Viking Trail; Newfoundland; Prelude to disaster

Episode 16
Miles so far = 1122

After a good nights sleep, I awoke and threw back the curtains to reveal a bright, new, clean and fresh day, as well as the sight of my motorbike on its side in the driveway. That must have been the crash I half heard as I was dropping off to sleep last night. Well it was now in a state of stable equilibrium and any damage was already done, so shower, dressed and breakfast; then I would sort it all out.

 

After I had gone to bed last night another family had arrived. They were expected, but delayed due to a fault with the ferry from Labrador. They had come from Goose Bay, where they lived, to visit with family in St. John’s. I told them I was planning to go to Goose Bay using the same route they had to get here. They advised me to take the ferry from St. Paul's all the way because the road was being graded. What this means is lorry loads of gravel are dumped on the road and it is levelled out and lightly compacted. The obvious reason they do this is to fill the pot holes and ruts, but it is not the main reason. Most of Labrador is tundra, fen and bogs. The only way they can keep the roads viable is if the land under them is frozen solid, the gravel acts like a thermal blanket and keeps the subsurface frozen. For me, they said, 400 miles of loose gravel was going to be one heck of a challenge. Add in the moose and bears and it could turn out to be an exciting trip. I swallowed hard, laughed and went to see what damage had happened to the ‘bike. Thinking to myself, 'Yeah, and that's only the first leg!'

 

The planned route through Labrador, three legs riding and two ferries.

 

When I had parked the bike I had put it quite close to the edge of the gravel driveway, during the night the rain had undermined the gravel and one of the motorcycle stand legs had sunk in to it enough so that a chance gust of wind had done the rest.

 

Once more on the road I was looking forward to seeing with my own eyes the remains of the Viking Settlement at Le Anse aux Meadows. A myth from the old Norse Legends, no one had really believed that the Norsemen had reached America 500 years before Christopher Columbus, until this settlement had been unearthed and hundreds of iron nails, tar, pitch and the remains of a ship repairing harbour complex had been found here. The road crossed  from the west coast to the east across bleak moorland before coming to forests with the odd meadow and field. There were several moose hinds with their calves at various points along the way, but the only bull moose I saw was about a hundred yards away, and there was a deep ravine running alongside the road between he and I. I expect that these ravines; too big, deep and rocky to be called ditches or culverts; were to take away the melt water from the snow drifts that were ploughed away from the road itself in the winter.

 

There was a Provincial Park and Campsite at Pistolet Bay and I soon saw a sign on the roadside that pointed the way up a long gravel track to a neat wooden hut that was the Ranger Station. The Ranger and I exchanged a few happy words and he picked out a camping site for me. I went of to find it along a track that had also recently been graded and found it hard going as the front wheel kept sinking in and then skidding out of the loose gravel.

 By early afternoon I was all set up and so decided that I would go and see the Viking site this afternoon. The driveway out of my camp area was shrouded by low bushes, and riding out onto the main track I surprised a young female moose who was browsing along the roads edge. I'm not sure who was more surprised! Anyway she turned and ambled quickly off in that loosed limbed way they have.

 

The Viking site at L'Anse aux Meadows, ('The Goat Field' in English.) is spread over several acres of rocky moorland that is adjacent to the sea. The visitor centre and museum is approached by a long road that gives you plenty of time to think about this inhospitable location.

 

The Visitor Centre is set low so as not to intrude on the landscape.

 

The inside of the building is lined with the warm hues of pine cladding with exhibits of the many finds from this site, and a fine reconstruction of one of the boats found here. Apparently this was a 'repair yard' for boats that had made the gruelling journey from Norway to Vinland, as the Vikings called America.

 

The modern visitor centre and Museum

 

Outside is a footpath trail to follow that passes many of the salient sites of archaeological interest.

These shallow depressions are all that are left of houses, workshops and forges

 Pride of place is the reconstruction of the turf longhouse that was here.



Inside the longhouse museum staff explain how the Norsemen lived and worked.

 

 

It was all very fascinating and I heard one American Visitor exclaim, 'I'm a teacher and for the last forty years I've been teaching my pupils the wrong thing!' Rather disingenuously I thought to myself 'You should read a little less conservatively sister, I knew about Eric the Red and Vineland when I was a teenager.'

 

 

All together an excellent afternoon, now I looked forward to cooking dinner over an open fire in the nearly deserted campsite at Pistolet Bay. The rains from last night looked as though they may have been a little heavier at this northern tip of Newfoundland, as stones and gravel had been washed to the edge of the road. Coming around the last bend to the campsite, and concentrating on not missing the entrance, I wandered too close to the verge, highsided once, corrected; and was just congratulating myself when I highsided a second time and flew over the handlebars. I remember seeing the boulders in the roadside ravine coming towards me, there was a violent bang as my helmet hit and then blackness...........

 

I'm not the only one to 'highside', this racing motorcyclist did the same as me, but for a different reason.

 

photos courtesy of misc. Internet sites, explanation to follow in later blog.

 



Miles at end of day = 1232
Tomorrow : 'You will never ride a motorcycle again.'

Viking Trail; Newfoundland, Canada: Drizzle and homemade bread.

Episode 15
Miles so far 910

 

 

It's always disappointing to go to bed with a clear night sky above you and wake up to leaden skies and the threat of rain, but I did. By the time I got everything packed away the morning was nearly gone. However, I was in no hurry and was still getting used to where to stow everything to make it as compact as possible.

Riding north, the landscape gradually flattened out until the terrain was almost flat moorland on one side and rocky shoreline on the other. There were the dark watered lakes of Rocky Pond, Sandy Pond, Two Mile Pond and countless other smaller lakes and ponds. The small wooden houses of St.Paul's came and went, as did a particularly nasty bridge, all steel decking across it and very slippery in the light drizzle that started to fall. That horrible fine rain that covers your visor in a million droplets that just sit there, making it impossible to see. With the drizzle came a marked drop in temperature as well.

The Arches Provincial Park was a bit too close from where I stayed last night to warrant a serious look for a campsite so I carried on.

Daniels Harbour, Table Point, River of Ponds, Hawke's Bay and the port of St.Barbe were ticked off my map pocket mounted on the petrol tank in front of me. It was at St.Barbe that I hoped to catch the ferry to mainland Labrador in a few days time.

Deadmans Cove, Salmon Rock, Flowers Cove, Nameless Cove (good one that,) all passed by me and now I was searching for a cafe, hotel, B&B, anything for food and warmth. A cold mist descended and it was about 6.30, and only one B&B sign, and that was at Flowers cove some miles back. After another hour of nothing but wilderness and tiny fishing hamlets, I turned and headed back to Flowers Cove where I had seen the B&B sign. I followed several home made signposts into Flowers Cove and pulled up outside a nice looking modern wood and brick bungalow. After the usual mutual enquiries I had a warm bed for the night with an en-suite bathroom. It was now about 9 pm and any thoughts of dinner had long since evaporated. The landlady and I had a very pleasant chat over a cup of coffee and she asked if I had eaten. I replied that I had not, but it wasn't a problem.

"You're in luck," she said, "today I baked some bread, and there's some local butter and home made wild strawberry jam to go with it."

I beamed and woofed it all down. After a long hot shower, I snuggled up in bed listening to the sound of the rain beating against the window pane. I vaguely recall a sort of crashing sound at some point but was too cosy to worry what it was.



The B&B at Flowers Cove. (photo.$tromtrooper)

Miles at end of day = 1122
Tomorrow : Prelude to disaster

Canada;Newfoundland;Gros Morne: Perfect Campground

Episode 14. Miles so far 902

 

I was so enchanted by the campground at Green Bay and the campsite I had the good fortune to pitch my tent in, that I decided to extend my stay from just an overnight stop, to a couple of nights. (Does that sound familiar?) So here is the video I made of that campsite.

I had intended to insert a video here, but after struggling with it for a couple of days, I admit defeat and here are stills from the video I took of my camp. 



 

 Me at the office.

The red mug acts like as a coffee maker, the plunger and lid in foreground

 

Early morning light filters through the trees and dapples my tent.

 

Picnic tables come as standard in almost every North American campsite.

 

Laundry area

 



The waterproof bag not only keeps clothes dry, you can fill it with warm water and travel wash, jiggle it about, and it becomes a washing machine. Attaching it to one of the pannier frames and driving does the jiggling for you, so when you arrive at your destination the clothes are washed, Stretching them over the camping gear when stowed on the 'bike, under a net, then dries them nicely, provided it's not raining of course.

My lockable aluminium panniers, they make good seats too.

 



The kitchen.

Almost every campsite has a fire basket or fire pit. If it doesn't then the chances are you must not have an open fire. On attended sites you can buy wood from the Rangers Office.

Rucksack and water carrier.

Keeping things off the ground is a good idea in most forest places, the ants are inquisitive.

The rear of my tent has a separate storage area that zips shut.

 

Letting sun inside my motorcycle gear helps destroy smelly bacteria.

.......and just through the trees is a private sun terrace where eating meals is a joy.

All in all a perfect spot to unpack and relax. Sally's Cove is just up the road where I went for a few supplies.



Miles today = 8
Total miles = 910
Day 12

Tomorrow, Drizzle and home made bread.

Canada;Newfoundland,Gros Morne National Park

Episode 13 : Miles so far 582

 

So, with my cheery wave goodbye to Natasha, I was off on my journey towards the Vikings of  America. I had a chance to check the map this morning and can see where the confusion of last night arose. You can see from the map above that the Trans-Canada Highway does indeed travel north along the west coast, but then swings east to the Province Capital City of St.Johns. Hence the road sign TCH EAST, but since there are no other roads east, south or west in Port aux Basques, a single 'TCH - ALL ROUTES' would surely be a clearer indicator that unless you wanted the town then go this way. Oh well, at least I got to sleep in a ditch and speak with a beautiful young Canadian girl.

 

The road unwound in front of me, and I must say that I possessed much more enthusiasm for discovering new panoramas than the panoramas were showing me. This land is mainly a jumble of rocks. These rocks harbour vegetation, but it cannot be farmed in many places as the soil is almost none existent and waterlogged except in some more blessed areas of the country. Otherwise there is the logging of course, in Canada there is always the logging option.

 

The road was a long corridor of low bushes and trees with the occasional gravel road branching off, and glimpses of mountains to my left. The sea I knew was a few miles to my right but I never caught any glimpses of it. Before I knew it I reached my turn off to get petrol and coffee in Stephenville.

 

One thing you cannot miss in Stephenville is the airfield. It is huge. The petrol pump attendant, (yes they still have those in most of America), told me that it was built originally as a refuelling stop for ferrying bombers to Britain during WWII and then to house B-52 bombers of the American Strategic Bomber Command as it was not far to Russia from here across the North Pole. He told me that most of the town was once part of the Air Force Base; shopping mall, hospital, bowling alley and such. Then the cold war ended, the Berlin Wall came down and Russia no longer posed a threat. The whole set up, including some of the longest bombproof concrete airfield runways in Canada, were sold to the town council for $1. And only then because it is illegal for the American military to give anything away free. So now they have runways two and a quarter miles long with about half a dozen 2 and 4 seat prop. aircraft sitting on the tarmac. Although it does boast a weekly service to St.John's and Toronto. It's the same 'plane, stopping off on it's way from Toronto to St.John's, then stopping again when it flies back from St.John's to Toronto on the return journey.

 

"But," the pump attendant said with a grin, "if we ever want to bomb Moscow, we can do it from here."

 

B-52

 

One of the grease monkeys, who was in the shop where you pay, asked me why I was wearing my 'snow suit' this time of year, I had to explain that it was a motorcycle suit that was made from very tough fabric, tougher than the traditional leathers, and contained padded body armour to protect my 'bony hard points' in the event that I came off the 'bike.

 

Just a few hundred yards further along was a fast food outlet and I had a second breakfast of bacon, scrambled eggs, hash browns and coffee, along with a brief conversation with some French-Canadian motorcyclist who made it apparent that they disliked speaking English.

 

I took the back road out of Stephenville to ward off joining Highway 1, the Trans-Canada, for as long as possible because I found it boring. However, when I rejoined it the scenery was not boring at all, maybe the breakfast had something to do with that. The Deer Lake valley is very scenic and quite different to the countryside I had passed through. The air seemed 'softer' and the grass greener, no doubt the lake having an effect on the micro-climate here. Signs to the small town of Pasadena set me singing the old Temperance Seven hit revival of the sixties, but this can't be the one in the song because that was 'Home, on the western plain', and this was no plain.

 

Pasadena slip road on Highway 1, The Trans-Canada Highway

 

Coming into Deer Lake, there were some road works on the last few hundred yard of the causeway there. The three lanes of traffic came to a halt at the roadwork lights and I noticed that under the green light was a fourth light with a LED countdown on it. It showed about 200 secs remaining, (3mins 20secs) so I was able to switch the engine off and look around me.People in the cars and camper vans were getting out, having a stretch, swapping over drivers, all sorts of things; and all because we all knew how long we had left to wait until the green light. What a marvellous invention! Everyone knew what was happening, no irritation or fuss, and when there were 10secs remaining, engines were starting, doors slamming and when the green came on we were away.

 

Deer Lake

 

At Deer Lake I left Highway 1 and took 'The Viking Trail', a road that carries on along the west coast of Newfoundland and leads to the furthest point north. Here at Deer Lake, the Trans- Canadian Highway does begin to bend its way eastwards, but I still think it strange that for the last 200miles all the signs persist on calling it the 'EAST' route when we I have been riding along the western side of Newfoundland.

 

The scenery was now becoming even better as I rode down the winding valley road that leads eventually to Gros Morne National Park. The roads were steep, and the low loader I was following was in difficulties judging by the amount of smoke coming off of his rear brakes. He was carrying a large bulldozer, how many tons I don't know, but a lot. The trouble is that the hotter the brakes become the less effective they are, so you need to use them more and they get hotter still. The brake fluid then begins to boil and things get worse until the seals burst, the oil ignites and a disaster occurs. The driver must have been really pleased to see the long lay-by half way down to Rocky Harbour, and he pulled over with squealing brakes and acrid blue smoke that had been choking me for the last five minutes.

 

Gros Morne National Park, lots of 'wow' factor here!

 

I paid for my permit at the Rangers Station at the park entrance and talking to the Rangers there about what I preferred as a campsite, they told me that Green Bay may be just what I was looking for. I found it up the road 20 minutes later, and they were right. It was just what I was looking for.

Miles today = 326
Total Miles = 908
Tomorrow: The ideal campsite.

Canada;Newfoundland: The girl with no shoes.



 

Episode 12: Miles travelled so far = 584mls

 

 

The fog disappeared sometime in the night while I pretended to sleep in my ditch. At about 5am I got up and made some hot coffee to have with a couple of breakfast bars. The sky overhead had hardly a cloud in it and it looked like a fine days riding was in store.

 

The Newfoundland Visitor Centre at Port aux Basques, my sleeping ditch is arrowed.

 

Having had my breakfast and stowed my things away I decided I might as well be on my way. I put my helmet on, started the bike and backed out of the corner I had parked it in. Pulling round slowly to face the highway I noticed a girl walking by the highway and mistook her for someone out of the couple of camper vans who were parked in the opposite corner of the car park from me, perhaps she was looking for a water tap or something? She called out something to me which I couldn't hear over the engine noise and with my balaclava and helmet on. She must have realised because she changed direction and started towards me. She was tall, long blond hair, startling blue eyes, high cheekbones and slim.

 

"You must be wondering why I'm walking down the highway at 6 o'clock in the morning with no shoes on." she called.

 

I switched the engine off, took off my gloves and helmet, pushed the balaclava down so it was around my neck, removed my earplugs and by now she was about ten feet away.

 

"So tell me, why are you walking down the highway at 6 o'clock in the morning with no shoes on?" I asked wondering if she had an angle that would try and liberate some cash from me, but although wary I was also curious.

 

"Ooh, are you from Australia?" she asked her face lighting up.

 

"No England." I replied with a grin, North Americans often confuse the two accents, although how the manage to do that is beyond me.

 

"My name is Natasha, did you know that Natasha is Russian?"

 

"Yes Natasha, I did." and told her my name.

 

"Did you ride your bike all the way here from England then?"

 

"Well almost Natasha, you see there's 4,000 miles of Atlantic Ocean to get across first." I said chuckling.

 

"Oh I'm not very good at maps and things." she laughed.

 

"Ah, right." I said.

 

"I went into town last night with my boyfriend, to a party." she said pointing vaguely back towards Port aux Basques. "Not a proper party, just a few of his friends, and some music and a few cans of beer. Ya know?"

 

"Ah, right." I said again.

 

"Do you have a cigarrette?" she asked.

 

"No I only smoke cigars, but we can share one if you like." I said producing my packet of Hamlets and lighting one up. She took a drag on it, made a face and passed it back.

 

"I didn't like the party much, some of his friends are into dope, ya know?"

 

"Ah, right." I said once more.

 

"So when they started to want to play those 'party games', I told my boyfriend, he's my ex-boyfriend now by the way," she added taking the cigar again, and making a face again after inhaling from it. "I told him I wanted to go home now."

 

"Ah, right." I said.

 

"So he said, 'You can't go home, 'cause I've hidden your shoes!' We'll see about that I told him, which is why I'm walking down the Highway at 6 o'clock in the morning in my bare feet." she finished.

 

"Ah, right." I said.

 

"Haha, ohh I just love the way you say 'Ah, right.'" she said with a big smile on her face.

 

"I cannot go without taking a picture of you Natasha, here stand by the 'bike and I'll take one."

 

"Can I sit on it? she asked.

 

"Of course." I replied and took a couple of snaps as she posed outrageously.

 

Jumping down she gave me a big hug and said "Welcome to Newfoundland. I gotta go now, my Mum will have enough to say as it is. I only live in the next village."

 

"I wish I could give you a lift Natasha," I said, completely putting aside the instruction from the lady at the Customs Office that I must not give anyone a ride, "but as you can see there is absolutely no room for you to squeeze on, what with my camping gear and luggage." I explained,

 

"I know, but that's not why I stopped, I get this intuition thing sometimes," she replied screwing up her face a little, "something just told me I had to come over and talk to you." We both laughed, she gave me another hug and walked off towards the Visitor Centre.

 

"I think the cleaner is there," she called over her shoulder, "maybe I can get a taxi."

 

I put my helmet on, remounted my bike and rode of with a wave and a "Hi ho Silver away, who was that masked man?" call; which no one but me and my 'bike Christine would have heard.

 

Why there are no photos of Natasha will be explained later on.

 

Miles today =0

Miles Covered so far = 584mls

Tomorrow, Gros Morne National Park

Canada;Newfoundland:Lost in the fog.

Episode 11: Miles travelled so far = 572mls

The ferry from Nova Scotia to Newfoundland

 

I had looked up the ferry website for sailing times etc., and decided that the arrival time of 7-30pm would suit me fine. It would give me time to find the campsite at Port aux Basques in Newfoundland for the first night before I rode north firstly to Gros Morne National Park then to Le Anse aux Meadows to see the Viking settlement right at the northern tip of Newfoundland. The day was bright and sunny as I rode out to find the ferry terminal, perfect for a days sailing. The signage to the ferry was good and so it did not take long before I pulled up to the kiosk where a plump smiling lady ask to see my reservation. I told her I was here on spec., and hoped to purchase a ticket here at the port. She frowned.

 "That's not a good idea," she said, especially this week because it's 'Homecoming Week'."

I guessed that meant hordes of 'Newfees' were travelling back to their native communities to renew old relationships where they grew up.

"But this afternoons sailing still has room." she continued.

I accepted that with a shrug and took my ticket. She was still smiling as she directed me to the terminal, but I could tell that 'on spec.,' was not part of her normal vocabulary.

 

I grinned at this as I made my way to the terminal area, then frowned as I realised that the afternoon sailing would get me to Newfoundland at about 11-30pm, it's a 9 hour voyage.

There was a long row of cars and camper vans queued up on the terminals black tarmac plane with it's white lined lanes neatly marked out. I went into the terminal building and bought a coffee, then returned to sit on the floor next to my bike. A few yards in front of me two peaked capped officials were talking and when they had finished one walked over to me and asked to see my boarding ticket.

 

"If you want to board this next sailing line up over there." he said pointing to the head of the queue where several motorcycles stood a little ahead of the cars and camper vans. "Always room for 'bikes on the ferry." he said with a grin, "I'll adjust the manifest so just go ahead, but we are running late, there is a thick sea fog off Port aux Basques."

 

Coming from a seaside town I knew that often thick sea fogs, 'harrs' or 'frets' we called them locally, could blow in off the sea on a hot summer day. You could watch the thermometer falling like a descending elevator, but knew that a couple of miles inland it would remain hot and sunny. So I joined the front of the queue. What a lucky break.

 

The ferry to Newfoundland

 

There were a group of motorcyclists waiting, about half a dozen or so, all middle aged, all with expensive Honda Goldwings with the Queenie Seat, all to wrapped up in their own importance to notice me, or if they did they ignored me. Soon enough we were told to board and there were those moments of tension as I drove over the polished steel plates of the loading ramp. Once aboard we were directed to the front of the ship and here there were rings welded to the deck, and hanging on hooks nearby were cargo straps, the sort the winch tight with a ratchet buckle.  for me it was easy, put the bike on the centre stand, one strap on each of the engine crash bars, one each on the pannier frames and it was done. Follow all the car drivers up to the lounges and find a seat.

 

The air had a slight chill to it which made sitting out on the deck uncomfortable after fifteen minutes or so, and at first the scenery was interesting, passing as we were Breton Island, the coast of which I had rode down a day or two before. Looking out for whales also seemed popular, although we only saw three or four seals, their black heads bobbing amongst the waves in the distance. I went down to the restaurant and had a meal, then found a seat and tried to watch the movie, but I was restless and soon found myself back on deck again.

 

We seemed to be passing through patches of very cold air every now and then, and with the land disappearing behind us, all that was in front of us was a murky horizon where sky blended into the sea via a brownish tinge of mist. Soon the horizon disappeared all around us as we slowed speed and ploughed through a cold mist that turned into a very cold fog. The tannoy announced that we would be berthing late due to the bad weather conditions, although how late I had yet to realise.

 

As we glided silently through the fog the dark shape of an island appeared to one side of us, and then on the other a low cliff top on which were perched timber bungalows. One or two orange street lamps had come on early due to the fog. The call came for us to rejoin our machines and soon the lashings were off and I was once more ready for the road. My plan was to keep an eye on the camper vans and follow them until things became clear to me. With luck the campsite would have a 'late arrivales' area that I could pitch on. One of the things with motorbikes and Roll-On, Roll-Off ferries is you get to be first on, and therefore first off; great, except I wanted to follow someone as I had no idea which way to go. All I knew was that the Trans-Canada Highway went up the west coast until it bent east and I would carry on north, but that branch was a full days drive away. I slowed and pulled over letting the first 50 or so vehicles pass before tucking in behind some cars and camper vans. As we drove through the fog I saw a sign saying 'TCH East', well I didn't want east, I wanted west and took the next right ramp along with many of the vehicles I was following.

 

The sign I misinterpreted

 

 We came to a 'T' junction and I dutifully followed to find my self in a 'Tim Horton's' car park. (Tim Horton's is a chain of Canadian Coffee shops that serve good coffee, sandwiches and light meals!) Not what I wanted. By now the fog was thinning somewhat and a dull moon appeared and disappeared through the fog over the sea. I'm not sure how many times I went round the lack luster town of Port aux Basques, 3 or 4 I think, but could I locate the route for TCH West? Could I hell! I found the start of Highway 1 (the Trans-Canada Hwy) in a little cul-de-sac near the cliffs. I kid you not on this, there was the sign on a lamp post, but as soon as I moved off the route signs disappeared.

 

Typical street in Port aux Basques

 

One sign I did see was 'Visitor Centre', so now, tired and annoyed, I decided to see if I might find a coffee machine and toilet there.

 

Of course, it now being midnight, it was closed. I parked my 'bike in the corner of the car park, peed in the hedge, got my stove out and made a cup of coffee. The cold mist rolled in from the sea making everything damp with dew. In the end I got out my 'emergency sleeping bag'; just a big black plastic sack really, climbed into a nearby ditch out of the wind and to the accompanying strains of a seal honking somewhere from the rocks below, went to sleep.

 

The Visitors Centre, Port aux Basques

 

Miles today =12

Miles Covered so far = 584mls

Tomorrow: The girl with no shoes

Canada,Nova Scotia,Breton Island:To Sydney and the Newfoundland Ferry

Miles Covered so far = 512mls

Episode 10

 

I travelled south along the route that I scouted yesterday enjoying the views and sunny weather, and thinking to myself that I had chosen well this part of the world to begin my journey. The people were friendly, they spoke my language and although the speeds were kph, distances in kilometres and they drove on the right, I was handling that OK. I was well used to litres for petrol of course. Since my motorcycle had no fuel gauge, just a reserve quantity in the tank, working out distances in mpl or kpl (miles per litre or kilometres per litre) was no problem. I knew that when the 'bike began to stutter through lack of fuel I had about 50 miles worth left in the tank with which to find a petrol station. The big secret was to remember to turn the fuel cock back to 'normal' after filling up, because if you didn't then next time you ran out of petrol you will have already used up the 'reserve'. The extra fuel I carried in bottles would have got me about 20miles, if that.

All sorts of ideas come and go while riding along, what's the next town called, what time is it back home, where will I be this time tomorrow, have I got enough food for tonight, how many miles have I come, shall I stop and take a photo, when do I need more petrol, can I remember all of the Kings and Queens of England since Edward the Confessor? All the important stuff.

 

The Causeway to the Englishtown Ferry

 

I left Breton Island via the causeway that leads across the sound to a ferry. The ferry takes you the last 500 yards or so to Englishtown which is a typical Nova Scotian village loosely spread along the shoreline.

 

Looking back at the ferry with Breton Island in the background

 

Down alongside the shoreline the road went until after a few miles it joined Highway 105, The Trans-Canadian Highway. Canada is a place of glimpses. A lot of the time you are riding down a green corridor. The evergreens making tall impenetrable walls either side of the road. Then they thin, or you top a crest and glimpse a wide panorama previously hidden to you. Thus it was when I rode the smooth winding tarmac along the 105 until round the bend the trees thinned and the Seal Island Bridge appeared. Only a few miles remained through Bras D'or to North Sydney, which is rather confusingly south of Sydney Mines a larger town, but Sydney itself is further south on the other side of the river. I got a bit lost in North Sydney's dowdy streets and somewhere near the riverfront, past the Salvation Army shop, I found a hotel only a few minutes away from the ferry. Tomorrow I hoped to catch that ferry from here in Nova Scotia to Newfoundland.

 

 The Seal Island Bridge

 

 

Miles today =60

Miles Covered so far = 572mls

Tomorrow. Lost in the fog.

Canada;Nova Scotia; Cabot Trail: The east side of Breton Island

Episide 9; Distance travelled so far =423miles

Another easy day, only 33miles to Ingonish Campsite, but it has a shower block and clothes washing facilities that I would like to make use of. Once more the scenery is a joy to behold, the day sunny and the roads smooth and winding; what more could a motorcycle tourer want? Having booked in for a night and pitched my tent I go off to find the laundry facilities which turn out to be a series of waist high troughs, divided so you can wash your clothes in one part, then transfer them over to the next for rinsing. I have a tube of travel wash with me so get to dhobying my scant few sets of clothes and hanging them to dry. That has worked out well, I haven't needed to wear them inside out yet!

Chores done I once more go for a short ride and have a chillydog at Breton Cove about 20miles south of the campsite. That means I don't need to mess up the cooking pans that I scrubbed clean this morning, the outside gets sooty with the campfires and multi-fuel stove very quickly. I have bought myself a cafetaire mug. It is excellent. Not only is it insulated but has a plunger for trapping the coffee grounds and a drinking hole in the lid. I also bought a hand axe for chopping up wood for the campfire.

 

Along the east coast of Breton Island

 

 

 

 

 

 

The campsite at Ingonish

 

Miles Covered so far = 512mls

 

Tomorrow. To Sydney and the Newfoundland Ferry