8/7/15 Around the Bend

Today we made it around the west bend in the Nova Scotia bow tie. We've been trying for two days to reach Yarmouth, but the draw of every small village we passed kept us winding along the coast. 

Cloudless warmth was our companion for most of the day as we left Liverpool in our dust. The South Beach recharmed us with sparkling ocean views.  Riding directly toward the west, we finally rode as far as we could and were forced to make an abrupt right turn at Shag Harbour. Heading into Yarmouth, subtle differences gave clues that the human climate had changed. Tri-colored, single starred flags took the place of the Maple Leaf and business and road signs announced in French. We had driven into another world, part of the original settlement of New France, known as Acadia. Just as in Quebec, French is the spoken language here and residents are deeply proud and protective of their roots.

At a quiet picnic spot we were joined by a couple from Quebec riding a Road King . Riders like us, they put as many miles under their boots as they can. Communicating with only a small language barrier, we swapped stories about our favorite rides which were amazingly similar. They were our French speaking doppelgänger, loving their lives in a way we know so well.

Waving adieu, we set our sights on Digby, a ferry port, for the evening. The Evangeline Trail was our afternoon guide, riding us crowded against St. Mary's Bay. Constantly reminded of the economy of Nova Scotia, we rode past legions of working boats, moored and secure for the night with their catch of the day, already weighed, accounted for, and probably on somebody's table. The coast is peppered with monuments to fishermen lost at sea, an all to constant reminder of the dangers involved in making a living from the sea.

Digby announced itself as the "Scallop Capital" miles before we rode into this charming small town, celebrating "Scallop Days", their signature festival of the year. This event charmed us with its local flavor. Fortunate to have a room at the hub of activity, we watched the crowning of the Scallop Queen, a Proclamation by historic characters, and fireworks, all while dining al fresco on bacon-wrapped, maple brandied - you guessed it- scallops!. A spectacular end to a perfect day!

Labor Day weekend will see a different sort of event here as thousands of bikes roll into town for the "Wharf Rat Rally". Billed as the largest bike rally in Canada, riders flock here from all the provinces and many states. Pleased to have dodged that bullet and seen Digby in its natural and homey beauty, we ended our day listening to an OK local band play one more set, just before the sidewalks rolled up ... and it was just fine!

Seal Island Light

St. Mary's Bay

An Acadian fishing village

A memorial for men lost at sea, a constant fear

Digby docks

Mr. And Mrs.

Catch of the day

Crowning of the Scallop Queen

The Coronation Dance

And the band played into the sunset

8/6/15 Now we are here!

Escaping Halifax, we ventured out into the South Shore of Nova Scotia. Peggy's Cove gave us our first glimpse of the many inland fingers of the sea. The town sucked us in. Quaint and located picturesquely, it draws hoards of tourists from the big city. No parking, a snail of traffic in and out and not too many happy faces drove us away from a charming but tourist infested spot.

Flying free, west on the Lighthouse Route, Nova Scotia started to show us her true colors. Riding low with the sea, we watched waves crash over jagged rocks. Then we soared up into dense forest, only to descend again into one pastel painted fishing village after another. Dories, homes, lobster pots and the many lovingly tended gardens present a palette of such vibrant color that make the summer seem endless. This was why we came.

In and out of coves, some shallow, some cut so far inland that it took us hours to navigate, we  rode a 220 mile trip on what would have been a straight shot of about 70. Thinking we would make Yarmouth, the pleasure of the coast held us in bay and our stop for the night was Liverpool, in a lovely old Inn, by the water, of course.

Every turn on today's ride put us by water. Rivers, inlets, and lakes surrounded us as light houses, functional and historical, popped up. A sponge of a land mass, this Province floats on the water that provides its life. Every fishing boat in each village is someone's livelihood. These pleasant days gloss over the harsh reality of long winters, raging storms and strangling fog that are a large part of every fisherman's life here. Riding through, I caught the sense of pride in place and profession that the residents of this coast have. Now I feel that we have truly arrived.

Peggy's Cove

A paint sample of house colors!

Lunch by the water :)

South Shore sunset

8/5/16 Watchin' the Tide Roll In

Sunkissed, we headed to watch the tide.The Bay of Fundy boasts the greatest tide change in the world and we witnessed the low end as we headed down 114, the Fundy Coastal Drive, toward Alma. 

After miles of forest and farms, shots of the bay began to leach through the trees. Where water was expected, mud flats oozed away into a distant rivulet that would be a full flown bay in a matter of hours. Fishing boats sat on blocks, far below docks, waiting for the tide roll in. Awed by this massive tidal range, we followed the bay through the Fundy National Park.

At Hopewell, we leaned over towering rocks far below, watching people muck in the mud, standing in the bay. As the wind and the fog swirled around us, I said thank you to my boots that they were not the hiking type. Here, I was revisiting a recurrent nightmare when I am trapped against cliffs as the tide advances. This could happen here ... I think!

Up the Peititcodiac River, we stopped to picnic at Riverview and watched the tide roll in. Moncton, a larger city loomed in the distance as we longed for the lonely. But it was time to scoot, so we headed down the highway toward Truro.

Through small towns, we have seen perfectly kept gardens, rioting with midsummer color, grow gladly in this pleasant atmosphere, for the one or two months that they are allowed. Their beauty lies in their youth. They will never grow old, but will be stopped short in their glory by an August frost. The lesson learned here is that you must tend your golden moments carefully, no matter how short they may be. 

Ending in Halifax for the night, my naive mindset that this would be the small and rugged fishing village of the novels I have read was dashed. A major city, complete with skyscrapers and numerous exits from the highway, kept us hovered in the suburbs, listening to sirens, not seagulls.

We are in the knot of the bow tie - Nova Scotia is the tie, Halifax is the knot. Tomorrow, we will try to unravel as we head down the South Shore.

Lowest tide

Waiting for the tide

Going nowhere

A short-time climate for flowers

Not us!

Yes indeed, Jack Sparrow!

Again?!?! What did I do ?

8/3-8/4 Maine-ly Riding Through.

IAugust 3, 2015

A Farmington wake up scooted us out. As we passed farmhouses telescoped and connected, firewood stacked by the doors,  the warmth of this summer day could not disguise the respect given to the severe winters this area endures. A barn must be attached to the house because in a blizzard, you may not be able to get to the cows and firewood means survival.

Miles sped by as beautiful New England farms, complete with red barns, overlooking distant mountain ranges, teased us into believing that we could live here and winter doesn't start in September. 

From farms to forests. Grudgingly accepting route 95 as a detour from Augusta and our fastest way to the border, we shouldered in, expecting our usual East Coast frenzy. Instead, a densely forested road, persistently boasting moose warnings, lured us toward Canada and read us a whole new chapter of this mighty Eastern backbone.

Achieving the edge of the border, chased by a line of storms clouds, under fire at the horizon by an explosive sunset, we checked in for the day at Houlton, where we watched nature's light show unfold. By the time the last light had faded and the rain began, we sat dry and warm, plotting tomorrow's flight into parts unknown.

August 4, 2015

Passports in hand, we trekked the final ten minutes to the border. Daunted by our Mexican crossing this winter, we expected the worst, but we were merely greeted with a few questions and a friendly nod into another country. As Jules noted, we've had a tougher time getting into a national park! The Trans Canadian Highway drew us into the Maritimes, as New Brunswick unfolded. Open rolling highway was bordered by forest with even more relentless moose warnings. But on these signs, the moose looks much bigger than in Maine. So far, sign sightings are all we have to go on. 

As we navigated south on route 7, a bank of clouds in the distance became a thick soup of a fog as we slogged into St. John. After a fishy lunch, we explored the indoor farm market, buying picnic supplies and some local wine ( how brave of us)! The drizzle had stopped by the time we returned to the bike, but the fog still closed us in. Our coastal ride on route 111 presented shadowed, dreamlike views of the Bay of Fundy with waterfront dairy farms announcing themselves first with their signature odors and then barns and silos eerily popping out of the mist.

This beautiful, lightly travelled and pockmarked road turned northeast and inland as we warped out of the fog and into warm sun. A lengthy stretch of dirt road challenged Rascal and Jules, but they muddled through to ride on to Sussex. Just outside of town we put our kickstand down at a motel/restaurant combo, the ideal for weary riders. Lobster salad for dinner gave us our first taste of this pink delicacy on the trip. I'm certain there will be more!

The first day of our foray into the Maritmes has been impressive.  Clean air, friendly folks and open roads have welcomed us into Canada with open arms. Planning to follow the Fundy Coastal Drive, we will dive back down to the bay tomorrow. My guide and my ride have continued to work in unison, creating yet another impressive adventure into parts unknown! 

Mt Katahdin

Maine red barn!

Welcome

St. John

Lunch

Boys and Girls Maritime style!

We went shopping!

Fog

Flowers and fog

A foggy farm

The foggy Fundy

Rocky road

Even rockier road

8/1-8/2-15. The Kanc and the Mount!

First the Kancamagus, then Mount Washington. Two days immersed in some of the best of the White Mountains sealed our love affair with New Hampshire. 

Double nighting in North Conway at the Schoolhouse Motel, (complete with school bell) we had the chance to leisurely explore the area. Our first day out on the road took us to the Kancamagus Highway, or the Kanc as it is lovingly nicknamed by the locals, a beautiful stretch of highway that winds through the scenic and wild White Mountains. Parallelling the Swift River at points, we passed idly flowing water, sluicing around white rocks littered with bodies of sun worshipers and bathers. 

At the summit of the Kanc, we stopped for lunch where we were accompanied by mountains ranging into the mist and a parade of motorcycles and cars stopping to catch the view. Over the hill and into Woodstock, we circled around for the return trip. Puddled roads and news flashes from rest stop weathermen, assured us that there had been a downpour party we didn't make! Once again, our ride was enchanted. The promise of an appointment for massages, kept us focused, but we couldn't miss the Bear Notch Road, which proved to be the best ride of the day!

Heating our engine through the snail trail traffic of Conway, we barely made our massage, but a gentle and lovely lady calmed us into nirvana as road tensions smoothed away, and our bodies and spirits were renewed.

A late dinner saw us home and after a dreamless night, we woke in full sunlight. Ready to tackle the weekend traffic on Mt. Washington, we headed out. Throngs of vacationers kept us from breakfast in Conway. Miles outside of the city a Dunkin' had a drive up line of at least twenty cars, and people were waiting for parking spots in the lot. Get us out of here! 

In Jackson we turned off on 16a and finally found respite and breakfast at great little deli where we were served amazing freshly made food in minutes, and they had great coffee, which wasn't branded.

Onto the mountain! The last time we rode this, it was motorcycles only during the Laconia Rally. Today was quite a different challenge. A mountain road with no guard rails and sharply ascending curves is enough of a battle, but following a white-knuckled mini-van driver going less than 10 mph, made it difficult for Rascal to get the speed to lean into the curves like she loves to do.

 A few times we broke free and soared into the wind and the icy cold as my heart leapt down into the abyss we had just conquered. I will never be a blasé rider on these mountain rides and my innate fear of height will always return, but the gut wrenching thrill that inevitably comes to wipe the negative keeps me hopping on the back of the bike. Every day I thank Jules, my love, my guide and my Shrink, for making me face my fears and embrace them with all my heart.

Into the mild, we rode from New Hampshire to Maine on Route 2, a lovely bucolic route, peppered with dairy and potato farms. Tonight we rest Rascal in Farmington. 

Blue sky, fluffy cloud weather, that is a topic of conversation everywhere we go, has followed us for the last two days. Lavished by Nature's good will, we will gratefully take this weather and bank it, so when we arrive rain soaked from an adventure in another world, the warmth of these few days will balance the scales. Then, no matter what the weather, we can always say " It's a great day for a ride!"

Chillin' in the river

Top of the Kanc

Happy Riders

Have yet to see one! Maybe we don't want to...

Morning ritual

Enough said!

And here's the gravel

Livin' on the edge

The valley below

Let's play chicken!

We made it!

The cog train

I opted for Rascal

The ride down

Peaceful picnic

We must be in Maine