Campobello Island, NB: Franklin's Cottage

Our last stop in New Brunswick was two days on beautiful Campobello Island. It required two ferry rides to get there. The first one was just a short hop over to Deer Island. The ferry transported cars, too, and many of these would then drive the 16 kilometer length of the island to catch the ferry to Campobello Island. This was also our plan, too, so we pedalled for a solid hour, up and down short, steep hills, thinking the dock for the ferry was just around the corner. When it was finally in sight, we saw the ferry had just pulled away. We missed it by a couple of minutes.

We are smiling in the photo below because we did not miss the ferry the next time it came around.


The disappointment was not just because we had to wait an hour, but also because we wanted to visit the President Franklin D. Roosevelt summer "cottage" that afternoon. But the weather was glorious, so we decided to stay another day and take our time to visit.

The house was open to tour, and it was furnished much as it was for the summers that Franklin spent there with his family. In my book, 34 rooms does not qualify as a cottage, but the bedrooms were small, really just for sleeping. And they had lots of hired help -- no electricity at the time. It was a long journey for the Roosevelts at the time to get to this place, and despite the fact that everything was done for them, it had a rustic feel.


And on a clear day, the sweeping view of Passamaquoddy Bay from the veranda is breathtaking.


I am working on John to buy us a little cottage like this, too.

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Pennfield, NB: Canadian Blues

So we pull into New River Beach Provincial Park. As always, we set up our tent quickly so we can shower and clean up before preparing dinner. We exchanged a brief greeting to our neighbors across the way, relating the abridged version of our travels so far. By the time we had the tent set up, here comes the wife with two plates with huge wedges of blueberry pie. Wow.

At this point we are only a couple of days of leaving New Brunswick and Canada altogether, and we did not want to miss the chance to stay in another one of these lovely parks. The sites are nicely graded with gravel, the bathrooms clean, and there was a kitchen shelter with tables and a wood-burning stove. And we woke up the next morning, and it was raining, and we decided to stay one more day rather than ride in the cold rain. And before we even got into the shelter to cook breakfast, the campground attendant brought in wood and lit a fire for us. He said he thought we would be needing some warmth on a day like this. Double wow.

We sat most of that rainy day in the kitchen shelter, doing blogs and reading. We met most of our fellow campers as they filed in to do dishes in the common sink area. And one family was particularly interested in our trip, and we talked for a good while. Later they invited us to come over for dinner. So we went, and we ate, and we talked the evening away. Wow, wow, wow.

So, the pie was outstanding. Ever since we had a really lousy piece of blueberry pie in Newfoundland, I swore I would make a decent one when I got home. But the pie from our benevolent neighbor was baked just down the road from the Provincial Park. And lucky us, it was on our way, so we pulled in there first thing in the morning. There were pints, quarts, and flats of blueberries, pies stacked on shelves, and blueberry muffins in plastic bags with holes cut in the tops of the bags to let them breathe. There was a little kitchen in the back where women were making even more muffins and pies. The head blueberry matron got a kick out of the fact that we already had experienced her pie. When asked if her blueberries were wild, she said she calls them wild, but they are more like "encouraged" -- lots of tender care, like what went into those baked goods. We asked for six muffins to go, please.


So we are blue. Our fingers are stained from jammy globs of cooked blueberries in those muffins. But down and out blue? No way -- the kindness of the Canadians continues to amaze us.

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St. Martins, NB: The Fundy Trail

If you look on a map of New Brunswick, you will see that only about 50 kilometers separate Fundy National Park and the seaside village of St Martins to the south. There is a road that connects the two locations, but most of the route is equivalent to a dirt trail, we hear. A paved road is under construction starting at St Martins, and currently 11 kilometers is complete. This paved portion is known as The Fundy Trail, and we were curious enough about it steer towards it.

But the route to get there required going way inland to the town of Sussex, and then back to the coast. And this required scaling a significant mountain ridge out of Fundy National Park. We left the park in a shroud of fog that stayed with us until noon. It was a cool blessing, because we went uphill for the better part of the morning. And the uphill was steep. At one point someone called out their window as they passed us, that they admired our courage. The ones who thought we were stupid refrained from verbalizing it.

We were rewarded for our efforts with the downhill into the valley where the the town of Sussex lies. This is a rich agricultural area, and boasts 26 murals throughout the town.


Little did we know we would need to cross that southern extension of the mountain ridge again on our way to St Martins. The first half of the day was a series of hills, mostly ups separated by some downs. We met another pair of bike tourists coming the other direction. They commented on the choice of the road -- I thought they were talking about the narrowness and traffic, but they were concerned about hills. They had already crossed Canada, and seemed a bit shell-shocked on this day, saying something about some good hills ahead of us. A short time after we parted we found out what they were talking about -- fortunately the 15% grade was downhill for us. John descended first, and within seconds he was a speck in the distance.


St Martins is a quaint village that is in transition. The current stretch of The Fundy Trail opened in 1998, and changed the fishing village to an out-of-the-way tourist destination. When the trail is completed in 2012, it will bring a stream of tourists that will undoubtedly change it even further.


We camped for two nights at the Century Farm Family Campground. The founder himself drove us around in his golf cart to select a campsite and administered first aid to a bee sting on my neck. There was a recreation room with sofas (!!!) where we could hide out of the wind. And we had our very own covered picnic table to stash our bikes and hang our laundry.


The harbor experiences the extreme tides of the Bay of Fundy, stranding boats twice a day,

We had spectacularly clear weather on our first day, with nice views of the caves, accessible only at low tide, and the wide beaches.


I was informed by the woman standing next to me while taking this photo, that this is the only place where two covered bridges can be seen from one place in
Canada. Impressive enough to share with you, eh?


On our second day we rode our unloaded bikes along the paved section of The Fundy Trail. We had overcast conditions, so the coastline views were impressive but not spectacular.


The route has parking lots for vista points and other interesting features, including this waterfall.


The Fundy Trail is actually both a paved road with a hiking/mountain biking trail along the same route. Both pathways intersect at observation platforms built along the way. Each viewing facility had lots of picnic tables, a large parking lot, and restrooms. They were often built just five minutes apart, and it puzzled us sometimes some of the elaborate structures were built in locations where the view was obscured by vegetation.

The Visitor's Center is located at the current terminus of the trail, along the banks of the Big Salmon River. Atlantic salmon no longer travel here anymore, virtually gone from this part of the ocean, for reasons not entirely understood.

From this vantage point we saw large trucks completing the grading and sealing of the future extension of the road that would open up one of the last sections of undeveloped coastline remaining in the province. The economic benefits will surely be great for some. But we were glad to experience St Martins and the region as it is today, ahead of the crowds that the surely will come in the future.

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Fundy National Park, NB: Tides in the Extreme

Back in the days when I used to fantasize about bike touring, I remember seeing a brochure for a tour that went along the Bay of Fundy. I thought, wow, that would be a great place to go and see the biggest tides in the world. So now that dream is a reality, too.

As we crossed inland from Shediac, through Moncton, and toward the Bay of Fundy, we could see reddish brown water in the distance. And crossing a bridge over a tributary channel, we realized we were in the zone of extreme tides. We were at low tide in the afternoon, and we saw the erosive evidence of the daily fluctuations.

We reached the coast and Hopewell Rocks, just at the maximum of the low tide. Now don't get the impression from this picture that we had it to ourselves. The parking lot is as big as some New Brunswick villages and there was a line to pay the $8.50 a piece to get in the gate. But the tide leaves huge swaths of beach where you can feel all alone.

The next day we cycled south along the coast to Fundy National Park. We started late due to morning rain showers and a stop in Alma for $20 of lobster meat and fresh rolls from the local bakery. Our destination was the campground at Point Wolfe, which required crossing some steep grades to get over the highlands. Late afternoon light was our reward for views of the highlands we had just tackled.

Dinner that night was late, but we made our own lobster rolls. We bought some garlic butter to go along with the lobster, conveniently packaged at the store in 1/2 cup containers. I thought we might eat half of it, but only a few drops were left at the end. At one point John was pouring it on his sandwich and watching it soak into the bread like a sponge.

The campground was perfect -- only unserviced sites, so no big RVs, and our neighbors were tent campers also there to enjoy the setting. We were a bit of a curiosity throughout our stay. I got cornered at least three times in the washroom by people asking where we were from and where we were going. Our last night we sat around the campfire with a family from Cornwall, ON, drinking Canadian beer, and telling stories.

We spent a full day in the park, taking a hike through the forest in the early morning fog. Can you find the spider web gilded by dew?

The main attraction, of course, was the tides. We walked the beaches and scaled the viewpoints both at high and low tides. Below are our favorite views of the estuary at Point Wolfe at both extremes. Amazing.


The low tide was late in the evening, and we walked to the edge of where the estuary meets the sea. A beautiful ending to a place of dreams.

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Shediac, NB: Welcome to New Brunswick

Warning: This post contains a fair amount of complaints. Positive, optimistic musings will return again soon.

Sometimes timing is everything. We were heading for Shediac, the self-proclaimed "Lobster Capital of the World". It was a short day for us -- 50 kilometers, and we could get there by lunch. So we decided to treat ourselves to a lobster meal at midday.

We were slowed down a bit on a hot day by the pervasive headwind. And then there was the detour to avoid a washed out bridge that put us on the four-lane highway. By the time we got to town we were famished and dehydrated. The eatery recommended by Lonely Planet was shuttered and closed, so we opted for the one with the faux pier and fishing nets outside. A whole steamed lobster was $27.95, so nix on that, so we got steamed mussels and a lobster roll instead. It was hot inside the place, drinking water was slow in coming, and the waitress forgot our salad and never checked back with us after she served us. Maybe she pegged us for cheap tippers. We were worse than that -- we were no tippers. A cup of Death by Chocolate ice cream from the shop next door filled in the voids, fortunately.

We were also trying to get into town to shop at the farmer's market, held every Saturday according to our tourist guidebook. Fresh, local produce has been virtually non-existent so far on this trip, and we were looking forward to it. The market actually happens on Sundays at 9am -- we would be way out of town by then.

So we went to the local grocery store and bought peaches from California and headed to Parlee Beach Provincial Park. Looking forward to getting into camp early to relax and read, we expected the campground to be as nice as the other provincial parks we have enjoyed. To our disappointment we found out the campground has been privitized, all sites were filled due to the New Brunswick Day holiday, and there was only room in a grassy area with no tables and soggy ground from the previous night's downpour. And it, too, was packed. We found a slot for our little tent at the perimeter near a fence.

So we went to the beach for a swim. And we realized that most of the population of New Brunswick was there, too.

The night was a long one for John. I was tired and managed to sleep well using earplugs to block out the revelers at the campsite not 50 meters away from us. But John was awakened around midnight by the noise. He had to get up and tell them (in a nice way, of course) to shut up, people are trying to sleep.

The next morning we got up with the sun, packed our gear and cooked breakfast before most of our late-night neighbors stirred. We sailed through town, stopping only to say goodbye to the world's largest lobster.

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Tatamagouche, NS: Dear Wayne and Bridget

Dear Wayne and Bridget,

We were a bit surprised to get that flat tire. It was the first one John has had since Rome. In fact, it was not a new puncture at all, but rather the patch that sealed the hole from that Italian glass shard that finally wore out after 9,000+ kilometers. And your driveway was just right there, with a sliver of shade just wide enough to work under. We realized you were friendly folks when you sent your grandson down with the air compressor. And then you invited us for drinks, and there was a pitcher of ice tea dripping with sweat it was so cold. And snacks, too. All we hoped for was maybe a corner of your lawn to set up our tent. But within 10 minutes you offered us your spare room and a shower, and, well, basically run of the entire house and the contents of the refrigerator while you were away for the evening. That mac and cheese was mighty tasty, by the way.

We loved your 150-year old house, the swim in the ocean, the way the breeze came through the windows of our room during the night, the country quiet, our conversations, and the oatmeal and bagels in the morning. When we think of Nova Scotia, we will always remember you.

Thanks for your trust and good company.

Love,

John and Doris

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Cape Breton Highlands National Park, NS: A Cabot Trail Photo Album

Cape Breton is a large island that defines the eastern end of Nova Scotia. It is a popular destination for many travelers, including these two cyclists. The Cabot Trail is a road that follows the shore along the northern trace. It oddly crosses in and out of Cape Breton Highlands National Park, so following the trail is a mixture of sections of craft stores and motels followed by vistas of undeveloped shoreline cliffs and wooded plateaus.

The areas is also one of cultural contrasts. Along the eastern shore we stopped at a gas station, and the attendant there spoke pure Gaelic to his neighbor filling his tank. By the time we reached the town of Cheticamp on the west shore, fiddle music played in the background in the public places and Acadian French was the dominant language. All within less than a hundred kilometers.

Cape Breton is popular for cycling, and we met the most bike tourists so far on our trip. The route is legendary, mostly because of four steep hills. The recommendation is to do the route clock-wise, but ever the contrarians, we did it the other way. The angst early in our trip about that darned Achilles tendon was in anticipation of these climbs. But being 100% healed, I had room to fear other things, like mosquitoes, rain, and low blood sugar.

Our first hill was Kelly Mountain. It was overcast and pleasantly cool yet humid on our ascent. The reward was a view down of the Seal Island Bridge that we crossed just an hour or so earlier.


We wanted to relish the hills, so we did one a day over the five days it took us to traverse the trail. After the hill at Cape Smokey we stayed an extra day at the lovely campground at Ingonish to rest and wait out a rainstorm. The weather moves fast in this region, and the interesting cloud pattern dissipated in the time it took to take this picture and to call to John in the tent to come out and see.

The day after was clear and spectacular. It was on this day that we had our best views of the rocky shores as we traveled between Ingonish and Pleasant Bay.

We took a scenic side road at Neils Harbour that afforded nice views towards White Point.
And the hill at North Peak was a challenge -- winds and traffic added to the fun. There were numerous turnouts and vistas, which made good rest stops on the way up. It never ceases to amaze me how we can be chugging up a hill, pull into a turnout, and crowds of RV and motorbike travelers parked there will not even look us in the eye or acknowledge our effort. But they are offset a hundred times over by the honks and thumbs-up we have had throughout our entire trip through Canada.

But with every up there is a down, and my hands ached from braking on this one.

The significance of Cape Breton National Park is that it protects the ecosystem of the highlands, which are virtually inaccessible. But it is in the river valleys that incise the highlands where old growth hardwood forests still exist, a glimpse of the native flora untouched by logging. We did a short hike into one of the forests, winding along a path under a sheltered canopy of sugar maples.

And moose enjoy the forest, too.


After ascending our last climb up Mackenzie, we had the fun of the descent on the French Mountain side.

The coastal views on the way down were spectacular, but a bit dampened by the gray skies.

Rain descended on us at Cheticamp Beach. We were forced to say an extra day to wait it out. In the evening the most furious thunderstorm we have had in a long time came through. The sheet of rain obscured the other side of the bay, and flooded the campground, including our little tent. We sopped it up best we could, and our air mattresses floated us on top of the moisture throughout the night.

We said good-bye to the Cabot Trail at Margaree Forks, following the coast and then crossing inland to Whycocomagh. Like making up after a big argument, the sun after the storm is sweet.

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Channel Port-aux-Basques, NL: Goodbye, Newfoundland

The memory of the ride south from Gros Morne is a bit of a blur. There is a recollection of wind...strong wind...strong wind in our face...strong wind in our face while going uphill. It all comes back in a flash when I see one of these signs..I swear there were a hundred of them, warning us of the next grade.

We bit it off in 5 km pieces -- John would lead for five, then I would lead for five. One 10 km cycle might take an hour. We were going along the Trans-Canada Highway, a good quality road with ample shoulder, except where the rumble strip that took half of our allotted area and was tough to stay within the boundaries while going uphill in the wind. We went along a section with next to minimal services for 80+ kilometers, so we were loaded with food. One long day we ended up in Barachois Provincial Park, 10 kilometers further than noted on the map, where complications kept us from eating dinner until almost 9 pm. We both agreed it was some of our toughest biking yet.

Somewhere halfway it rained, and we retreated to a hotel to regroup. We checked the weather, and noted the warning for high winds in the Wreckhouse area. We did a search to find where this was, and saw it was the area we were to pass through in the next two days.Wreckhouse winds are a local weather phenomenon at the southwestern tip of Newfoundland, where the Long Range Mountains meet the sea. You can read all about it here. Fortunately for us, the condition passed before we got there. There was little more than a warning sign, a weather station, and a parking area for trucks to pull over and wait out the winds to mark ground zero.

We rounded the last pass through the mountains for our final descent to Channel Port-aux-Basques for the ferry ride that would take us to Nova Scotia.

This ferry is a main artery for shipping goods to Newfoundland. Although the boat was scheduled to leave at 10:30 am, we had to be there no later than 9 am to keep our reservation. They lined all the potential passengers in lanes by vehicle type -- look closely at the photo below for our steeds, first in line in Lane 11. Passengers like us and automobiles could reserve a place, but trucks were first-come-first-serve. The five hour trip cost them $500, and if there was no room they had to sit in their lane and wait for the next boat. If they wanted to reserve a slot, it was $1000 -- no mercy.

We were the first to load, and we road our bikes up the ramp into the ship and looked back on all those still waiting. The ship was well-equipped for passengers. Spacious with different seating areas -- tables with electric outlets, reclining seats in darkened areas for snoozing, seats in an area to view a movie, or a bar with live entertainment. It was like an airplane ride without being cramped.
Newfoundland is a wild place -- with less than 500,000 residents, there is lots of space with few people. Perhaps that is why the people are so kind -- it is the help-thy-neighbor spirit that makes it possible to live in such a challenging place. For a Californian it would be difficult to transplant here -- I could not live on root vegetables alone -- but for someone who was raised here, I sense the pull of the place. We leave it with great respect.

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L'Anse-au-Clair, NL: 12 Hours in Labrador

Somewhere along the way on our cruise we crossed a time-zone, so when we disembarked from our ship we were an hour ahead and night was falling. We had reservations for a B&B 9 kilometres from the dock, over the border in Labrador. And by crossing that border, we jumped another time-zone, but this one was only a half-hour. (What is with this half-hour time zone?) We were all mixed up, since the dock where we arrived and were to depart the next morning was half an hour off from where we slept, but where we slept was on the same time zone as where we were going, and the ferry departure/arrival times were not the same as the dock time but were the same as the destination time. So I think we were in Labrador for about 12 hours...someone get me a calculator.

It was a foggy, gray morning when we had to go back over that 9 percent grade back into Quebec. We left good and early just in case there was a time calculation error. At the top of the grade we met our bunkmates from the cruise. They were on their motorcycles, returning from their night in the other time zone -- propelled by motors, they were able to go 20 kilometres further to Red Bay, where they saw icebergs. We snapped photos of each other before heading to the dock for the ferry crossing to Newfoundland.

This ferry crossed the Strait of Belle Isle to the Northern Peninsula of Labrador. This crossing is an important transport route, and we watched as truck after truck disappeared into the cargo hold of the ship.

It was a foggy crossing the couple of hours to St Barbe. From here our journey along the west coast of Newfoundland would begin. It was good to be cycling again, whatever time it was.

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Woody Point, NL: Dear Susan

Dear Susan,

We don't know what prompted you to offer us your barn loft for the night on that ferry ride from Norris Point to Woody Point, but we are sure glad you did. We almost missed the boat -- we were sitting on the dock soaking in the sun, and the captain broke our meditative state to make sure we wanted to go for the ride. And you were on our boat, and took sympathy on us, and led us down the road on the other side to your little paradise. The feminine spirits took good care of us.

Thanks for the capelin, the warm shower, the tea, and for sharing your respect and knowledge of your world. The best of Newfoundland, for us, was symbolized by your generosity.

We hope our paths will cross again,

Love,

John and Doris

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Gros Morne National Park, NL: Geologic Wonders

Whenever continental plates collide, it makes for interesting landscapes. Such is the way it is at home in California, and as well on the west coast of Newfoundland. Gros Morne National Park is also a UNESCO World Heritage Site because of its geologic attributes. Through rain and wind we cycled to reach this place, and our reward was four days of brilliant blue skies.

The thing to do in the park is to take a three hour boat ride up the Western Brook, which used to be a fjord and now is a pond which in reality is just a very long, deep lake. Although there is a hiking trail that goes along the lake edge, the boat is really the best way to see the rugged and wild interior of the park.

During the first half of the trip all us passengers were crammed in the stern of the boat taking pictures. On the way back we settled into the benches in the center of the boat and were rocked to near-sleep by the gentle bobbing, with the awesome landscape as a backdrop.

We spent one night a Green Point, and the next morning went down to the beach. Fisherman's cabins are still active on the shore, and moose antlers are a common decoration. Moose are not native to the island, and are abundant due to lots of habitat and few predators. They are hazardous to drivers traveling at night, and also quite destructive to the native forests. People warned us to be very careful of the moose -- we were to see lots of them. But we only saw one, purposefully crossing the road and oblivious to us.

Green Point is significant because of its designation of a global stratotype point between the Cambrian and Ordovician periods.

And beds striking into to the waters of the Gulf of St Lawrence also are quite attractive.

The morning light provides contrast to emphazise the platy nature of this bed.

At the south end of the park is Rocky Harbour and Norris Point. We took a ferry across this channel to reach The Tablelands.

The Tablelands are barren, a striking sight in this land of dense green forests. The rock is of oceanic crust and mantle origin, and the soil very poor.


It reminded us of our mountains at home, although our mountains are exposed and barren due to lack of water rather than unhospitable substrate.

The wind was howling when we were at this pass. Gusts were over 50 miles per hour, and one knocked John's bike over from its resting position against a railing. We were spent from the 10%+ grades to get up to this point, and the wind sucked the resistance out of us. We turned around and let the wind push us to the east, to the park exit. We were set up for biking, with no hiking boots to climb a peak or a solid car to protect us from the elements, so sometimes we can just touch a place but not truly explore it.

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