The following is what I remember of a totally spur of the moment motorcycle trip I made to the Cabot Trail, Nova Scotia and beyond, back in the 80s. I had nine days off and had not made any plan.. The weather was perfect so on Saturday morning the idea to camp out a few days just hit me.
The saddlebags were already mostly packed with camping gear as I had never unpacked them since a trip down to Virgina some weeks before. I threw some clothing and a camera in a one gallon zip-lock bag into my tank bag, A stop at the bank where I bought some travelers checks, a fuel stop where I checked the oil and tire pressures, and started north. Boston traffic was light and I crossed the Mystic River bridge and ran the gauntlet of Rt 1 through Sagus in no time. Moving north along 95 towards Portsmouth, I weigh the options of driving around the Bay of Fundy or to take the ferry across to Nova Scotia.
The weather was hot and humid and I figured there would be thunder showers later in the day.. Through Portsmouth, over the middle bridge and aiming in the general direction of Bangor, I passed a group of six Harley riders on bikes which made so much noise I wondered how they could stand riding them.
As the hours passed the sky filled with thunder head clouds.. I opted to head for Bar Harbor to meet the ferry.. My thought was I might reduce my chance of riding in the rain that way. Time was a factor... I needed to make some time to get to the boat so I picked up my pace.. I got to the ferry 20 minutes past its scheduled departure time, but caught a break as it was 30 minutes late.. That worked out well.
That evening the change of the boats engines from their steady drone awoke me.. Through a light fog the southern most point of Nova Scotia materialized. My arrival in Yarmouth found me somewhat more rested than when I left Bar Harbor. Rather than drop money into the slot machines, I opted to settle into a deck chair and doze for a "power-nap". I knew that I would need to ride a few hours north from Yarmouth to find a motel which would not have a "no vacancy" sign displayed. There are no "biker friendly" motels in Yarmouth, and if you were to find one, you can count on paying a high fee..
There are two main routes north from there, The "Lighthouse Trail" on the Atlantic side, and the "Evangeline Trail" on the Bay of Fundy side. There is little chance of finding anywhere to stay on ether route between Yarmouth and Halifax, which is a couple of hours away. My plan was to ride the shorter lighthouse trail through and past Halifax and continue past Shubenacadie to Stewieack or maybe as far as Trurro to find a spot to stay the night. Both routes are two lane and I was to be well ahead of the crowd of car tourists who would be in competition for places to stay the night.
Announcement was made over the intercom that the stairways to below deck were now open, and those of us who were on motorcycles should go below and prepare to off load. (Bikes are first on and first off).
I undid the lashings I had used to secure my bike to the green painted pipe rail, unlocked my saddlebags to speed my trip through customs, and observed a truly bizarre spectacle, It is really something one must see first hand to appreciate. To understand you need to be in the cargo bay of the ferry on a night when approximately 150 motorcycles are being cranked over or kick started all at once, packed together in a steel room about the size of a small gymnasium and lighted by a dim row of 40 watt light bulbs.
The ear splitting confusion of shrieking Japanese import high-revving unmuffled twin, four, and six cylinder rice-rockets, the general chest-pounding thunder of Ducati 900s, Norton 850s and 750s, Harleys, Triumphs, BSAs, BMWs, and piston slapping British 500 singles... all the sound of it bouncing off the painted steel walls in an incredible rising and falling wail.
The sight of several hundred leather-clad people flipping down face shields and punching starter buttons, with others in the mob of bikes heaving up and down on kick starters like erratic pistons in some kind of insane noisy smoke machine, headlights flaring on to make a blanket of brilliance and flashing chrome at the bottom layer of the smoke cloud. Red tail and flashing brake lights add color to all in sight, making for the look of vehicles at a disaster scene.
Eager riders on bikes launching themselves row by row up to the ramp into the dark night, people spinning their tires on the oil slick steel deck or catching traction in half-controlled wheelies. What no film could capture is the mixed smell of Castrol R, several dozen brands of two-stroke oil and all the other choking thick exhaust fumes, or the instant, furnace-like heat given off by hundreds of motorcycles lighting their engines in a confined space.
I recall thinking that if one wanted to capture this all on film, you would have to film it through the distorted star-burst pattern of a really scratched yellow face shield, just to get the last effect of profound unreality...
My turn came and the dragonfly (the name of my BMW R75/5 - see previous post for explanation) slithered up to the ramp with a wave of other bikes. The Bay of Fundy tides are the highest in the world, and as luck would have it we arrived at high tide. This meant the ramp was steep and scary.. Riding a loaded touring bike down a wet, oily, perforated, 100 foot steel ramp, observed by half the residents of Yarmouth who probably wager on how many bikes will be dropped to slide in disgrace down the ramp sideways into Canada, is not something that is for the faint of heart.. There are riders who take a look at the ramp and just stay on board.. they buy a return ticket and forget Canada.. Less confident riders who plan to do this ride will do well to check the tide schedule and plan their trip accordingly...
The trick to the ramp is to stop at the top, be sure the rider in front of you makes the end and is out of your way (some crew member is sure to be yelling at you to move at this point.. screw that, just ignore him) Shift to Second gear early, and ride the brakes lightly and early in the descent being careful to not allow ether wheel to lock, and about half way down ease up on both to pick up speed.. When you land on Canada don't grab the brakes too quickly as the pavement at the foot of the ramp is sure to be oil slick.. While you are doing this decent, you hope that the rider behind you is waiting for you to hit the bottom before he starts, as there is little chance of him stopping on the ramp and not hitting you should you drop your bike.
I landed on the docks upright and in control at about thirty mph, and the white gloves of a row of otherwise nearly invisible policemen directed us over to Customs. Tonight I lucked out.. the customs crew just waved me through, and in five minutes I was heading north from Yarmouth on the two lane Lighthouse route. Five minutes later I heard what sounded like a pair of chain saws in the distance, and in seconds three neon colored rice rockets blasted by me... I caught a look at the license plates as the flew by.. New Hampshire. This was perfect.. I wanted to make time and these guys would tie up any mounties in my way, so now it was just watch for deer and ride at a good pace.
Part two to follow...
No comments:
Post a Comment