Brooks and ponds and canned milk, oh my!

I love the language of Newfoundland;

a brook is a stream
a pond is a lake
a bridge is a deck
and canned milk is the norm for tea and coffee (I was told this was because fresh milk used to be impossible to ship to the island since it went sour so quickly. Thus, evaporated canned milk became the norm.)
People also tend speak a bit faster than I'm used to, and drop the 'g'. So you could be fishin', swimmin', playin', eatin', drinkin', or cookin'.

I also dig the whimsical and lyrical nature

of the place names: Heart's Delight, Come by Chance, Good Adventure, Tickle Harbour, Little Bay, Chapel's Cove, Harbour Grace, the list goes on! There are places that sound a little

more ominous, like Deadman's Cove, or a perhaps even slightly risque, like Dildo. If one were to ask me what a dildo was, my answer certainly wouldn't be "a place on Trinity Bay in Newfoundland", but it's right there on the map. The name was so good that they even christened a town South Dildo. Who would have thunk it?


The nature of bike touring enables one to meet various people that one might not bump into otherwise. Take, for instance, Edna: a retired woman in her sixties from Deer Lake. I me

t Edna on her bridge one night, when I startled her while she was having a smoke with the dog around sunset. I was on my nightly quest to find a place to rest, and she (being the friendly sort) invited me in for a cuppa tea, served with canned milk or course. Edna has short grayish hair and a set of prosthetic hips.

And, she was bad ass. I mean, she didn't take no crap from nobody. If the youngsters were being lippy, or people were taking her hospitality for granted, she laid it down for them in simple terms, then gave'em the boot. She enjoyed her tea and her cigarettes, quilting and hand stitching, and talking to her grand daughter on the phone (studying at St. FX in Antigonish) before bed. She liked to use the words "livid" and "savage", like, "Oh, and let me tell you, I was livid! I says to meself, 'Edna, you can't let them get away with that! It's savage!'"

Edna cooked me up a trio of fried eggs, made up the basement room, told me to get in the tub and have a nice long soak, then put the kettle on for another cuppa tea. We chatted about this and that, but eventually the conversation took on a somber quality as she described to me her family history of Huntington's disease. It's weird; here's this woman who I hardly know, sharing some really painful, heavy stuff with me at midnight in some town in Newfoundland. I could never have imagined myself being here, at this moment, but yet already I look back on it and realize the richness my experience. Sometimes life isn't all fun and games, and one thing I've heard countless times since I've arrived is, "Well, at least you're above ground" or variations of that theme. I get the impression that people here can put things in perspective a bit better than some of us mainlanders, and realize that however bad things may seem, as long as you aren't buried six feet under things could be a whole lot worse.

Hmmm, what else have I been up to...pedaling along the TransCanada for the most part. Enjoying the fall colours, crisp air, and warm cups of coffee at roadside diners. I've met dozens of awesome people, thus contributing to my higher than normal levels of

personal hygiene (I remember weeks in Ontario and Quebec when I didn't get a shower, now I shower every other day!) and quality of eating. I've heard the phrase "damn girl, you've got a lot of nerve!" more times than I can count. I don't know if I have nerve, or just some bizarre faith in humanity. I just trust that things will work out alright for me. Why shouldn't they?

I don't watch the news, so I don't really know what's going on in the world. Stories of murders and drug busts and foreign wars escape my ears when I'm on the road. But what I do know is this: I know I can survive in my tent if temperatures dip below freezing, I know that even in the middle of nowhere I'll still find a stream to fill my water bottles in, and I know that the world is full of interesting characters and beautiful people, and hope that luck and chance will bring me in contact with them.

So my friend Megan's father John worked with a fellow Don who owns a B&B in Glovertown, just off the TCH near Terra Nova National Park. I came in possession of this man's address and thus made my way into his home

and his family's life for five days. Ha! They had no idea what they got themselves into (nor did I). Big meals with tasty deserts, boating on the bay, whiskey and sprite, hours of colouring books and crayons, and a more than a few good conversations. Don and his wife Laurie enlightened me to the delights of partridge berry jam, 'fresh fish', and 'couldn's' (food that you couldn't finish last night, so you eat it tonight). Their carrot topped four year old son Steven showed me how to use the washer and dryer, ride an ATV, and operate the toaster. He also made me laugh; spinning around the floor in circles and throwing the words "big ol'" into every other sentence, for example, "and then the quad got stuck in a big' ol' mud puddle!" or "yeah, they used a big ol' tractor to get it out". It cracked me up.

Since I left Glovertown I've been making my way east, day by day pedaling closer to my ultimate destination of Cape Spear. I spent a night in Deep Bight then a night in Chapel Arm, enjoying fantastic seaside scenery and Newfie hospitality along the way. I love the Atlantic, the wooden lobster traps piled high on wharfs and the feeling of flying down the windy roads reaching into the coves that dot the coastline. I wish I had more time, that autumn wasn't upon us, so I could explore the peninsulas and bays that make up the backbone of Newfoundland culture and livelihood. Life doesn't unfold on the highway; it unfolds in the communities where people live, work, and play. But alas, it's the highway I must follow if I want to arrive in St. John's before the winter sets in.

Godspeed!