Newerfoundlog

[Velvet]

Stardate 081210

Armed with a plan that was hatched five years ago during my first trip to Newfoundland, I loaded the bike and a thousand other things haphazardly thrown into panier bags into the back of the car. The very first part of my journey included my lovely Lovely, Heather, as the two of us had tickets to the great Sir Paul McCartney in Montreal.

The show was fantastic – the 68-year-old legend played classic after classic for almost three hours to an absolutely adoring crowd. This was my second time seeing McCartney and I will go again every chance I get.

Heather had arranged for a drive home with friends so we kissed each other goodbye for the next three weeks and I started my solo journey. I found myself fairly lost trying to get out of Montreal in an easternly direction, it remains to be seen iof that is a harbinger of things to come.

A few days earlier I called a campground near Drummondville and was assured that late arrivals were not a problem so I was surprised to pull in around 1am and find nobody in the office and the electronic gate closed. Undaunted (much) I discovered that I could get the leaving gate to open at will, so some minor strategic driving got me into the campground. I couldn't distinguish any area that was particularly for tents, but I found a spot and quietly set up. I was clever enough to have a couple of beers on ice in the car, so I leaned against the bumper and stared at the sky with a cold one (and a cold another). At one point I thought I saw a shooting star out of the corner of my eye, though when I heard the news the next day and heard there was a major meteor shower happening it occurred to me that my reverie probably kept me from seeing many more.

Over the last two weeks I've had a sore neck, a pain that revs up at night and keeps me from sleeping. I had booked a last-minute reflexology session before leaving Ottawa that seemed to do the trick, but it turned out I was in for a rough night.

I suspect I got between one and two hours of sleep before the sharp, shooting pain began in earnest. When I could see the sun had come up I gave up trying to sleep and packed up. When I got in the car I was dismayed to find that it wasn't quite 6am yet, and fatigued and frustrated I pulled out. Despite my best intentions there was nobody anywhere to take payment, so I ended up stiffing the campground. I don't like doing that, the $20 is well worth not feeling like a thief, but given that I used no facilities and was in and out without disturbing a soul I'll manage to deal with it.

The next question was whether to continue east or just forget the whole thing and head home. One thing's for sure, there is little sense going on a three-week tent trip with pain severe enough to eliminate the possibility of any good rest whatsoever.

[Velvet]

Stardate 081310

The answer (of course) was east, but I spent the whole driving day flipping back and forth between continuing and bailing. Usually my neck pain came on strong while I slept (or tried to) and abated during the day. Today it was significantly slower in abating, and I spent most of the day with one hand on the wheel while the other rubbed the strained muscles with seemingly no benefit. I had traveled with health problems before and it all but ruins the good times, but I also see this as one of my only opportunities to take this specific trip. I flip-flopped all day.

I got to Moncton fairly early for a visit with my mom. I explained the difficulty and she insisted we go to the hospital for an x-ray. I thought this was a good idea, but I also realised that an x-ray couldn't free me to go to Newfoundland; it would either tell me something is broken (aka go home) or that nothing was showing up (aka decide whether to go or not). After dinner we went to outpatients, and over the four-hour wait to get seen I had a nice visit with mom but had pretty much resigned myself to heading back to Ottawa in the morning.

The x-rays came back showing nothing and the doctor prescribed me some anti-inflammation pills. We got out of there at ten to midnight and just barely made the pharmacy before it closed at midnight. Back home for a couple of beers and some cards and my head hit the pillow at 2am and I immediately fell into a comatose-like sleep.

When morning came I woke up well rested and feeling great! I had slept without stirring and found the pain almost 100% gone. Ecstatic and energized I tore into the ham and eggs breakfast mom cooked up and eagerly looked forward to getting to the rock.

I have twice bailed on trips before, and to this day I regret both instances. I can't express enough how happy I am to be confidently on my way.

[phishtaper]

cool blog. (we just got back from newfoundland and highly recommend it.)

[Davey Boy 2.0]

glad to hear you're feeling better mon ami

hope it keeps up

[bouche]

I love that you stiffed a campground and tore into the ham and eggs.

[Velvet]

Just a quick update to let y'all know I'm alive and well. Hopefully more logs soon.

Go to yer google maps and look for Francois, Newfoundland and you'll know where paradise is.

[bradm]

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Aloha,

[Booche]

Take care of your shoes Velvet.

[Ms.Huxtable]

Leave to to mom to make you feel better. They always know what's best don't they?

Glad you're well mon ami.

[Velvet]

Stardate 081410

I had a six-hour drive to the ferry so I wanted to leave by 2pm just in case, but somehow I didn't get going until after three, even though I did nothing but sit around hanging with family.

The drive to North Sydney gets better around every turn until you end up on the Cabot Trail. At one point I came upon a spectacular view and realised I was listening to Howard Stern. Switched it over to the Dead channel and bounced the rest of the way to the ferry.

I got to the gate at 9:15 and was told I had fifteen minutes to get my shit together and get on board. The ferry was scheduled to leave at 10pm so I thought I had some leeway but it turns out I had to be on the boat a half-hour early.

Egad.

I was a bit miffed at myself for cutting it so close as I pulled into the long-term parking adjacent to the ferry terminal. Gave the dude my info, got the monthly rate ($65 total), cracked open the Coors Light I had on ice from my mom's fridge, and loaded up my bike like a madman. Four paniers (instead of my usual two), tent, waterwaterwater, 60oz of rye, and mandolin in tow, the bike rides like a tank. Down I went to the terminal almost ten minutes late, but the ticket dude walkie-talkied the boat dude and they let me board, last one on.

Five years ago, when I last crossed from North Sydney to Port Aux Basque I broke the rules and slept on the deck, wrapped in my little sleeping bag in a light rain. This time I am using a borrowed sleeping bag so I opted to join everyone else and stake out a chair to curl up in.

Though there were still plenty of spots left in the comfy reclining movie-room chairs, I found a low-backed seat directly under a fluorescent light in a sparsely populated area. I know I snore and I prefer to bother as few people as possible with it, so I purposely opted for something that would keep me from sleeping too soundly. All good intentions aside I slept fairly well and seemed to drive some folks away. A weird thing, at one point I awoke because I thought I dropped my glasses, and finding them still on my face I was about to go back to sleep when I felt something on the floor at my feet – a pair of glasses. I put them on the sill and gave them to the porter in the morning.

That is, around 5am when the boat started docking. Got my bike together and was the last one off.

I was tired, a bit sore, uncoffee'd and pleased as punch to be back in Newfoundland.

[Velvet]

Stardate 081510

I'm laying on my belly in the tent as a sublime orange quarter moon takes over the evening sky. It's almost ten o'clock and I hope to be asleep soon, though I'm troubled. Someone died just up the road this afternoon. Two bikes stopped right on the corner waiting for another. They left after about ten minutes. Then a truck pulled up asking if I'd seen the bikes. The man and his wife were trying to catch them to tell them their friend was dead, while another was heading for the hospital. How awful.

I've been told that the moose are everywhere around here. I saw one today not twenty feet away, and I'm worried about getting trampled. I'm sure my exhaustion will win out and I'll end up sleeping soundly.

Time: 4:14:02

Distance: 70.78

Average Speed: 16.7

Top Speed: 51.7

Total Distance: 73.0*

*the odometer inexplicably started off with a couple of kilometers on it and I'm taking them as freebies

It was quite a day. I waited for a few hours at the ferry terminal in Port Aux Basque and caught the bus 130kms or so up the Trans-Canada to Flat Pond, near Stevenville. This was the closest the bus could get me o the Burgeo turn-off. As we unloaded my bike the bus driver told me he'd lived in Newfoundland all his life and never been down Burgeo-way. Wouldn't be the last time I heard that.

He told me there were no services the whole way and did I have food and water? I assured him I was all set and I mounted my tank and headed up my first hill. It was a bit more than an hour before I got to the turn off: Burgeo 146 kms.

This is a journey east then south through the Middle Of Nowhere, NL. The road was only built in the late 1970's, and it follows a mountain ridge past some dramatic landscapes. Up and down I pedaled that beast of a load until I came across what people 'round here call the 90 degree. It's a sharp right to Burgeo, going straight takes you on a 150km long dirt road short-cut to St. John's. I decided to make camp right under the sign: Burgeo 96kms.

The last thing the bus driver said to me this morning was that the were bears all over Newfoundland (which I know isn't true), and that he had come face to face with a large black bear not two weeks before. “If it had been a mother and cubs, I wouldn't be here now.â€

Great. Thanks a lot.

Of course I thought about the rare chance of bear attack and the very real threat of moose trampling for most of the day. I chose my campsite based on both those fears; given that all traffic must slow down here to make the turn and lots of cars stop to change drivers/stretch/have a smoke, if there was anything remotely resembling a high traffic area along this road, this was it, plus this is one of the few areas where the side of the road wasn't littered with moose tracks. I pitched my tent quite literally between the signposts to lessen the possibility of moose stomping, moved my food far away and watched the moon rise. A short time later the two bikes stopped at the corner like so many others do. None of us knew yet that their friend was dead and his fourteen-year-old son laid waiting for an ambulance.

[Velvet]

Stardate 081610

I awoke alive and untrampled, having rested well, if a bit chilly. I slept without the fly on the tent to afford better visibility in case of attack, but was only woken once, when an ambulance came by with lights flashing, speeding off towards Cornerbrook I assume.

Yesterday had been really hot, leading me to drink more water than I expected, and it looked like another scorcher on the way, without a cloud in the sky. There was no question that I was short of water to make it all the way to Burgeo, but if I conserved there was a chance. With that in mind I passed on making any sort of substantial breakfast, and just like last night I made a meal of granola bars.

The scenery gets more beautiful around every corner. There's no flat areas, it's up and down all the way, passing thousands of gorgeous ponds, some the size of a bathtub while others are big enough to sail on.

Despite the fact that I was rid of most of that pesky water, the bike was still pretty heavy. And let's face it, so am I. I didn't train for this trip near as much as I did the last time I came, or even as much as when I went to Europe, and I remember feeling that in my legs. Well this was some pretty hard pedaling my friends. I rested often and tried to play the part of the tortoise, but with about 50kms left to go I was nearly out of water and sapped of energy. I took a long rest in the early afternoon sun finding what shade could in the “turn ahead†sign. I was pretty sure I could drink the water from any of these ponds and was determined to stop at the next running water I found when I set off over the hill.

And what did I see over that hill than a giant pond (we would call it a lake) with a couple dozen cottages (camps they call them here). These were the first signs of civilisation I had seen since leaving the Trans-Canada Highway well over a hundred kilometres before; I was saved! I stopped in at a camp and the nice older couple gave me as much water as I wanted, pouring it out of one of three well-used containers. “We're right sorry it's not cold,†they said with genuine concern, and I made it clear that even warm the water was a godsend by emptying one of my bottles in a huge gulp and refilling it for more.

Refreshed I stopped a few minutes up the road and made one of these freeze-dried campfood packages. Beef stew, not bad. It certainly filled me up with a little left over. You eat it right out of the package, and you can reseal it for later. Pretty handy.

Back on the road my renewed energy was balanced by a steady wind in my face, not much, but enough to keep my speed pretty low. With a stern determination I trucked up those hills in low gear like a bull. With more than a little trepidation I rocketed down the other side making what I've come to call “the easy kilometres.†When I found myself going up I distracted myself by eating up the beautiful scenery as much as I could, but mostly I took my mind off the task at hand by memorizing the song I wrote the night before. I was halfway done writing it when the motorcycles came by.

Will a bear try and scare me in my sleep?

Will a moose come knockin' on my door?

Maybe police shine a light upon my tent, say

“You can't stay here no more.

Pack your roof up and pack up your floor.â€

The Rock is long and the Rock is wide

Dunked in sea, got lots of trees inside.

Got as many kind souls as they got folks

And the world just passes it by.

Couldn't beat it if you tried.

Why-yi-yi why-yi-yi why-yi-yi'd you go so fast? (x2)

Got lighten my load, gotta get it in gear

Got 96K from there to here

My tires are fat but so am I.

I'm waiting for those lights to go by,

And the sun's falling out of the sky.

Why-yi-yi why-yi-yi why-yi-yi'd you go so fast? (x4)

With about ten kilometres left to go I saw the ocean open up before me, and then it was just a long gleeful glide down into Burgeo. I stopped at the first store for pop 'n chips and rode through just the prettiest little postcard fishing town you ever saw. Burgeo is quite a sight to behold, tiny coves dotted with square houses of every color and boats everywhere. Just a couple of kilometres from the centre of town is Sandbanks Provincial Park. I pulled in without a reservation and in short order had my tent pitched for the night at $15.

It looks like a beautiful little park but I'll wait for another day to explore it. Chip wolfing and a rye and coke (or three) was in order after such and arduous day, as was a wonderful, if too hot, shower.

Stats:

Time: 6:28.21

Distance: 99.81

Average speed: 15.4

Maximum speed: 52.3

Total distance: 172.8

[Velvet]

Stardate 081710

Woke up and made myself some hot cereal for breakfast, and got on the bike by 9:15. I felt like Superman riding the bike without gear, careening up and around the hills towards town. I realised I forgot my camera and under normal circumstances would have just shrugged it off, but I was enjoying the ride so much – Sandbanks is a really beautiful park – I rode back through the hills to get it.

I found the ferry and put the bike on. I was surprised to see that there were cars aboard. I thought the island village of Ramea had no cars. I was wrong about that, the ferry had room for a dozen or more cars though we crossed with about seven.

The ninety minute ferry ride was a trip itself. For $4.25 it took us past stunning rack faces and rugged valleys as we hugged the coast. Unfortunately on Tuesdays there is only a seventy-five minute layover in Ramea but lucky for me I had my bike. Riding down the main road I noticed all the road signs were hand-painted with little cartoon characters painted on. The same artist has made sign identifying every store in the village.

I stopped in at the post office to find the sole employee sitting in the window sill looking forlornly out towards the street. “I'm just waiting for the mail,†she says.

At the end of the road there is a walking path. I lifted the bike up on the the metre-wide wooden slat walkway and proceeded to have on of the rides of my life halfway around the island of Ramea. Past little coves with benches to enjoy the view, up the 75 steps to the lighthouse (the bike stayed at the bottom), around by the windmills and I ended up back at the wharf just in time to get back to Burgeo.

On the way back I got chatting with a couple of couples on the deck. They were all from Newfoundland but down here for the first time. We spent the ride back raving about the area and watching for Basking Sharks. We saw three or four from a distance, just their dorsal fin and tailfin lazily lifted out of the water, but at one point the boat came up on one. I saw it clearly just before it disappeared into the foam at the front of the boat. I was astounded. The thing must have been about eighteen feet and as big around as a walrus. Crazy, crazy fish.

Back on shore I bike through the postcard town to the Foodland to stock up a bit and bought two fat hamburger patties for dinner. Behind me in line was the lady that had given me water yesterday up the Burgeo road. She said they found their neighbor had ice cold water so they set out to find me and replace my warm water with cold! I explained that I pulled off to make lunch and that's how they must have missed me. Nice folks/small world – I must be in Newfoundland.

Back at Sandbanks Provincial Park I cooked the burgers up and begged some ketchup off a neighbor. “I'm so very glad I could help you,†she said earnestly, adding the ever-so-Newfoundlandish, “If you don't take enough it's your own fault, meaning please take and take until you need no more, I know it;s just ketchup but people 'round here give all they can to help one another, I tells ya what.

After a dinner that felt like zen meditation I took a quick boot out to see one of the beaches in the park. Burgeo isn't very famous, but it is known for it's beaches, and the 2km hike I did out to Western Beach was amazing enough without ending up at an arc of sandy white beach that stretched off as far as the eye could see. A truly spectacular part of the world, and I had to all to myself an hour before sunset.

Back at the campsite I ran into Alistair and Eileen, one of the couples from the boat. There were a few sites over and invited me by for a drink. I moseyed on over just as it got dark and we had a great time getting drunk and shooting the breeze. Apparently lightning storms are rare around here but we got a good one, and pouring rain too. We pulled our chairs under the awning of Eileen and Alistair's trailer and carried on well into the night.

Eventually I booted it back and found my tent dry as a bone. I crawled in bed and slept like a rock as the rain pounded outside.

[Velvet]

Stardate 081810

I'm finding the medication is working quite well, but there is a pain that is moving from my neck/shoulder region into my upper right arm. For now it's only a bit of an inconvenience, and I don't have any biking coming up soon. Here's hoping it's get's better – at least the neck pain is virtually gone.

I made a point of getting up early so I could do the whole footpath here at Sandbanks Provincial Park. After the walk out to Western Beach last night I had to see the rest of it, and I'm glad I did.

It was about an hour, maybe a bit more around, though I was hustling a bit. The beaches are great, with the Atlantic Ocean and nothing else beyond. The hike takes you to peaks and beaches and past a little cemetery with seven stones in it. Just a lovely little walk and in summary, Sandbanks is a hidden gem of a park, and if you're ever in Newfoundland on the Port Aux Basque side it's worth it to get down here. A word of caution: Don't ask for directions in Burgeo. It just takes people by surprise and they don't know how to do it. They stammer about how hard it is to describe and all the things you'll pass along the way and some things you won't and it turns out the answer is always the same. It's just down this road. Same thing in Ramea.

I had another nice hot shower and cooked a quick lunch before loading up the bike for my last ride through the Sandbank Park hills. All the weight takes a little bit of glee out of it but the beauty is all still there.

One more stop at Foodland for rations (mix) and I wound my way back to the dock. This ferry took no cars, though men were busy loading plenty of cargo onto the deck. Lumber, crates, pallets of food and beer. They were going to put the hook on my bike but I persuaded them that we could lift it on. There were about thirty passengers, the regulars took seats in the 'lounge' where a tv was silently showing Ghostbusters while the irregulars (of which there was maybe eight of us) found a piece of rail to lean on and ate up the scenery for the next few hours.

I had reluctantly booked on all the way to Francois (pronounced either of two ways: the way you read it just now, and “Franswayâ€), as had most of the passengers ($7.25), but after a couple of hours the boat turned into one of the many fjords we had been passing the whole way, and from between the cliffs the outport village of Grey River slid into view (pop. Approx 130).

This was the first true outport of the journey, one of many villages along the southern coast of Newfoundland that have existed for two hundred years with only boat access. No roads in, no roads out, and no roads in the towns either. Yep, no cars. The sixty or so buildings that make up Grey River are nestled at the foot of a dramatic cliff. Little buildings on stilts painted every colour you can think of front slightly larger homes partway up the cliff. Most of the buildings that have two storeys have a second floor that is only about five feet high, bedrooms only. There is one store in town, the liquor store, and I booted it there just to take a gander during our ten minute layover.

The place was so remarkable I was dismayed to have to move on so soon, but after two more hours of knockout scenery whattya know? The boat turns into another fjord and the village of Francois loomed into view.

It's a case of Disney-esque breathtaking. Can these places be real?

I pull my bike onto the pier where a veritable traffic jam of four-wheeled ATV's are waiting to load up cargo from the boat. Many of them have trailers and some of the trailers even have car seats propped up in them so passengers can be trucked up and down the wood-plank and concrete paths that snake through Francois. I think those are mainly for tourists, there are three B&B's here, though I can't believe they are too busy.

I asked a couple of fellows sitting there where I might put my tent for the night and was directed to go up the hill and behind the church. I pushed my bike through the prettiest little town you could imagine and halfway up the hill found my spot. It was like they knew I was coming. The town has set up two little campsites there where the river runs, and they've even put an outhouse up there. The river is actually the town's water supply and begins as a swimming hole on top of the cliff before becoming a dramatic waterfall and eventually a small river through town. The place is so immaculate I couldn't help myself but to pull out the mandolin and compose a tune on the spot.

Halfway up a hill by a pretty little church

I spent the night in Francois

The boat it pitched and the seamen cursed

But it got my ass to Francois (x2)

Halfway up a hill by a pretty little church

I spent a week in Francois

Missed the boat going east, could be worse things than

Six more days in Francois (x2)

Kids playing tag down by Sharon's Liquor Store

Saturday dance at the Academy

New York, Paris, Burgeo St. John's

Ain't no place that I'd rather be, than

Halfway up a hill by a pretty little church

I built my house in Francois

Met a lass made a date at that pretty little church

But I'm really in love with Francois (x2)

Halfway up a hill by a pretty little church

You'll find a stone in Francois

Just a name and a date and a tiny little verse

Singing, “Give my love to Francois†(x2)

The water runs down through a lovely little town

Past the nicest folks that you'll ever meet

New York, Paris, Burgeo, St. John's

Ain't no place that I'd rather be, than

Halfway up a hill by a pretty little church

I spent the night in Francois.

There's a walking path around town as well as a path up the the reservoir. Just before sunset I dashed up the hill to the bridge at the top. At the top of the waterfall is a lovely pond that the locals use as a swimming hole (and again, the main water source) and the graveyard. The view of Francois from up there is amazing, with the paths winding haphazardly along the waterfront and up and down the hill. Such a small town and such a huge feast for the eyes.

Back at my campsite I ran into one of the tourists from the boat. I invited him for a drink and poured him a rye and coke. Retired, Ray lived in a Newfoundland outport until he was twelve when his family moved to Ontario. He comes back almost every year to a different part of the Rock, says he can't get enough of it. I think I know what he means.

I tried not to stay up very late because the alarm was set for 5:45am. Ray went to his B&B for the night, I had one more drink and slept safe and sound.

[Velvet]

Stardate 081910

I woke before 6am with the alarm and packed up after a little breakfast. Packed 'er all up and got down to the dock with plenty of time for the 7am ferry. I hated to leave Francois after such a short visit, but the ferry heads east of here but once a week, and like the song says, if you miss that ride it'd six more days in Francois.

With help the bike got muscled on board and with a much smaller group on board we made towards McCallum (pop. approx 85). Again the ferry hugged the coast and again we were treated to just a spectacular view the whole way. The Newfoundland fjords are certainly reminiscent of Norway, though the cliffs aren't quite as high. Regardless the natural environment is amazing, and the ferry bobbed along happily.

Again we cruise into a fjord, and again the most adorable town comes into view, again the houses are connected by footpaths and the only mode of motorised transportation is the fat-wheeled ATV's.

I was met at the dock (as everyone is, it turns out), by a very curious creature. “Namesahermanfudgebyeyou?†“What's that? Elmer Fudge?†“No, it's Herman, Herman Fudge, What's yer name bye? I'm the McCallum tour guide.†Well, in no time I was trying to keep up with the very Hobbit-like Bubbles-esque Herman Fudge, as he strutted ahead of me muttering to himself, pausing occasionally to look hurriedly back at me and say, “Takes yer time bye, takes yer time,†before hurrying off ahead muttering all the more.

Herman's love is the Maple Leafs and spends a fair amount of time spouting stats Rain-man style. He also spends a fair bit of time playing hockey in the computer room at the school. Herman directed me to put up my tent in the schoolyard, says everybody does, and went straight in the school to play until the next ferry arrives.

It was a nice setup, flat grass outside the school, perched on a hill overlooking the sea, with internet and bathrooms available inside until 8pm. I spent some time doing a walkabout and exploring the goods at the store/liquor store (every ouport so far has had only the one store, and outside the sign advertises it as a liquor store, though there are always other things too. They even had frozen hamburger patties at this one, seventy-five cents each. The store closes for lunch and dinner, so I bought the only cold beer they had, put two more in the fridge for later, and whiled away the time until 7:30 to buy a couple of burgers and the beers.

I met a German woman named Miriam who just moved here two weeks previous and was waiting for her husband to arrive with their boat. She invited me in for coffee and explained they just wanted to get out of the rat race. The house cost the $22,000, which she's realising was too much, though it's all new inside – new kitchen stuff, hardwood floors, new everything. She's going to try and find a way to make a few hundred dollars a month off the internet, though she has no idea what she'll do exactly. It was a surprising encounter, and an admirable move.

At the end of the path I found a large metal stove and looking down from the million dollar view I noticed a lot of garbage. Later Miriam told me that the town burns their garbage once a week and whatever doesn't burn – tin cans, stoves, boat engines, etc. - gets tossed down the ravine towards the ocean. On one hand it's disgusting and shocking that such a clean town does this (I saw the same at Grey River and assume the same of the others), but on the other it's not much garbage for 200 years of living there.

I went back to the store and when they opened I reconsidered my beer and burgers plan, opting intead for a can of coke so my first rye and coke would be cold, and just cooking up another boil-in-the-bag camping meal. This time I went for the Pad Thai, and it was hands-down delicious. I was so famished I ate the whole thing, and had a little peanut butter sandwich for dessert.

Before bed a couple of small groups of kids came by. I tell ya, if you're looking for To Kill A Mockingbird way of growing up you've found it. No ipods and x-box here. I saw kids chasing butterflies with nets, kids played tag or hung out with the only peers they had, roaming the streets where absolutely everyone knows absolutely everyone else. The school I'm camped at has ten students during the school year, sharing three teachers. It's truly a idyllic place for kids, where they still rely on their own devices to alleviate the boredom of youth, an affliction that is obviously intensified here in the outports.

Soon enough the kids were off and I hit the sack. It was certainly a relaxing day in a couple of the most unique towns I've ever visited.

[Velvet]

Stardate 082010

In the morning I was busily packing up my stuff when a man happened by and told me the 10am ferry wasn't running after all. “One of the engines is out, it should be here for 3:30.†That slowed me down. I ran into Miriam again and was invited for another coffee. Upon ebtering her house she discovered she had juts missed a frantic call from her husband. He put their boat on a freighter in Holland but they won't allow him on as a passenger. I left while she worked through her crisis and came back later for the coffee. Spent some more time wandering the footpaths through town and happened up Herman Fudge another time or two. He is a character, that's for sure.

I had another walkabout in town and met a few of the locals. Most conversations start with “So yer the feller from Ottawa are's ya?†Hard to keep the lid on things in a town this size, that's for sure. People always talk about the weather here, and man, do they know weather. “Nice day,†I say and the response is, “Nor-easter comin' up feels it right good, bye, she's gonna get cold.†“Yep,†I say. Soon enough I end up on the wharf in front of the store.

A young couple from Cape Cod pulled up in a beautiful sailboat. They docked for an hour or two and half the town came out to see the boat. Herman Fudge was impressed, wandering around muttering to himself using exclamation marks. He was from Iceland, she was American. We had a wee little chat and they set off to anchor for the night. Cool way to get around but you really got to know your stuff.

I decided on a hamburger patty after all and cooked up a burger for lunch. I don't have any ketchup and didn't feel like knocking door-to-door to find any so I had it plain and it was like manna from heaven in my mouth. Washed up in the school bathroom and did one more email check before packing up again and heading to the wharf. The paths are so steep I don't dare to ride down them, instead walking my bike with brakes heartily applied.

The boat arrived, motor fixed, and I boarded heading for Hermitage. Along the way we passed the former outport of Pull Through. It is empty now, empty houses gradually decaying at the base of a rocky cliff. There were two periods in the past to close down the tax dollar-consuming outports, projects started by Joey Smallwood that offered ouptorts to vote on whether or not to remain. If they voted to leave the government bought all the houses and everyone moved to other areas. This ended in the '70's but has recently begun again. The outport town of Grand Bruit, just west of Burgeo, voted to close down. All the residents moved away at the end of June creating an instant ghost-town. When the town closed the ferry service to Burgeo went with it, which altered my plans dramatically. I was initially going to travel across the bottom of the whole province, but the ferry termination forced me to bike around and start in Burgeo.

The ferry stopped in Gaultois on the way, though I only had five minutes to stop over. Another no-road outport, Gaultois is a bit bigger than either Francois or McCallum, with a motel and all, and a long plankway heading to town from the dock. Taking on one new passenger and dropping none, the boat left the dock and in no time we made the last twenty minutes to Hermitage, where I saw my first car in a several days.

Hermitage is attached to the Trans-Canada Highway by a secondary road reaching through the Burin Peninsula. On the advice of a crewman I pedaled out of town and in short order found the Hermitage Municipal campground, a pretty spot just a few kilometers from Hermitage where the locals park their trailers to get away from it all. I only found two spots that weren't obviously permanently taken and chose the one closest to the road (though there wasn't a soul at any of the twenty or so sites). With an abundance of caution, I loaded up my kitchen wares and biked the two kilometres to the beach to cook my dinner. If there were any bears around I wanted the cooking done away from my campsite.

There are a couple of gazebos down there and three people, an east Indian woman and what I took to be her elderly parents, saris and turbans standing out against the rocky view. I started cooking my dinner when the husband drove up. He asked lots of questions and when they left shortly it occurred to me how creepy the line of questioning was. He asked me if anything bad had happened. “No, people in Newfoundland are too nice for anything bad to happen,†“No, I mean in any of your travels.†There were a few other weird questions and they were off. I was left very weirded out, but I calmed down by reminding myself that it's very unlikely that Hermitage houses a serial-killing east Indian family bent on terrorizing somewhat large male cyclists.

Ate my dinner, washed my stuff in the ocean and went back to camp for the night. I forgot to buy mix and was short enough on water to make it a dry evening. Later I heard a car pass by me entering the park, but soon it left again. I heard no more in or out throughout the evening. Strange there weren't more people out on a Friday night.

The stats for pushing my bike through the last few outports and getting here:

Time: 3:12.46

Distance: 39.03

Average speed: 12.1

Top speed: 48.0

Total distance: 211.9

[Velvet]

Stardate 082110

Awoke alive, as I am prone to do. There had been a sprinkling of rain in the night and I found the day overcast but dry outside. I skipped breakfast, packed up, and after one more little trek down the path to see the awesome waterfall I hit the road at about 10:30am.

I recalled that there was only about 40kms between Hermitage and Pool's Cove so I wasn't in any rush. That said, I was hoping to get to my destination before the overcast sky started to rain.

The day started with three kilometres of upupup past the usual stunning scenery. The bike is starting to get pretty squeaky, likely due to the salt-infused ocean air, and the fact that this bike has probably about run it's course. It cost about $350 brand new, and has been my ride for four trips now. I suspect it has about six or seven thousand kilometres on it by now and it's time I started treating it as fallible. With this in mind I leaned fairly heavy on the brakes going down the bigger hills, and I tell you, there are some bigger hills along this road. Okay, let's upgrade that to brutal. There are some brutal hills along this road.

Of course keeping it slow on the downs hit's the bottom line hard. Of course it slows you down but the worst of it is you lose the momentum that helps get you up the next hill. Anyway, it made for a hard sledding all day. I took it real easy and had plenty of breaks. At one point I turned to look back for one reason or another and felt a snap under my skin. It just seemed like that might have been the thing that's been wrong with me snapping back into place. It's not like I felt instantly better or anything, it just felt like the right kind of snap.

Atop one hill I could see a pair of moose in the middle of the road about 300 metres ahead. I stopped and watched them for a bit, and soon a car came by, scaring them off the road. I decided to just take it for granted they would stay off the road and sailed down. Luckily I didn't see them again. I've seen plenty of moose and am not too excited about seeing them on this trip. I ring my bike bell fairly often as I ride to let any critters ahead know to get hidden, which is probably why I've only seen the three moose so far, and of course no bears, and that's A-OK with me.

I got to the Pool's Cove turnoff after about 35kms, so I was surprised when the sign told me I had 16kms to go. It seems Pool's Cove is about ten kilometres farther than I thought, and off the main road the hills were even worse. After several more breaks and a lot more sweat I descended into Pool's Cove around 3pm.

Another outport that has obtained road status, Pool's Cove is a bit more bustling of a community than those that can onlt be reached by ship. With a few hours to kill waiting for the ferry I stopped into both the variety stores and walked around to where they are building a big new aquaculture wharf. There were cranes and trucks pulling in and out with loads of rock and wood.

Back at the main dock I found an outlet and charged up the computer. Made some small talk with some folks and mainly just ate up the scenery. The sun almost poked through the cloud cover at one point.

At quarter to six the ferry left, my bike was the only cargo and there were about six other passengers and their kids. A crewhand made me a coffee and I sat down and did some typing, glancing out the window at the Bugs-Bunny style rolling backdrop of majestic mountains and fjords the whole way.

The boat stops for the night at Rencontre East (say “round-counter†quickly, pop. approx. 130) so I was bound to find a spot for my tent as going further wasn't an option. On the wharf a couple of guys pointed to a spot up the hill. “Nice and quiet up there, that's where people usually put tents.†just as I was mounting my bike to head up there a guy on his four-runner who was there picking up his family said, “Looking for a place to camp? Follow me, I'll show you a spot.â€

I managed to keep up with him and before long he pointed to a nice patch of manicured lawn beside his house. Nice of him, I thought, it would be insulting to not set up my tent here even though I was hoping for a little more privacy (hard to pee in the woods next to someone's house). I set up the tent and mixed a drink. Also next to the house is the tiny community playground which is basically a couple of home-made swing sets and a pair of picnic tables. I opted to skip dinner and decided to while away some time practicing the mandolin on one of the picnic tables. After a half-hour or so the blackflies started getting to me so I put away the mando and retreated to my tent.

I was just powering up the computer to do some writing when I heard “Hello?†from outside. “Hello!†I answered, and poking my head outside I found a man extending his hand to me.

“Tom's the name, Tom Paine. I'm the mayor of this here town, lives in that white house jus' behin' ya. Bruce who brought ya in is havin' a bit of a do tonight, why doncha c'mon over an' joins us? You got a guitar? Someone said you had a guitar.â€

Well you should have seen Tom's face when I told him I had a mandolin with me. He ran up to his house and came back with a couple of button accordions and a guitar and together we went into Bruce's shed, which after obvious major renovations was turned into a party room. There were about a dozen folks there, introductions all 'round, and we broke out the instruments. Tom and I and an older fella named Archie spent about an hour or more at it, mostly Newfoundland songs I had never heard before with a Kenny Rogers song thrown in here and there. I played my new songs and they were well received. Bruce had the bbq humming, bringing in a plate full of hot dogs first, then one of burgers. Someone had brought fishcakes and there was a shrimp casserole. These folks had never heard a guitar solo before I'm sure of it, everybody sang when they knew a word or two and we had a heck of a jam. I bowed out for a while to get in some good chatting and finding myself pretty drunk I left the party early, just before 1am, with goodnights all around and promises of breakfast trailing behind me.

The friendliness of the people here is no surprise, being Newfoundland and all, and is really about as friendly as people can be. All you gotta do is express your appreciation for Newfoundland and they loves ya, because these people love their home. People around here aren't “from†places, they “belong†(“He belongs ta Rencontre but I belongs ta Cornerbrookâ€.) Also a lot of people have the Newfoundland flag or an outline of the province tattooed on their arms. You don't see a lot of Ontario flag tattoos back home. Speaking of tattoos, almost everyone has them, men and women both, and I'm talking old-school blue faded arm tattoos. It's due to the sailor-centric society there are in I suppose. Also, I've seen lots of people with their own name tattood on their arm. I thought my dad was the only one.

And my, what a cheap vacation this has been so far. I've been here a week and have paid $30 so far for accommodations, spent just over $100 on transportation ($50 for the ferry from Cape Breton, $25 for the bus to Flat Pond, and somewhere around $25 for the is it seven? ferry rides I've taken along the south coast. I have yet to eat in a restaurant, having brought some food with me, and have spent maybe $40 in stores along the way. So, my first week has cost me well under $200.

I can't believe more people don't come here.

Stats:

Time: 3:40.48

Distance: 48.17

Average speed: 13.0

Top speed: 50.1

Total distance: 260.0

[bradm]

The log is amazing to read, V. Ride safe, have fun, and keep writing!

Aloha,

Brad

[Velvet]

Stardate 082210

I slept until about ten in the morning and got up shortly after. I was stretching my legs when Bruce called me over. Just as he was going in to make me a coffee Tom's wife called down and invited me for bacon and eggs. So I had breakfast with the mayor and the town clerk and we discussed municipal affairs. They were astonished to here how the garbage was disposed of in McCallum, the government has put a ban on all garbage burning and Rencontre East take their garbage to their own landfill. They explained what a difference it made to them when the ferry service went to a daily schedule. CN used to run the outport ferries and the schedules were very irregular. CN ran the ferry just going across the whole south coast of Newfoundland one way and then the other, and people would only get a ferry once every eight or ten days. Most people in Rencontre East (Rencontre West voted to close down years ago) own a car and keep it parked in Bay L'Argent, and curiously, though there are still no cars in Rencontre East, the roads are generally wide enough for them.

After breakfast Tom asked me to show him a thing or two on the bass guitar so we went up to his music room. We worked on a few things and he asked me to figure out a song. He put on an old scratchy record and I learned a song about the Fisherman From Fortune Bay for him. Overjoyed, he gave me a town pin and we exchanged contact info.

I went out and packed up my gear for the final ferry ride in the outport area. Just like clockwork (when the ferries run, they run on time) the boat arrived and I shook hands all 'round (Tom and Archie saw me off) and got on for a 3pm departure.

Again overcast and again threatening rain, again I watched listlessly as the mountains and fjords drifted past. My eyes are too lazy to scan for basking sharks so I stand with my chin resting on my hand staring out the window for 90 minutes.

Sigh.

I arrived at Bay L'Argent near 5pm and started riding immediately. Tom had suggested a restaurant about 25kms towards Marystown for a place to camp and that sounded like a good destination to me. The first four kilometres were grand. The wind was behind me and I met at most rolling hills as the road hugged the waterside. Then of course the road twisted and had me head in the other direction. The wind makes it soooo much harder and it can be really discouraging. An hour on I got my payback as I turned south down the Burin Peninsula. Finally on a somewhat major roadway that is inherently less steep in the hill and with the wind at my back I sailed gleefully down the highway reaching the restaurant (and only thing on the road) seemingly too soon, at about 6:30.

I sat down to a hearty bowl of genuine homemade pea soup and a turkey sandwich on homemade bread for $7, tax in. Those who know me will understand when I say I was happy to over-tip. I asked and was given permission to pitch my tent on the patch of grass out back and here I am. The tent overlooks a large picturesque pond and is surrounded by bunny rabbits. I'm ecstatic to find an unsecured wireless network available to post logs and catch up with the world a bit. I bought a map inside (funny I haven't had one all this time) and am enjoying my journey in retrospect. It's just starting to rain outside after threatening it for the last two days.

There's a bar attached to the restaurant that is open until midnight and there is no way I'll be missing last call. Come to think of it, I might just stay here.

Stats:

Time: 1:27.52

Distance: 23.62

Average speed: 16.1

Top speed: 47.7

Total distance: 283.7

My arm/neck feel much better, about 95% back to normal.

[phorbesie]

sounds gorgeous! i'm glad you are having such a great time and pain free!

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Sounds great Velvet! I'm glad you post these reports! I've said it before but I hope you get these published into a book someday.......

[PMatt]

As the last trip did, these logs are making me want to plan a bike trip of my own. You are making me home sick and there are so many parts of Newfoundland that I still haven't seen. You are just hammering that home again for me. Enjoy the rest of your trip.

Paul

Edited August 23, 2010 by Guest

[bouche]

As the last trip did, these logs are making me want to plan a bike trip of my own. You are making me home sick and there are so many parts of Newfoundland that I still haven't seen. You are just hammering that home again for me. Enjoy the rest of your trip.

Paul

awww..the homesick newfie!

[ollie]

Thank you Todd for bringing a small piece of The Rock to my dreary cubicle. I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed reading this log. Herman Fudge? Awesome! Cheers.