Salisbury, New Brunswick

 

The wind from the north flushed out the thick cloud cover and for the first time in what seems like weeks I could bike under a bright blue sky of a deep hue with a minimum of pollution in the air with a minimum of industry and all the forest fires burned out.  An added bonus of fhe clear sky was moonlight, which I needed as I set my tent up in the near dark.  With no traffic on the road and thick forest to disappear into whenever I chose I could ride until the last drops of light lingered in the sky and get to eighty miles for the day for the second day in a row.  The only danger was the occasional deer hopping across the road.  

I needed the sun as I began the day with two pairs of wet socks not including the pair I was wearing that I had to insert into wet shoes.  I had hoped to stay in a motel the night before to dry out all my wet gear, knowing there were a handful to choose from in Frederickton, the capital of New Brunswick, if I could make it before dark.  

I fell eleven miles short.  I had the chance of a motel on its outskirts, but it was closed down, forcing me to camp in a nearby forest.  If I were really desperate I could have pushed on five miles on a road with not much traffic and a wide shoulder, but since the day-long misty-drizzle had stopped, allowing my outer fear to dry a bit, I settled on the tent despite my day-long anticipation of the first motel of these travels and being able to empty my four panniers and dry all.  A shower would have been welcome too.

The next day’s dry roads and sunny skies allowed me to thoroughly dry out.  With a forecast bereft of rain for the rest of the week my riding won’t be limited and I ought to make it to the easternmost point of Nova Scotia and the pair of Carnegies in Sydney by the weekend and mission will be accomplished, other than getting back.

I am far enough east to have passed into another time zone, now two hours ahead of Chicago.  That means I can once again ride until past six-thirty, though sun rise isn’t until after 7:30.  Besides the bi-lingual signs and speeds in kilometers, I know I’m in Canada when I go to weather.com and the temperatures are given in Celsius.  I was alarmed at first when I saw the high for the next day was only going to be ten, but then realized why.

The most Canadien cultural event I’ve experience so far is to eat at a Tim Hortons.  In years past I’ve taken advantage of their bagels and cream cheese, but I opted for a muffin after just hearing Geraint Thomas mention on his podcast that he’d been out on a training ride after not riding much since the Vuelta d’Espagne and had to stop for a muffin and coke after ninety minutes because he was so done in.  The muffin wasn’t a bad choice for me as it had a few more calories than the bagel according to Tim Hortons menu.  It came to $2.29 and for the second time my change didn’t include the penny, evidently worth so little it is no longer used perhaps explaining why I have yet to spot any along the road.

As I ate a white-haired lady came by and asked, “I think I’ve read about you on Facebook.  Don’t you ride all over?”  

“I have ridden all over, so that might have been me,” I replied.

“Well, welcome to the Maritimes. Are you riding for a cause?”

I told her about my Carnegie-quest.  As with most, she was unaware of Carnegie and his unparalleled contribution to the reading public. 

It was nearly one hundred miles from Frederickton to the next town of significance, but with it so cool my four bottles of water would be adequate if I didn’t come upon any services.  I passed one service station when my secondary road intersected with the four-lane transcontinental highway, but didn’t bother to stop.

I’d actually ridden on the highway on Sunday for forty miles thinking there’d be less climbing than the nearby secondary road.  The hills were better graded, but the amount of climbing might have been even more, as the secondary road followed the contours of the terrain, while the four-lane superhighway plowed straight through the ups and downs.  I was hoping I could make better time on the four-lane divided highway so I could reach Frederickton before dark, but my average speed didn’t increase, so I returned to the tranquility and steeper climbs of the old, original highway.