there and took some pics. Grant is posting them on a photo link. Click here, click on the first photo then press'n' for next or 'p' for previous. http://www.getdropbox.com/gallery/1520537/1/Some%20Photos%20Before%20the%20Maritimes?h=0d92f2

Drove along to the outskirts of St. John's pinching myself along the way. We are finally here!!! Stopped at the spectacular ocean side Info center staffed by the brightest and the best. One wall of the building was glass overlooking salt marshes and out to the sea, a nature preserve courtesy of the Irving family. They're BIG out here.

Were directed to municipal campsite, but as the town pre-dates the grid system, we got lost. The streets were hard on our bikes and old bodies. Would have been good to have an off-road BMW, but we made it. Set up, built a fire and sat back smiling, pleased with ourselves.

Another biker pulled in late and set up near by so we invited him to join us at the fire. His name was John. He was from Oakville, Ontario, a 50's something (aren't they all, except me of course) biker who takes one month a year to tour a province. John had seen more of BC than either of us. He had lots of stories and advice about routes to by-pass Montreal, what to see, what to avoid. He told us that Lunenburg was built using a city plan brought over from France. the city fathers laid the plan out disregarding any geography. He said it was not to be missed.

We sit here in the sun now with our coffee, pouring over brochures & planning our day.

A fresh new day. What will it hold?