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.