Newfoundlog

[Velvet]

Newfoundlog, Stardate 081505

The bed and breakfast was a great treat in the middle of the trip. Had a traditional Newfie breakfast complete with touton (a bun, kinda like refined bannick) and fishcakes. Got outta there and rode well over halfway to Windsor-Grand Falls. I was aiming to get a bit farther than I did, but I saw the most beautiful spot off the road where several other people were camped and I couldn't pass it by. This is capelin country; there are Arctic terns diving for fish like Stealth bombers and a couple of fishing boats anchored...camping in a postcard again.

Today's stats:

Time: 5:17.54

Average speed: 23.5

Distance: 124.17

Top speed: 55.0

Total trip distance: 919.71

So a little about distance biking: of course your legs are gonna get sore, but if you keep pedaling the pain usually goes away pretty quick. The butt gets pretty sore too, and that's something that doesn't always go away during the ride. On the 180km day I said "ouch" out loud three times because of my bum. That day I also said "ouch" out loud because of my toes. They don't blister - I have no physical marks from this journey outside of a few overscratched mosquito bites - but occasionally I'll get busted-blister type feelings in one or two of my toes on either feet. All these ailments pretty much go away when I stop, and in the morning I'm generally feeling pretty okay, if a bit sore in the legs for the first ten or fifteen kilometres - it literally feels like my brakes are stuck on when I start out each morning.

While I'm riding, when exertion is necessary, my appendages go numb. It almost always starts with the fingers on my left hand, then as I work harder, my right hand. Then it goes to my feet; I don't think one foot is favoured, I think the feet both go together. I give them a wiggle or two to get the sensation back and keep moving, a fairly constant routine.

It was early on day two, my fingers and toes are all numb, and it occurs to me that my penis is not with me. Stunned and travelling about 35km/h down a hill, I reach in my shorts with my right hand (which is numb) and am of course unable to feel my penis anywhere. I'm frantic that I left it back at the campground...but I couldn't have, I always do an idiot check before I leave. So I crush around in there, and like mapping out black holes, I gather by inference that my penis is indeed there utilizing what sensation I did have in my wrist and arm and employing a little basic physics. I feebly grabbed with my numb unfeeling fingers where my penis should be and I tried to move it somewhere else. Then I got to back steering that hill.

This happens almost everyday, though now without the panic. The finger numbness lingers constantly if in a lessened state; I had a hard time playing guitar last night, partly from a couple of weeks off, and partly from the numbness. I asked Antoine about these things when we were camped together and he said he gets it in the fingers and toes but...and trailed off.

Nine more days. Let's hope there'll be no permanent damage.

I'll be in Windsor-Grand Falls in the afternoon where I'll do a little shopping and maybe a little laundry and carry on. But now it's almost time for the sunset and I'm gonna hike up to the point there to see the bay from above..

Later now...I hiked up to the point and it was beautiful. Three hundred and sixty degrees of what you always imagined Newfoundland would look like - at sunset. Came back down and spent the night drinking and telling Newfie jokes with six islanders away for a week who are camped next door. Before I even went over they brought me a plate for dinner, barbequed chicken and unbelievable rice, the best meal I've had since I've been here. Unfortunately I had already started my own lame dinner of canned beef stew, so I had to eat for two.

It was a great night.

[Velvet]

Newfoundlog, Stardate 081605

I was surprised to look out of my tent into the quaint little bay (late) this morning and see a huge ship docked about 200m from me, the two of us nose to nose. I never would have suspected a boat that large could be there. I was so intrigued I climbed up to the lookout again so I could see the boat en masse. It was dumping an enormous pile of salt onto the dock. Quite a sight.

The young local hippie dude who was tenting near me is preparing to hitchhike out to Victoria. He played his drum while I slowly packed up my gear. I seriously considered just staying where I was for another night, it was so nice there. But I had devious plans to attempt, so I hit the road.

I don't know why today was so hard. Sure, when the wind was blowing it was against me, and it was blowing most of the time, but not too hard. It wasn't very hilly, though it did seem that when there was a grade it was primarily up. It was slow sledding, sludging along the gorgous highway. I think what made it hardest was the demoralisation of not knowing I wasn't getting as far as I'd wanted to, and coming to terms more and more throughout the afternoon that my initial deviation plans may have to fail in favour of my secondary deviation plans. At any rate, quite exhausted, I pulled into Windsor-Grand Falls just before 6pm and found the Canadian Tire in short order. Fortunately it's a pretty big store because the camp fuel cannister I need is somewhat uncommon. Unfortunately, they don't have it so I'm somewhat screwed. I have enough fuel left for maybe one or two meals, and I don't think I'll have many more oppourtunities for hardware stores before St. John's, though I'll keep trying if I see a camping supplies sign.

Went to the grocery store and stocked up on cold cuts, cheese, buns, fruit, and granola bars to feed me for tonight (all I've eaten today is a small pack of peanuts) and tomorrow. I was too tired to head downtown for an internet cafe so you'll all have to go on thinking I'm dead for another day. Found myself a campground, gorged myself, and did some badly needed laundry. Man, I can't wait to put on my clean biking clothes tomorrow.

The stats:

Time: 4:32.40

Average speed: 20.4

Distance: 92.86

Top speed: 48.0

Total trip distance: 1,012.58

Oh yeah, I figured I'd roll over a thousand today. I meant to watch for that and have a little celebration wherever it hit. Ah well, I'm sure it was nice. Actually, it was probably back at the Canadian Tire. Maybe it marked a change in my luck. Hope not.

One marker I did celebrate was the exit to Route 420 yesterday. There's a nice little creek right there so I went down and sat on a rock and rolled one up. Finished, I went up to smoke it under the Route 420 sign where my ride was parked. On the ground I noticed a cigarette pack and for some reason I picked it up. Sure enough, the top flap had been ripped for many filters and a half cigarette with a rolled up end was inside. A very familiar sight indeed. I guess I wasn't the only one who marked that spot. I wonder if the cops make special trips to find people smoking there. Unlikely I guess, as I think the police resources in Newfoundland must be stretched thin. I've seen a total of six police cars patrolling the highway on my trip so far, two of them together and one of them in Labrador.

Hell, it's probably more than they need.

[Velvet]

Newfoundlog, Stardate 081705

That little wind that was against me most of the day yesterday was with me most of the day today, and what a difference it makes. Yesterday on the flat bits it was a bit of a strain to maintain 20km/h whereas today keeping it around 30km/h on the flat bits was hardly any effort at all. It just makes the ride so much more pleasant. About forty clicks down the TCH I diverted from my initial plan to stay on the highway to St. John's and I headed north on the 340. About eleven kilometres up I reached the water and cruised through the prettiest little towns and villages for the afternoon, just a beautiful drive.

It's neat how you can tell the industry by biking around. Trucks are very noticable when you're biking, for they carry wind. And you start noticing the payloads of these trucks. When I left the bay where the big ship was dumping salt I was blessed with many a salt truck passing my way for the afternoon. On the way up the 340 I noticed trucks weighted down with logs passing my way (making it smell like Xmas for a few seconds every time one goes by), and lots of lumber trucks coming the other way. Sure enough, I passed two sawmills this afternoon.

A word about the trucks. What a damn blessing they are to the cyclist. There you are slugging away and from behind you comes the sound of a rig. You wait until it rushes past, then let another 1.5 seconds or so go by and you click up one gear and lift your back straight in the air. It's like running over a mushroom in Mario Kart or something. It's best if they hug the side of the road. You instantly pick up anywhere from two to six kilometres per hour and depending on the conditions you can maintain that boost for a good long time.

I'm getting better at shifting, it's all about keeping your feet moving and not tiring yourself out. I have twenty-one gears, three on my left hand and seven on my right. When my left hand is on 1 (low) and my right hand is on one (low), I call that 11th gear, a gear I pretty much never use. If I click up a couple on my right had, I get to what I call gear 13, which is what I use as low gear. Anything lower than that and you're running like a madman on the bike and going nowhere - it's a balancing trick and I don't like it one bit. So anyway, if you click up one gear on the left hand from gear 13 you get to gear 23, see what I mean? So my highest gear is 37 (3 on the left, 7 on the right).

The hill:

-ideally I'm in high gear approaching a hill, cooking along at a good cruising speed of around 30

-don't watch the hill! Don't watch the hill! The starting point of the hill can be really decieving, so I let my legs tell me what's going on

-I start to feel pressure on my legs in high gear, keep going until it's work

-shift to 36, keep going until it's work

-shift to 35

-shift to 34 and look to see how close I am to what may be the top of the hill. If I'm close, I'll go up to 33 and try to maintain it to the top, going to 24 if necessary, if not I'll shift to 25

-usually very quickly to 24

-shift to 23 and try to maintain this as long as possible. Going into 1 on the left hand makes you climb, whereas 2 on the left is still cruising pressure

-shift to 15

-shift to 14. Look at the beautiful scenery and try to forget I'm biking. Lalala, aren't those some nice trees? Lot's and lot's of trees. Try not to work too hard. Nunununu, hey, more trees over on that side! Wow, I wonder if I'll die out here? What shall I have for dinner tonight? How about tomorrow? Wonder if someone has broken into my car back in North Sydney. Wow, dig all those trees

-shift to 13. This is my last hope. Hope. Pedal. Gasp. Stay consistent. Scream in agony inside while looking calm and determined on the outside in case a car comes. Try not to die

-decide if I'm gonna make it (up the hill)

-very, very occasionally I'll shift to 12, but much more often at this point I'll get off and walk a bit, but I always get back on again and pedal to the top. This is not for ego reasons, but simply because it's harder to walk your bike than it is to ride it, in the long run. Unfortunately, once the bike is in the lower gears going up a hill to ride it is kinda like running up the hill, so you need to give the running muscles a break and let the walking muscles take up a little slack. I never stop for a break in the middle of a hill. I'm always sore and sluggish when I first get on the bike after any break so I always try to stop for a bit when I'm on a summit of some sort. So when 13 becomes unbearable I get off and walk the bike for a bit until I'm somewhat rested and I hop back on and take 'er to the top in 13th gear, which always feels pretty easy when I start riding again after a walk.

The psychology of the hill:

At the end of all that, you turn the corner to see that you're actually not even halfway up the hill. What do you do then, with your body spent and your spirit ready to break? If you look here for advice on how to deal with such psychological mindfucks as this, you're looking in the wrong place. I have no idea how I get up those. times I think I black out.

Today's stats:

Time: 5:01.59

Average speed: 22.8

Distance: 114.99

Top speed: 56.5

Total trip distance: 1,127.57

So after crossing three causeways I'm on New World Island. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss. It's really pretty here. I'm in Dildo Run, just around the corner from Virgin Arm. Wait a minute, my penis is going numb again. I wonder which place was named first? Regardless, I'm at the Dildo Run Provincial Park (surprisingly nowhere near the more infamous town of Dildo) which is where the Dildo tram used to run. I went to see it a few hours ago. It's a flat trolley with train wheels and it used to run along a one kilometre track that's still there. The boats would dock here, and mail going to the other side of the island got pushed (by hand) on the tram as it would take days for a boat to circumnavigate to the other side, such is the shape of the islet. The tram was also used to get people to the doctor and such, it was by far the fastest way to the other side before they built the road.

Tomorrow I plan to get down near Gander. If the wind stays the same, it should be a bit of a tough ride, as I have to head back south to get there.

Hopefully I'll be able to find my camp fuel in Gander. I'm really getting sick of salami sandwiches.

[Velvet]

Newfoundlog, Stardate 081805

I sat for about two hours by the water and watched the moon glide across the sky last night, finally lighting a fire and staring it down until bedtime. Slept a dwall pretty much all night. And then I woke up to another blue sky. I don't wanna jinx it, but I've been blessed with great weather this trip, with few exceptions.

The road itself was really rough today, the worst it's been. While the wind played it's little "Hey, isn't this nice, I'm right at your back, get cruisin' buddy...Whammo! Hahahaha right in your face, almost stopped you dead that time! Geez, look at you struggle, aren't you the go-getter...here, how about a nice little breeze to help you down this hill (snickersnicker). Oooh, you can really get going can't you? Whammo!!!!" games with me I made a concerted effort to give my tires as little grief as possible, though the side of the road might as well have been the side of the road in Bhagdad. The tread on my back tire is all but gone and I expect it to blow anytime, so the downhill rushes are that much more intense. Avoiding the bumps going 55km/h is like skydiving through a maze.

Speaking of analogies, here are some highway road signs and their new meanings to me.

Passing Lane 2km = Save your energy buddy, there's a big hill coming

St. John's 450km = Yes, this is the right way to St. John's

Trucks Use Low Gear = Tuck in and pray

Stop = Yield

Maximum 100km/h = Hey, here's a nice pole to lean the bike against for a little break

50km/h Zone Ahead = Hey, a town! Maybe they'll have a store

Caution, Moose Next 20km = Caution, Random Sudden Death Possible Next 20km

Welcome To Bear Cove = No Camping

Bump = I wonder what happened to all the other Bump signs?

Welcome To Labrador = Welcome To Cyclist Hell

Tim Horton's 35km = City Big Enough To Have Internet 35km

Caution, Trucks Turning = Caution, Gravel All Over Road

Welcome To Argentia = Wow, you made it

I've seen all but one of those signs, and I have little doubt now that I will see that one as well. When I first started out my fears were (in this order) 1) hating it/being bored, 2) having a heart attack on a hill somewhere, 3) crashing badly in the middle of nowhere, and 4) getting eaten and or trampled by a bear/moose/iceberg. Now, two weeks in to the trip with six days remaining, I no longer fear hating it, nor do I fear being eaten or trampled. The heart attack fear is dramatically lessened, as I haven't had one yet, but my crashing fear is growing as my tune-up withers away as quickly as the tread on my rear tire. I was never really concerned that my body wouldn't make it, perhaps foolishly, but it hasn't been a problem, though chafing came close to being a concern. Today I found myself very focused on the road itself, which takes my focus off of Newfoundland. I'm gonna try not to let that happen again. In my mind I'm in the home stretch as soon as I hit the Trans-Canada Highway again, which is about fifteen kilometres from here, at Gander. Six days of steady biking is no picnic though - we'll see how it goes.

Of course the only justifiable fear I currently have is running out of pot, which will occur soon. Perhaps I can make it last until I get to St. John's and score there, but I doubt my stash will last that long. This is a major problem that I don't know how to solve.

Today's stats:

Time: 3:35.31

Average speed: 20.7

Distance: 74.49

Top speed: 57.0

Total trip distance: 1,202.07

As expected, a pretty easy day today, though I got here faster than I thought I would. Tomorrow I'll have a peek at Gander and hopefully find camp fuel and internet, and breakfast as I'm here tonight with nothing but a partridgeberry muffin and some granola bars. I hope to get into Terra Nova National Park tomorrow night but I'm not sure. The National Park campgrounds in Gros Morne were absurdly expensive and I fear the same in this, another National Park Plus I want to stop into Gambo along the way, the hometown of Joey Smallwood. For the whole trip I've been reading an historical fictional novel about Smallwood, entitled Colony Of Unrequited Dreams, by Wayne Johnston. It's a compelling and very uniquely written biography of the man and his land, and it's really helped me appreciate the stops I've been making. I urge anyone to pick it up, it's a great read that is interspersed with a wonderfully ironic factual history of this very unique chunk of the world.

Smallwood walked The Rock from one side to the other in the winter of 1925 trying to unionize the railway workers (just one of a ridiculously long list of his amazing accomplishments). Wow.

And if you ever wonder why they call it The Rock, just try and pitch a tent here. If you get a tent-peg in an inch you're doing good. I haven't seen one farm yet, and I can see why. This land was not meant for living on.

And no, I don't have an air mattress.

[bradm]

A friendly question, on a subject I haven't seen mentioned: how is the riding + smoking tobacco combination going? Or have you (at least temporarily; permanently, I hope) quit?

Aloha,

Brad

[bradm]

I also want to add: these logs are awesome. I recommend you seriously look into getting them published in a cycling magazine.

Aloha,

Brad

[phorbesie]

right on

after all that 'vikings are my people' stuff last time i was starting to wonder if you weren't building a ship somewhere and gonna sail away and be a viking pirate.

[Im going home Donny]

I also want to add: these logs are awesome. I recommend you seriously look into getting them published in a cycling magazine.

Aloha,

Brad

Thats a great idea!

[Lazlo]

They're good and all but not enough car chases and nudity.

[Velvet]

Newfoundlog, Stadate 081905

It rained last night. I like it when it rains at night. Especially when you wake up to blue skies. It was chilly last night. I started off the night by pulling the drawstring of my new summer sleeping bag around my face, Telletubby style. That didn't cut it so I pulled tighter until just my blow holes were showing, Gimp style. Regardless, it was another night of nothing but dwall, but at least I half slept for about eleven hours.

Fortunately I found camp fuel in Gander, and I spent some time at the library uploading some logs. My Alphasmart was the talk of the town in there I tells ya. Got back to the Trans-Canada after a two day detour and pointed my tire St. John's way.

About 15kms out of Gambo I crested a big hill to see a big lake down at the bottom, and the water looked mean. I looked up and saw stormclouds, and pulled over. The clouds were heading NNE and were just ahead of me and to the right. I was heading primarily southeast, but at the bottom of the hill the road had to turn north for a while at least. I figured if I barreled down that hill I would land myself smack-dab in the middle of a downpour, so I smoked a bowl and chilled out. The rain started and though I was getting sprinkled I could see it really coming down ahead of me. I gave the clouds about twenty-five minutes, put on my rain pants and launched myself down the hill. Sure enough the roads were wet and sure enough I missed the storm. I stopped after a while to take off the rain pants and noticed a second and uglier storm coming right at me! I dove on the bike and pedaled like crazy, the road indeed going southeast now, while the storm was coming up from the southwest. I reluctantly flew by Gambo with the rain hot on my heels. Five minutes later I could see Gambo getting poured on behind me.

Let me take a moment to explain why I'm desperate to escape the rain. It's not the rain itself, as some might expect, though getting my shoes wet does suck. Rather it's the fact that it forces me to wear my rain gear. I've only had two, maybe three days so far that I would describe as 'hot' though while riding it's a nice temperature. The rest of the days have been cool, which for me means a fairly good temperature when I'm working up a sweat (which is usually), but damn cold when the wind catches that sweat (sure wish I had brought a long sleeved shirt). But I put up with the cold because I hate the rain gear. The rain gear is hot, and in addition to being waterproof, they are also sweatproof. So I'm sweating twice as much as usual with 0% of my sweat drying in the wind, and it all collects inside my rain gear. I end up drenched, literally drenched, making it freezing cold when I do take it off. As I drive the sweat drips out of my cuffs like an IV, the frequency corresponding to my effort.

So I pedal like mad for almost two hours straight and managed to avoid the storm, the most I got was sprinkled on. I eventally took off the rain pants to find my shorts underneath soaked. Ironically just before I stopped for the night I did get rained on a bit, after wearing the rain pants fairly unnecessarily for most of the afternoon.

The stats:

Time: 4:33.16

Average speed: 21.5

Distance: 97.90

Top speed: 60.0

Total trip distance: 1,299.97 (I'll hit 1,300kms at the end of my campsie tomorrow. I'll make a point of stopping to celebrate)

When I did pull off the highway to stay here at the Newman Sound camping area in Terra Nova National Park two good things happened. First, I saw a sign advertising the 21st Annual Heritage Foundation Folk Festival (www.heritagefoundation.nl.ca), and secondly the two kilometres to the park entrance was all a beautiful winding tree-lined hill going down (though I dread it in the morning). It's expensive to camp here, and insulting that a guy on a bicycle with a two-man tent pays the same as a half-ton with a camper, but it's a nice park. I barely had time to set up my tent before heading down the path to the folk festival. There's a great park down there and after paying my $3 entrance fee I found myself in a really nice amphitheatre that could hold maybe 600 people, facing a stage that had a sunset for a backdrop.

And what a time we had I wants to tells ya. Everybody got about fifteen minutes, starting with Jim Bragg. He strummed three or four songs I had never hard before but the crowd of about 150 sang right along to every one. Then David Saunders, who works in the park, played a few covers and he got a bunch of kids up to play the spoons. Ralph Paul, all the way from Burin Peninsula took the stage for some accordian numbers accompanied by his Casio. Old Ralph started off with a rickety "Three Drunken Maidens" and went off from there. While the next act set up the Kate Hathaway-like hostess did some raffle draws, of which the two most sought after prizes were the single-use mosquito repellant handi-wipes. I'm not kidding, they drew for two of them. And I really wanted to win too. Anyway, four young fellers calling themselves Screeched In played their accordians and bodhrans and whipped the crowd up. Allyson Gobi (last years' Gloverton Idol) said she was gonna play some Joni Mitchell and Gordon Lightfoot. "Not your standard folk fest stuff I guess," she said in all seriousness. She did a good job (despite having to restart the Lightfoot tune four times), and had to be pretty much dragged off the stage at the end of her fifteen minutes. The highlight for me was the next act, Nellie and Harry Perry. Now let me say that the music at the festival generally ran from pretty good to quaint, but any of them would stand up well at your everage campfire. I had a great time hearing the music and appreciated the heavy Newfoundland influence. So I'm not trying to poke fun at anyone, but I had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from laughing throughout Nellie and Harry's set. I'm doing the same thing now thinking about it. Harry is in his sixties we'll say, and about 290lbs. He sang songs and played the harmonica and the spoons while Nellie (same description) stood behind him playing the Newfie ugly stick. For those that don't know of the instrument, the Newfie ugly stick is a mop with bottlecaps attached to it, and you bounce it off the floor and hit it with another, smaller stick. Well, Nellie is to Harry as Linda was to Paul; she has the rhythm of a drunk autistic football rolling up a waterslide, and she utilised that rhythm to it's highest potential while Harry somehow managed to ignore her.

I sit here giggling in the memory.

The next fellah up was really good, he'll be back tomorrow with his band Gander Six Pack. I left during Krista Arnold's set. She played two originals, one was Helpless by Neil Young an the other was a Barenaked Ladies tune off their first cd. I had to miss the last act to make it to the canteen before it closed.

I'm really, really glad I caught the festival, and it turns out Allyson Gobi was right. Gordon Lightfoot and Joni Mitchell aren't really folk music around here, because folks around here are Newfoundlanders and they play Newfoundland music. As I watched the full moon rise behind the stage it occured to me that I was getting a tour of the best kitchen jams for a 100km radius, and people know it. I'm sure almost everyone at the show was local, even a couple of groups of the cool kids with their Nirvana shirts and long hair were there too, and they weren't being cool, they were listening to the music. And it couldn't go down in a prettier spot. Too bad I'm out in the morning, as my ticket is good for tomorrow too.

So tomorrow I just go south as far as I can. I want to get within close shooting distance of St. John's for Sunday night, so tomorrow I'm just gonna see how much of the distance I can cut off. Maybe I'll get a cheap motel too.

I'm debating stopping in the next big town and buying a new tire. My rear tire is in rough shape, down to the wire at a few points. Or maybe I'll takes me chances, depending on my momentum when I pass the next big town.

[phorbesie]

what does "dwall" mean?

never heard that word before, and it's not in my dictionary.

[Velvet]

It's a Newfie term meaning not quite asleep and not quite awake.

[Velvet]

Newfoundlog, Stardate 082005

Y'know, you live thirty seven and-a-half years and make a point of trying to get around and do some interesting things and sometimes you start to think you've seen it all. Well friends, tonight I discovered that I have two matching callouses on my bum. I assume they've been growing with me the whole time, but I have a feeling I'll be aware of them constantly from here on out. My two little companions. My finger callouses are gone - maybe they just went south. Well, my butt didn't get sore today, so I guess they're working.

Man, today was hard. It's that damn pesky wind. It was in my face all bloody day, coming up from the north, the same damn directon the wind seems to go on the whole freakin' island.

The stats:

Time: 4:53.30

Average speed: 18.7

Distance: 91.57

Top speed: 54.0 (for the record, above 30 my little computer only goes in .5km/h incriments)

Total trip distance: 1,391.55

Terra Nova National Park is beautiful, though it's hill after hill. This side of the island seems a lot hillier than the other, that's for sure.

I've been learning a lot about hills and perspective. This might be hard to believe, but I've realised that I can't visually tell if the road is flat or graded one way or another. It sounds dumb, but it's true. How many times I've crested a hill happy to see that I have a nice long downward slope ahead of me, then when I get on it I realise it's actually an upwards slope. Also, you reach a summit and look ahead with a groan at the monster hill coming up and when you get there you realise that there's little or no hill at all. Almost invariably if I look back at a hill I've just climbed or descended, it looks like nothing. You mean I struggled my calloused ass off on that mountain and it's barely a hill at all? I'm starting to think that Newfoundland doesn't have any big hills at all; that I don't really know what biking hill country is like. It obviously has to do with perspective. When I'm going up a grade my eyes see the road ahead from my place on a downward slope and distorts what I think I see. Couple that with the psychological gear shifting I keep trying to stop myself from doing (I see a hill, I shift. I see a truck coming, I shift. I see the trees bending in the wind, I shift.) and it's clear I should let my legs do the talking.

I stopped in Clarenville for some internet action and grabbed a 6" Subway sub (I needed one more stamp to fill my card), then another hour or so down the road I could battle the wind no longer. I saw a cheap motel and I took it. Bonus for me that it's Saturday and Cops comes on in ten minutes. There's a bar right downstairs from my room which is handy. I can drink enough to sleep through the noise of the bar downstairs. The rest of the rooms are occupied by a partying softball team so we'll see if we can get drunk enough not to mind each other.

Still on the home stretch with four more days of cycling ahead of me. Tomorrow I just wanna get close to St. John's. It's still about 150kms out so hopefully I can do a hundred tomorrow so I can have a nice easy day getting into the big city.

The ball team is getting rowdy out in the hall. I'm gonna crank Cops full blast and give them an idea who they're dealing with.

[Velvet]

Newfoundlog, Stardate 082105

I spent most of last night in the bar shooting pool and hanging with the locals. It was a good time and it was nice to down a bunch of beers for a change. Pretty loaded, I went back to my room and smoked half of my remaining stash, which isn't much. Oops.

I stopped where I did last night because the wind had been eating at me all day. Well, it turns out I didn't know from wind, for today it was fierce, and of course in my face. I mean Labrador-type wind. I screamed "Brutal!" twice and the only other thing I could do was to laugh when the wind would slow me to a near stop, even going down hills. I laughed quite a bit, for it was quite ridiculous.

Turns out it might have been a heavily disguised blessing.

So I'm slugging away trying to get close enough to St. John's so that I can just take a nice easy ride into town tomorrow, and my back tire blew. I have a spare inner tube, but it's the tire itself, this trip just ate right through it, I mean there's nothing left of it. I was pretty much running on the inner tube alone. I pull over and give it a look and realise that if I put my new inner tube in there it won't last a kilometre. The tire blew right at the exit to Arnold's Cove, in front of a motel. I did some asking around and found out that the Arnold's Cove has a shop called UAP that has bike stuff, and my next chance is in St. John's, making it a pretty lucky place for me to have blown the tire. Except that UAP isn't open on Sunday's.

So there I was, only an hour into my day's drive, and powerless to go any further under my own power. I made a sign that said "St. John's/Flat Tire" and went back to where my bike sat next to the highway. I really want to get to St. John's tomorrow so I can bike to Argentia rather than put the bike on another bus, so, with some sadness, I stuck out my sign. Amazingly, ironically, the wind that wouldn't go away had stopped. After ten minutes of wondering whether or not I was making the right move I noticed the sign I was standing under said "St. John's 129km". Dammit, I didn't come here to hitchhike, and I can do 130 clicks in a day if I have to, so I went back to the motel and booked a room. My reasoning is that if UAP has what I need I'll tough it out and get to St. John's tomorrow regardless of the distance, hopefully saving enough energy to hit George Street. If they don't have what I need, well then I'll have tried what I can try and I'll have to hitchhike tomorrow. Worst comes to worst, there's a bus to St. John's that stops here tomorrow night.

Today's stats:

Time: 1:24.15

Average speed: 15.9

Distance: 22.46

Top speed: 32.0 (and that was pedalling my ass off going down a hill)

Total trip distance: 1,414.01

This is a pretty big setback, but it's my own fault. I knew that the tire was thin and I still cruised right on by the Canadian Tire in Clarenville yesterday without a thought. I guess I wanted to see if I could get to the ferry with just the baldest tire possible. Now I'll just have to see if I can make it.

I think they screwed up here at the motel. I asked for the cheapest room they had ($52) and I got a suite with a kitchen and the whole works. Walking down the hall when the maids were doing their thing I noticed the other rooms are just normal kitchenless rooms. Given that I have a fridge I grabbed a six-pack and I'll finish that before hitting the bar tonight (it's all about the economics). I'm gonna actually set the alarm tonight so I can get an early start tomorrow, so I'll try and keep my liver a bit about me tonight. If that wind is still blowing tomorrow it'll be a tough 130kms. After such a short day today I should be well rested though.

I hope my callouses don't go away.

[Velvet]

Newfoundlog, Stardate 082205

Laid in bed and watched Star Wars on CBC last night, forsaking the bar to save some cash. Woke up bright and early to a wet day and walked my bike down Main Road in Arnold's Cove to find the UAP store. Twenty minutes later I asked someone if the store was up ahead. "Nah, you walked right by it, UAP is back there, can't miss it." Surprised that I could miss the shop walking through such a small village (the Home Hardware is also the Liquor Store), and not finding it again I stopped and asked someone else. "UAP? Well, it's right there boy!" Ohhhh, the UAP is actually called Power Toys & Auto, with nary a mention of UAP anywhere, a wonder that I missed it indeed. So I go in and the guy tells me they have no bike parts whatsoever. But four different people assured me this place had lots of bicycle stuff (and I specified 'bicycle' when I asked people)! "Nah, we've never had bicycle parts, not even three years ago when we were called UAP. You can try the Home Hardware, but other than that you're out of luck." I checked the Liquor Store and sure enough I was indeed out of luck. Frustrated, I walked the bike back to the motel, packed up and showered and, with no other options I could see, I parked at the side of the road with my "St. John's/Flat tire" sign. An hour later I got a ride.

Tony (38 year old paint inspector with his own name tattood on his arm) happily gave me a ride to St. John's. But he didn't stop there. When we got to town he drove me all over the place until we found the replacement tire, and he made sure I got to my hotel. Then he gave me his number, telling me to give him a call should I want a ride to the Argentia turnoff when I go for the ferry. He wouldn't let me lock the truck door anywhere, "We're in Newfoundland by!"

They ain't kidding when they talk about Newfoundland hospitality.

So here I am in town, and a nice city it seems to be. I'm checked into the fancy-shmancy Quality Inn right downtown, and now I'm just a little laundry and internet away from starting to tie one on.

I have to admit that it was really disappointing not riding my bike into St. John's. My consolation is that I took that detour up to New World Island, so distance-wise I woulda been here already, so I know I could have done it. Really, it's my own fault though. I knew the tire was going, I shoulda grabbed a spare when I could've, but live and learn.

Live and learn. I guess that's why I'm here in the first place.

[Velvet]

Wow, internet on the ferry.

No USB cable though.

See y'all soon.

[PalacePrincess]

you tease! i thought this was going to be another update.

glad you are still alive, and i for one can't wait to hear about the rest of your trip.

[Velvet]

Newfoundlog, Stardate 082305

Newfoundland has a population density of just under 1.5 people per square kilometer, hence, everywhere I’ve been I’ve felt like I was pretty much doubling the population. I didn’t feel that yesterday. St, John’s is a big city. Maybe that’s coming from the perspective of spending the last three weeks driving through tiny villages, small towns, and optimistically named cities, but frankly I was shocked by the size of Newfoundland’s capitol.

With my bike in the shop overnight getting a new tire and tube put on I went to my room and got in touch with Spencer, who I have met once or twice but primarily know through the internet. I bought a six-pack of Quidi Vidi beer and relaxed in front of the tube until Spencer knocked on my door. One of the first things he said was “Let’s get to Cape Spear before it gets too dark,†and I was happy to hear it. We hopped in his car (seems I’ve been in a lot of motorized vehicles lately) and drove the twenty-five minutes out to North America’s most eastern point. I was really happy for the ride, as I thought it was a lot closer than it turned out to be and I had intended to bike out there the next day. We parked by the blinking lighthouse and walked to a beautiful spot. We sat on the ultra-soft green ground an watched the ocean and talked, and it was awesome. I’ve spent an awful lot of solitary time on this trip, and when I have had oppourtunities to hang out with people I’ve been eager to mainly just listen and try to soak up the Newfoundland culture during these exchanges. Spencer and I sat staring at the sea like campers stare into a fire and we talked about music and shows and traveling and, well, all the things I usually talk about when I’m hanging out with people back home. It was so great, so refreshing. As it got darker and darker it became very vague as to where the ocean ended and where the sky began, and we stared out at the windless sea until the sky and the water became one element; a floor to ceiling murkiness that somehow became more fascinating as it grew less distinct. The two of us wavered between talking and laughing and periods of silent respect for Mother Nature. It was a great experience.

Eventually we got up, walked back to the car and headed into Town. My gracious host took me to George Street, St. John’s infamous bar strip. We hit a pub with some good live music and after a drink we made our way back to the street. Spencer had an early morning coming so he walked me down the strip and we bid each other farewell, with hugs this time instead of our handshakes from four hours previous.

It was so good to hang out with Spencer; it made me realize again that doing this trip with a like-minded soul would be a lot more fun. Don’t get me wrong, I’m having a great trip, but it was nice to not be flying solo, if only for a few hours.

But hell, I didn’t have to work in the morning so I decided to hit every bar with live music, and that’s just what I did. The pub Spencer and I went to had featured a duo, but every other bar with live music had solo acts (it was a Monday night after all). The music was good everywhere, though the setlists were very similar. Quite drunk, I found a bar with pints of Guiness for only $4.25, making it the cheapest Guiness I’ve ever seen in a bar. Obviously, this was to become my last stop of the evening. And I was drunk enough to borrow the man’s guitar and do a nice little The Tummies set, which was actually quite well received. After every song someone would yell “Who wrote that one?†and each time I told the crowd they were Led Zeppelin songs. I threw in The Rain Song and Bron-Y-Aur Stomp just to keep them convinced. The only song that didn’t go over very well was Pumpkin. I was so drunk I forgot the words and ended it abruptly in the middle of my solo.

I staggered back to my hotel and ordered the worst pizza I’ve ever had, a jumbo size, and ate it all, likely gaining back any weight I’ve lost this trip in one monster gorge.

This morning I picked up my bike and took it up to Signal Hill. The day was hot and muggy, but there was a fine fog atop the hill. Within an hour the fog was so thick you couldn’t see a thing and it started to rain slightly. I did a little more riding around Town and finally hit the highway in an effort to cut down the 131km ride to the ferry. Taking two days off has made my body pretty lazy.

The stats:

Time: 2:25.38

Average speed: 19.5

Distance: 47.48

Top speed: 50.0 (and that’s only because I kept the brakes on coming down Signal Hill)

Total trip distance: 1,461.50

I made it to Butter Pot Provincial Park driving through a constant fine mist that kept me cold enough to wear my rain jacket. Of course the jacket causes me to sweat a lot and what doesn’t drip out of the sleeves pools by my waistline such that when I take my jacket off it looks like I’ve pissed myself. Still does, as a matter of fact.

So given that my ferry leaves on Thursday morning at 9am, tomorrow is my last day here on The Rock. I’ve got about 95kms between me and Argentia and if it’s a nice day I’m gonna really take my time and enjoy it. If the weather is lousy I guess I’ll take my time and suck it up, but come hell or high water tomorrow I will see that sign telling me I’ve made it.

[Velvet]

Newfoundlog, Stardate 082405

I awoke to the ugly sound of rain tapping on the tent. Fortunately, by the time I decided to actually get up the rain had stopped, leaving a wet ground and a gray sky. Showered and packed ‘er all up for my last ride of the trip. Gotta tell ya, I was pretty excited. I was especially looking forward to the fact that I was returning to sea level, meaning the day would be more down than up, guaranteed. Hills are like Karma.

Though the ground was wet the temperature wasn’t too bad so I donned the rain pants and forsook the jacket. I made good time and with about fifteen kilometers to go decided the ground was sufficiently dry to take off the rain pants. Of course my shorts were drenched with sweat and I wanted them to dry on the ride. It then immediately began to pour, so much so that if I stopped to put the pants on again my stuff would get soaked, so I persevered. I rode through driving rain and unprecedented puddles all the rest of the way. I could not have been any wetter.

I stopped at an info center three kilometers before the ferry terminal (the info centers sometimes have free internet and always have free water for refilling the bottles). As I parked my bike outside an elderly gentleman walked over and introduced himself. Peter does odd jobs around the info center and he asked about my trip. Then he told me that two weeks previously he fell off the roof of his garage and had to have a number of serious surgeries (not to be unkind but I think he might have sustained some brain trauma as well) and here he was back at work. He went on to say that his dad and brother died of cancer while his mother had just died recently. She was 82 years old and was walking to Bingo when she was hit by a car. He said that proved that you gotta live life while you got it, and that both he and I were doing it. I’m not sure I really understand the connection, but I’m really glad I met Peter, and I was really touched by our short conversation, the last I would have with an islander before the terminal (which doesn’t count, ‘cuz the terminal is essentially an airport for boats).

The final stats:

Time: 4:13.32

Average speed: 22.7

Distance: 96.22

Top speed: 59.0 (Yes, that was going down the last hill to the ferry, a huge smile of victory smeared to my face)

Total trip distance: 1,557.72

I got to the ferry terminal drenched to the bone. I went to the bathroom and changed and spent about 45 minutes trying to dry my sneakers with the automatic hand dryer. Doesn’t really work on the hands, doesn’t really work on the shoes. Bought my ticket with sixteen hours to spare and explored the terminal. As every other person there was in an RV I was the only one in the terminal itself. That was fortunate as I had brought a single bottle of beer with my for a victory drink so I grabbed a chair and toasted The Rock and drank it down. Now with only fifteen hours and fifty-five minutes to go before my ferry pulled out I killed my time watching a couple of movies the Marine Atlantic folks are kind enough to put on (Ladder 49 – ouch, Million Dollar Baby – not too bad). As darkness fell I considered pitching my tent outside but opted to curl up with my sleeping bag on a bench in the lounge because I was trying to get my clothes dry by hanging them over all the other benches.

It was a fairly antiseptic way to spend my last night here, but then it’s an airport after all.

[Velvet]

Newfoundlog, Stardate 082505

After a night of tossing and turning the announcement came for people to head to their vehicles for boarding. I was in no rush, being informed that bicycles (okay, bicycle – I was the only one) boarded last, so I had some breakfast in the restaurant there and cleaned myself up in the bathroom and waited. Finally I was allowed on and amazingly one of my saddlebags broke as I was traveling the 200m to the dock, making it very difficult to ride my bike. This would have been disasterous at any other time, but I was awed that it happened when it did. I gave my bell a little ceremonial ding as I boarded the ship, signaling the end of my ride.

So here I am on the ferry. It’s the big one this time, 165m long and weighing 4,000 tonnes. This one is named after good old Joey Smallwood and his wife Clara. It’s a grand boat indeed, with a bar complete with live music (where I am of course), a couple of big tv lounges (just watched The Day After Tomorrow – meh, and most of Hitch which I thought was pretty funny), a movie theatre that charges $5 a movie (ummmm, go to the tv lounge people) and a nice sized restaurant. The rain continues to fall but the sea is calm enough. The trip should take about thirteen hours (written later: I spent most of the trip hanging with Eli and Saul, bassist and drummer from Kamloops band Avenue Earth on a promo tour, and David Sawyer, “Like dat Rush tune da-da-da-daahhh, except David†and his buddy Bulldozer, two french Harley dudes from Edmunston who totally openly kept smoking us hash joints (Eli and Saul don’t smoke) on the deck amongst a myriad of other passengers in between buying us beers in the bar where a guitar player and a conga player did their best to entertain us for set after set after set. I closed out the night with another movie; Coach Karter, though we docked before the ending), after which I’ll take the front tire off my bike and load it into the back of my car (a chore I’ve gleefully envisioned many times in the last three weeks) and see if I can make it to Moncton for the night. Then I’ll drive back home, laughing up every hill.

This was my first bike trip, and it was a learning experience. I traveled light but found I brought more than I needed. I brought too many shirts, socks, and underwear, though I wish I had remembered to bring a long-sleeved shirt. Thankfully I never used my bike repair book, my first aid kit (not really true as I stepped on a nail early on in the trip and doused it with alcohol and a bandage, though I was just being cautious), and my helmet (I wore it, but I didn’t use it), though they were necessary to have with me. I found the cycling a challenge at times, although hiking the Inca Trail in Peru was much more physically demanding. My problem was slowing down; I had no regulator so to speak, just a big road ahead of me, and I was giv’ner much of the time. There were a few times that I wanted to stop (always when I wasn’t actually riding), but only once did I truly ask myself what the hell I was doing. That was on the morning of day 5. I woke up sore and really felt like just staying put. Then of course day 5 turned out to be the best biking day of the whole trip. Anytime an inkling of doubt entered my mind (which wasn’t often) I remembered day 5 and got on the bike. Would I do a bike trip again? Definitely. Do I hope that the next time I have a companion with me? Again, definitely.

And what can I say about Newfoundland, now that I’ve spent three weeks slowly cruising through almost 1,600km of it? Well, first of all it’s stunningly beautiful, but you can get that from the postcards. Also, the people are really friendly, but anyone can tell you that.

Newfoundland joined Canada in 1949, (officially) the moment before April Fools Day, recent enough that a good many people still breathing can remember when Canada only had nine provinces. Joey Smallwood was the instrument that brought about confederation, an idea he once opposed strongly. Really, it was Britian’s desire to cut the colony loose and Mackenzie King’s hope to cap his career that brought The Rock into the fold; pure politics. Was it the right move? Should Newfoundland be part of Canada? Well, financially the island has never been able to support itself and thus needs a parent nation to help out, and for the most part Canada is there to respond to the island’s needs. And despite the relative popularity of “Free Newfoundland†t-shirts I think everybody is pretty okay with the relationship. But is it Canada, or is Newfoundland distinct enough to be thought of as a (the) Canadian colony?

Canada is a harsh environment, Newfoundland even more so. Canadians are good, honest, helpful people, Newfoundlanders even more so. Newfoundlanders are happy to be Newfoundlanders (Crosbie once said, “You can always tell the Newfies in Heaven, they’re the ones who want to go homeâ€) and while they are happy to help whenever they can (a phrase I heard many times here), Newfoundlanders seem content to watch the craziness of the world go by while they stand solid, knowing they got things pretty darn good, much like the rest of Canada tries to do. And they are a proud people. Essentially Newfoundland seems like a heavily concentrated Canada; as distinct a society as you might find in this great country of ours, and one that never as much as raises an eyebrow of worry when it comes to protecting their heritage. Rather, I think Newfoundland heritage might be self-sustaining; something unwavering. To Newfoundlanders there are only two places in the world, Home and Away, and though many go Away, they all miss Home.

I’ve been to every province in Canada and this is the only one that feels to me like it could really be another country, and I think lots of Newfoundlanders quietly hold that knowledge behind their smiles. Happy to be Canadian, but ecstatic to be Newfoundlanders. I’ve never seen anybody with an Ontario flag tattoo or an Alberta flag tattoo. I’ve seen dozens of Newfoundland flag tattoos. These people love their land and it shows in their souls and it lives in their landscapes. Could it be that Canada’s youngest province is it’s prototype? Come here and decide.

I’m glad I was able to experience the strength, love, and respect that Newfoundland has to offer, if only for a short time, and I look forward to meeting Away Newfoundlanders in the future and showing them as much hospitality as I can. Now that I’ve had a taste of what the province has to offer I want to show them that the rest of Canada can try to keep up.

[Ms.Huxtable]

Fabulous Todd. When you get home, give us a shout. I'm sure your bones could use a good soak and we'd be happy to see you.

(Glad you took Tummies on the road to)

[dancingbear]

velvet,

great hanging out with ya.

hope you arrived home safe.

happy travels,

spencer

[Velvet]

Right back atcha Mr. Bear.

Home free.

Thanks to all for keeping up with the trip with me. Hopefully we can all do it again sometime soon. Next time in Europe though.

[bradm]

I'm guessing you missed it when I asked before, so I'll ask again: Did you quit (or cut back on) the cigarettes while on the trip? You mentioned smoking pot, but I don't recall reading anything about tobacco.

Aloha,

Brad

Edited August 30, 2005 by Guest

[Velvet]

Nope, didn't miss it.

The question that is.

I'm embarrassed to answer.

As the trip wore on I started smoking more and more, until near the end I was approaching a pack a day.

It didn't help, actually it hindered.