Canada; Nova Scotia; Baddeck: The Telegraph House

Day 22
Miles so far= 1728

The Telegraph House, Baddeck.

 

The RCMP Trooper was telling me to lay back, the ambulance was on its way. I didn't understand. What on earth was happening? I looked around, I seemed to be laying in the middle of the road. A little way off a neatly dressed lady was standing by the open door of her car and between her and me my 'bike lay on its side with both panniers off! One was on the road, the other on the grass verge. Had she rear ended me? I couldn't remember. The Trooper enlightened me.

“From the look of things your chain snapped, wrapped itself around the rear cog and threw you off. The lady says you went quite high.” he grinned, “ but you don't seem too badly hurt, get you to the hospital though for a check.”

I must have passed out because the next thing I knew I was in the back off an ambulance with a paramedic shining a torch in my eyes.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” he asked holding up three fingers.

“Three.” I replied.

“You took quite a fall there buddy,” he said, “we're taking you to Baddeck Hospital to make sure nothing is ruptured or broken, or that you don't have concussion.”

“My 'bike?” I enquired with a feeling of dread.

“Canco Ford will pick it up I expect, there's always an emergency tow truck on duty somewhere, and Canco are the biggest garage around here. It didn't look too bad to me from what I saw.”

I relaxed a little and let the siren waft me back into a light trance, God but did my shoulder hurt though!

Baddeck Hospital

 

Compared to St Anthony's Hospital, Baddecks is relatively small. The 'out patience' surgery doubles as the Emergency Room. There were several Native Americans sitting there and it became clear that this 'idiot English 'biker'' was well down on the list for attention. I don't blame them for that, too often Native Americans get the raw end of the deal I found out. The duty nurse was nice enough though and fetched me a drink of water and did the paperwork. The doctor gave me a once over, cutting through the sleeve and shoulder seam of my favorite tee shirt in the process I might add, and sent me for an x-ray on my right shoulder. Ironically I had almost complete mobility in my left arm now. After a while the RCMP Sergeant appeared and took my details, and yes my insurance would cover the bill for the ambulance and hospital treatment, and since no one else was involved he closed his notebook and wishing me luck, left. Phew, another narrow escape, I must try and get some 'bike insurance, but where?

The day wore on and morning became afternoon, and afternoon evening. The Doctor reappeared looking tired and clipped my x-ray on the wall mounted lightbox. Apparently I now had a broken right shoulder. He and the nurse removed my tattered tee shirt to strap me up with what became known to me as my 'brassier'. This pulled my shoulder back so the bone could knit together, as this is all they can do for broken shoulders.

“You must keep this on for six weeks, and no motorcycling during that time. Understand?”

I said that I did and he left. The duty nurse, now an attractive blond in her middle years asked me if I had anywhere to stay. I told her that I didn't as I was just riding through, and she said she would ring around, although chances were slim as there was a regatta on. A short while later she returned and said that only one hotel had a room, The Telegraph House, and the owner was on his way to pick me up. That's when I met one of the nicest men you could ever wish to meet, Shawn Dunlop, a real gentleman. We went to his car together and he asked me if I had any toiletries with me, I answered that all my stuff was with the bike at Canco Ford, for the RCMP Sergeant had confirmed that they had indeed picked my 'bike up from the highway.

It was dark outside now, which surprised me a bit, but the local pharmacy was open and he waited while I went inside and bought toothbrush, toothpaste and a razor. Anything else would wait until morning.

“The cabin I have for you was closed for redecoration, but we did a quick tidy up and laid the bed, so I hope it will be OK for you.”

I told him I was just grateful that he could put me up at all otherwise I'd be sleeping rough.

“I'm afraid the TV is not very good, the original one has been moved to another cabin and the one there was due to be thrown out.”

Again I told him that the TV was the least of my worries. We reached the Telegraph House and he escorted me to the furthest cabin and let me in. The room was cosy, about 15 foot square, and sported a big double bed, chest of draws, wardrobe, two bedside cabinets and a bathroom/toilet off in the far corner. A TV stood on the chest of draws along side an electric kettle and coffee making stuff, and there were also a couple of armchairs with a coffee table and an upright chair in the far corner. Shawn asked me if I had eaten and I suddenly remembered that my last meal was a couple of maple syrup pancakes I had made for breakfast that morning outside my tent at Whycocomagh Provincial Park. Although the kitchen was closed, he said he would see what he could rustle up and soon a waitress returned with a plateful of salmon sandwiches.

I sat on the bed, clumsily took off my boots, ran my fingers through my hair and though, “Now look what you've done you silly bastard,” and polished off the sandwiches before turning in for the night, carefully positioning the pillows around me so as not to roll onto my broken shoulder during the night.

Miles so far= 1733

Next:Grounded in Baddeck.