St. Peter’s, Nova Scotia

 

The past two nights I was thwarted by very spongey, marshy turf at my first attempt at a camp site, forcing me to resume riding in the near dark. And both nights within a mile I came upon a dirt road that led to higher, more solid ground.  The first night I stepped into swampy water, meaning I ended the day with one wet shoe and sock.  Wet feet have been one of the themes of these travels.

Now that I’m well out into the North Atlantic, precipitation never seems far away.  Even when there is no rain predicted, that doesn’t mean a heavy mist of near rain won’t settle in.  I’ve been fortunate in my six days in these Maritime Provinces to have suffered nothing worse and have never been soaked, just damp.

I closed to within eighty-five miles of Sydney when I crossed the mile-long Causo Causeway, the lone link of western Nova Scotia with its far eastern island, Cape Breton, separated by the Northumberland Strait.  It seems to be a popular tourist destination, as just across the causeway in Port Hawkesbury I came upon a cluster of motels, both high end and budget.  It was late in the afternoon and though I am in need of a motel I planned to save that for Sydney, where I could celebrate reaching my distant destination.  

I have been making note of the occasional motel I have passed as i’ll be retracing the past 250 miles and could be in need of shelter for the night should the weather turn nasty.  The only alternate route is the divided four-lane Trans Canadien highway.  Bicycles are allowed but it’s not very amiable.  I’ll return to Moncton then turn down to St. John in New Brunswick on the Bay of Fundy for its Carnegie.  Someone corrected me when I referred to it as St. John’s, as there is a St. John’s in Newfoundland, while that of New Brunswick lacks the ending  “s.”  It will be interesting to see if I end up camping at any of the spots I camped on the way out.  I am looking forward to returning to Pugwash as it had an area for a farmer’s market with lots of electrical outlets and water, though its rest room was locked. 

I had the choice of two roads to Sydney when I crossed to Cape Breton Island, one to the north of a cluster of lakes and one south of it.  The northern route was a more recent highway through mostly unsettled terrain.  I was tempted to take it as there was a wind from the south that would have taken me up to it, but I opted for the older, original highway, as I have come to learn that the older roads tend to follow the contour of the land and require less climbing, while the new highways go in a direct line up and over the hills.  The more straight, direct route of the newer roads always look more inviting, but they are more strenuous and take longer, while inflating the number of feet I climb for the day.

Before crossing the causeway I stopped at a Tim Hortons for my daily muffin.  It was the first Hortons that didn’t have Wi-Fi, forcing me to stop at the next one five miles away in Port Hawksbury.  While I was eating, an older gentleman asked if I’d heard about the mass shooting in Maine.  I said yes and that Canada was lucky not to have to worry so much about such things.  He corrected me and said there’d been one over in New Brunswick a year ago and one never knew when the next might occur.

I’ll be passing through Lewiston in a couple of weeks, as there is a Carnegie there, one of a dozen I didn’t get to in my passage of northern Maine.  The town will no doubt still be in mourning.  Though Canada has been most pleasant, I’m looking forward to returning to the States where I will have a Carnegie or two to look forward to every day.  My daily goal in Canada has just been to get as far down the road as I can so I can all the sooner reach my goal of Sydney.  

Though the map would seem to indicate I am way off the beaten path,  there are Walmarts and an occasional McDonald’s and Subway and KFC.  I am just sorry that libraries are such a rarity.  The only one I’ve encountered was part of a Community Center and not open.  I was at least able to take advantage of its Wi-Fi and  left a golf ball by the door in appreciation.   I’d been carrying it since before Burlington when my Warmshowers host didn’t care to accept it as a gift, just a paint brush and heavy vest I’d picked up along the road.  He said he refers to such items he scavenges along the road

as “roadkill.”

It seems as if I’m way north, but I’m not as far north as I was last year when I sought out the Carnegie in Thunder Bay on Lake Superior.  Other than the one night and morning when the temperature dropped to freezing, the cold hasn’t been as much of a factor as it was last fall. I’ve had no concerns of my iPad freezing or having to overly bundle up in the tent at night.  The tent generally warms up comfortably from my breathing and whatever heat my body is radiating.   But November is just around the corner, which is later than I cycled last year.