If I could wrap up my experience in Cape Breton for you in a couple of phrases, they would be 'friendly people' and 'significant hills'. Luckily, I'm from BC, so the hills were nothing new to me. The people, however, never ceased to amaze me with their warmth and generosity. Throughout my entire journey, I've never met anyone who has been anything but kind and helpful...except for a waitress or two who has refused to refill my mug with coffee after my bill has been issued. But the folks here in the Maritimes, well lets just say that they've taken hospitality to a whole new level.
I rolled out of the Garbary's place in Antigonish in the early afternoon after spending the morning with Dolna and Julian at the Farmer's Market. I ate a slice of blueberry cheesecake that was to die for, bought some chocolate fudge, and chatted with a few of the vendors and friends of Dolna. Sunshine and tailwinds led me across the Canso Causeway, which connects the Nova Scotia peninsula to Cape Breton. I cruised up along the western coast, admiring the steep red banks dropping off into the sea.
My first night on Cape Breton was spent in the home of a woman named Sandra near the town of Port Hood. Her husband and son (both tuna fishermen) were out tagging the giants when I arrived abruptly at her doorstep sometime around sunset. I asked to pitch my tent in her yard, but instead was invited in for pork chops, a shower, and a good nights sleep in a real bed. Something I learned from my last bike trip was that the simple pleasure of stretching out on a bed is not one that should be taken for granted-I hope all you folks reading this know how good you have it!
S
andra's family members wandered in and out during the course of the evening, no one seeming to think that having a random Vancouverite on a bike journey over for the night to be anything out of the ordinary. I learned about tuna fishing and ATVing, and left the next morning with my belly full of food. I'm telling this story because the rest of my nights on the island were spent in a similar manner, except for one night in Ingonish where I slept in some old fella's workshop, and was left to my own devices for the course of the evening. More often than not, I left people's homes with fruit or veggies, sandwiches or baked goods, a few stories to retell, and farewell hugs. I feel that at this point in my life, I have at least three 'mothers' looking out for me, plus my real mom back home in Surrey.
So my goal was to cycle the Cabot Trail. Named after the Italian explorer John Cabot (who reached our shores in 1497), the route has been listed as one of the Best Drives in the world by Lonely Planet. The trail winds up and down the northern tip of Cape Breton, passing through the spectacular Cape Breton Highlands National Park. I was undecided over whether or not to cycle this hilly detour, but after encouragement from my fellow cycling friends (Toby and Kevin), I decided to give it a go. After all, when was I going to be back in this part of the world? It was now or never.
Definitely worth it; for the views, the people, and the challenge of climbing all those steep grades. The hill I'll remember most vividly was 3 km at 13%. I was standing up and pedaling for most of it, receiving honks of encouragement and thumbs up from drivers who were descending the switch backed road. I've been told that the park is stupendous in early October, when the leaves are all gold and red and the autumn sun hits the trees at that certain angle, making everything seem otherworldly. Even as I was making my way around the leaves were beginning to turn; the odd maple a brilliant rouge while most remained green with hints of yellow.
At the park entrance I talked my way out of paying the visitors fee. The parts of the highlands that were up a ways above sea level were enshrouded in a deep mist, giving the place an aura of unexplored mystery. I had my peepers open wide in hopes of spotting a moose, but alas, none were to be seen. The descents were fast and breathtaking, and I wished more than once that I was equipped with a helmet camera to document the brilliance which unfolded before me.
My journey from the Highlands into North Sydney was quicker than expected, with a crazy wind forcing me down the eastern coast from Ingonish. Brilliant red apples dangled from their branches like the shingy orbs of glass Christmas tree ornaments. I crossed the wildest bridge, way way way up over an arm of the Bras d'Ore Lake, all the while pedaling as fast as I could and praying that no big rigs would race up behind me and blow me over the side rail. My heart beat faster, and (for some unknown reason) the image of my sister and I outrunning (outpedaling?) the Mexican toll road gaurds outside of Tijuana floated to the surface of my memory. I smiled, wheezed a bit, and hoofed it over the bridge pronto.
I wound up taking the eight hour night ferry to Newfoundland a day or so earlier than I expected to. Little did I know that earlier that day, while I was experiencing blue skies and heavy winds, the island of Newfoundland was being devastated by Hurricane Igor. It wasn't until about 4:00 am, when I wandered into the lounge because I couldn't sleep with all the side-to-side rocking, I saw the news reports. Cellphone video clips of the untamable waters, wicked winds toppling trees, flooding basements, overturning RVs. I suddenly came to realize the gravity of the situation. I was riding into the wake of a hurricane...
I rolled out of the Garbary's place in Antigonish in the early afternoon after spending the morning with Dolna and Julian at the Farmer's Market. I ate a slice of blueberry cheesecake that was to die for, bought some chocolate fudge, and chatted with a few of the vendors and friends of Dolna. Sunshine and tailwinds led me across the Canso Causeway, which connects the Nova Scotia peninsula to Cape Breton. I cruised up along the western coast, admiring the steep red banks dropping off into the sea.
My first night on Cape Breton was spent in the home of a woman named Sandra near the town of Port Hood. Her husband and son (both tuna fishermen) were out tagging the giants when I arrived abruptly at her doorstep sometime around sunset. I asked to pitch my tent in her yard, but instead was invited in for pork chops, a shower, and a good nights sleep in a real bed. Something I learned from my last bike trip was that the simple pleasure of stretching out on a bed is not one that should be taken for granted-I hope all you folks reading this know how good you have it!S
andra's family members wandered in and out during the course of the evening, no one seeming to think that having a random Vancouverite on a bike journey over for the night to be anything out of the ordinary. I learned about tuna fishing and ATVing, and left the next morning with my belly full of food. I'm telling this story because the rest of my nights on the island were spent in a similar manner, except for one night in Ingonish where I slept in some old fella's workshop, and was left to my own devices for the course of the evening. More often than not, I left people's homes with fruit or veggies, sandwiches or baked goods, a few stories to retell, and farewell hugs. I feel that at this point in my life, I have at least three 'mothers' looking out for me, plus my real mom back home in Surrey.
So my goal was to cycle the Cabot Trail. Named after the Italian explorer John Cabot (who reached our shores in 1497), the route has been listed as one of the Best Drives in the world by Lonely Planet. The trail winds up and down the northern tip of Cape Breton, passing through the spectacular Cape Breton Highlands National Park. I was undecided over whether or not to cycle this hilly detour, but after encouragement from my fellow cycling friends (Toby and Kevin), I decided to give it a go. After all, when was I going to be back in this part of the world? It was now or never.
Definitely worth it; for the views, the people, and the challenge of climbing all those steep grades. The hill I'll remember most vividly was 3 km at 13%. I was standing up and pedaling for most of it, receiving honks of encouragement and thumbs up from drivers who were descending the switch backed road. I've been told that the park is stupendous in early October, when the leaves are all gold and red and the autumn sun hits the trees at that certain angle, making everything seem otherworldly. Even as I was making my way around the leaves were beginning to turn; the odd maple a brilliant rouge while most remained green with hints of yellow.At the park entrance I talked my way out of paying the visitors fee. The parts of the highlands that were up a ways above sea level were enshrouded in a deep mist, giving the place an aura of unexplored mystery. I had my peepers open wide in hopes of spotting a moose, but alas, none were to be seen. The descents were fast and breathtaking, and I wished more than once that I was equipped with a helmet camera to document the brilliance which unfolded before me.
My journey from the Highlands into North Sydney was quicker than expected, with a crazy wind forcing me down the eastern coast from Ingonish. Brilliant red apples dangled from their branches like the shingy orbs of glass Christmas tree ornaments. I crossed the wildest bridge, way way way up over an arm of the Bras d'Ore Lake, all the while pedaling as fast as I could and praying that no big rigs would race up behind me and blow me over the side rail. My heart beat faster, and (for some unknown reason) the image of my sister and I outrunning (outpedaling?) the Mexican toll road gaurds outside of Tijuana floated to the surface of my memory. I smiled, wheezed a bit, and hoofed it over the bridge pronto.I wound up taking the eight hour night ferry to Newfoundland a day or so earlier than I expected to. Little did I know that earlier that day, while I was experiencing blue skies and heavy winds, the island of Newfoundland was being devastated by Hurricane Igor. It wasn't until about 4:00 am, when I wandered into the lounge because I couldn't sleep with all the side-to-side rocking, I saw the news reports. Cellphone video clips of the untamable waters, wicked winds toppling trees, flooding basements, overturning RVs. I suddenly came to realize the gravity of the situation. I was riding into the wake of a hurricane...
Shoe photo = amazing! rock on megs.
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