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.