Far away is far away only if you don't go there. - Part 2 (Part 1 posted below)

Making good time I continued to ride north.

A stop for fuel and a cold drink of Gatorade brought an interesting conversation with a young teen age group. They were curious about my destination, and eager to talk about my bike. I don't think they quite grasped the concept of riding long distances on bikes as they kept talking about rice rocket bikes. One thing that amused me, is their referring to a friends GP zed. I couldn't figure out what it was until I realized that the letter Z is called ZED in that neck of the woods..

I continued on my way past Peggy's Cove (very unusual rocks in that area) and reached the lights of Halifax. As it was a weekend, traffic was light across the MacDonald Bridge. About 40 miles up the road is Shubenacadie, and Trurro maybe another 15. Between the two is a motel made of stone. It was late now, and I was happy to be able to check in and stay at the Stone house. After checking in I continued into Trurro for dinner.

Update:

Back then, the Stonehouse was well run and clean. Sadly, things have changed, and this motel has expanded, and now gets horrible reviews. It's too bad that this is the case, as the location is very central, and was a nice place to call home base when in Nova Scotia.

I know some of you are aware of this, but for those who have never been there I'll say it now. There is no such thing as good food in Nova Scotia. If you want good food be prepared to cook it for yourself. If your thinking of throwing a slab of beef on a charcoal grill, your gonna find that Canadian beef is different than what you hope for. I don't know why this is, but it is just the way it is.

Dinner was interesting.. Most places were already closed by the time I got there... Very limited choice of food, but I figured it is gonna be not so good anyway, so why not try something different. I went to perhaps the only Chinese restaurant in Nova Scotia. I'll just leave that to your imagination.

On the return trip to the motel, half way around the entrance ramp onto Rt. 2, a large owl in flight, and I on the bike almost collided. I ducked behind the fairing and somehow we missed one another. I don't know which of us was more startled.

I slept very well that night.. unusual for me, as I never seem to sleep well in a strange place on the first night of a trip such as this. Down the road a bit was a Tim Horton which is the Canadian equivalent of Dunkin Donuts. Started by a famous hockey player from the 70s, they continue to expand and now can be found in Maine as well.

With good coffee and a restful sleep I was ready to get back on the bike and explore. I put off the Cabot trail for a day and opted to just ride to places I had never been. It was a good decision. Rain had passed through the night before and I had slept through it. As I met people throughout the day they would speak of how violent the weather had been. I guess I had been more tired than I thought!

The humidity of the previous day was gone, and the temperature was in the low 80s. Perfect riding weather. As I rode along I stopped frequently when I saw things of interest. I watched a fisherman land a salmon, watched a man making jewelry from rocks he had collected and polished, watched another drying Dulce, and tasted some of that seaweed.

I stopped mid day at a beach and went for a swim in the warm sea. Because of the course of the Gulf Stream, the ocean beaches are much warmer there than here.

That evening, I rode over to the river. Shubenacadie N.S. is the head of what is known as the tidal bore. It's an interesting thing to see and worth the effort if you are in the area and the timing is right for you.

Because of the high tides in the Bay of Fundy, and due to the shape of the coast, when the tide rises the water flows into the river from the bay. As the river continues to narrow, the inrush of water creates a wave. This wave builds and continues to travel for miles upstream. At Shubenacadie, the river begins to shallow quickly, and the wave builds in hight. You can indeed hear it coming. In seconds what was a river twenty feet wide becomes a body of water half a mile wide. It happens so quickly that horses have been known to be caught by the wave and drown. If you go to see this, ask the locals for directions to the best vantage point, and they can also tell you when to be there. Don't be late, as mother nature will not wait for you.

Back at the stone house for a second night, I parked the bike and went to the bar for a few hours. I met a two couples on Gold Wings who had just arrived for their first trip to N.S. One couple was from Toronto, the other from West Virginia, and somehow they knew each other. They had driven around the Bay of Fundy and were headed south to Yarmouth to get the ferry to Maine. They were interested in what I had to tell them about my trip so far, and what I thought they would like to see on their way south. Nice people.. if they stayed on their schedule, we determined they hit the ferry at low tide and would not be dealing with the steep slippery ramp.

I decided to push back the Cabot trail yet another day and spend a day in Halifax. Do the tour on Citadel Hill (pic on right) and to visit the then new Titanic museum. That way the weekend would be over and that would mean less traffic on the Cabot. The two couples on the Honda s and I rode to Halifax where we parted company.. they were on their way to Peggy's Cove and then onward to Yarmouth.

In Halifax after the tours I found a air conditioned billiard room where a game I didn't really understand is played on huge (probably 8' x 16') tables with multiple sized balls. Back then I was playing a hell of a lot of eight ball as their was a table in my house, so I played a respectable game although I really didn't understand the strategy of the game.

With the heat of the day gone and a lot of daylight left, I rode to Gays River where I would camp that night. I had been here many times...I owned this piece of property. I bought it because it had belonged to my Grandfather Douglas (who I never met) years before. Earl, the dairy farmer who I bought it from knew the story of how it was lost to my family, when my Grandmother sold off land after my Grandfather Doug died.

Earl knew I loved to trout fish in the stream which bisected it. At that time the water in the stream was pure and I had many times just scooped it up in my hands and drank it with no ill effect. Something I would not dare to try today.

Shortly after I acquired this stream I had the good fortune of a large and very tall, old pine tree on the stream edge blowing over, or perhaps falling over under the weight of winter ice. I'm not sure how it happened, but the result was now a shallow pool caused by the lifting of the tree root system in the now much wider stream. The tall old tree was lying in the meadow and would be a problem come hay making time for my friend. We worked out a deal at his request. He removed the tree and used it for fire wood. I had him cut the trunk and leave the root system standing, and when he did, the roots fell back a little to shade the stream. While he was in there with a backhoe i had him dig the stream deeper (about six feet) and he used the dirt to fill and level the "bridge" which is really just a corrugated pipe that the stream flows through. On my next trip there I visited some of the local farmers and managed to get several old tractor tires at no cost. Those tires were sunk into the deepened pool. Any time I camped on that spot from then on there was no shortage of trout to be had, as they were always to be found resting in the walls of the tires. Drop a worm in the center and you had instant breakfast.

I had no problem with him making hay from the field on it and for years after the sale he continued to do so. In return he kept a small bridge over the stream in good repair so as to allow his tractor towing his hay wagon access to the field. The spread of thick alder growth was held in check, and all continued as it had for years. I always had a place to camp.

I set up my tent on the edge of the field under my old tree, and gathered wood for a small fire. Those tasks out of the way, and with a now empty saddlebag, I headed for the general store down the road for some necessary food items and some bug repellent which I knew I would need along about sundown. There was another reason for stopping there.. I knew word would spread quickly that I was in the area, so smoke from my campfire would not be alarming.

The store had been there as long as I could remember.. I remember when the road was dirt, and there were kerosene lamps for lighting. Now the road was paved, but other than the addition of electric power the store had changed little. Chicken feed in 50 lb. burlap sacks could still be bought, as could be fishing line, hooks, and ammo for a hunters rifle or shotgun. Often you could find pies baked by some local housewife, and now with refrigeration, ice cream was to be had if you wanted.

Back then the owner of the store knew me from the time I was an infant. Catching up on the local gossip was fun. I remember his store well.. It was attached to his house and a bell on the door would announce you arrival. The screen door had a yellow push bar on it with an advertisement for Sussex beverages. Just inside was a curved glass display case where the candy was kept, my favorite was a candy bar called "5 star".. Although even to this day, I look for them every time I am in a general store, I never saw them anywhere else but in this little Canadian general store. There were other items in the place also thrilled the kid from Boston...on on the back shelf, high up was fireworks! I remember when I was a kid a package of "Black Cats" was a nickel.

With a can Dinty Moore beef stew, a pound of bacon, three eggs, a stick of butter, and a loaf of fresh baked bread loaded in a cardboard box bungee corded to the luggage carrier, and a six pack of Coke in the saddlebag, I headed back to my tent.

The beef stew heated with a backpackers stove tasted wonderful, and after dinner I put the items which needed to be cool in a plastic zip lock bag along with a rock for weight and set in in the stream. I hoped it would be fine, but I had lost food before to raccoons of porcupines this way.. I selected a straight alder and striped it to serve as a fishing pole, attached a line and hook, and set it aside.. An old WWII trench shovel with a shortened handle to allow a fit in a saddlebag, bought at a yard sale years ago, was used to dig a few worms. This hole in the ground would also serve another purpose and then be filled over when camp was broken. Breakfast would be bacon, eggs, and a trout, or maybe just the trout if the critters got into my stuff...

It was warm and a fire was not really necessary but I lit one anyway. Just seemed like the thing to do, and I figured it would help keep the bugs away.

I felt decompression setting in. The rush was over.. I had days to do whatever felt right and no place I had to be or anything I needed to get done. Tomorrow I would make the easy ride to the Cabot trail, or maybe not.. Maybe I would just ride the road to Sheet Harbor, get on the road that runs along the coast and turn north. This was a part of N.S. I had never seen. I elected to decide in the morning, and fell asleep looking up at the stars.

Part 3 to follow...