We certainly didn’t give St Johns much of an opportunity to impress, arriving and departing within about 10 hours, 9 of which were in darkness. Fortunately the hotel was closer than we were led to believe, so straight off the ferry and 5 minutes later we were there.
By the time team briefing had drawn to a close, a late dinner and a few drinks, it was almost time to go. Our 6:30 departure was nearly too early for one or two, but we finally got away with a stop 10km along the motorway for another Tim Hortons breakfast - it really is exceptional value for money, and the food is pretty good too. This was time for those who’d neglected to listen to our in house weather expert who’d predicted 12C (a lot cooler than we’ve been used to, a a real change for those of us who’d been down to T shirts), and who need an other layer or two. The temperature was also predicted to rise to 23C, which also proved on the money. We had a lot of ground to cover, but thankfully most of our running was on fairly decent highways and motorways, and at a good clip, averaging between 115 and 130km an hour, sometimes for 2-3 hours at a time. You can devour a lot of km very quickly at these speeds. The border crossing actually took us by surprise, a bit of a wrong turn finding us at small town of Calais, on the US side of a river, and in Maine. We went across a bridge, and there it was, quite a surprise, and with only one officer on duty (plenty of others popping heads around corners for a look, but not to assist), took some time. It was not long after this that different groups looking to achieve different things in the day splintered into twos and threes, which is probably not a bad thing. Some wanted to minimise stops and blast through, others stopping more frequently- other than lunch, gas and comfort stops, we didn’t hang about, and accompanied by Brian and Bree, made pretty good time, beating the rush and being in the first wave to return bikes. So, Anastasia has been retuned along with all the other bikes to Eagle Rider, I’m showered and about to murder a beer at the bar. Tomorrow most of us leave for Home, bags full of Harley T shirts, and in my case, parts for my new bike. Post script - as anticipated, the tour wound up in the bar last night, with all the fines and poker hand winnings ending up on the bar. Sheriff Baldrick, who like all good sheriffs, is not one to let facts interfere with the truth, and so had a good job of identifying and fining miscreants, (rather unfairly on occasion), but the money on the bar excused his excesses. In fact, whilst there were one or two significant contributors, Cuddy for his enthusiasm (which often saw him in the wrong place at the wrong time), and usually ended with is bike having a rest, being unceremoniously laid down, and Lynn, the Sheriffs wife, for being like a Labrador pup around grandmothers special China, (an inevitable and unfortunate outcome inevitable), most of us made regular payments to the fine fund. After exhausting the various funds, we whistled up a fleet of Uber’s and descended ona local Italian restaurant for yet more pizza - with 25 fairly rowdy Kiwis taking over the place, they had an unexpectedly busy Monday night. We have just boarded the ferry (think Inter-Islander) from Digby, by all accounts, “The Scallop Capital of the World”, (according to all the signs around town), across to St Johns, a trip that saves us many hours of back tracking around the coast. The bikes are lashed securely (we hope they are), and we’re now comfortable upstairs with a coffee and chocolate bar (a small one). A pod of dolphins entered us for a few minutes before doing whatever it is they do when ferries aren’t around.
Dinner last night was a treat - after our regular team meeting most of us wandered off in a big group, splintering off as particular restaurants took our fancy. Linda and I found a Japanese restaurant that proved to be a real treat, fabulous food, and very reasonably priced - not a burger or pizza in sight, others found Chinese, French and Italian, and everyone seemed happy with their respective choice. Our day started with a 9pm departure - we had to Gas up and ended up doing the first leg by ourselves, which was a pleasant change. Once out of town the freeway opened up and proved to be a great improvement over some of the roads we’d experienced in recent days, 2,3 and even four lanes wide, the road builders seemingly determined to bash through anything that got in their way in an effort to minimise corners, to which end they were very successful. There was magnificent scenery either side of the road, some bush, lots of lakes, and the occasional truck stop. Bearing in mind the beauty of the surroundings, it was ironic to see 10km stretches where all the bush had been bulldozed, and big rocks bullied out of the earth, all to widen the road to make it even better. Despite the ominous clouds in all directions, we opted to tempt the weather gods, and whilst we ran through a heavy mist from time to time, we escaped getting soaked - lucky! The various groups reassembled at Tim Hortons in Liverpool for coffee and a pit stop, then off to Digby for a late lunch prior to lining up for the 5pm ferry. A quaint place, and as mentioned, home of a fleet of hardy seafarers who dice with the sea to wrestle a living from scallops and lobster. After trying a few for lunch (mine wrapped in bacon, others fried and panko’d), would find it difficult to dispute their claim on best scallops in the world. So, 2 hours 15 m on the ferry, then another 25km to the hotel - tomorrow being our final day on the road, and a big day planned with over 600km to cover back to Boston. It is Saturday here in Halifax, and the “Ultimate” destination prior to the run back to Boston, with only one stop on the way.
Today is a lay day, which gave those with the inclination to get up at 7am local time to watch the All Blacks give the Aussie frock makers Wallabies another lesson in rugby. In fairness, until half time and after a brutal first half, you’d have to say the pendulum could have swung in either direction, although it would be an unwise punter who’d bet against the All Blacks in the second half of any test. So, with another one in the bag, it was time for breakfast - we’d hoped to find a cafe along the waterfront board walk but were disappointed - not to worry, Tim Hortons again came to the rescue. Whilst others in our group opted for a “duck” amphibious tour to this very historic maritime city, we decided to take in a bit more local scenery and headed out to Peggys Cove, a fairly rugged wee fishing port right on the wild coastline, . The landscape reflects the extremes in weather, bare granite rocks and a few hardly shrubs evidence of the fierce Sou westerly wind that blows in from the Atlantic. We were fortunate in missing the worst of the wind, or the rain that was forecast for later in the afternoon, arriving back at the hotel in time for lunch. As I write, there are the remnants of a “diversity festival “ in a car park across the road from our hotel. We wandered across for a look before the rain prompted us to leave, seemingly amongst the last to do so, having first invested unwisely in a cold samosa and a stale cinnamon bun. Unfortunately no one told the drummers who’ve been bashing wildly for the past 30 minutes, nor the Indian woman who has taken to the microphone with gusto, and our hotel lacks sufficient sound proofing to deaden the racket. So much for diversity. Ah, relief, the microphone is now in the hands of a woman performing a fairly decent rendition of “la vie en rose”, and to my ear French beats Indian every time. Oh no, the French girl has gone and the Indian woman is back... The location of Last nights “After Ride Debriefing “ was moved from the hotel lobby to the much more sensible and accommodating “Old Triangle” Irish Pub - not many better places to have a serious discussion. This pub was the “real deal” complete with confessionals, and no prizes for guessing what goes on in there. It always seems far easier to enter an Irish pub than to leave it... Dinner was “BBQ” at a gastro pub close by - a big plate of various slow cooked and seasoned meat (ribs, pulled pork and brisket), corn cob, coleslaw, etc, and a couple of bottles of reasonable Italian vino - phew. A late departure (9am) was appreciated by those who like to lie in, then we were on the way to Halifax. Most had learned lessons from yesterday, and donned an extra layer or two as a consequence, but with no rain forecast (Mike C is our resident weatherman), wets remained tucked away, hopefully not required again this trip. It didn’t take us long to clear Moncton (it is not particularly big), and get into the coastal countryside, wide rivers, no doubt more attractive with the tide in than out, but as we flashed past, empty and muddy, but only for a few hours until the water returned. Wading birds were taking the opportunity for a late breakfast across the wide tidal plains, almost marsh like, throw in a few white horses and we could have been in the Camargue region of France. In passing by Dorchester Penitentiary, we knew we had left French New Brunswick and entered “Scottish” Nova Scotia, the names on street signs, letterboxes and the gravestones visible from the road made this quite clear - Angus MacDonald Street being one of the first and most obvious. In leaving New Brunswick, the old, impressive and significant stone churches favoured by the Catholic French settlers, and found in every village and town, (most much bigger than you’d expect), gave way to smaller wooden structures, seemingly Anglican and Baptist for the most part. There were graveyards spaced about 10km apart, most tidy and kempt, and no doubt a treasure trove of information on the local history of each wee hamlet, the many interred inhabitants each with their own story, some dating back several centuries, and I would imagine in most cases, reflective of very hard times. As usual, the scenery was fabulous, but often at the expense of the rough roads - in trying to plot a path through rough terrain, there was often little time to take in the surroundings- then inexplicably we’d pass over an invisible line and atrocious would become terrific... go figure. A brief pit stop at an isolated art gallery became a bathroom break for those not willing or able to pee over a bank - in return for the use of her facilities, the young attendant made a single sale of $3.20 - Linda quite rightly felt she needed to buy something. Onwards to the delightfully named town of Pugwash - apparently a translation from the original indigenous name, a fishing and “salt” manufacturing town, and one with a fabulous bakery and coffee shop - great cookies and subs (biscuits and filled rolls). I have made mention previously of the large sections many homes outside city limits occupy, some very humble, others quite grand, and typically with absolutely no foliage or gardens. It seems that these massive lawns are a form of therapy, with ride on mowers quite possibly the most ubiquitous item we have seen since day one, more often than not driven (or ridden) by the lady of the house, with an acre or two a doddle. Mowers not presently in use are often parked in front of the house, sometimes in pairs, with discarded broken down or obsolete machines off to one side. Remarkable. Carrying on this theme for a moment, in recent days we have passed dealers with dozens (and sometimes many dozens) of machines of various sizes and capabilities displayed out front. If there is a dealer selling Green and Yellow John Deere machines, with 100 metres there will be two more with competing brands - obviously big business. So, back on the road, more fabulous rural coastal Nova Scotian countryside - as the day progressed the temperatures rose, layers were shed, and the flat land became more hilly. With these hills came the abomination and obscenity that are wind turbines - hardy paying their way in today’s insignificant breeze, sitting idle and arrogant on hilltops, no doubt reliant on subsidies and the largesse of the taxpayer... grrr Our final fling for the day was 80km on the motorway into Halifax, the 110kph posted speed still not quick enough for Cuddy and Mel, both determined to tempt the RCMP (Royal Canadian Mounted Police, who now favour big V8’s instead of the old grass fed alternative), into action - but not today. Our laundry bag was in dire need of attention, and thankfully the pixies have taken care of that while I have been busy - others roared off a short time ago, another Harley Dealership apparently needing to be visited. Tomorrow a “rest day” - no doubt more Harleybourne sightseeing ! The breakfast room was a scrum of old French Canadian women, few more than 5ft tall, all seemingly from the same limited gene pool, and all very adept at keeping this Kiwi away from the coffee pot - short, broad and all elbows... I took the hint and returned later, this time surprised at an Asian woman who sat and waited until her phone had shrilled 7-8 times before answering it. Travellers! Last nights dinner took us to a new low in dining, not just in Canada, but anywhere. Most of us were pretty knackered, and were prepared to sacrifice significant culinarily excellence for expediency, but should have taken an early warning - whilst KFC brags of 11 herbs and spices, and is edible on most occasions, this joint claimed only 9. Those who remained at “After ride briefing drinks” rather than venturing out for a dodgy dinner may have made the right call. Over night rain and the forecast for more, combined with a reasonably significant drop in temperature saw us all in wet weather gear prior to morning departure. Whilst it is an effort to put on, and gets very uncomfortable very quickly when at rest, it certainly beats the alternative- the rain did stay away until after our first coffee stop (thank you Tim Horton), but when it arrived, it made the effort worthwhile. I made mention yesterday of the French tri-coloeur with yellow star - I now know that this is the offical flag of the “Acadians”, descendants of French settlers from the 17th & 18th centuries, hardy fishing folk, and judging by the many hundreds of flags, rosettes and red, white and blue paint everywhere, evidently enormously proud of this heritage. The heavily flared bows of 18-20ft fishing boats pulled up on the beaches appeared to indicate that the sea is a harsh mistress to those draw to the sea. We stopped in Miramichi, more for an urgent pit stop for those in desperate need than anything else, making good use of the facilities at Walmart. Good Harley people tend to stay well clear of anything other than Harley dealers but Linda and I stayed on for a wonder around while the rest of the crew headed off to the local dealer. It should be noted that whilst this dealer was not overly large, his catchment is more used to snowmobiles than Harley’s, and he had a very impressive show bike - impractical to ride at all! Our lunch stop was 5km along the road and we opted for Ben’s Lunch room, opened in 1937, so now 81 years old, (and decor reflects this too!). Apparently cigarettes by the carton used to be big business, but nowadays there offering is very limited. They serve Hamburgers, cheese burgers and double cheeseburgers, hot dogs, and of course the Canadian Poutines (cheese curds on chips), add a “soda pop” and that’s your lot. The young fella who served us was delightful, and keen to trade up from his existing ride, a 300cc crotch rocket sports bike to a big tourer - good man (even if his preference is a Honda Goldwing). Wets were again the go for this afternoon - another soaking seemed very much on the cards, and again we were not disappointed- rain in abundance, but we have all got the wet weather thing sorted out. So, we are now in Moncton, apparently the largest city in New Brunswick and as we found out first hand, Home of several Marriott hotels... We have just arrived in Bathurst and the thunder and lightning that has been brewing since we arrived a short time ago is about to let go, in fact there are rain drops on my screen (I am sitting outside) as I write.
our hotel for last night really was quite delightful - apparently they have enjoyed 100% occupancy for the past two months, and are fully booked for the next two - a lovely establishment. Early into today’s trip we passed from Quebec into New Brunswick, and whilst the signage indicated a softening in the “Frenchness” we’d experienced, the reality was quite the opposite, with “Bon France” flags flying everywhere (a tri coloeur with yellow star at top of the blue panel). Apparently the locals of French descent, and there are plenty, have a strong movement underway to display their commitment to their Gallic roots. Having said that, there was a wee bit more English spoken. “Le quinze about”, whatever that means. Another day of detours, some of which required a bit of back tracking, but good progress none the less - getting a few quick kms on the auto-route helped take the sting out of a 380km day. Rain threaded a couple of times, but struggling into wet weather gear tends to act as a deterrent... Our first coffee stop was at one of hundreds on Tim Hortons Coffee shops - 2 coffees and a daisy Cost $5.16 (crazy tax, then tax on top of tax gets these silly totals). The scenery today changed again, possibly less “European” and more “North American”, bigger farms, more open spaces. New Brunswick is in mourning at the moment, grieving for the loss of two police officers, one male, one female, killed in the line of duty on Friday last week and I understand there was a State funeral today - that may account for the lack of Police about, which other than for the unfortunate circumstances, suited us quite well. The maximum speed limit varies on whether we’re on a city road (60-80kph) , a provincial highway (90kph) or the Trans Canada highway (110 kph), and we’ve been quite liberal in our interpretation of what may be an acceptable “margin of error” - apparently the Mounties do what NZ cops do and call for a tow truck for anything more than 40kph over the limit... Appreciating that most of us would not be returning any time soon, We decided that a visit to the Old Walled City of Quebec was in order. With A mixed history dating back over 500 years, these old places are laden with stories of hardship and toil, but unless you look, most of what the visitor sees is geared towards the tourist - cafes, pubs and gift shops.
after parking the bikes at a handily place parking building (Mike C did the requisite homework), we shucked off boots and jeans in favour of shorts, and in my case, the “Allbirds” shoes that have served me so well. We splintered into small groups, each seeking out a cafe for breakfast - in our case, the 3 Garçons proved a great choice, with a casserole a first for me. A mixture of ham, bacon, sausage and potatoes, topped with 2 fried eggs (over easy), accompanied by toast, raspberry compote, a bowl of fresh fruit, and of course coffee - all for $16. our outside table was perfectly placed to watch the comings and goings in the Main Street, a narrow thorough fare that proved a challenge for delivery men and vehicles all competing for limited space. We watched two guys lug 50 x 25kg bags of potatoes into the cafe then one by one, down a flight of stairs, while across the road, cellarmen fed an endless stack of kegs through a hatch in the footpath into what must have been a cavernous cellar beneath an obviously busy pub, all the time, streams of tourists flowed in both directions. We completed a circuit of the old town, marveling at the efforts of the early builders (and wall builders), before returning to the bike, gearing up then departing on our own - a pleasant change. Quebec Province is more French than France - even the scenery seems European. in a rush, more to follow The days have started to run into each other, but in a good way. Having been a bit busy, and with other matters taking priority, I am a day behind in my blogging, For the most part we don’t worry to much about tomorrow’s destination, with today’s front of mind - the marvels of GPS certainly makes each days journey a lot less stressful. By mid afternoon each day the oppressive heat has had us seeking the air conditioned bliss of whichever hotel room will be our home for the night, foresaking the scenic route for the quickest we can find - sometimes with mixed results, rush hour traffic occasionally thwarting or plans, resulting in 30-45 min of the stop start stuff we hate so much.On arrival the first job for some is laundry - a necessity every 2-3 days for most of us, and there is usually a rush for the few machines available. Last night Mel and I, and then Monica nabbed the 3 machines on offer (typically there is one or two, so three was a bonus), eventually stripping down to undies so jeans could go in too (I was later admonished by my housekeeping dept for my rough and ready technique, so that’s my lot for the trip!). Getting out of Montreal was a bit of a nightmare, massive road works and detours that persisted even way out in the countryside meant we saw a lot more than we intended, which was not all bad(until the afternoon sun kicked in). The day was longer for some that others - Wayne and Tina suffered a flat tyre, and despite assurances that assistance was on its way, after a couple of hours Doc, who along with Cuddy, had stayed to assist while everyone else carried on, managed to crank things up. Chucky took the front and led us by his version of a circuitous route (the Harley GPS can and does have a mind of its own - perhaps even a sense of humour). We were blasting along the motorway (auto route in French) at about 20kph over the limit, when one by one from the back moving forward we each saw an approaching police car and dutifully slowed down -not Chucky though, too engrossed in looking forward to the first beer. Thankfully, it appears that we had not reached whatever point triggers the Mounties into action, so a sigh of relief. So, a Monday night in the middle of nowhere - but google told us there was a bar 500m along the road - what are the odds, a Harley themed bar, black and orange, motorcycle (albeit a Harley knockoff) on the roof, loud, shite music and almost no one else in the joint. Jacqui asked for the music to be turned down (phew, it really was death metal stuff), then Pamela, the single bar person / Waitress on duty got to work - young, attractive, scantily clad, with a delightful French accent, (and spoke a little English) and extremely efficient took drink and food orders - what a girl, even with people moving about she had it all down pat, and most showed their appreciation appropriately when we left. Sunday, and a day of rest for your intrepid scribe, and more importantly, to my sidekick and dearly beloved who was keen to sleep in as a pleasant change, no pressure for a rushed breakfast or early departure. Unfortunately early risers don’t benefit from delayed starts, in fact they are a bugger. Not to worry, I quietly handled a bit of correspondence, then went for a wander, ostensibly to find a cup of tea for the still snoozing better half. I came across Doc who was pondering how to push start the Suburban, a flat battery causing a few problems - thankfully, I understand the very helpful hotel concierge came to the rescue (a delightful young lady). There are few things more daunting than trying to push start a Harley, and pushing a Suburban is one of them... Walking past the park adjacent to our hotel, I was reminded of the cat fight that we witnessed last night whilst en route to dinner in the dark. Two black girls going for it, a bit of “girl on girl action”, and the real deal with plenty of cussing to accompany the punches being thrown, fairly ineffectual as they may have been due to the influence of mind altering substances and whilst trying with limited success to maintain balance on high heels. Their “men”, (in reality, their pimps), making but a token attempt to keep the peace. In contrast to the tranquility of this sunny morning, bearing in mind this altercation and other seemingly dodgy buggers about, the park was definitely not a safe place to be after dark. Not wishing to become part of the fray, we passed by fairly quickly, not sure what local protocol dictated regards the use of hand guns and the like. Daylight had driven away the evil of the night before leaving the park a much more tranquil place, and whilst there were still a few quite disheveled rough sleepers still absolutely conked out, there were many far more genteel people enjoying doing what normal people do on a Sunday morning, sitting with a coffee or a book, walking the dog, or like me, just passing through. Our day was spent on the “Hop on, Hop off” bus, seeing the sights of the inner city, a concise and condensed history lesson, on a day that showed Montreal off in the best possible Light. We bumped into Mike and Jacqui C and enjoyed a delightful brunch then back on the bus for a couple of hours - we opted to the comfort of the lower deck while others keener for a better view braved the sun (I was very happy with our choice!). So, an old city dating back over 300 years, graveyards on the “Mont” of Montreal apparently final resting place of well over a million souls, their gravestones much bigger than those we saw in the USA. The many Irish who escaped the Potato Famine of the 1840’s are apparently well represented in heritage, although their descendants now speak the local version of French (a very old version, quite different to the French of France) Back to the hotel for a mid afternoon siesta. Ottawa was mentioned in a very positive way by everyone I spoke to at breakfast, in spite of the beggars and scantily dressed young ladies standing alone and hopeful in doorways and corners, a seemingly safe town, good natured and unlike downtown Auckland, with no threatening element apparent. There seemed to be many gay couples about, just normal loving couples, no “look at me” actions or attitudes, so a tolerant city as well - hopefully the influx of “refugees” won’t change this, a percentage so eager to escape the persecution of their Home land, but keen to impose it on others. From the moment we left the hotel bound for Montreal this morning, the “Frenchness” of our surroundings altered markedly, where as up until our arrival some attempt had been made with road signage to be multilingual, with English and French being given equal predominance, but that changed, and no further English was evident. My earlier post made reference to the state of the roads - whilst a lovely day, great company, great scenery, quite possibly the worst “overall” roads I have come across in some time. Our first stop was in Lochaber, a small and pleasant village complete with wee market, Citroen CV2, and Chocolatier (who did very well out of our crew), then through to Mont-Tremblant where Doc found a very rare beast, a supermarket! Supermarkets are a treasure trove of goodness for we motorcycle gypsies, offering a huge and varied range of fabulous salads, sandwiches, fruit, drinks and more - even a loo out the back for those in need. We each loaded up with respective prizes (albeit, one or two did leave their run a bit late), then Doc led us a few kms up the bumpy road for a picnic beside a river - other than too many midges, a lovely spot. None of the lads were prepared to follow the example of a simple (village idiot was a phrase used) local teenager who striped down to his jocks and went for a swim. By this time the sun really was at its zenith and we the collective decision was that we’d prefer to opt for the most direct route (over scenic) to the hotel, only about 80kms further. As you’d expect, the final 10km took as long as the previous 70, massive road works causing detours and delays - as bad as it was on a Saturday afternoon, I shudder to think what weekday horrors would be like. Being a downtown hotel, parking was an issue, with plenty being asked of our big, heavy and hot Harley’s, slow, tight and awkward manoeuvring being required. Unfortunately Cuddly became victim of a car park barrier arm, in fact a version of a guillotine, quite apt in this very French city, his mates cutting his lunch and leaving him to get clobbered on the head by aforementioned Barrier, knocking him, Harley and pride asunder, and a head ache to boot. Our Team meeting in the lobby bar will serve to pay wages for the hotel for the next week - they know how to exploit a captive market. We are here for two nights so no pressure- the big group splintered with 4s and 6s forming to head in different directions for dinner - tapas for us (lovely too!) Tomorrow, sightseeing. |
Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
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