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 ! Comments are closed.
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Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
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