Bike Touring

Mountain Profiles of the northern Cabot Trail (Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, Canada)

2011-08-29T16:36:00.000-07:00

During the last week of August 2010 I stayed in Cheticamp and rode the mountains of the Cabot Trail on alternate days (more level roads on the between days). My bike computer has an honest-to-God slope measurement device on it, not subject to the calculation errors inherent in GPS devices. The following graphs all show exactly 10km of road. although the climbs are somewhat shorter than that. Statistics for the blue shaded portion are given below each profile thumbnail. The brown shape is the elevation profile, the red shape is the slope data.

Clearly the eastbound side of North Mountain (ie Cabot Trail loop in clockwise direction) is the hardest in terms of pure slope and the distance during which it is above 10%, but the westbound side is longer in duration so if one goes too hard on the first bit one may well suffer more. And on any given day the wind may have the final say in which climb is the worst, or should I say more challenging!

French Mountain.

Distance 5.6km, climbing 396m, average slope 7.13% (min 0.6, max 10.8)

Note the two little legbreakers before it!

Mackenzie Mountain.
Distance 4.3km, climbing 317m, average slope 7.45% (min -0.6, max 12.9)

North Mountain, eastbound.

Distance 3.9km, climbing 378m, average slope 9.85% (min 0.1, max 14.3)

North Mountain, westbound.
Distance 5.4km, climbing 386m, average slope 7.31% (min -3.1, max 14.2)

Adding maps

2010-01-08T16:27:00.000-08:00

I've started adding maps of the daily routes, linking to the MapMyRide site. The map "thumbnails" do add a bit of loading time, unfortunately. Ignore the little Elevation window in the thumbnail, it is bogus and the same on all thumbnails regardless of the route. To view a map in full screen, click the lower left button "View Full"; it will open in a new window (or at least it does for me). Then on the full view you can check "Show Elevation" on the right side if you want to see the elevation profile for the route. There are all sorts of things you can do with the map in the full view, so knock yourself out... On older computers some options might be mighty slow. Hopefully you can't save any changes to that file name! If you somehow do, please let me know...

5 March addendum... okay, I got quite a few of the maps linked in. Then somehow got distracted by some other project (just what, I don't recall, already!)

TNSTTTT and Then Some-- (1) Deciding and Getting Ready

2009-12-31T11:23:00.000-08:00

Me, Yak, Banani and the Road

In July and August of 2009 I finally did a multi-day ride (tour) on my bike, a project that has been on hold since I was 15. Yes, alright, I ignore a little 2-day jaunt from Bordeaux in 1980, and my 3-day test ride to Bridgewater via overnights in Chester earlier in the summer, but those were well within my comfort zone when I did them. A few people have expressed an interest in reading about my trip (perhaps mainly they are curious to see what strange mental side-trips I can slip into the narrative) so with the end of the outdoor cycling season (for me at least) here goes... The reader is warned that I am often accused of being pretty verbose so there are lots of words. At times it took me longer to type up a day's trip than to actually ride the thing on the bike!

What follows is a trip down memory lane (writing in November-December 2009), progressing through some preparations, the bike tour itself, and a bit of "afters". Because of this it is not posted in normal blog fashion with the first day at the bottom of the page and the latest day at the top; it's a narrative that reads from the top down (from this point on). I didn't keep a diary, so there are bound to be some inaccuracies both of omission and commission. Nor did I take along a camera, so there are no pretty pictures to accompany my inadequate verbal descriptions. In fact, let's admit it, I'm not very good at describing the artistic side of life although I do somewhat better at the technical side of it. I hope at some point to go back in here to add links to daily maps and route profiles if I can get that figured out. Reader comments are welcome using the Comment feature at the bottom of each entry. Or, if you know me verbal is okay too. Sideswiping along the highway as a form of vehicular expression would be considered rude and provocative...

It was all set in motion by a spur-of-the-moment decision when I saw the e-mail announcement of Velo Cape Breton's Yarmouth to Sydney supported event, dubbed The Nova Scotia Tip To Tip Tour, or TNSTTTT; not a tongue-in-cheek name either, I can tell you: just try keeping track of your tongue when saying that mouthful! But it was really just the when and whereto that was spontaneous since I had already started thinking in terms of cyclotouring as early as 2004, and had actually laid plans (mostly in my mind (an irony if not an oxymoron, since I am mostly considered to be out of my mind)) to go to and around the Cabot Trail in late summer of 08. Then there's the long-term plan to spend several months biking around Europe... wait, though; back to the current story!

The '08 tour plan got shelved due to issues of cost, an inefficient (i.e. hard to drag around) and squeaky baggage trailer (poor choice on my part), dog boarding what with Gershwin getting on in years, and general procrastination which I'm getting quite good at (I am in training with a Master Procrastinator, CB). However, I had put in a large amount of preparatory riding (i.e. training, although I rarely meet a recreational cyclist who admits to that concept) and figured I was in pretty decent shape. But there was always that element of doubt, mainly because I never tied together 2 long days in a row: anything more than about 2 1/2 hours was preceded and followed by a light day of 30km or less at or near a recovery rate.

Preparing the Bike
Perhaps the most important thing I did to be ready for that (and subsequent) tours, particularly in view of the fact I would be hauling a baggage trailer of some sort, was refitting my old race bike, Banani, with a set of mountain gears. A brief historical blurb: Banani was a state-of-the-art custom-built machine (by a Danish bike builder- still in business today although it is the next generation doing the work) which my dad bought for me in 1970, when I was in high school and racing quite well. This was in the days before mountain bikes, indexed shifting for gears, and even before 6-speed clusters; 2 chainrings x 5 rear cogs was as good as it got. The smallest small chainring we could get back then was 45 teeth, and the biggest rear sprocket on any of my interchangeable clusters was 24 teeth. So my smallest gear was a 45x24, which was okay back then when my legs were pretty strong and I was in the best shape of my life, very light, and living in Edmonton Alberta, a city notable for an absence of large or steep elevation changes. When I found myself living in one of the hillier parts of Nova Scotia 9 years later with my conditioning reduced by years of living the life of a sailor, I was able to find a rear cluster that went up to 27 teeth and needed every one of them (and then some). But then from the late 80's until 2002 I didn't ride a bike at all, and was pretty sedentary except for some low-speed gardening and landscaping, all nicely sub-sub-aerobic and calculated to avoid releasing any drop of sweat. When I got back on the bike after my long lay-off a 3km ride was enough to drain me! and the gearing was just not small enough for me to get around the local hills anymore. Several bike shop visits later I was no further ahead; the general answer was, nope there's nothing you can do to put lower gears on that bike. But I was back in love with riding again, so over the next summer worked my way up to a 35km ride, and then in September 2 rides to Windsor: 50km with the long Ardoise hill on the way back (just over 1500km for the year), by the end of which I had pretty much decided that I should look into a new bike in order to get the benefit of lower gears: new road bikes were generally fitted with a 39-tooth small chainring and 25- or 27-tooth largest cog on the rear (mountain bikes had even lower gears but I'm a roadie at heart). So that was when the Yellow Giant TCR came into my life, and the gearing was fine for most hills here. But ranging further, the hills out of River Herbert, with ramps of 14% slope, were a real struggle. Eventually I fitted the Yellow Giant with a compact crankset (34-tooth small chainring) and found a cluster that topped out at 28 teeth. So I could get myself up a 14% slope, but for touring with respectable daily distances and baggage it wasn't going to be close to what I needed. Meanwhile with the passage of another couple of years on the fringes of the bike culture and many winter hours spent with the Internet I figured out that there was a lot I could do to upgrade the power train of Banani, notwithstanding what I had been told by "experts" earlier, and once I knew a plan the bike shop was able to help with details of specific parts. The first step was to replace the bottom bracket bearing set. Some initial concern over whether or not the standard threading of the old days was still a standard; turned out not to be a problem. With the new bottom bracket (2 pieces as opposed to 31 or so in the original), I could fit a triple chainring crankset, and I chose one with 44-33-22 tooth chainrings. Of course this required a new front derailleur to handle the triple, but the old friction-shifters were still able to do the job. It also required a new rear derailleur to handle the extra chain take-up required with the bigger difference between the large and small chainrings. So then with a bit of experimenting I found that I could use a modern 9-speed rear wheel in the bike with a bit of fighting to stretch the forks apart (bikes were narrower at the back in the days of 5- and 6-speed freewheel clusters). It's one of the advantages of the bike being made of steel, it has more than enough spring in it, whereas an aluminum bike would be a horrible problem in this regard. I also found a bike shop on the Internet (Harris Cycle) which made clusters meant more for touring than racing, with cogs of up to 34 teeth, so I got one of those too. Again, the old friction shifters were quite happy with handling 9 gears rather than 5 at the back. So I was happily set up with a smallest gear of 22x34, sufficient I hoped to be able to drag a trailer of baggage up a small 15% mountain like North Mountain on the Cabot Trail (and smaller than the gearing on my mountain bike!). On the other end of the gear scale, my largest gear was only 44x13 so I spun out at about 45kph. But that would be okay for touring, it would just force me to coast down steeper hills and take a rest from pedaling. In practice, I found the lowest gear was indeed sufficient for me to drag the trailer up any hill in NS and on the downhills the dynamics of the loaded trailer meant that I was braking most of the time anyways and was limited to not much over 35kph at best. The only fly in the ointment is when I need to change a tire or tube on the rear; it was a real struggle to get the wheel back in, but I was able to jury-rig a strange apparatus to spread the forks using a couple of pieces of wood and an automotive disc-brake puller; then a short while later I found a purpose-built and inexpensive fork-spreader at KoolStop on the Internet which works rather better and is lighter and more compact than the one I created. So a rear tire change of a wheel which has a longer axle is now possible without too terrible a struggle.

Decisions
So when the notice of TNSTTTT flashed around in fall of 2008 I put my name down as being interested, figuring that actually putting some money down and making a commitment to someone else would motivate me to actually do the trip. Still, no payments due until the new year. Meanwhile my buddy Gershwin wasn't his usual lively self, so it was also a definite criterion that I wouldn't be leaving him while I went off on a bike trip. Sadly, it developed that he had a cancerous tumor behind one of his eyes so in December I had to take the decision to stop his suffering. Which allowed me to commit to the tour without reservation.

Going a bit Crazy
Thus an old man's fancy turned to spring... started thinking about getting ready for TNSTTTT and thinking about the details of doing it. One thing "bothered" me-- getting back from Sydney. It seemed kind of iffy: take a bus (with bike and baggage?!) or see if someone else on the tour had room in a car going to Truro. A couple of couples from the Annapolis Valley whom I knew from my Saturday riding with the Centennial Cycling Club (CCC) were also signed up for TNSTTTT and between them could get me and my bike back home as separate packages, but the logistics seemed troublesome. Somehow from somewhere my mind switched gears: if I can ride for 7 days surely I can ride for 14 days?, cycling to the start point for TNSTTTT and then back again from the end. The small issue of baggage transport during the non-TNSTTTT parts (the group ride had a baggage truck to shift everyone's baggage each day) could be solved by getting a nifty little one-wheeled trailer called a Yak, a much superior critter to the heavier squeaky thing which irritated me in 08. Oh and by the by, as long as I was going to be riding home from Sydney, why not return via the Cabot Trail? It would only add 2 days and 4 Nova Scotian mountains to the route. (Mountains, oh boy! Definitely a motivating factor, since I've become an idiot about going uphill (at, I might add, a fairly sedate pace)). I didn't make a definite decision to bike the extra distance until about a month before setting out (but the mindset was in place for quite awhile before that), after a 3-day mini-tour to see how me, Banani, the Yak, and the road would get along. More on that later.

Getting Ready
I knew from one of the Centennial Cycling Club (CCC) riders who did a previous tour with Velo Cape Breton that there were likely to be some rather fit people in the group. I wanted to be able to ride with as wide a spectrum of riders as possible without either slowing them down or burning myself up, so I took on a training program with an Internet coaching service starting in March. It was of course oriented mostly towards racing cyclists, but that was expected and quite useful anyways. So I found myself doing intervals of varying lengths and intensities a couple of days per week, steady rides at lower intensities sometimes, strength exercises a couple of days a week, regular rest days, and a short cycling-specific yoga routine daily before getting on the bike. I had previously learned about pacing myself using heart rate data from reading Chris Carmichael's "The Ultimate Ride", but there were some holes in the specific "how to"s in the book which the coaching filled in for me.

During the winter I discovered that hauling toboggan-loads of firewood uphill was a really good strength exercise for the legs, and also good aerobic interval training too. Unfortunately, it meant that my legs were at their strongest in late March and lost some tone before the weather was good enough for regular bike workouts on the road. I've got to find some way to use that winter exercise to better advantage...

Also, and less esoterically, during the winter I ride on a fantastic indoor computer-controlled setup, a Fortius machine from TacX. It has several modes of use: a data-only mode in which the computer can control the resistance to meet a specific program (manual adjustments also allowed); some virtual reality terrains with animated opponents; and Real Live Video mode, in which one sees a video of an actual route moving past at whatever speed you are actually making the trainer go at, and which drives the resistance unit to simulate the actual slope of the road you are driving over. The videos available include some mountain passes used by the various Grand Tours, and parts of some of the classic race routes from several countries.

Not everything went swimmingly with the training. I provided details of what I had been doing for training in the month or so before starting with the coach, they entered it in their software, and immediately scaled back my activity by quite a bit. Some mathematical models have been developed which calculate the physical stress of activity and projected activity, and guidelines set to try to maintain a specific stress balance; I found the balance point to which I was being steered was quite a bit less than what I was used to doing. We never really came to grips with this issue, and the most noticeable effect was that I seldom really had a good night's sleep during the reduced training load (because I wasn't tired enough)!! I should have been more rested, but instead it is hard to say if I was or not! We had another glitch when I went away for 8 days with not much exercise during that holiday (a couple of 1 hr jaunts on an uncomfortable borrowed bike); this time off had been projected to the coach in our initial info exchange but caught him by surprise when it happened. Then afterwards training intensity was again knocked way back to counteract the effect of sudden unloading and to avoid a sudden reloading! We were not amused.

On the positive side, this coaching program got me started on a daily 15 to 20-minute yoga set, specifically designed to stretch cyclists where they need stretching etc and this has made a great difference in some aspects of my health, most notably the absence of hamstring cramps which used to attack me a couple of times a week, and a happier lower back.

My winter training exercises on the bike/ trainer were based on Power output objectives, since the trainer instrumentation provided this data. Once spring allowed me to shift to the road, we had to shift to heart-rate based training. I found I was being even more over-rested than before but my complaints in this regard were pretty much ignored. Then one day by an accident of circumstances we discovered that we were using different models of heart-rate-based training zones, so that his Zone 3 was about 30bpm higher than mine! Yet the information of which model I was using had been passed on at the beginning, and was available to him any time he would have looked at my log pages; I was beyond annoyed... I suspect that cost me a certain amount of muscle strength over the weeks that it had been going on, but on the other hand I learned how to go at a very sedate pace (even up hills) while trying to meet the exercise instructions I was being given, and this came in handy during the long tour. Well, all's well that ends well, no?

In the end, I trained less than I would have if left to my own devices, but trained differently. I was certainly ready enough for the long tour but might have been stronger if things hadn't gone off the rails. But we'll never know.

Just Testing
At the end of Peony season (when I closed up my nursery for the year) Centennial Cycling Club had a ride in the Bridgewater/ Lunenburg area. Normally that is out of my range, since I have this philosophical problem with spending more hours driving in a car to get to a bike ride than the bike ride actually takes... But this summer I had decided to turn it into a chance for a 3-day test-tour, overnighting with friends in Chester each side of the Club ride. Several objectives to this ride: 1 see if I could do 3 long days in a row; 2 see if I could do them with the Yak and a load of gear; 3 see how the Yak towed with a load; 4 find out what sort of average speed I could plan on; 5 find out if I was packing the right stuff (however you might want to interpret that!); 6 ride new roads, see new scenery (or at least new from the bike).

Day T1: Mt Uniacke to Chester (86km) The day dawned grey and overcast, with the possibility of rain later in the day, but a forecast of sun for the next day. The route today takes me from 200m elevation down to sea level and then back up over the same central lump of rock and back down to sea level on the other side of the province. It would also be possible to get to Chester without so much climbing by going down through Sackville, but weekday traffic on Hammond's Plains Road is a nightmare (even to me) and the distance is exactly the same, so I opted for the hillier route. Chomping at the bit to get going, I completely forgot to do my yoga set before leaving- not the first time, and unlikely to be the last. Pulling out of my driveway and onto the highway I was shocked by the wobbling that the Yak transmitted to the bike. Yeesh! wondered for a minute if I wouldn't have to abort; but hey, other people use these things so maybe it's just a matter of getting used to it. (I had towed the Yak before, the 50km from Dartmouth to home, but it was essentially empty at the time and with no apparent effect on the bike.) The manual advised against towing at speeds greater than 30kph, and what with the wobble and facing an immediate downhill journey of over 1km I was quite happy to use my brakes and keep the speed down to something ridiculous. It didn't actually take all that long for my body and subconscious mind to get used to the motion of the loaded Yak and start compensating properly. It wasn't anything I had to think about, it just happened. By the time I got 6km from home and started the long downhill from Ardoise to St Croix I was happy to let the speed go to 30kph.

Routine but slow cruising until Martock (30km), but feeling a bit strange-- at Martock was when I realized that I hadn't done the yoga. So I stopped at the community hall and did some of the routines, sort of (the grass was wet with dew and cycling shoes with road cleats aren't ideal for standing on while doing various stretch poses). Not ideal, but it did make some positive difference. Detoured onto Sangster Bridge Road to do some calibration runs for my bike computer, which took a bit of energy out of me.

At Smith's Corner (almost Vaughan) (Mockingee Lake) I went off to the provincial picnic park for my lunch break. Of course the road in the park was packed dirt and gravel, not so bad, but there was a great heap of loose gravel to be negotiated just when leaving the paved road. Oh yeah, that was fun. Even more fun on the way out from a dead stop: less traction, extra weight and a third wheel... yeah, okay lets just walk this rig out onto the highway and try again; that's better... Slight drizzle either side of lunchtime, but otherwise dry.

There had been a bit of climbing before lunch but after restarting the road went more uphill. And down. And up. Basically the same undulating central mound/plateau terrain as around home but a few dozen km further west. Most of the ups and downs were around 9% slope which meant riding the brakes on the way down and crawling up in the 22x34 microgear at about 8-10kph. Eventually the downhills seemed to be getting longer than the ups and finally from a crest, salt water and a blue on blue horizon were visible. And about time! A couple of hours on the bike always seems to go slower and take longer when I don't know the road, and today was no exception. I had also started to ride at a slightly higher heart rate (or work rate, if you prefer) than I knew I should have and so was getting a bit weary.

Finally got into downtown Chester after a detour to the NSLC to find a wee gift for my hosts, and then a swift and steep downhill to the waterfront and into quarters. It was nice and clear in Chester so I got to watch a fogbank forming in the next bay over, i.e. St Margaret's Bay; it was explained to me that this is a regular phenomenon, making Chester a much more popular place with the yachting crowd since for some reason they prefer to see where they are going when on the water.

Slept like a log that night despite unfamiliar surroundings (a familiar theme while I was bike touring!). The sound of waves dragging the rocks around on the pebble/stone beach was soothing too, and I listened to a lot less of it than I might have wanted.

Day T2 Chester-Bridgewater-Lunenburg-Chester (125km) The day dawned bright and clear, promising to be a hot one by the afternoon. The bay was as smooth as a millpond, the beach rocks had clearly defeated the waves during the night. All new roads for me as a cyclist today. Set out without the Yak for the bike commute to Bridgewater, where Centennial Cycling Club was meeting for the day's ride. Picked the steepest hill out of Chester that I could find, just for fun, because the rest of the day would be fairly flat. Small rollers along the way, not high but steep enough to want some gear changes. Most of the route paralleled the coast a small ways inland and cut along the base of the many peninsulae, but there were a few nice stretches right along the shore to remind me of where I was. A long section of water's edge was about the flattest road I've been on in NS or maybe it just seemed that way because the definition of "flat" around Mt Uniacke includes "shorter than 100m"... But, back inland a bit. Eventually one of the least interesting stretches came down to Mahone Bay, beautiful and picturesque as always, and even at that early hour already awash in sightseers (and why not?); and then I was looking for a hill that had featured in the complaints of one of the CCC'ers. Well, I never came across it or anything resembling a hill in that area but yet made it into Bridgewater in good time so I zipped into the ubiquitous Tim Horton's for a snack and some coffee; it was of course certain that I would have a long wait before we made our usual late start. A good chance to apply sunscreen-- especially as we congregated on a shadeless parking lot; barely 10a.m. and things were hotting up quickly already.

Finally we set out after the usual discussion of what route we might take (hey, what about taking the route described in the schedule for a change?). The prime movers were apparently looking for a majority vote but 80% of us really didn't care what route we took just as long as we took off on one right quick. Somewhat rendered the vote ineffective. As you can tell, I'm not fond of the pre-start folderol but once we're on the move I'm okay. Our start wasn't exactly a bike race, more of a case of straggling out in pairs and bunches. Considering we had a bit of downtown Bridgewater to negotiate, including a few traffic lights and a metal-grate bridge I'm sure we managed to annoy or at least confuse and bemuse the heck out of a few dozen motorists.
But finally we were rolling along a nice tree-lined road along the west bank of the La Have River, bound for the La Have Bakery (unfortunately too close for a mid-morning snack). It turned into an extended stop, the last laugh being against those like me who rushed the morning's start since shortly after we got there the ferry across the river left from our side (we had passed it at its landing just before reaching the Bakery) and then we had to wait for it to come back. I don't know how long we were stuck there, but I'd have to say too long, and it seemed like an hour but was probably less. Finally we saw the ferry depart the opposite landing and so drifted along to take our place in the lineup to get aboard. No we didn't, we rode right on past the cars to the front of the line. Just before going down the ramp from the highway to the landing apron one of our group who was on a brand-new bike lost her brakes. Yep, the brake blocks, housings and all, actually fell off the bike onto the road; well, not all of them but the ones that didn't were so loose as to be not far from following suit. Unprecedented!

Some of the guys fell all over themselves to fix the bike for her, which was very nice of them but to me somewhat fell into the category of "give a man a fish, you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish, you feed him for a lifetime (or at least until the Feds DoF makes it illegal to fish)". I intended to take the tough love approach of making sure she had the right allen key and all the parts recovered from the road and then leaving her to sort it out herself, but my approach was moot given the apparent competition to be of most assistance in the repair. Ah well. (I've never before seen so many people working on, or trying to work on if they hadn't been getting in each others' way, the same bike!) But, for anyone reading this, Please people: bikes are not toys and cyclists going distances from which they can't walk home need to know enough to be able to fix basic problems (I'd put brake repair right up there in that group, along with changing an inner tube). Buying a bike is not like buying a pair of new shoes. But I suspect I'm a bit of an anachronism in this regard; too many people (of either sex) now seem to feel that the only tool they need to take on a long bike trip is a cellphone and their spouse's phone number. Just seems irresponsible to this dinosaur.

Meanwhile, we pack ourselves onto the ferry and shift across the river, then turn right and wend our way closer to Lunenburg. The scenery varied from sublime to mundane, the traffic light, the roads good. At one point I lost my mind (who would notice?) and went ahead, following someone whom I assumed knew the route. However, it turned out that they decided to follow me, assuming that I knew it (although I had never been on the Lunenburg ride before). Hmm, just like walking my dogs, whom I followed out of curiosity while they kept a surreptitious eye on me and made sure they kept going the same direction that I did... with less-than-stellar results sometimes. As was the case this day. We missed a turnoff; I didn't even realize we passed a sideroad because of the angle it entered our road at, and a building right at the corner hiding it. When we did finally reach what we thought was the first possible turn, we did the normal thing of waiting for the group. We'd been traveling fast (for us) so knew the wait might be awhile. But it got ridiculous so 2 of us went backtracking and found the intersection (the other two were time-crunched and headed on to Lunenburg directly) but no sign of anyone else (they had assumed we knew the way...). It turned out to be a marvelous backroad, nicely scenic and with a couple of nice 17% folds in the ground just before Lunenburg. The pack had dispersed for lunch so as to avoid overloading any one place, and we only ever saw one of them so then we were three. A good lunch nonetheless, but when we got to the after-lunch rendezvous there were no other bikes and we found out that a herd of cyclists had "just left" (which could have been anywhere from a minute to a half hour ago-- no point in attempting a chase.) Typically, the rendezvous had been decided as a place only and no time attached, which meant that even the first to arrive there didn't know if they had been left behind by earlier departers; I heard afterwards that there was effectively no r/v and the return was all in small splinter groups...

We headed north, but when we got to an intersection where one road headed towards Mahone Bay I decided due to the frustrations of the day to continue the dispersal process and head back to Chester by the more direct route rather than return to Bridgewater where everyone else had their cars.

This road to Mahone Bay was new to my bike, pleasant and a bit more rolling than the rest of the day but very hot as it was more inland than coastal. It brought me into a nice rear entrance of the town. Thereafter I was retracing my tracks from the morning. Picked up a nice tailwind during the coastal segments which was a welcome push after a long day. Finally cruised into Chester; a cool shower was all the reward I could want!

In the time before supper, I got out on the water with my hosts to play yacht games, during which I was probably more of a hindrance than a help.

Another restful night.

Day T3 Chester-Mt Uniacke (86km again) Sunday dawned grey with a threat of rain, and indeed it was drizzling lightly when I left Chester. I picked a nice steep exit hill to see how I'd do with the Yak on a near 15% slope, since that was what was promised on North Mountain on the Cabot Trail (although a lot longer). My experiment was foiled however; a tree had fallen across the road overnight, in the middle of the steepest block of the hill. No way around, not even for a bike!! So back down and along to the next street, but it wasn't as steep or as high. Oh well.

The drizzle let up soon after getting onto Highway 14, and the rest of the day was cool and dry, a downpour holding off until about 5 minutes after I got home. I had a nice tailbreeze the whole way, even after turning the corner at Windsor. The ride was rather easier than the outbound journey, possibly due to familiarity with the road, especially the last 50km which I have ridden several times over the years. Nothing noteworthy, really.

So, a successful pre-tour: (because:) the Yak was no problem after a short adaptation period; I could get it up a slope of about 14% with not too much difficulty; I was still as good on Day 3 as on Day 1 (better, actually, by a small degree); and, I rather enjoyed the whole trip and everything around it (well, not counting the milling around and the getting separated on the Saturday)!

Intermezzo
I now had 2 1/2 weeks to survive before I could set out on the main objective of the summer. The training program called for tapering-off during the last week before departure, mostly just light rides, not too long, to keep the legs turning over and relaxed.

TNSTTTT and Then Some-- (2) Getting There

2009-12-31T10:52:00.000-08:00

Day0 Packing and Getting Excited The moment of truth for packing the Yak. The main item of weight was a laptop computer for downloading the daily ride data from my cycling computer (I'm a sucker for gadgets). Some tools, spare parts including a tire as well as a couple of inner tubes, rain kit, cool weather kit, walking-around kit (aka civvies, if you want), recovery and hydration drink powders... One thing I had learned from my test trip was that the laptop went on the bottom of the load bag, along with the intrinsically more dense stuff. Everything was gathered into small plastic bags which I tried to arrange in the load bag in some sort of logical order, which I promptly forgot and could never repeat from one day to the next, so the few times I needed something while on the road it was always found at the opposite end from where I started looking. Perfect.

Total weight of Yak plus baggage 17kg, or about 37.5lb. (that's not multiple choice). Almost exactly 25% of my body weight that will be dragging behind me on the uphills.
Didn't sleep well that last night, partly from having almost no training load to tire me out and of course a great deal of Christmas Effect.

Solo Day1 Mt Uniacke-Bridgewater (120km)23jul09 mtu to bridgewater
Find more Bike Rides in Mt. Uniacke, Nova Scotia 23 July 09 dawned unnoticed here. Which is to say, after tossing and turning for some while after going to bed I eventually slept through the morning traffic noise and got up abruptly with my alarm. No extended wake-up today, I wanted to be on the road by about 10am at the latest (my last "sleep-in" for quite awhile). Weather a bit overcast with clear patches. After a good breakfast (my usual pre-long-ride oatmeal with raisins) got dressed, put the last minute stuff in the Yak bag, loaded Yak, hooked it up to Banani, and wobbled out of the driveway; I thought I was past that adaptation phase but not after over 2 weeks of riding an untrailered bike.

I had ridden today's route (except for the last few km's) during the 3-day Test Ride. The other thing the same now as then was-- Yep, in the rush to get on the road, the yoga routine completely slipped my mind until just past Windsor (I hadn't thought to wonder how come I was suddenly 15minutes ahead of schedule in leaving). Darn it. Once again it was detrimental to my ease of travel, but at least today I was recognizing landmarks most of the way, so the miles passed more quickly than the first time. At Mahone Bay I stopped in the waterfront park for a second lunch and a bit of a rest, then set out on the last leg of the day to Bridgewater and then to find the B&B I had reserved.

Scenery today was pastoral/ small farms for the first 30km and then mainly unexciting forest right up to the road with scattered houses and the odd lake for the next 50km with not too many places where a view could develop other than along the line of the road. The last 40km was alternating forest, small villages, and waterfront so there were some nice views at places during this segment.

As I turned right at the first lights in Bridgewater it started to rain lightly. Good timing, I thought, I'll be indoors in minutes. But I had misjudged the scale of the map I downloaded and minutes turned into soggy tens. As usual when one thinks one is about done for the day and then the finish just never seems to appear, every km started to feel like a mile and every mile like a league. The interminable last 2km were aggravated by the light rain doing its best to become heavy. And not a warm one either. I was sopping wet and cold by the time I pulled up to the B&B. Banani and Yak to the barn, baggage and me to the house. Nice accommodations, pleasant and helpful hosts... my original plan had been to bike back toward Bridgewater to find a place to eat supper, but with the rain I was more than a bit reluctant and I was starting to think in terms of delivery. My hosts offered to make me a meal for a reasonable cost, so that's what we did. After supper, read for a bit and then early to bed. Breakfast would be at 8:30 so it would be a nice early start. Slept like a log.

Solo Day2 Bridgewater-Shelburne (120km)24jul09 bridgewater to shelburne
Find more Bike Rides in Bridgewater, Nova Scotia Oh misery, still raining and no hint of a letup in the forecast of the day; cool if not downright cold too. So today became the first real test of my ShowersPass rain gear which I had bought the previous fall. Cycling shoes still wet. I put on dry socks, a bit of a joke since the wicking material did just that and the socks were as wet as the shoes in seconds. With the temperature as low as it was I put on my waterproof shoe covers (not that they kept my feet dry anymore (to wit, shoes)) to keep my feet warm, and also the little rain hat/hood to keep my head warm. Also lightly insulated gloves with fingers.

Out to the barn to collect my herd and discovered a bright orange chain on Banani. Wow, in one night, and not as if it wasn't well-oiled before I left home. Okay, lesson learned, after encountering rain on the road, first thing before settling in for the night must be to clean, dry, and oil the chain.

In order to keep my glasses from fogging up (they're Adidas with a double-lens setup, the inner lens ground to my vision prescription) I had to be very careful not to work very hard, which included any little rises. The first 7 or 8 km were secondary roads, picturesque and pleasant; then I turned onto the main highway. Not too long after that my bike computer faceplate started to fog a little; it had done that once before but dried up quickly afterwards. But this time within 5 minutes I saw water coming up under the faceplate!! and before I could stop to do anything else the LED display took on a foreign look of random pictographs and then went blank. A major disappointment. (After the trip it was replaced by the manufacturer but in the meantime I was missing a useful cycling tool and lost a couple of weeks of interesting, if not downright important, data.)

For the 2 days from Bridgewater to Yarmouth I stayed mainly on Hwy103 and only sometimes on Hwy3. The 103 had 2 or 3 feet of pavement on the right of the white line most of the time (except uphills where an extra lane was built for slow traffic which apparently meant bikes too), a novel concept for NS I think. So my route cut across the base of most of the peninsulas; the coastal deviations would have been very pleasant scenery but would have added at least a day if not two to that phase, and since I wasn't exactly sure about the whole 2-week thing I felt that wouldn't be a wise choice before TNSTTTT. In hindsight, it would have been alright-- but.

The scenery today was initially varied rural landscape, some houses and small farms, twisty road and foggy hollows; once onto the 103 it was an uninspiring view of wide pavement bounded by wide shoulders and then fairly unbroken forest, the whole amalgam attenuated by the spray from the tires of passing traffic. Then more populated forest on the run-in to Liverpool, while that town was in itself very picturesque.

Before Liverpool I got off the 103 for about 10 parallel km, coming in the back way. Stopped at the ubiquitous Tim Horton's for lunch especially warm coffee, waterbottle refills... When packing I had thought to put my Polar heart-rate monitor and chest strap into the Yak bag, so I fished them out and put them on so I would at least have a bit of instrumentation (especially the heart-rate data, to keep me from over-working as I tend to do when I don't have a machine to tell me about it). If I'd had half a brain I would have included the speed sensor but I didn't so I spent the next too many days not knowing how far I had gone and how far I had to go...
I think I gave up on my cycling glasses fogging for the day and just wore my everyday specs after lunch.

After Liverpool the coast pretty much paralleled the 103 (or vice versa, I suppose, the coast having been there first) for a nice distance so stayed on the coast road and enjoyed scenery and even a bit of salt spray which was quickly washed off by the downpour, no loss... Started seeing several cyclotourists going the other way while I continued solo and alone (but not lonely) with my route; none of us were inclined to backtrack for the privilege of riding with someone new. Eventually the pleasantness had to end, and I was spat out onto the 103 again, which for the next 20km was atypically pretty, with the odd sea view and encounters with a few villages; but eventually the 103 resumed its character of an uninspirational long ribbon of highway. Soon after the road climbed up onto the more open and windswept plateau which interposes between Sable River and Shelburne; it's not that high, about 100m, but what a difference in the wind that day!! Fortunately it was behind me, at every inch of 30kph and then some. Still a few laden cyclists going the other way (barely) and I didn't envy them. But they were in groups so at least they could do some slipstreaming if they were sufficiently flexible of mode to do that.

The last hour of this day my right knee started to bother me with an intermittent pain, somewhat worrying since it was day 2 of a 2 week ride! It turned out to be the result of a shoe being a bit too tight down there under the bootie, so recovered overnight. Anyways, into Shelburne at last, a bit tired but not exhausted. Definitely cleaned and oiled Banani's chain first thing! My next task was to try to avoid dripping all over the carpets of the B&B while signing in; less success with that. A long hot shower was more than welcome and by the time I was ready to hunt down a restaurant and refuel, the rain had quit and it was quite pleasant walking around through the town. Had a very good dinner at a small restaurant run by a German family, and then a bit of a walk along the waterfront. Then back to the Lighthouse, a bit of reading, some tv (the Tour de France was still going, and I wanted to check in with Contador's progress and make sure no interloper had snuck the yellow jersey off his back) and a look at the Weather Channel (clear tomorrow, and warmer, thank God). And at this point discovered that I had not brought the down link gadget for my Polar; so I reset the unit to a longer recording interval so there would be sufficient memory for the 2 weeks and sadly resigned myself to the fact that the laptop computer I was hauling around was just so many kilo's of dead weight... **sigh**

A bit of sporadic traffic noise and unfamiliar streetlights were unable to keep me from sleeping and so suddenly it became Friday.

Solo Day3 Shelburne-Yarmouth (100km)25jul09 shelburne to yarmouth
Find more Bike Rides in Shelburne, Nova Scotia No orange chain today! But my bike shoes were still wet of course (it would take 3 days of sunshine for them to dry out, during which time they would acquire a distinct odor that I didn't enjoy a bit although still no competition for roadkill). The first half of today's ride was back out on the 103 again (okay, I'm getting tired of that strip of pavement and someday I'm going to do this trip with every little coastal sideloop and lighthouse dead end I can find), but I can (will) (shall!!) get off at the Pubnicos and use the back highway the rest of the way in without adding much distance to the journey.

Leaving Shelburne it was back up to the top of the plateau, not quite as high this side. Eventually back down to the coast, a rather barren section and still on the 103. This has to be the flattest bit of road I've cycled on since leaving Edmonton, Alberta when I went off to college. I can't say I minded too much. There was a bit of headwind but not enough to be bothersome.

About 3 hours into the ride I could turn off the main road, to the Pubnicos. Shortly thereafter in Argyle I followed a roadside sign down a gravel road to the waterfront and a resort/ restaurant. Nice place, pleasant staff and tasty food. Over the buffet table, a sign that lightened my day: "Children who are left unattended will be given a double espresso and a kitten", which it turned out was picked up at a garage sale in Florida. The sign, not the kitten. I'd like to make note of the name of the place but I've forgotten it, can't find anything that sounds familiar on the internet, and have misplaced the card I picked up there.

Yesterday I had been on roads that I had driven by car several times (albeit not since the early 90's) but today I was on roads that I had no memory of. The distance after lunch seemed interminable without an odometer although it was really pleasant riding and not all that far to Yarmouth which eventually showed up right where it was supposed to be. Curiously although the afternoon seemed to drag so until I got to Yarmouth, once I knew I was almost done for the day it seemed like a very short day which had just flown by-- the mind is a strange landscape.

There was a little crisis involving city streets and traffic lights (us country folk are easily discombobulated by relatively thick concentrations of cars (can cars concentrate? I always thought they were rather dim thinkers... oh, hence "thick") and buildings adjacent to buildings) but pretty soon the hotel came into sight. Or not; there are two Rodd edifices within blocks of each other and I first came across the wrong one. It didn't really match the map though, so I stopped a passerby and asked for directions (yes, it's true: I, a man, asked for directions!!! (several times during the next 2 weeks, actually. Got to be quite a habit)) and quickly got to the right Rodd hotel.

I had arrived.

TNSTTTT and Then Some-- (3) The Nova Scotia Tip To Tip Tour

2009-12-31T09:05:00.000-08:00

It was still fairly early in the afternoon and the bus with the majority of TNSTTTT riders hadn't arrived yet. First things first, showered and re-arranged my gear, since for the next week a truck would be taking everyone's baggage between stops and I would give the Yak a holiday and just use a saddlebag which had spent the last few days in the Yak bag. Dinner wasn't on the program until about 7pm so there were still a few hours to kill. As I opened the door to go for a stroll of the sights, there was my roommate for the week about to try the doorknob. I'm reluctant to use people's names on the Internet so I'll just use an initial or 2... So I met M, from Quebec City, and also R. M had the use of their official club vehicle for the duration of TNSTTTT-- I was amazed to learn of a cycling club having enough members, 3500 apparently, to afford that kind of support and infrastructure, but no surprise to me that if a club of that size can exist in Canada it would have to be in Quebec. Good for them.

The tour group consisted of softies like me who insisted on a proper bed and roof each night, and the hardier and more intrepid souls who would be passing most of their nights in campsites. R was one of the campers, so after M unloaded his bike and gear into our room they went off to the "campground" which for this day was in and around one of the local churches, to drop off R and do a bit of a meet and greet. I fell into pack cycling tactics and just followed wheels (i.e. went along). The bus with the main peleton had recently arrived so we did some social milling about and encountered names and faces quickly forgotten in the information overload but relearned over the days ahead. Back to the hotel for supper, the whole group in one room for the first time. Briefing by our intrepid leader JC of the general daily routine etc and specifics for the morrow.

Back in my room I watched enough of the Tour de France ascent of Mont Ventoux to know that Contador's yellow was safe and then logged out. An advantage of having been three days on the bike already was that I wasn't much disturbed by unfamiliar cohabitation issues. I was also past the stiffness phase- a bit on day 2, a bit more on the third day, nothing thereafter (well, until Solo Day 6 but that's a different issue as you will see).

NSTTTT Day1 Yarmouth-Digby (110km) July 26; in honour of Contador's triumphal entry into Paris this day, I wore my Astana team kit today, which I wear somewhat in irony given my lack of speed and uphill non-prowess; but I like the looks of it in a world of cycling team kits seemingly dominated by black. Breakfast, then loaded my Yak bag, tied my pink ribbon to it and another one to the Yak (pink ribbons were delivered to the roofed accommodations, the rest went to the campsites) and brought them to the baggage truck where I made sure F, the driver, knew that the Yak would not be needed until Sydney. A number of the other tour riders were Yak enthusiasts when they did unsupported tours, and A told me I should visit a motorcycle shop to get a bungee cargo net to fit over the Yak bag for securing things like raincoats and lunches without having to unhook and open the bag. A good idea, but I still have to act on it...

Baggage handled, I did my yoga and got on Banani to ride to "campground". Whoa!! the bike was wavering all over the road and refusing to go in a straight line! My subconscious was causing me to react as if the loaded Yak was still there, compensating for it's affect on the balance equations. It took the better part of a kilometer to restore normal trailerless reactions. Totally unexpected start to the day. It was rather like a sailor's attempts to walk on dry land after a long and stormy period at sea (and I've been there too), moving as if drunk but with zero alcohol in the blood.
Today we had a formal massed start which somewhat brought to mind all those Sunday mornings of my youth, batches of cyclists milling or standing around waiting to be organized and sent on their way; the main differences (apart from almost 40 years) being that back then one was lucky to gather 20 cyclists together for an event in Alberta and here we had 53 or so for the tour and several local cyclists to guide us out of town (a very good idea, since it was "kinda foggy") and of course there was no race (at least, not for most). At the appointed hour we had a couple of speeches and then were lead out in an informal procession by a Yarmouth cyclist riding an old high-wheeler! Nicely done. Our route out of Yarmouth was through quiet residential areas along or near the waterfront as near as I could tell in the fog. After a short while the high-wheeler pulled off to let us past, the speed started to increase and we split into smaller groups as we went. I couldn't tell you who I was riding with in the early parts of the ride although at one point I tried to latch onto a veritable express train of fast-rollers coming past (how did they get behind me in the first place? all was confusion) but after awhile decided it was too early in the day for the kind of energy that required. A number of us missed a turn at one point but were soon sent back to the main route... and that was all in about the first 10km. I continued to bounce around from one small group to another as the urge struck me in my restless and maybe even frisky (me?!) mood.

Eventually I settled in with S from Wolfville and SH and D from Quebec; they set a nice pace, challenging but not quite outside my comfort zone on the flats although I was definitely underpowered on steeper hills.

Pleasant backroads through small farmsteads until we ran came out onto Highway 1 (quiet enough in itself since most traffic uses the parallel and more inland Highway 101) at I think near Port Maitland, where we found the baggage truck waiting with water and drink mixes, fruit and various snacks to keep us going. A bit of sociable milling about, then we four set off on a little detour to showcase one of the finer beaches of the area, the Malvillette Beach. Not too far out of the way, and mainly downhill (not much) to the beach. Leaned our bikes up against a few rocks set at the base of the sparsely-grassed dune and followed a footpath up to the top (not very high or far) to take in a marvelous view of ---- fog. Well, we could actually see some 10m width of small rock leading down to the wet sand (tide out) and then about 200m of that. After a bit, one at a time the others got into their bare feet, walked down the rocky slope and out onto the sand where they slowly dissolved. I stayed put. Watching them walk off the face of the earth reminded me of the movie "The Lost Battalion" except eventually my companions regenerated, having followed their footprints in the sand back to shore. Just as well; I wouldn't have been able to ride 4 bikes at once anyways. In fact once we got back on our steeds again I had enough trouble just getting my own bike up the slope to the highway but eventually my engine got going again and they let me catch up (not for the last time that day) and we continued cruising on up the road.

The next 40km were through another very picturesque section of Acadian villages and farms, a bit rolling but mainly flattish. As we went, the low cloud formerly known as fog burnt off and the day became quite warm (at least for me; we had had a dismal and cold summer up to that point and although it was August and I had spent hundreds of hours on the bike already I hadn't managed much of a tan or heat tolerance!!) and I continued shedding layers. Along the way we came up with several groups which had leapfrogged ahead of us while we did the beach-and-fog detour. I never ceased to be amused with the way the little groups formed and de-formed (gracefully) according to individual whim or whimsy as we rode and stopped or not at different viewpoints and rode again. In this way we picked up a fifth in my roommate M, who stayed with us for the rest of the day, and at times one or two others for shorter periods.

One of the features of this Acadian shore is the large and ornate cathedrals along the way, and not all that far apart either. (Noticeably, when we got to areas settled by English ancestors the churches became smaller and more simple, while the primary houses became larger and more ornate. For whatever reason.) We stopped at a couple of them for a brief look within.

We stopped for lunch at a promising-looking eatery in Grosses Coques. between Church Point and Weymouth... the restaurant was full up with local customers, so we were able to convince Madame to let us eat at the picnic tables in the yard, but before there was time to take our orders a table opened up inside, thank Heaven because it was quite hot sitting in the sun without any wind. It took awhile to be served as it was still very busy of course, but this was Day 1 so lots to talk about (on later days there was even more to talk about). But I was embarrassed to discover that the French that I had last used 20 years ago was in deep hiding somewhere in my head and I hadn't had the sense to realize, when I saw on the early rider lists that many would be from Quebec, that I should have (and could have) spent some time in the winter doing some refreshing. Darn! However the Quebecois were usually fairly accommodating in switching to English at times to include the unilingual anglo's in parts of the conversation, and I was also quite happy to just listen to the cadence and accent of their French and eventually start to pick out the odd word so that by the end of the week I could get the gist of at least some of what was being discussed and even start to express simple thoughts (and be understood!).
Excuse the digression.

Lunch was excellent and soon we were back on the road. Not too long afterwards I think, we came to Weymouth, notable for the main climb of the day involving a descent into the river valley and then the trudge back up. I swear I was being held back by the lunch... And it didn't help that I got stuck behind a slow pickup truck on the downhill so had no momentum to start the uphill with. ..Wweelll, it wasn't all that much of a climb but it was steeper than anything I had encountered since halfway to Bridgewater, and the unexpected heat was getting to me, as was the pace that day. All of which made a staunch memory out of a piece of terrain that would fit in around Mt Uniacke as an easy bit.

Soon after Weymouth Hwy 1 merged onto the main highway 101 so the traffic increased significantly, but there was at least a narrow bit of pavement to the right of the white line, just wide enough for a bike. Mostly we just rolled along taking turns at the front, and it was fun to ride with people who were used to doing that; most of my riding is solo or with folks who don't or won't ride as a paceline.

Still some coastal scenery off the other side of the highway and the odd bit of a view topping small rises but mostly I was concentrating on following a wheel and was well into the mode of desperately seeking accommodations. Just at Digby we came up on J from Yarmouth while I was riding at the head of our group. Etiquette said I should ride past and let him, as a solo rider, join on the back of us for a rest, but instead I parked on his wheel and just could not get past it! Soon after, SH and D peeled off at the campground while the rest of us rolled down to the Mountain Gap Resort at Smith's Cove, checked in at the office, and headed for our room, a recovery drink, a visit to the pool and whirlpool tub and a refreshing shower. Then to the bar to hydrate with a de-hydrant (a beer, okay?) and bag of chips (salt! salt!) and generally hang out with the rest of the gang until supper was called at about 1900. A long wait. But a tasty seafood pasta at the end of it. At the time I thought it was a bit light on calories but it turned out to be just about right by the time digestion caught up with the empty feeling in my stomach. Afterwards, the obligatory meeting for notices regarding the next day.

And so to sleep, perchance to dream. Uh, nope. No dreams.

NSTTTT Day2 Digby-Wolfville (145km) (and the hottest day of the summer so far by a long shot). I had worked pretty hard on the bike on Day 1 so had decided to go with a slower group today. We were a bit later getting on the road than we would have liked due to breakfast scheduling (a common theme, actually, and even when touring solo it was hard to find a place open for a really early breakfast). So I set out with some of the folks from Centennial CC, with whom I often ride on Saturdays: GB, JB, JW; possibly a few others started out with us. To be honest, this was not only about needing a slower pace but also about taking advantage of local knowledge, a companion map if you will!

Having finished on a downhill yesterday, today started with an up (I'm a wimp first thing in the morning), after which we immediately headed down again along a nice quiet road until a tricky/interesting loopy interchange to bring us onto the 101, the only choice crossing Bear River unless one deviated 5km inland to the town (or at least map dot) of Bear River. But this was already going to be a long day, and we were, curiously and uniquely, on a schedule this day: the town of Annapolis Royal (27km from our overnight digs) and the County of Annapolis had laid on a welcoming ceremony and refreshments, by way of raising the profile of cycling as a recreation. After crossing Bear River and getting off the 101 the rest of the route to Annapolis Royal was coastal near the shores of the Annapolis Basin, pleasant terrain and surroundings on a quiet road. Into the town, where a welcoming banner pointed us in the right direction to get to the little park on the waterfront. A table full of appropriate snacks and drinks awaited us there along with several members of the county Recreation department and a few dignitaries. Just as my "group of the day" was getting on our bikes to continue on our way, we were all called to gather in for speeches, presentations and photos; I decided to stay (it was painless) but the rest slipped away. The ceremonies took about 15 to 20 minutes, after which some of the local cyclists escorted us through town including a nice quiet back street which I probably would have missed otherwise (in favor of a more major road).

Once out on the highway, I found myself riding with one of the two speedy groups on the tour, the younger set (which was already being called the Express) of one guy and 3 gals from Quebec and SL from Cape Breton. My thinking was that on the flat road from Annapolis Royal to about Middleton, riding with a tailwind, I might be able to draft off them long enough to catch up my intended group for the day if I worked like a madman; and upon catching I would slide off the back of the Express and have a nice rest for awhile. So I let them know I was only going to try to be there for awhile. (Like they couldn't guess!)

It would have been nice to have had a bike computer so that I could know what speed range they were working at; a couple of times I got a readout from SL so it seemed like we were moving at something close to 40kph (maybe not as an average, but at least at some points). I didn't (couldn't) take any turns at the front but it turned out they didn't work that way anyhow; the pulling was all being done by the one strongman. It was a real blast hanging on to their tail especially once we got off the causeway/bridge over the river and onto Highway 1 proper. Keep in mind that my biggest gear was only a 44x12, I was pedaling pretty darn fast when I wasn't coasting. There were a few little rises along the way and I unexpectedly wasn't spit out off the back on them-- actually the rises were a bit of a relief since I could slow down my cadence to a more normal rate as the speed dropped off a bit. The scenery along this section of the route was... well, a fine view of the rear tire of a nice new Specialized road machine! and not much else. But I had been there before and since, so I know it was fairly open farm country with a fine view of a small mountain ridge a few km to the left, another one some 5 to 10km to the right, and nearby on the right an intermittent view of the wide and lazy Annapolis River; occasional small villages and towns.

My plan worked out well, and it seemed that in no time at all the Express was pulling out to the left to pass my erstwhile companions, so I bad farewell to riding as if in a race and tagged into the tail end of a more sedate touring group. It did take awhile for the adrenalin levels to calm down though.

Soon enough we came to Bridgetown, where the instructions for the day directed us to the left up Church St to Route 221. However, we decided to keep on straight, keeping to the level ground rather than skirting along the ups and downs of the base of the mountain ridge. And so we did. Highway 1 did get a bit busier thereafter and the scenery more built up and less pastoral to some extent. Perhaps in hindsight I regret not having taken 221 the whole way but I'm sure I'll cycle that section of it some day. At Middleton, km 72 of the day, we found a pub for a lunch stop (uh, no beer for us though). In a basement. Cool! Literally; and while we were down there the temperature outside just kept going upandupandup.

After lunch we continued along Hwy 1 for some ways, and at some point decided we had had enough of the traffic, the semi-urban surroundings, and the heat of all that pavement and buildings; time to find a route with a greener roadside. Those who knew also knew that Route 221 was just about done with hills at this point, so we jogged left and a bit up, into farmland once again. Small rollers, and so at times cresting a little rise we would get a bit of a pleasant view.

One of the features of Route 221, and Nova Scotia roads in general?, is the habit of discontinuity. That is, the road comes to a premature end at a T-junction with no sign of which direction one has to jog to follow it. So one gets to use a coin toss and hope that the next road in that direction has a route number sign on it somewhere near the intersection. Well, yes one could use a map but that would require knowing exactly which jog one was at... all of the roads have names, and some of them are on the maps and some of them are different on the maps-- and some of them are even signed at some of their intersections! All very haphazard in a secretive sort of way meant no doubt to keep the riffraff out. Maybe this is a more widespread phenomenon and I have slandered the province where I live but I found it easier to get around in Japan...

Anyways... at some point of our wanderings we came to one of these discontinuities and the group decided to take the right-hand option (left was up a significant climb-- at least, significant by that time of day). But off to the left were a pair of cyclists probably from TNSTTTT. I decided to go their way and broke off from my companions of the last several hours. It was a terrible struggle but eventually I came up with the mystery pair, who turned out to be D&K from Bridgewater. Enjoyable riding companions with whom my path would merge several times over the next few days. Their being where they were when I was where I was (!!), was also felicitous in terms of scenery; when we finally crested out the main rise we came upon a fantastic view across and up the valley. Just don't ask me where it was or we were.

Later a sign: Grafton. Ah-ha, a recognizable place name, at which we were meant to start making some southing with intent to come out on Brooklyn Street. So we turn right, and then the next left again. If only it were so easy... that road was barricaded halfway along. It looked like preparations to replace a bridge and possibly passable for cyclists afoot, but after some debate we decided to turn back and detour to the next road south. Ah, but... as we retraced our tracks there at the mouth of the road were my earlier companions again. So, more discussion, and decided to try to go over/around/through the barricades. Which turned out to be no problem after all. Clear sailing after that.

Towards Aldershot (near km120) we came up with other TNSTTTTers in small groups. Some we would ride with for awhile, others we just went past, and some of those would take our wheel for awhile. All very random to an outside observer! The heat had continued unabated and I admit it was getting to me; add that to riding on familiar-ish roads (not that I knew where I was on them, just that I had been there several times with CCC): result, I was functioning okay but not putting much into memory anymore. We found out later that 2 of the TNSTTTTers had been stricken with heat-stroke and/or dehydration towards the end of that day; fortunately both recovered overnight and were able to continue but with reduced distances and extra caution.

Kentville at last, at which point my under-saddle tool kit had had enough and fell off. You'd think a rider might hear something like that, but no. Fortunately it didn't fall into my spokes, and DT was behind me and saw it. Those newfangled plastic clip-on bags are nice and light, but clearly the models which have an integrated strap around the seatpost have it for a reason. Mine now has a backup string ensemble (only one, not four-- I can't see dragging a string quartet around with me on the bike, not even for the entertainment and musicality of it). One hill from the bridge intersection to the community college and then a fast downhill on smooth pavement all the way to Port Williams, mainly a nice quiet green scene. Then the dash across the dike road much hated by many CCC'ers for the traffic (it's all relative) and into Wolfville and our stop for the night at Acadia University residences (even the campers). In some perverse sort of joke the residences are halfway up a darn steep hill a.k.a. the Wolfville Ridge. And somehow we had to get up there. 22x34 came in pretty handy... I don't know how everyone else managed it!

The thing about being in the university student residence: too many well-suppressed images of college years kept cropping up in tiny flashbacks. I felt like I was going to get dinged for a room inspection for leaving gear out on my desk (and not making my bed in the morning). (if that doesn't make any sense to the reader, don't worry about it, it was one of the "privileges" of going to the "boy's school" euphemistically known as our military colleges.)

After a welcome shower and change of clothes I got back on the bike to go visit a friend in Wolfville. He lived about 3 blocks over and at about the same altitude up the same darn ridge but there was no connector road in the middle, only at the top or the bottom. Curses. Well, the down part was okay though. Meant to be just a short visit but turned into dinner as well, and finally dusk set me on my way back to the res. The halls were deserted so I wandered over to our dining hall just as the daily meeting from which I was AWOL was breaking up; the main thing on the agenda was notice of road construction on a segment of the route and the advised detour. And the route plan for the escape from Wolfville.

GB had stopped off at home and picked up a speed/distance bike computer to lend me. But it was late, I was tired; so I didn't take the 3 minutes eventually required to mount the thing and get it working that night or indeed not until we got to Antigonish 3 days later. It didn't seem like a complicated job but with bikes nothing is ever as straightforward as it looks; and that was not entirely untrue in this case either.

It being such a hot day and warm night, it made sense that this was the only room of the 2 weeks which wasn't fitted with an air-conditioner unit (nor was the building itself). So we cranked the windows wide open, and with the room door open too a good breeze came through. I slept like the dead, waking only to pump bilges in the small hours of the morning, at which time I found the door to the room had been closed for us by someone; some kind of a hint perhaps?

NSTTTT Day3 Wolfville-Truro (137km) The longest day for some, not quite the longest (in distance) for others as there were some choices of route. But certainly the hilliest day for everyone. Morning showed every intention of the day being as hot and sunny as the previous day.

JC had asked those of us familiar with the roads to disperse ourselves amongst the departure groups to provide some guidance through the initial 35km of relatively convoluted navigation. I ended up waiting around to take the last group, which turned out to be just my roommate M. That was okay; we were pretty well matched for pace on the bike. The gang from Wolfville had mapped out some backroads escape route from the town which involved starting out uphill, but that was the one section of the route that I really didn't know so I took us downhill to and along main street for the escape, heading down to the lovely Gaspereau Valley at Maple Avenue (also a climb but at least by then we were a bit warmed up). Shorter by a few km and missed some of the scenery of the valley.

From Wolfville to Windsor I was pretty much on autopilot, since it is a route that I rode both ways several times each of the last few summers. The direct route from Avonport to Hantsport was chewed up by a road planer in preparation for repaving eventually (and poorly, as it turned out), so we took the "Bluff road" along the shore. Shorter hills but just as much ascent; nicer scenery too, and not as busy. However at Hantsport itself we still faced a km of chewed up road which we avoided by using the sidewalk, with due regard for the rights of pedestrians, had there been any.

Between Hantsport and Mount Denson we came up on the Express group (hadn't they just zoomed past us on the uphill out of Hantsport?!) having their second puncture of the day, and this time the tire itself was kaput. By lucky chance the "Sport en Tete" follow-car came up with us driven by A, and M was able to dig out one of the spare (but well-used) tires he kept in it in his bag of tricks. They asked if I could guide them through to Brooklyn, to which I replied sure, if they could go my speed because I could surely not go theirs; although I had hung with them by the skin of my teeth (thicker than I thought, that tooth-skin) on Day 1 that was a flat road and today's was many short steep hills where the disparity in strength would tell more severely. However, the route was theoretically simple, just stay on Hwy 1 through Windsor (one turn at an intersection) until turning left on Hwy 14, left at Brooklyn and again just outside it... so I just gave them verbal instructions and off they went. Simple.
Or not. Coming through Windsor ourselves a bit later I discovered that there was no signage to indicate where Hwy 1 turned up the main street (what was it I wrote about signage of the valley roads? Here too!). Sorry, guys, for not realizing that detail. And indeed we found out that night that they had zoomed straight on out of Windsor onto the 101 (a stretch that I find hairy enough in a car, thanks); but they got off at the next exit which was still Windsor, and were set back on the right route by asking directions of a passersby.

I needed a few bananas to get me through the day, so M and I stopped in at the Windsor Sobeys, where by mad coincidence we found the baggage truck dispensing water and pocket snacks and about 10 TNSTTTTers milling about. But everyone seemed to leave in the same packets they arrived in.

Windsor has extended outskirts in the direction we were going, tidy and pleasant. Once onto Hwy14 it was farmland with little housing clusters at close intervals, then Brooklyn with its 2 sharp hills, one coming out of the town and the other after crossing Herbert River. At the top of the second, decision time.
The options were to take the longer (by about 42km) and scenic coast road through Summerville, Walton, Noel etc to South Maitland; or the shorter direct and less scenic inland route through Kennetcook. I was leaning towards the coastal route, but M wasn't keen on the additional distance and there were no other groups around just then to make the decision for us (when there are wheels to follow, cyclists can be like sheep). So inland we went. As far as Clarksville we were mainly in farming country, lots of horse ranches too, and being along a shoulder of the Kennetcook River it was fairly flat. Between Clarksville and Kennetcook there was construction, with more planed road (also freshly tarred sections, we found out that night, although too late some of the riders who opted to go through there discovered that the traffic control Follow-me truck was happy to ferry bikes (and their riders) across the messy bit) so we opted for the detour through the various Gores, which added about 6km and a gradual climb to nearly 200m elevation, but then a marvelous swoop back down to the river valley. Partly wooded, partly farmed; some stretches of broken pavement but a lot of the worst bits had been decently patched since the last time I had been there so it was a pleasant surprise.

At Kennetcook we were due for some lunch so we stopped at a little cafe there (possibly the only one). Afterwards I tried to get M to consider going to Noel and getting at least a bit of the coast road (and avoiding the really rough pavement and somewhat boring scenery (not that one can take in any scenery while dodging the holes) of the Kennetcook-South Maitland road, the one piece of highway in my local haunts that I really dislike), but no dice. Oh well.

Again a climb by stages to about 175m, which should make for a nice descent eventually, right? But no, with this road the way it is the uphills are the easier bits, the downhills a real bone-shaking brake-dodge-weave chore. If someday the province decides to re-pave it, this will be a nice route for cycling (notwithstanding the relative lack of scenery); in the meantime North American bike companies needing to stress-test wheel and frame designs before the Paris-Roubaix road race can save time and expense by using this road instead of going to the cobblestones of northern France. Well, there is A smooth stretch of pavement, toward the end of it, on a downhill so one can get a good bit of speed on. Not!! the road butts into a T-junction at the bottom, big red Stop-sign facing the downhill traffic.
So that is the entry to South Maitland, the only chance for a store between Kennetcook and Truro. But we find it closed (just for the day or out of business? Can't tell.) Parked under the trees of a front lawn next to the dysfunctional general store we come across our friends of the Express, who had of course gone by the coastal route, and had enjoyed it; there was an onshore breeze which kept it cool, whereas the inland route had been sweltering. Indeed we found out that night that TB, who had started very early (foregoing the breakfast for a few snacks along the way) was frequently riding in fog along the coast; although for myself I think that had I started out as early as he did I would have been riding in a fog no matter where I went...

After a rest in the shade the 7 of us headed out across the flats (barely above sea level) together but that only lasted until the approaches to the bridge across the wide and tidal Shubenacadie River, which arches up quite high, and they were gone. After descending the far side of the bridge we turned in their wake onto the partial coastal road to Truro (about 30km to go), a bit rolling and mainly agricultural with a lot of dairy farms in the mix. Pleasant riding despite being "a bit" fatigued. Finally we entered the flats along the mouth of North River emptying into Cobequid Bay (the site of the tidal sights) and the build-up commenced, along with traffic and all that other city stuff. Came up with J (again in the final km's of a stage; funny coincidence) and between us managed to muddle through to the Best Western Glengarry inn on Willow St.

Here, bikes were to be stabled in a barn (well, really a conference room with plastic spread over the floor to catch whatever evil fluids the bikes would leak before they escaped-- perhaps they already knew of the fresh tar by Kennetcook). So I found a piece of wall for Banani and settled him in for the night. Then off for a welcome and much needed shower, out to the yard to lounge around in the pool and later in a chair with a beer and some salty things (not sailors).

Late dinner that night (I keep saying "late" but for ordinary people it probably was a fairly normal time, just that having been burning energy all day a 2 or 3 hour hiatus (even longer for the faster groups) between cleaning up our bodies and cleaning up our plates seemed like a cruel and unusual punishment. That being said, we were rather spread all over the road by each late afternoon and some riders were barely getting in by the time dinner was ready for us. So there is necessary a trade-off, which I suppose should have included going out in the wild streets to hunt for aperitifs rather than lounging by a pool sucking on beer. But that would be at the risk of losing the appetite which had been diligently fostered throughout the day. Decisions, decisions...

Anyways, dinner was a fine and varied buffet and the pans in the steam table were emptying about as fast as the staff could ferry in replacements. Afterwards, a wee speech and presentations by some of the town dignitaries; then the nightly info meeting at which highlights and options for the next day were outlined. Day 4 (already?!) would be fairly straightforward except for getting out of Truro and a single short/long decision soon after.

I don't remember sleeping like a log that night, so I must have.

NSTTTT Day4 Truro-Pictou (97km): a short one (and that's the long option; short option a mere 64km). First order of business in the morning was to lay in a sandwich or something for lunch, since we were advised there mightn't be many well-positioned places en route. So after a bit of milling around I followed TB (he seemed to know where he was going) and a few others to a recommended sandwich shop near Hub Cycle where I got something made up for me and then we carried on. Soon after I peeled off...
...to visit the marvelous Rock Garden up at the NS Ag College, Bible Hill, to feed my inner gardener and zen out with some plants for awhile. A bit late in the year to see much in the way of exotic blooms and too early for the autumn flush, but the foliages are always nicely varied and the layout amongst the rocks is fine too; it had been about 3 years since I was last there and the plantings had come along nicely. Spent some time talking to some of the volunteers who were working at removing, moving, thinning out, replanting, weeding... i.e general rock garden care and maintenance. After about 3/4 of an hour, back on the bike and on my way, solo but then I don't mind that. Initially rode through farmland, then into scrub and woodland when the road headed up the rocky spine between Truro and the north coast.

I figured to catch up with some of TNSTTTT eventually, but was somewhat surprised to see a good-sized gaggle of bikes pulled up at a little store at Earltown already, only about 30 km along. So I merged with them when they left. I figured to ride a bit with JC and M who ride a tandem, but it was an independent sort of machine which ran away on downhills (and even on the level bits) so I ended up sticking with some 2-pedaled bikes.

Pretty soon we were going down off the spine and got into more farmland and then suddenly could see the coast. Turning right onto the coastal highway we had to find a public beach for TB to get his feet in some saltwater (I'm not sure if it's a fetish or just a de rigeur thing). Easier said than done; all the roads leading in the direction of the water were conspicuously marked as "private"; even the un-aptly named "Public Beach Road" was signed "no public access" or something to that effect. The highway was right up close to the seashore so there were nice views wherever the rude signs didn't get in the way. Lots of nice tidy cottages. About Marshville, well-named, we finally came across the provincial beach park and in we went. Some went on to the water's edge across a long boardwalk protecting the dune from erosion by foot traffic, but most of us parked by some picnic shelters to have our lunch in a bit of shade; today was also bright and sunny, but not as hot as the past two days thanks to the breeze off the water. On leaving the park we got splintered, and I found myself riding with J even though it wasn't anywhere near the end of the day's ride. A nice variation. A little ways along we came to River John, a tidy town with a number of well-maintained heritage buildings, one of which was made over into a cafe and art shop. It had a couple of familiar-looking bikes sitting in front of it so we figured it would be a good place to stop for the tea and sweets which had been missing from my packed lunch. Excellent deserts. So I got some extras for a few days to come.

After River John the scenery got a bit ordinary although the road stayed close to the coast, but some of the time we were going through wooded areas. We were now a threesome, having joined up with D of Antigonish again (a few times through the day). We kept seeing signs for the ferry to PEI but it never seemed to get any closer. Yet somehow we missed a turnoff at Three Brooks and continued straight on along the Sunrise Trail to Pictou. The planned route would have taken us past the campground and been more circumspect and a bit longer for the inn traffic.

So here we are at the Braeside B&B in Pictou, a marvelous old building with zillions of intriguing knic-knacs and pieces of oriental art on display in the various common areas. And a rather abrupt driveway which caught me in the wrong gear (but I managed not to fall over stopped). More of what I would call an Inn rather than a B&B but I suppose the definition of the two is a legal thing. Once again the bikes would be able to party together overnight in a conference room cum bike barn.
Still rather early on a bright sunny day (3 in a row-- was this really Nova Scotia or had we somehow slipped into another province?) and suddenly for some reason I craved a soft ice-cream cone. So I headed down to the waterfront (tourist zone) expecting to find one. But before I did I was grabbed by the arm on passing the patio of a bar... The "short route" crowd were well ensconced at a table of empties (okay, not a lot of empties). But I was a man on a mission and not to be deterred even for a beer, so with the famous MacArthur salute ("I shall return"; recently revived, to my disgust, by a certain Armstrong) I went on my way. Success was achieved within 100m and boy did it go down good (the ice-cream, not the success (well, okay maybe that too, but I was less used to ice-cream-- though many would disagree with that little trumpet squeal)). Moustache suitably frosted I set my autopilot back into beer-seek, turned immediately towards the bar and joined the crowd at the table. Although beer is not the best chaser for ice-cream, it had been a short day and there was extra time to slay before supper so since my stomach was lined I doubled my daily beer allowance and actually had a couple!

Supper/dinner was laid on at the B&B (which I suppose made it temporarily an S&B&B). I broke my habit of eating with the same group I always did and picked another table at random, which also allowed me to progress my mental adjustment to French. Still not understanding a lot, but getting the gist of some passages of conversation. Occasional brief initiatives into English to include me in the conversation, much appreciated, but I was content to keep a listening brief. The second-language immersion did pretty much wear out my brain by the time supper was over, which helped me zonk out for the night since my body wasn't quite as tired as usual.

NSTTTT Day5 Pictou-Antigonish (130km) Breakfast was a bit of disorganized; I don't think the staff were quite up to the near-simultaneous descent of some 25 or so hungry cyclists trying to down a half-day's worth of calories and get on the road without spending too much time at it. But it came out all right in the end. I had breakfast at a table with A and G from Hubley, V and M from Quebec City, D from Winnipeg and others. It soon became apparent that A and V had some kind of a history together, as indeed all 5 mentioned there. V had a GPS on his bike, and the route out of Pictou and along through New Glasgow was said to be convoluted so I figured I could do worse than tag along with them. Suitably warned that they moved at a sedate pace, off we went. If you haven't already guessed, one of my minor objectives was to spend at least some time riding with as many of TNSTTTT riders as possible; in the end I don't think I managed to ride with everyone, but close to 80% wasn't too bad.
It was a fun morning, A and V verbally sniping at each other, the GPS not cooperating at setting a useful route. Somewhere along the way I got some of the story of their background and (given mine) I found it ironic that I had hooked my wagon to the star of a helicopter pilot as far as navigation was concerned. (more on that later, maybe; for now you'll just have to take my word on the irony). I didn't see much of the scenery; was concentrating on the hijinks. We made New Glasgow without too much damage to psyche and none at all to bodies or bikes, although once we crossed the bridge there it seemed like a hockey game almost broke out between A and V a few times in the course of deciding which roads to wind through. But, wind through we did, probably using a different route from anyone else, and once we were on the main road out of the place we stopped at a shopping center to get some fruit etc for lunch. We were soon joined by another group being guided by one of the local club cyclists, and then even the baggage van showed up too. When we set off again, I let my guides of the morning know that I'd be deserting them for a different group...
...which turned out to be the Express bunch, plus R and maybe one or two others. For the first 5 or so km the pace was set by our local guide, brisk but not a problem for me as tail-end charlie. Finally we came to an intersection where we had to follow the main highway (here, the 104) for about a km before turning off to the left. We were also entering it from the left, and there was a fair bit of 110kph traffic. Great "fun", less said about that hair-raising few minutes, the better. This was also the point at which the route options for the day diverged, those opting for the more direct, shorter inland route (83km vice 98km) turning off the 104 to the right.

Once off the 104 the pace picked up. First we had a bit of a hill to climb, and I was surprised by how much of a draft benefit I was getting from a group of 7 or 8 fast riders. I can't say I got sucked up the hill exactly, but I was still hanging on without yet needing any tooth-skin when we got to the top and the pace settled in fast for good. Other than R's, or sometimes SL's back tire (the order of riding was pretty much set in concrete in this group), the scenery was mostly woodlands, occasional houses or small farms and rolling hills. The hills were interesting; downhill and on the flats, with my small big chainring I was alternately pedaling like mad or coasting (also having to brake slightly on downhills), then as the road went up there would be a symphony of clicking and clunking as everyone else shifted to lower and lower gears while I went from pedaling too fast to pedaling comfortably without having to shift much and often not at all. It was great fun and quite invigorating! I really didn't think I would manage to hang on as long as I eventually did, especially since I was traveling with 4 waterbottles and a pannier with some gear in it, while they all had only 1 or 2 waterbottles and bikes essentially race-ready but with clincher tires/wheels. I think R was having a bit of a problem with how I was riding, for which I can't blame him; I kept over-lapping his back wheel with my front as I yo-yo'd about in my alternating twiddle/coast routine. I usually pulled wide when I overlapped but still it must have made him uneasy trying to keep track of where I was in case he had to manoeuvre if something happened ahead of him.

After awhile we saw the baggage truck pulled over at a lay-by so we stopped to fill bottles and take on a few snacks, except one of the girls continued on. The second fast group was also there, and left a bit before we did. Then suddenly our engine was getting back on the road too so we all scrambled to get on the wheels; once the formal part of the train was settled in (hangers-on like myself understandably on our own hook) the pace went back up and away we went. A bit harder than before.
Okay, I see what's going on here, there was a bit of a race to catch up with the Deuxieme Express. We did, and then after awhile they passed us again, and then we passed. Somewhere in there we caught up to the rabbit who hadn't stopped at the van, and shortly after that the pace of the Express went up a whole lot, the hammer well and truly down. I tried to hang with them but once my heart rate had gone anaerobic and stayed there for about 5 minutes with no sign of a slackening of pace I sat up; my plans for the day did not include riding to exhaustion with some 30 or 40km still to go!

So while I'm tooling around waiting for my heartrate to get down into recovery zone along comes 2e Express, inviting me to join with. Which was my intent anyways. This was a group with no single engine, but which formed a paceline and rotated through the lead. I stayed at the back trying to recover, but only lasted through one rotation of their set before I had to sit up from them too, my heartrate having settled not that much below anaerobic, so still not a workrate I could maintain with such a distance to go. Maybe if I had joined them the first time we passed... but we'll never know.

Now I'm riding solo again, somewhere near Lismore (probably just east of it), a lot slower and recovering. After all that effort, time to grab some lunch as soon as I find a likely-looking spot for a picnic. Conveniently, Arisaig Provincial Park hove into sight about then, or at least it's signboard did. Not too far into the park I found a nice grassy spot with a view (over the treetops) of the Strait and of the lighthouse maybe 50m below.

Lunch done, decided to do a wee explore of the park, see if I could get to the shore. So there I was on my roadbike going down walking paths carpeted with pine needles over tree roots, fairly definitely mountain-bike territory. Some pretty steep sections, and a few seeps to make life exciting. Just as I thought I must be getting close to sea level, I came out at a lookoff and discovered I was barely halfway down. The trail was also starting to tend more to round rocks and less to pine needles so that became my excuse to go back up; easier said than done but managed it without walking (that ridiculous 22x34 again!, not so ridiculous after all). Leaving the park I met one of our group going in.

I had hoped to find potable water in the park, but it's starting to seem like there is some liability issue with tap water, so there was none that I could find. Not long after leaving a sign points off to the right, to Arisaig Lighthouse. Well, gotta go there! Downhill of course, and somewhat further than I thought it would be, about a km. Fair-sized settlement on and around the shore in behind the breakwater, tidy little place, big fish processor that may or may not still be in operation. Lots of fishing boats. And a nice neat little lighthouse, with a huge fresh breeze blowing in off the cold Northumberland Strait. First thought, should have come down here for lunch. Second thought, too late now; besides, it might have blown away on its way to my mouth. However, there was a little canteen in the base of the lighthouse, and although their tap water wasn't fit for drinking they could sell me a few bottles of water. So that worked.
I was happy to have deviated from the route to go down there, and the climb back to the highway was a bit of okay too, with a few dozen kph of wind pushing me with all its might.

It seemed only moments until I came to Malignant Cove (what a name! and people live there!), the point at which the day's long route turned inland to Antigonish. But in his briefing last night, while I was paying attention, JC had mentioned the road out to and around Cape George with its coastal approach to Antigonish (the route dubbed the "Mini-Cabot Trail") and I flipped a mental 2-headed coin and went thataway. Distance added turned out to be about 32km.

The next 20km were mainly through woodlands, and not unlike what I'm used to around the Rawdon hills although with less elevation change once up to about 60m and with the odd distant glimpse of the Strait. Then finally there is a long slope up to about 100m at the Cape, and right at the top the view finally opens out. It was a fairly clear day so I could see across St George's Bay to the west coast of Cape Breton Island, in the vicinity of all the Judiques. The Cape sticks out a bit to the east so the road turns back on itself for the downhill; the drop-off is quite abrupt on this side, and sheltered from the winds so has become more built up and settled. With the result of marvelous scenic views on the way down. From the map it's about due south for some 30km to Antigonish from here although on the day I didn't know what the distance was, the road hugging the coast quite closely and at a low elevation with of course sharp rollers where inlets and streams interfere. About halfway along, around Morristown, the road veered a bit to the west, just enough to pick up a bit of headwind. At the town of Antigonish Harbour I started to get my hopes up, but I was off my map so didn't know that there was still another 10km in front of me, through the farmland along the water feature of Antigonish Harbour; pleasant countryside were it not that I was getting a bit tired out and didn't know where I was in relation to the map.

Just before Lanark I was down to just 1 more waterbottle so when I saw some older kids hanging out in a front yard I stopped to beg for water and to find out where Antigonish had been put; only about 10 minutes, said their dad; which I interpreted as about 5 miles, so I hadn't really needed the waterbottle filled but it was nice and cold so I preferred it over the bottle that had been warming in the sun since the lighthouse detour at lunchtime. After a short chat I was on my way again. Sure enough, soon it started to look like I was in the outskirts of something bigger and church spires were showing in clusters in the near distance. Then cresting a rise suddenly I was definitely into traffic and a sizable town. I got channeled onto main street, or at least a main street, a lot of quaint 3- and 4-story (maybe more, I wasn't counting) shops, many of brick, built up against each other. I still wasn't on my map so I stopped and randomly picked a pedestrian to ask for directions, which were simple enough except that some street names turned out not to be posted (big surprise). Back on the map at last I had just passed the turnoff to the campground where half of TNSTTTT were overnighting when I saw JC going the other way; did I know where I was going, he wondered, to which I could (finally) say yes; and so eventually came to the Homeward Inn. Somewhere in the last 30km it had clouded over with a threat of rain; I got in dry, but by the time I had showered and set out on the daily beer hunt ritual an intermittent light rain had started. There was still time to kill before supper so I installed the bike computer, a quick and easy job as it turned out. Except that the battery was dead. Oh well, get one at a hardware store tomorrow.
Supper that night was a very good buffet at a nearby Chinese restaurant. Then the nightly briefing. Still a bit early for sacking out, so I hunted down the lender of the bike computer to abuse him for lending defective equipment, all in jest of course.

That was a pretty full day, and tiring, but rewarding, so again no trouble sleeping until the alarm sounded off.

NSTTTT Day6 Antigonish-St. Peters (120km) The rain came and went before morning. Our motel was right next to a Tim Horton's so that was the first stop after breakfast, to lay in something for a lunch along the road. My plan for the day was to diverge from the route and do the loop into Pomquet (an extra 10km), a quiet and picturesque village I had been to during a previous and tragic interlude in my life a few years back, and then diverge again to take the coast road to Tracadie which I had also ridden during the Pomquet visit and knew to be another quiet and picturesque alternative.

Left Antigonish with D and JW, joined by a few others along the way. We stayed on a backroad as long as possible but eventually Hwy 104 was the only option for a stretch, a built-up section which was not particularly interesting although very hard on motorcyclists (or at least one specific one). After about 10km I created some confusion by pulling off to Pomquet at the Taylors Road intersection; the map showed the same quality of road going up the left side of the Pomquet peninsula but my memory was that it was gravel and indeed it was and I didn't really want to spend time on gravel if I could avoid it, hence the second turnoff. At Pomquet proper I turned left towards Monk's Head although I knew that in a short distance the pavement would give way to gravel roads. But it was a nice quiet morning, not a breath of air to ripple the stillness of the harbour mirror; mostly just a spread out residential area, lots of lawns, gardens, every house different from the neighbors. Just before I ran out of pavement I was passed by a NS Power line truck looking for something; apart from that I saw not a soul. I turned around at the gravel's edge and went back. Passed by the line truck a second time but thankfully that was the last I saw, heard and smelled of it. At Pomquet church I took the left fork so as not to completely retrace my tracks of the morning and continued amongst small farms and residences towards the highway. Just before I got there I was surprised to encounter D, SH, S, and D&K and a few more; they had mistakenly turned in at the 3rd Pomquet turnoff and I guess if I hadn't been there they would have gone on to near Monk's Head before realizing things weren't quite right. So I got them all turned around and headed back to the 104, which we followed down through the cleft holding the Pomquet River in place; up the other side I called my farewell to the group and took the next left towards Bayfield. Next thing I knew I had an unexpected tail as everyone decided to follow me, although a few decided after a brief conflab to go back to the promulgated route. So then we were 6. It was great to ride with my companions of Day1 and the back end of Day2 again, and we all enjoyed the route as it passed through a varied terrain of woodlots and farms with lots of open views of the coast. And a bit of a tailwind to keep things rolling easily.

We had been told that the Cape Jack/ Havre Boucher loop was another nice ride which didn't add much to the distance of the day, so I was planning to go that way too but missed the westerly turnoff. A bit later, coming up on an intersection we had our first and only "inattentive motorist" encounter of the tour, which given the number of cyclist-kilometers we rode was quite surprising. A car which stopped at the intersection then pulled out across our path to turn left onto the highway. For some reason there was just something about the way the car approached the intersection, so that all of us had suspected something would happen and we had all slowed down by some form of telepathy; we were able to brake in good time and without having any wheel-bumps. It was a bit of a head-shaker but no words or gestures were initiated or exchanged. Not that I make a habit of them anyways, although sometimes a hot word or fist-shake does escape me in a moment of panic.

A few km later, a sign for Havre Boucher pointing off to the left jogged my memory so I dodged down that road. Another lovely small descent into a picturesque little harbour village, which I recognized as the place where my mom and I had gathered sea lavender flowers during her first visit to NS (and long before I got into gardening or the plant nursery game). But this was when I discovered that I had missed the western entry to the peninsula, so it became a very short out-and-back diversion rather than a loop. Turning around at the end of pavement, I discovered that D and SH and S had decided to follow me, even though I had told them earlier that I no longer knew where I was going, Tracadie having marked my furthest foray east by bike before today. I guess they were following me out of curiosity (perhaps appropriately, since I was wearing my Curious George jersey), since they said they had liked the last road I led them onto well enough to see where else I went! We all enjoyed this little detour too.

We were now nearing the causeway and after a few bridged crossings over the 104 a nice long downhill run took a sudden hard left and emptied onto the 104, rather rudely I thought; I hate turning all that nice gravitational kinetic energy into brake heat! We went into a couple of directions for lunch, D and SH and I heading directly across the causeway and then stopping in the shade of a tree in a churchyard in Port Hastings, with a view across the causeway. A good location, well-spotted by my companions.

After eating I headed over to the main Cape Breton Tourism office to make some changes to my itinerary for Sunday night. JC and M showed up there too, and I discovered that although maybe not everybody in Cape Breton knows everyone else on the Island, a heck of a lot of them know JC! A busy guy. By coincidence while I was in the Tourist Bureau D&K came up with us and so our group somehow re-coalesced for the most part. D of D&K was having some problems with the chain coming off his chainrings so we had a few unscheduled stops. The other D did a bit of adjusting to it and that seemed to help at the time although it turned out to be temporary.

Through Port Hawkesbury: quite a change to that town over the couple of decades since I was last there. Where Hwy 4 and 104 diverged, we went with 4 (but found out that night that 104 had more coastal scenery and hadn't been that bad for traffic, the opposite of the usual case). The scenery along 4 for the next 30 or so km was fairly unbroken woodland, and hot. Eventually we got back into coastal areas, an improvement in the view for the last 20km of the day. We added in a little detour to River Bourgeois, another nice little inlet and picturesque (sorry if I overuse that word...) village.

And so eventually we come to St. Peters, where I stopped at the hardware and drugstore to get a battery for the bike computer (no luck: it needed one of the less common camera batteries of the pre-digital era) while the rest of the group continued on to the campground at the Provincial Park just up the road. My mission failed, I carried on to the Bras D'Or Lakes Inn, where us softies were accommodated. It's quite the place, looks small from the highway but there is a lot more to it out of sight. Bikes in a common room here too.

As before, riding with today's group had involved a higher work rate than I could comfortably maintain over consecutive days, so I was a bit tired although far from unhappy, and with a good sense of accomplishment.

After cleaning up and a wander into town to buy some groceries for the next day's lunch, tried to find my way to the bar. I could see several of TNSTTTT sitting out on a deck with some cool frosty ones but I was darned if I could figure out how to get there (failed "Sailor 101" that day!). Eventually got it figured out and joined them.

Dinner that night was special, a magnificent and delicious buffet with numerous gourmet dishes. And then the deserts... This being our last night, it served as a farewell banquet so all the campground gang joined us as well. Met a few more of the road gang that I hadn't talked to or ridden with yet (yes, there were still a few). It was a great evening all around, and I think the only night that I had trouble getting to sleep-- too full; too much good food. Ahh, the trials and tribulations of the roving cyclist.

NSTTTT Day7 St. Peters-Sydney (118km) Today we had a massed start. Not by design, but because the swing bridge in the highway, across the St Peters canal and locks connecting the Bras D'Or Lakes with the Atlantic, started opening just as some of the first of us got to it (it was only a matter of metres from the Inn), and was still closed by the time nearly everyone had set off. There may have been a few earlybirds escaped across the bridge before or late starters but it sure seemed like all of the soft gang were there. A number of the campers came up their road which paralleled the canal on the far side while we were standing around on our side, and waited for us.
During our leisurely start I was chastised for not having worn my Curious George jersey again; apparently some folks were planning a camera ambush... But I'm sure anyone downwind of me appreciated that I didn't wear the same jersey two days in a row.

There were a couple of little yachts going each way, and as typical yachtsmen didn't bother untieing their lines until after all the opposite traffic had passed them. Well, they weren't in a hurry so why should the road traffic be? Ahem. There was also a pretty huge luxury yacht inbound, I'm guessing about 2000Tonnes with the bar and wine cellar fully stocked, somewhat less otherwise. Very nice. Crew only, no owners or other passengers aboard at the time. Some rumor later that it belonged to some McCartney character who was giving a concert somewhere soon, but I wouldn't know about that.

Today there was again a choice of two basic routes, one (85km) along the shores of Bras D'Or Lake which proved to be the more scenic route but was reported to be clogged with another construction zone involving planing and tar again. The alternative was coastal until just past Fourchu and then struck off overland to Sydney (118km). I still didn't like the idea of sharing the road with messy construction crews, so soon after crossing the canal veered right at the turnoff to the coast. We were about a half-dozen by then, but there were some coastal groups ahead of us and some behind.

About the time we turned off we were attacked by a spatter of rain. The sky looked like we were experiencing the beginning of rather more wetness so on with the rain jackets (it didn't look like full rain gear would be needed). But it fizzled out after a few km's and I stopped unnoticed to shed the jacket, which took rather longer than expected (lack of practice? I hadn't used it since Shelburne) and then I had a nice long tailchase to catch up the group, which fortunately was at a sedate pace (I needed an easy day after the efforts of the previous two). Eventually they stopped at an intersection to shed a layer or two as well, and I came back up to them.

Most of our route was through woodlands, with occasional coastal stretches and scattered villages. The weather remained overcast and cool, a nice change from the heat of the past week and I never thought you'd catch me saying that.

A couple of times along the way the Express zoomed past, apparently going too fast to negotiate some of the intersections where a change of road was required. But they did cover a lot more road than we did.

Between Framboise and Fourchu we were looking for a spot with a bit of a view for a lunch stop. Coming to a salt marsh we spied the baggage truck ahead. That made our choice clear; rather than sitting comfortably in a grassy spot we mostly lunched on our feet hanging around the truck, exhibiting all the individual instinct of a sheep in a flock; I don't know why. But there was that nice view over the marsh just yards down the road.

Lesson learned at lunch: I had bought a package of pre-sliced Provolone cheese, the slices separated by little waxpapery dividers. But even though it wasn't a particularly warm day to that point the stuff managed to fuse into a solid chunk around the edges of the waxpapery slips. So much for slices!

While we were there a few small groups consolidated and during the rest of the day we shuffled around amongst the same several riders, separating, merging, reseparating differently etc and in my mind I checked off a few more names in the "rode with" column.

Soon after lunch we passed a nice little church with a large porch and a view over some water, the exact spot we had given up looking for not so long ago. One of Murphy's Laws of cycling I'm sure. Further along at a lakeside village we passed a big birthday party, the yard crowed with little kids in their party clothes, a pony saddled for rides... We were all a bit keen to crash the party, the guys looking for cake and ice cream, the gals more interested in a pony ride (were they serious? after a week on a bicycle saddle?) Discretion being the better part of valour, we talked a good talk but did nothing but ride on by.

Progressing inland, we once again encountered the baggage truck stopped by the roadside, with a Game Warden also parked there and talking to F. I don't recall, if I ever knew!, if there was anything other than curiosity going on (visions of "lets see what you've got in the truck", since it was still full with everyone's baggage as well as snacks and drinks. Could have been interesting.) However as one bike after another pulled in perhaps the Warden decided he was outnumbered or more likely he had other business, so away he went. So then we did.

Along the inland route the rock was a bit crumpled so there were a number of longer climbs and descents. Going up one of these I was riding alongside one of the women and was a bit alarmed at her gasping and rasping breath and suggested she might want to ease off a bit. A bit unfair of me, talking to someone who obviously can't talk back... After cresting the hill and getting her breath back she let me know that she had only one lung, since birth. I was, and still am, astounded and impressed that a person would take on TNSTTTT with only one; another of the few quiet heroes one encounters in a lifetime, in my view. (I haven't used her initials here as I don't know if she wants people to hear about this second-hand)

As we were getting closer to Sydney we started to split up a bit more. TB and D&K had drawn ahead by a fair bit, and suddenly as an uphill came in view I decided that I would jump across to join them (a slow-motion jump, no doubt, but it's all relative!) So off I went. Some initial good progress, then they crested the hill and by the time I got up there they were out of sight again (or still, if you want to get technical). But when I got to the bottom, there they were, just partway up the next one and closer than when I had started. Funny how hills do that. So another big burst and eventually I caught up, not quite done in but ready for a rest. The four of us kept on together the rest of the way to Sydney.

D's chainrings started giving him grief by shedding the chain again, and although he had had advice and help from a number of the riders I eventually convinced myself that maybe I might have some insight into it. I'm pretty sure he was sick of advice by now (I would have been) but he was good natured about it and tried a few things that I asked of him. After that I had a look at the shifter mechanism and concluded that either the cable or the cable housing was rusted or dirty which meant the spring was unable to move the derailleur inwards smoothly (the cable remained partly slack when putting the shift lever into the 1 position). I had seen this before on my mountain bike and also on the bike of one of the CCC riders. The only solution would be, as far as I could see, to replace the shifter cable and cable housing. I don't know if he did that since we haven't crossed paths since that day, but I hope he got it solved. I haven't written this to embarrass anyone, but rather to point out a maintenance aspect that gets overlooked; most of us automatically look to the adjusting screws and barrel adjusters when a derailleur starts acting up and forget about hidden corrosion effects. And that includes bike shops. So I hope someone who reads this will remember it and save themselves some grief some day. Okay, enough soapboxing! On with the ride...

Eventually we came up to the Sydney Bypass highway, hard to miss, and then into the suburbs of Sydney itself. After which it wasn't long until we got to the downtown area and the Day's Inn. The campers were sited about 8km away by road, but barely further than across the harbour as the seagull flies, in JC&M's back yard. Although most of us weren't heading home until the next day, a few left soon after arriving so the farewells and tears and choked throats were in full swing by the time we pulled into the parking lot. We were there, we'd done it, 7 days and the length of the province on a bike, some 860km, more for some, less for others.

After checking in I managed to lock my key card in the room almost immediately. Apparently it wasn't in record time, or at least the girls at the front desk were seeking to ease my embarrassment, but in short time I had a new key card in my hand. Didn't find the first one until the next morning; I had managed to put something on it which kept it out of sight despite a search.

Somehow that evening we discovered that MA from Edmonton had a bike computer that used the same battery as the one GB had loaned me. And, since he was done riding for a few days he kindly gave me his battery.

Supper was interesting; I was at a table with A and V who were back at it again (or more likely had never stopped). From the conversation I started to get the sneaking suspicion that A had piloted not just any helicopter but navy Sea Kings. And flew them off the decks of RCN ships at that. As it happens, during my previous life I had been an Anti-Submarine Air Controller, a type of minor air-traffic controller who sits in a ship and directs helicopters and other ASW aircraft in their tactical employment by the fleet. And thus, after almost 20 years of ignoring that previous life I had cycled for a week across NS in order to resurrect the old airman/sailor rivalry of the wardrooms with a bit of the old jesting in a hotel dining room in Sydney. Strange how life goes. Of course formerly there were a lot of barbed arrows in the jesting (and sometimes spectacular fireworks), depending on who the personalities were, but now it was all in fun.

And thus we came to the parting of ways, although not until breakfast.

A brief retrospective on the group tour: Everything was very well organized and the accommodations were stupendous for the price we paid. Traffic, with that one exception, was very good to us. The riding was great, and we had the best week of weather of the summer to that point, almost an inverse of preceding weeks. And of the riders themselves, well, this was such an easy group to get along in; everyone was easy-going and comfortable to talk with, some more so than others of course but there were no grouches or slouches. It was a fantastic experience and my only regret is that I didn't resurrect my ailing French during the preceding winter/spring.

The fun continues with my riding back home via the Cabot Trail... check the archive index for more if this is the bottom of your page.

TNSTTTT and Then Some-- (4) The Cabot Trail

2009-12-31T07:56:00.001-08:00

Solo Day4 Sydney-Bras D'Or (38km + 8)(note: the map for today's route is the first section of the map at Solo Day5) Today started with packing for Yaking, and then lingering farewells over breakfast. I was in no rush to hit the road because I had planned a recovery day, just a short slow easy jaunt. Riding to Ingonish Beach I would be facing the steep side of Cape Smokey and although I knew I could do a short 14% slope I wasn't sure what would happen if I had to do that for a half hour; therefore I didn't want to get to Cape Smokey at the end of a long day on the road, which would be the case if I went straight through from Sydney. And I had been ten days without a true recovery day, and it was time.

So my plan was, once underway, to detour to JC&M's for a short visit with whatever campers were still there, and with them. A bit wobbly heading out of the hotel lot with Yak hanging off the back, but by the time I got to the camper's rest it was going well. More extended farewells; and it turned out I wasn't the only one cycling home, but the other chap was going via Baddeck so our roads were divergent. Had a bit of a look around M's excellent garden and passed a pleasant half-hour or so with her and JC and was on my way at a slow, sedate pace keeping my heartrate way down in the recovery zone. 29km to the motel I had arranged in Bras D'Or, only one missed turn: well, actually an extra turn to make sure that I didn't have to get off the highway at that point (easier to get off one turnoff too early than to go on one extra and have to go back).

The weather was sunny and warm. Most of the route was on the main highway (because for some reason I had route 125 (becoming 105 the other side of North Sydney) recommended to me and I never thought to look at a map and find 305 as an alternative) and a bit dull scenery-wise as a result, but closer to Bras D'Or it got a bit coastal and more interesting.

Once I got checked in (MacNeil's Cabins) I went across the highway to find some lunch at the little diner there. After lunch I got bored so I took the bike out for a slow spin along the shore of the lake, 4km each way, the road almost perfectly flat. Nice scenery, and little packets of vacationers swimming in the lake or sitting in the shade; houses and cottages on one side of the road, and a thin strip of shrubbery and beach on the lake side of the road. After that I finally did some reading in a book that had been hiding in my baggage since leaving home. Planning for an early return to the road in the morning I went to bed early and slept fairly well, despite being better rested than at any time in the past 10 days.

Solo Day5 Bras D'Or-Ingonish Beach (91km + 10) Sydney to Ingonish Beach
Find more Bike Rides in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia (note: map includes yesterday's short trek and doesn't show the shortcut via the ferry) A grey day with showers in the forecast. I had to backtrack about 400m to a truck stop to get a breakfast, but it was worth it. The waitress mentioned that the weather was always different on the other side of Kelly's Mountain, which was about 20km into the day. Foolishly I thought that might mean a chance of clearing. I continued along 105 as the most direct path. It was a 2-lane highway now, less traffic than yesterday, and through greener countryside. Or maybe that was just because it was drizzling a bit; I had put on my rain jacket on leaving after breakfast, but it was warm enough for bare legs, normal (fingerless) gloves and just a cap under my helmet. One geographical note, I'm actually on Bouladerie Island for the first hour or this day; on the east of it there is a very narrow ocean connection to the Bras D'Or Lakes (which are actually salty although not as much as the ocean), and on the western side is the main channel connecting those bodies of water, a bit over 1km wide and with a major suspension bridge.

The closer I got to the bridge the heavier the drizzle and the lower the cloud ceiling. From the bridge there was no visible clue that a 275m high mountain existed hereabouts (the road would summit at a lower altitude) but it was there. I had been warned about Kelly's Mountain by one of the CCC'ers, but it didn't seem to amount to much on the day. The fact that I was riding in a fog that only left me about 200m of visibility might have hidden the full effect from me, but my legs were unimpressed in a good way. I did stop shortly after starting to climb, to pack away my fogged-up cycling specs in favor of my normal glasses and to switch on a set of bike lights so no motor vehicles would have an excuse to flatten me from either side.

The view from the top was no different from that of the way up, which is to say, nada. I did notice that somewhere along the climb the fog had started to include bigger and more frequent rain drops, and on the descent it got to raining quite hard. Yep, definitely different weather on the "other side" of that mountain. I was enjoying the rain so much that on the way down I decided not to take the road around the bottom of St. Anns Harbour but rather to take the Englishtown ferry and save myself about 15-20km.

I have to assume the provincial government is hoping to phase out the ferry, and are discouraging traffic by the abysmal state of the road attaching it to the TransCanada Hwy(105). A couple of times I nearly changed my mind to go back... but sanity prevailed.

The ferry landing seemed to be the focus of the rain, and I was managing a pretty good impersonation of a drowned rat by the time I got there. Of course the vessel was on the other side of the inlet when I got there, so I used the dead time to pump bilges, and then stood outside under a narrow roof overhang wringing out my gloves (why? good question). I had read on a website describing the Cabot Trail as a cycling adventure that the ferry was a tiny little thing for for about 3 cars, and that the passage was only a hundred yards or so, narrow enough almost to jump a bike across, but it was not so. The ferry was a decent size with a capacity of 20 or so cars and the gap it covered was more like a cable (nautical distance), 200 yards in landlubber vocabulary. It was actually shifting quite a bit of traffic that day, full and with a waiting line on the easterly trip and almost full on the westerly. Motor vehicles had to pay to use it (or at least their drivers did) but bikes were free, and so were Yaks. Motorcycles-- I don't know.

The western landing was at the tip of a 2-3km long narrow spit blocking most of the width of the inlet. Beautifully flat and open, although towards the base of it as it started to widen there became room for some trees and houses/cottages.
Finally emerging on the Cabot Trail, nice gentle slopes here through wooded and sparsely-populated areas, the rain started to gradually let up. A few roadside signs advertising the forthcoming presence of restaurants started to crop up, which reminded my stomach that lunch would be a good idea, so when one of those places actually hove into sight I pulled in. A couple of other bikes, well-loaded, parked against the building, so I wasn't the only fool on the road. There was a good bakery integrated with the restaurant too; great sweets. But they are probably still trying to dry up the puddles I left on their floor.

It was easy to spy the two cyclists in the dining area, and rather than eat alone I asked if I could join them. A couple of pleasant young guys, from the Gaspe and the Madeleine Islands; one of them quite athletic and a keen swimmer as well as cyclist, the other not so much. They were camping their way around the Trail with no particular itinerary, and overnighted in graveyards; interesting concept; I guess the grass would be smooth, no roots or rocks to poke at them; and the "neighbors" would be quiet (or at least if they weren't it would be too late to do anything about it). They had about finished eating when I joined them and after a bit of conversation were on their way again but it was a nice interlude. As they left, another group of 4 cyclists came in and took the next table so I talked with them a bit too but nothing memorable stuck in my brain.

Lunch over, back on the road. The rain had stopped but it was still overcast and cool enough to keep the raincoat on just in case. The same pleasant scenery and road. Along the way at one of the many coves I saw a bike standing alone amongst the trees; it looked like the swimmer's machine so I guessed he was rinsing the rainwater off with a salty dip in the ocean (how he would get the salt off was any body's guess, I for one would not be happy in my cycling shorts after a dip in the sea. But maybe I am just too old to appreciate all that life has to offer (it has been said...)

This seems as good a place as any to break off for a bit and write about one of the cycle-touring planning tools that I used and explain how it can give false impressions. I used MapMyRide.com to plan my daily routes and decide on where to stop, and to get an idea of the difficulties of the terrain where I was unsure. When I first mapped Sydney to Ingonish Beach the profile view showed slopes of 3 to 4% maximum going up Cape Smokey. However, I had been told by GB who had ridden the Trail a few years ago that that mountain had slopes to 13% of so on the south side, a pretty huge and significant difference in terms of the time it would take to make the climb and the effort and gearing required. So then I created a new route of only a few km in length, from just before the bottom to just after the top, and this time the profile shown by MapMyRide was very clearly showing 12% grades (I'm including links to the closeups of the main climbs so you can see this effect by comparing it's elevation view to the overall map for the day). Examining the results, it looked to me as though the software breaks whatever route you make into about 40 pieces of roughly equal length, and seems to use only the elevation data at those points when it draws a profile and calculates slopes and total ascent for the route; although all the intermediate data is available to the software, it is just ignored whether for issues of website computing overhead or Internet bandwidth I don't know. So, for anyone using MapMyRide for route planning: if altitudes and gradients matter to you, find out where the hills/mountains are on your route and then make separate little routes through them to find out what the terrain will really be. They do have a Beta version of a new version available to try (horrendously slow on older computers like mine) which may amend this issue to use many more data points in determining elevation profiles, but I haven't used the new version beyond the one attempt that determined that it was too slow on my computer.
And now back to our story...

Coming at last to the preparatory ups and downs which became Cape Smokey, I caught up with the other of the pair; confirmation that the one had stopped for a swim. The two of us went on together, neither being in a hurry.
At the base of the climb there is a bit of a dip and then a sharp hairpin which we slowed for; as soon as the road straightened it pitched upward at at least 10% and putting the power (not that I have a lot of it) to the pedals from almost a standstill caused my rear wheel to shift forward on the drive side, jamming the rear tire against the frame left-hand chainstay (a problem I have sometimes had since getting the forks re-chromed even though the quick-release was done up as tight as I can, although it hadn't done it in quite some time). Not the best time for this event, but I managed to unclip a foot in time to not fall over. (that's not a split infinitive, I am merely exploring the uses of the newly-minted infinite verb "to not") Adjusted and retightened the rear wheel. Now for the fun part, starting from a dead stop on this nasty slope; and can I do it without the wheel slipping again? Uh, nope, not the first time. Second try, just about went into the ditch as the bike went where it wanted at first but eventually I got up steerage way and managed to avoid the drop-off by inches, and then it was all good for the rest of the climb up Cape Smokey. We took it nice and slow (was there a choice?!) and steady and it turned out to be not so difficult after all, 8kph on the steepest parts and heartrate well below anaerobic. Not too long after starting the climb we found out just how low the cloud ceiling was as we entered a mist which reduced visibility to about 500m (less at the top) but it took several minutes to go that far anyways, so it didn't affect our speed, just the lack of a view.

And total silence. Nice.

At the top we stopped at the entrance of the picnic park to wait for the swimmer who soon after emerged from the mist (cycling, not swimming, the mist was not quite thick enough for that although it does make a fine mental image). Then we all went into the park for a bit of a look around (at the fog), a bit of a breather, some snacks, and a bit more idle talking. There weren't many vehicles in there, and although a few came in while we were there it seemed like people were expecting to find some kind of a view despite the mist on the highway, but went away quickly and disappointed in the constancy of fog.

It is an unfortunate fact that the picnic park near the summit of Cape Smokey is down a bit from the highway, otherwise it might just be more popular with cyclists. Having battled gravity to win the 350-odd metres up, giving away a few of them to get into the park is a lot easier than getting those few back again once cooled down. Maybe not so much for youngsters though. The downhill was nice and gentle, lots of long straight sections, most of the curves quite gentle and at one point I allowed myself to go above 40kph... Yak still stable... let it go a bit more... still stable... 50kph still stable but uh, getting a bit nervous so let's just feather the rear brake a bit and keep it below 50. Maybe this builds overconfidence...

Here's a closeup of the road at Cape Smokey; the elevation profile is the interesting part. Much steeper going north than southbound. mtn: Cape Smokey closeu
Find more Bike Rides in Cabot Trail, Nova Scotia

The sun was coming out as we made the approach to Ingonish Beach, different from what I remembered (not the sun, the approaches), but after about 18 years it would have been more surprising if they hadn't been. Soon enough found the B&B where I had my reservation and said farewell to the camping pair. The place had formerly been an inn with a good dining room which I was somewhat counting on for supper; darn. Not the best accommodations: my room was small, overpriced and stuffy so the first order of business (after cleaning and oiling Banani's chain! interestingly when I asked for some paper towels or rags they actually had a box of rags just for cyclists, although the receptionist said too many cyclists were inclined to use their room towels rather than asking for rags; which doesn't do our collective reputation any good)... ahem, the first order of business... was opening the window and door and setting up a fan to blow the place out. Then shower.

Which was when I discovered the special quality of that area's road grime. When I pulled my socks off there was a distinct ring, about 1 to 2mm thick, of dirt which in washing down my legs had been dammed by the cuff of the socks. No big deal, thinks I-- until I try to wash it off. Not just dirt, but a high proportion of heavy oil!! so instead of washing off it just smeared around (a lot) and forced me to ruin a perfectly good facecloth on it with some hard scrubbing with very hot water and soap. Note to self, pack a little bottle of grease-remover next time... My socks, once blazing white, are still a shade of grey more than 15 launderings later.

Outside, something still didn't look right though. We had always stayed in the Highland Bungalows in the past, and I thought they should have been just across the highway and down a bit. There had been a beach at a small lake somewheres about; since it was still too early for supper and the sun was out I got directions to it (pretty basic and just about where I thought it should be, behind the RCMP station. Which brought back visual memories and I could then locate the Highland Bungalows site. Not a stick of them remained, and the cabin sites were home to thickets of small saplings of maybe 10 years. Which explained why I hadn't been able to find them in the Tourist Guide when I wanted to make a reservation.

The area around the little beach was still being mowed regularily, and the place was deserted except for me. So I had a brief swim and then laid out in the sun for awhile, then headed back to hunt down a dinner. I poked my head into the couple of local eating places but they didn't appeal to me. I decided then to go to the Glenghorm, up the road in Ingonish proper; I had had a good dinner there at least once in the past. Got out the bike, sans Yak, decided to look it up. It was further than I expected, about 5km, but the scenery was familiar, just not as compressed spatially. The usual initial bike wobbling while I got used to being de-Yak'ed. After entering the National Park and passing the turnoff to the Keltic Lodge, there was a bit of a downhill with a curve at the bottom by a church and cemetery, just before the golf course. Didn't seem like much either going or coming back. Remember it...

After an excellent meal and the bike ride back, watched some tv and then I turned in.

Solo Day6 Neil's Harbour-Cheticamp (106km) The map shows the route as originally planned...Ingonish Beach to Cheticamp
Find more Bike Rides in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia The "breakfast" part of this B&B was a bit haphazard and not looking very promising until I unearthed some microwaveable oatmeal packets hidden in a cupboard and then had to figure out how to make the microwaves in the gadget that was meant to make them. Not a great start to the day. It got worse.
Another wobbly start to the day as I readjusted (I thought) to the Yak. When I got to the little hill down to the church I remembered it as being no big deal, not too steep or fast. But. Whether it was due to the extra weight of the loaded Yak or my not having been paying attention the night before or not being totally adapted to the Yak yet or just being overconfident...
... I was riding happily along with my hands on the bar tops, nowhere near the brake levers which I didn't think I would need and ignoring the speedometer when the Yak started to wobble (indicating about 35kph) at about the same time that I realized I needed to slow for the corner. Happily turned into haplessly because with the wobble I couldn't take my hands off the bars to move them to the brakes which would then allow me to control the wobble (wobbles could also be controlled by pedaling faster to pull the Yak into straightening up, but the upcoming corner negated that tactic here). I quickly realized that I was well and truly ... uh, that my goose was well and truly cooked as the wobble grew in magnitude and then I was plowing a furrow through the gravel shoulder subsequent to a probable brief encounter with pavement, headed just about directly at the church door, although it might have been better to be aimed a bit to the left for direct entry to the graveyard. Not that I was thinking about anything at that point anyways. With the wobble of the Yak torquing the back of the bike frame I didn't so much fall to the deck as was thrown down forcefully. Hit pretty hard.

I would have made a poor American (US-type), getting into a vehicle accident with no one to blame but myself and no one to sue, and thus failing to contribute to the significant lawyerly part of the GNP...

I don't remember losing consciousness (does anyone) but the wheels were still spinning when eventually I sat up. But first I just lay there stunned and with the breath knocked out of me, a bit of shock starting to set in; eyes open, watching the blue sky and doing a bit of internal stocktaking. Nothing seemed to be hurting too much (yet) so eventually I tried sitting up and when that worked okay got to my feet; the fact that I could stand at all in gravel and wearing road-style cycling shoes must mean something even though it was a bit unsteadily. While I was looking down at my legs and arms for a bit more stocktaking, and having a look at my bike and the waterbottles and contents of my back pockets scattered around the scene of the crime, I started thinking along the lines of "okay, this is not good, I need help, I'm not getting back on the bike, best bet is to find my running shoes wherever I put them in the Yak pack which I am not going to enjoy fighting with, and walk back to the park entrance so the rangers there can take over. Assuming I can walk. Might be easier to go in socks than to find the running shoes..." et cetera. But before I got up the motivation to actually move much the cavalry started to arrive in the form of motorists pulling in to see if I needed help; one of them had passed me going the other way while I was just about critical with the speed wobble and although he didn't see me crash he figured that I would, turned around at the first chance to come back and see what he could do. Also a park ranger in a pickup truck with a canoe in back came along and stopped. How convenient that there was that nice wide gravel apron in front of the church, so at least we weren't blocking the road (not that anyone drove past without stopping anyways. And traffic was pretty light at that hour of the day).
Some just stopped to lend moral support but a couple had first aid training and bandages and started right in to help, checking to see if my mind was there, checking my helmet to see if I had hit my head (somehow no, which I never did understand since I don't have the greatest neck muscles), checking my breathing, and then, when it seemed like the internal stuff was either unaffected or hiding it, set in to bandage the obvious wounds. I was sufficiently there to tell them not to use my waterbottles to clean the wounds, since they were all filled with sports drinks containing sugars and salts. No point in feeding any microorganisms that had found their way in.

So I ended up with bandages on my left hand, which had a deep puncture where a rock had opened a gap in the seam of the palm of my glove; on my left knee which was also punctured as well as scraped up pretty deeply and bleeding a lot (although not dangerously so); and on my right knee and elbow which just had a few scrapes each. Many thanks to all who helped; but I didn't get any names. As soon as the bandaging was finished and I had assured the ranger that I could sit in a car, my bike and Yak got packed into the back of the Parks vehicle and I pulled myself into the cab with a bit of a push to assist, and we headed off to the nearest hospital, which was at Neil's Harbour, about 30km up the coast. So now you know why yesterday's ride ended at Ingonish Beach and today's ride starts at Neil's Harbour. Which sort of gives away the ending of the story of the next couple of hours...

The ranger kept me talking all the way to the hospital which kept me from concentrating on my hurts other than finding out what they were. Good. Apart from my diaphragm getting a bit tight for about the first 5 minutes after getting in the cab, some of the shock was starting to wear off and I was being encouraged by a few body parts to do a bit more stocktaking, which fit in well with the main theme of the conversation.
Soon enough we got to the hospital and I was escorted into the Emergency section; after making sure I was coherent and getting cared for the ranger unloaded Banani and Yak and gear and wished me well. Thanks for the excellent care and support, much appreciated.

It didn't take very long before my paperwork was started and I was looked at by a doctor. Gentle poking and prodding, 20 Questions several times over... By now I was aware of some injuries that had been hidden from the first-aiders by my clothing. The worst was my right shoulder by now, although I admit I had initially decided from the minor scraping of right elbow and knee that that side had mainly stayed out of the accident. Hah!! The doctor put my right arm through some range-of-motion tests and then manipulated it, declaring eventually that nothing was broken but that it might have a slight dislocation. We discovered a large patch of not too deep road rash on the back of that shoulder, and I assumed that landing there was what had caused the injury to the joint. Also discovered road rash on the right hip, some of it quite deep, and down the right thigh. With each discovery I became more perplexed as to how exactly I had landed or rolled or skidded or whatever it was I did. But I hadn't bothered to make a mental note of where I was in relation to the bike before I disturbed the accident scene by standing up, and I can't honestly say that I was lying on my back either, although I was by the time I opened my eyes. So the mode of my landing will remain a mystery (and will get even more confused in a week or so).

There was no X-ray tech on duty there that morning and the doctor felt no indication of broken bones, so no pictures were taken, His immediate advice to me was to call my support vehicle and get driven for the rest of my tour. But Banani was my only support vehicle; he found that kind of shocking. Nor were there any buses running up there or I might have opted for one right off the bat. Hmm. I got a prescription for an antibiotic which he advised me to use if I noticed infection setting in, but I figured that I would use it pre-preemptively right from the start just in case. I told him I would see how it went on the bike when I rode to the pharmacy ( a few km away in the town proper) and if I didn't feel it was possible to continue I would try to find a ride to Sydney to get a bus for the rest of the trip home.

Anyways, doctor's exam finished, into a treatment room for mummification, just about. The wounds were rinsed off with a body-temperature saline spray from a can, a very weird non-feeling, non-stick pads placed over them, and then bandaging and medical tape applied liberally to hold everything in place. They did a nice professional job of it, and everyone was very friendly and helpful and supportive.

Before I left, I changed into a set of clean shorts and jersey. And then realized I didn't even know if Banani was rideable. But I should have known, after all the places we've been together over the years and even though I left him alone in the basement for 8 years and put his nose out of joint when I got the aluminum road bike, that Banani wouldn't let me down. The saddle was a bit crooked, easily fixed, and the handlebars askew, ditto, and the left brake hood twisted on the bars, ditto. Other than that, a few superficial scrapes (mostly to the brake hood and saddle) and knocks from flying stones. Gears and wheels good, brakes good, even Yak was good except for a bit of scraping on the left side. (3 months later I discovered that the dvd drive of the laptop computer I had been lugging around was dead, which was probably also from that accident). In the miscellaneous properties department, the hardshell glasses case with my normal specs in it, which I carry in my left back pocket, seemed to have taken a big hit and the "hinge" was sprung and stretched; but the contents were okay. Maybe it is the reason I had no road rash on my left hip; but no bruise either? curious. The other stuff in that pocket, an emergency Powerbar which had been there for about a year and had acquired a shape unlike any bar ever seen, a gel pack, and some hydration packets, were all okay. Center pocket: banana, wallet, some coins: all good. Right hand pocket, 2 bananas: well, they were about ready for use in a smoothie, banana bread or banana cream pie; and yes the skin of one had split so the pocket itself was a bit of a mess. My jersey survived with only a few small holes and some dirt to show for it, the holes small enough that they aren't even noticed by others unless I point them out. My cycling shorts, a favorite pair (of course), had a 5cm gash over the hip and a few small holes. Still wearable, the holes all covered by whatever jersey I'm wearing at the time. (But the gash seems to be getting slowly bigger). What was interesting in an unexplainable way is that the road rash on my thigh was all on the part covered by my shorts, and none below until the knee.

Back in my sea-going days it was every sailor's fondest hope after a few weeks at sea, to go ashore and get scraped. I'm not sure that my experience of today is what they might have had in mind.

A bit hard getting started on the bike; a bit stiff, and the knee bandaging on the left binded a bit. It was a slow and tentative couple of km's to the pharmacy which was conveniently located up what looked like a 45-degree driveway but couldn't have been quite that. I think I walked up it, but did ride down afterwards with the brakes on hard!
At the pharmacy I first encountered the phenomenon which would last me the rest of the way home: it seemed that everyone wanted to talk to the cycling mummy (or, the cyclist with all the bandages if you prefer the less dramatic version). Mind you, I'm not complaining, nor did I then. I told so many people I was okay that eventually I started to believe it myself!! It was a good way to pass time when standing in line at all the places one stands in line at, and a good icebreaker when meeting up with strangers anywhere else.

Also at the pharmacy while my prescription was being counted out I loaded up on bandages, sterile pads, Polysporin, some scissors, and found what turned out to be a really great tape, not sure what it was called but something to do with "Athletic" (oh yeah, that's me, some sort of athlete. Not.) and made by 3M. 3" wide, meshy to allow air through, stretchy to a degree, and it turned out perforated at 3" intervals so I didn't even need the scissors. It was the only tape that managed to stay stuck to my skin after a few hours of sweating on the bike.

Shopping over, I navigated back out towards the highway, where the hospital was. Every minute on the bike I was feeling more loose and a bit better, and although my shoulder was sore it wasn't incapable of supporting that side of my body or pulling on the brake when needed. Mostly it just ached a bit, with a few twinges when I moved my hand from one place to another on the handlebars or brake hoods. So by the time I got to the hospital again I was happy to ride right past it and head out onto the Cabot Trail again, bound not back but onwards, towards Cheticamp and the hilliest, or mountainous, day of the trip. But by now it was past 11a.m. and by my schedule I should have been about 20 or 30 km further up the road (and whole).

The road was in good shape, unlike myself; not much traffic, scenery initially coastal and craggy and later wooded. It was another hot sunny day, not much wind and what there was was from behind, to add another dimension to the anticipated suffering up the mountains ahead. But that was yet to come...

After about 10 minutes on the road I reached down with my right hand to get a drink. Ohh, not good news, that really lit up the shoulder. Nor am I ambidextrous when it comes to drinking or eating on the bike: my left hand must steer, my right must do the feeding. So, now I know: I will have to stop every time I need a drink so that my left arm can do the work. My shoulder was also pained whenever I had to shift gears, because my old-style friction shifters are located on the down-tube, rather than integrated into the brake levers as is the usual case nowadays. Shifting was still something I could do despite the discomfort it caused, whereas the waterbottle was a longer reach and required a significant pull to get it out of the cage (safety factor; it is considered bad form for waterbottles to be loose enough in the cage to self-launch when there are bumps in the road).
At the time I discovered this limitation I was already climbing to the first summit of the day, a relatively gentle (compared to what was to come) slope to about 200m which, to put it in perspective, is only some 20m lower than the highest points of land in the Rawdon Hills and the mountains either side of the Annapolis Valley. Just a warm-up climb. Closeup: Mtn: near South Harbour
Find more Bike Rides in Cabot Trail, Nova Scotia About halfway up, not a car in sight, a bull moose stepped silently out on the highway about 100m in front of me; he probably didn't hear me either (the great thing about the friction gear shifters is that the derailleurs can always be adjusted for a totally silent chain). So I had this conversation with him, "Go ahead, finish off my day, you'll win any chase after me today" et cetera; soto voce. He looked at me, stopped for a few seconds, and I guess decided that I was "traffic" and had a right to be there, broke into a trot and clopped across the highway, leapt over the ditch and crashed gracefully away into the woods. Whew. Thankfully it was an uphill and I was only doing 10-12kph; I hate to think what might have happened if it had been a fast downhill but it probably wouldn't have involved me writing this story and I doubt the moose would have wanted to do it instead.

On the way down there was a magnificent view of the Aspy River Valley, Dingwall, the mountain on the other side of it, and Aspy Bay. Truly marvelous. At the bottom I lost the view but at Cape North (a misnomer if ever there was one, no cape in sight) caught another sight for sore eyes, signs pointing to food. I couldn't find an actual restaurant that was open without leaving the main road for some distance and I wasn't in the mood for gravel roads, but there was a general store which had plastic sandwiches so I bought one and sat on their boardwalk in a bit of shade talking with some other travelers while I ate and rested a bit and tried to get my bandages to stick a bit better, a futile endeavor since it was sweat that was weakening their bonds. Then back in the saddle.

The road was now traveling up the Aspy valley with its looming shoulders, often in sight and/or earshot of the Aspy River. A vaguely-remembered Irish-flavored croft passed on the left and the road ahead seemed to turn into a bit of a wall.
Just a teaser though, only a few hundred metres and then down into a small dip, curve to the right a bit and then the real wall. Here, and at the base of the previous and following mountains the parks people had posted signs showing the distance of the climb and the gradient. However, when I did the math of

(distance x gradient = height) ..............( Equation 1 )

the result was always quite a bit greater than the maximum altitude in the area, so I haven't a clue what the posted gradient actually represents. (PS there are no more equations, so stop looking.) It is more than the average, and it is less than the maximum; maybe the average of the steepest section of defined or undefined length... Whatever, I was now starting on 1 hour of continuous climbing with long segments of some 15% according to the MapMyRide.

With the little zephyr of a following wind just about as fast as me, it seemed like I spent the entire distance in the same little 5 cubic metre box of air which was getting hotter by the minute. I usually drink about every 10 to 15 minutes, but with my arm and the trouble of restarting on the gradient that wasn't going to be an option. I just put my head down and pushed away at a comfortable speed in my little 22x34 gear, making about 7kph for the first half hour and seeing not a lot except the rock wall to my right and the valley wall off to the left at some distance. The road was just about dead straight with an apparent curve somewhat up ahead. Turned out there was a well-situated look-off at the curve so I zipped across to it for a breather, a couple of drinks, and to look out across the upper part of the valley. Also a look at the road weaving up the second half of the climb. Talked with a few other tourists, and a pair of cyclists going the other way (sheesh, why would one stop halfway down?! okay, I'll answer that in a bit), with whom I exchanged intelligence on the terrain ahead of each of us.

Closeup of this climb: Mtn: east side North Mtn
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Then off again. Immediately it was obvious that the road went up more steeply from this point, and I could only make 6 and then 5kph. My heartrate went anaerobic fairly soon, and after about 15 minutes was seriously into my red zone. Although I knew that any kind of a rest would only result in a short reprieve for the heartrate I needed a drink. I would have risked the pain of going for it with the right arm but at 5kph wasn't sure I would be able to stay on the road with only one steering arm.

So . I . stopped .

And rested, somewhat, standing over the bike on the skinny shoulder of the road halfway between two corners of the weave upward so as to give the cars a chance to see and miss me. And had a drink or two. After several minutes came the fun part of trying the restart. Attempt #1 failed, obviously or it wouldn't have been numbered. Likewise the second attempt. So I got creative and stupid, decided it was either walk the rest of the way until the slope softened somewhat, not a good choice in cleated road shoes, or angle the bike across the slope until I could pick up enough speed to turn uphill and keep going. Thing is, there wasn't a lot of visibility to the corner behind me so I would have to trust to luck more than skill for this. I could see a few stretches of road on the uphill side, so I could at least minimize the chance of downhill traffic attacking me in its' lane.

Luck was with me for a change and I got up enough steam before getting to the guardrail that I could turn uphill back into my lane and regain the white line without anyone coming up on me and getting confused. (about my nationality, that is.) Within minutes my heartrate was back up to where it had been before the stop, but it was just going to have to stay there until the summit. Which it did.

It might sound like I was having a terrible time of it for an interminable period, but I was mostly zoned in and not really suffering or in difficulty; except for shifting gears I wasn't bothered by my wounds, and since I was in low gear for the entire climb that wasn't an issue either. The heat was the worst thing, but I really don't mind baking on the bike all that much either. Nor did time seem to slow down during that hour; rather, it only seemed like a quarter hour. Which is not to say it was easy; what it mostly says, I suppose, is that I have a wide masochistic streak in me; but I'm pretty sure that is an essential characteristic in any serious cyclist, recreational or competitive.

There wasn't any kind of a view at the top, since the road came out on a plateau of sorts and continued on level-ish through scrubby woodlands. The climb to the plateau had been initially angling up the side of the mountain (the straight part) and then turned up a coulee eroded into the mountainside by a stream (MacGregor Brook) or glacial action. The builders could, I suppose, have continued along the bed of the Aspy River until it came out at elevation in the highlands, but it would have emerged in the middle of nowhere, hence the nasty deviation so as the road could eventually go to some villages and the coast.
After 5 or so km along the plateau (Sammy's Barren), time to start descending to the Grande Anse River valley and the other (west) coast. Not sure of the name of the stream that made the coulee it goes down. So, now I've got this significant and steep downhill (not as steep as the side I went up, but 12% in places) not all that many hours after I wiped out badly from losing control at high speed on a little hill. Talk about getting back up on the horse that threw you! Yesterday I did some descending at 50kph but you're not going to read about any of that today; 25kph tops. I rode the brakes all the way down, initially with my hands on top of the hoods. After about 10 minutes of that my hands were threatening to cramp so I stopped for a few minutes. In the middle of a downhill run.
Yes.
Me.

closeup of the downhill: Mtn: west side of North Mtn
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Restarting, I got my hands into the drops and the braking was not as hard on the hands and wrists. My shoulder wasn't as happy about this, and my neck didn't exactly appreciate the bend it had to carry either, but life is all about trade-offs and this was a useful one. There were a couple of spots where there was a nice view up the valley towards the coast, but no look-offs or even slight widenings of the roadbed, Maybe that's because the downhill side was mostly up against the valley wall, and traffic on the uphill side wouldn't know that there was a view behind them to bother stopping for. Just a guess.

Into the outskirts of Pleasant Bay; spotted a general store on the left and pulled in; needed water and water and more water (at the price of bottled water, it just might cost less in gasoline for a car to go from A to B than in water for a cyclist to do the same distance! although whenever possible I'll use "bulk" water or tap water which is somewhat more economical), and to get something to eat for later in the afternoon, another sandwich. Here I first met R and his friend from Cheticamp. They were on a motorcycle trip to Meat Cove. Anyways, somewhat aghast at all my (visible) bandages, once they knew where I was headed they offered to get me a lift to Cheticamp. But I'm still stubbornly figuring (not exactly insisting) that I can make it under my own steam, after all the worst mountain is now behind me. So then they told me they'd check in with me when they would pass me on their way home later in the day and see if I had changed my mind. Doubtful, although I didn't say so, but it was a bit comforting to know that somebody would be looking out for me later on.

Pockets and bottles replenished, I slipped off one way while the motorbikes zoomed off in the other. Pleasant Bay lived up to it's name as a place to ride through, then over a bridge, round a corner, and oh, MacKenzie Mountain already. Shouldn't have been a surprise because coming through the town I could see the road zig-zagging up it, and could even see where the lookoffs were. After the previous climb, this was almost a lark; the hardest thing about it was that it wasn't steep enough to justify getting immediately into low gear, so I was frequently upsetting my shoulder by changing gears. Aerobic the whole way. Nonetheless I pulled off at the first lookoff to enjoy the view and have a late afternoon snack etc. Then onwards again; after a short steep pitch the gradient relaxed and better speed was possible.

Closeup of MacKenzie Mountain: Mtn: MacKenzie Mtn
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It was hard to tell where the climb ended and the plateau began, because the "top" was all rolling with some steeper gradients. the scenery up here was variably woods and almost muskeggy tundra-like, with good vistas where the road crested or ran beside a drop-off. The motorbikers had made better time than I (surprise, surprise) so somewhere up here R caught up; we stopped, he offered to come back for me with a pickup truck once he got home, but I figured I was still good. But in deference to the time of day I asked if he would call the B&B where I had a reservation and let them know I would be late getting in; turns out he knew it's operators quite well, so he would do that for me.

Then they're off on their way, and I'm continuing on mine. Finally the road tilts down; this side of the plateau is called French Mountain.

Closeup of French Mtn: Mtn: French mtn
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Nice views of the coast on the way down, and then from the bottom on to Cheticamp the road is coastal along the rocky and at times precipitous west coast in very spectacular scenery, probably my favorite section of the Cabot Trail. It has one drawback for a cyclist at the end of a weary day, which is that it is forever up and down, climbs up to 100m at 10-12% gradients, which on any other other day would be significant but today are very much secondary except in the drain on legs that are already as taxed as only the legs of a Canadian tax-payer can be. (i.e. somewhat less than 50% left...) This was a very long stretch of coast for me that day, but finally I saw a green DoT sign telling me I was entering Cheticamp, although there wasn't a building to be seen. Foolishly, I thought I would be parking the bike in another 2 or 3 km but no, 5km further along still barely any sign of civilization. This has to be the biggest small town in the province! Finally, finally buildings start arriving thick and fast, and then I am into the downtown. Not entirely sure where the L'Auberge Doucet is, and having forgotten what the blurb in the tourist guide said about it, I stop a pedestrian and ask. The answer kills me; it's about another 3 to 5 miles, he says. Out past the other end of town. **Sigh** Well, no choice, switched on my lights and on I go. Fortunately it was at the bottom end of his distance bracket.

Another little aside, I didn't clutch in to it at the time, but this was about the only time once north of Truro that when I asked someone for a distance estimate I was answered in terms of distance rather than "minutes" meaning of course minutes by car, a particularly useless measure of distance to a cyclist!. So to this anonymous citizen of Cheticamp, hats off and thanks for knowing a proper unit of linear measure!

The Auberge stood out proudly on it's hillside and was well-marked with a big sign. But, up a hillside. On a loose-graveled driveway. Mostly a gentle slope, but there was one steep ramp in it that I decided it was best to walk up rather than lose traction part way and fall over onto my bandages.

Madame was anticipating my arrival and was most concerned and gracious. Although I greeted her in French my brain was too weary to deal with anything other than English... Her husband was enlisted to carry my Yak bag up to my room. Not being sure if any of my wounds were likely to leak through my bandages I asked for an extra bottom sheet (to save the mattress). Then, given the hour, headed out for supper right away, on the bike but Yakless.

The Hometown Kitchen Restaurant had been recommended to me by JC&M, and is run by the family of SL who was one of TNSTTTT riders. It was at the other end of town, about 5km, but I went there anyways... The special of the day was Snow Crab, and so I decided to go with that. The meal was very tasty. But... it had been about 15 years since I had crab in the shell, and not much less since my last encounter with lobster, so I had definitely lost whatever touch I had with the things. So it was not the best choice for a rather tired, somewhat starved cyclist whose main arm could barely get his fork to his mouth. It was a very slow meal at a time when I needed some fast calories. No fault to the restaurant, just a poor choice on my part. The food was good and the staff friendly. I'll go again.

Then a slightly more enthusiastic 5km back to the Auberge. It was pushing 11p.m. by the time I got back, a late night after a long day. On the way back, just as I was entering the driveway, a car crept along behind me and lighted the path rather better than my little LED headlight. It turned out to be R and his wife, just helping me out a bit after he saw me on the road in town, completely by chance. Fine folks in Cheticamp!

Decided, due to the numerous bandages, not to shower that night but just wiped off as best I could whatever wasn't covered with the things. The plan was to remove the dressings in the morning, shower, and go to the Cheticamp Hospital to have things checked out and to get a new set of dressings put on.

I usually sleep on my right side (somehow the result of years at sea in rolly ships with my bunk always on the same side) and that wasn't going to work, but I was tired enough to fall asleep right away while lying on my back, a couple of extra-strength aspirin helped. In about 4 hours I woke up from discomfort, took a few more aspirin, and then mostly lay awake the rest of the night (no tossing and turning though, I can assure you).

Solo Day7 Cheticamp-Inverness (56km) (wow, that's short!) (for a map, see the first part of tomorrow) I did manage not to leak onto the sheets, a positive sign I thought. Showered as planned, temporary dressings on the major stuff (L knee, R hip). After a good breakfast during which I didn't have much trouble getting a spoon to my mouth, Madame very kindly offered to lend me her car to get to the hospital, which I gratefully accepted.

After the usual paper-processing waits (not all that long) I was efficiently dealt with by the friendly and helpful staff of the hospital. A doctor checked out my shoulder's range of motion, which was already much better than a day before, and looked at the road rash; it was decided that the R back and shoulder and knee didn't need a dressing anymore, just a coating of antiseptic ointment for a day or two. For the rest, a specific dressing was ordered up (Adaptic) and the antiseptic salve Fucidin (for which I was also given a prescription; it's a stronger ointment than Polysporin) for the re-dressing in days to come. My dressings suitably shrunken in size and number, I was bound to be less of a spectacle on the road, I thought. Then off to the pharmacy to get the prescription filled and to get a package of the Adaptic dressings. Or not; they were out of it and wouldn't have any until the next day. Oh well, I thought, I will get some at the next town, no problem. Silly me; over the next several days I found one small packet in Port Hawkesbury and then none, not even in Sackville or Bedford (where Oh yes, they could order some in for me and it would be there in a week-- kind of useless, that: the wound it was intended for would have a good chance of being either healed or foully septic in that time frame. Of course by not ordering it in I confirmed the computerized ordering function in it's correctness in not keeping the stuff in stock since "obviously, nobody wants it". Nuts.)

Back to the Auberge to return the car, undinged, and changed into cycling strip. With Yak in tow I didn't trust the grade of the steep section on gravel so I walked us down that bit on the lawn. It was a nice sunny day, but with a strong breeze off the Gulf of St Lawrence, which meant a moderate headwind vector most of the time. It at least kept things cool. The scenery was quite fine, mostly along the coast and through or beside little fishing hamlets and a bit of farming. Grand-Etang, Cap Le Moine to name a couple. Lunch not too far into the ride and at an open promontory with a great view down the coast, since most of the morning was spent looking to my skin. At Margaree Harbour I left the Cabot Trail for the more direct coastal highway 219 and then 19. The folds in the ground became larger and steeper along here, and mainly the road was out of sight of the water and through woodlands and small settlements, so it became quite warm.

I hadn't checked my route notes that morning, but vaguely recalled that today should be about 30km longer than yesterday, which was 96 km. Then, approaching 40km into the ride finally a roadside distance sign: "Canso Causeway 110km". Say it ain't so! Should have been about 80 or 90 by my calculations! My mind crumpled; I was mentally done for the day and decided right then that at the next accommodations I would quit for the day. (Later I realized where the extra 30km came from: yesterday had been shortened by that amount by my lift to Neil's Harbour.) Shortly after, an answer to my prayer, there was Inverness. And a Tourist Bureau. Good enough.
A vacancy being found at the motel just about across the street, I booked in, changed into civvies and then went off to the pharmacy for some Adaptic. No dice. However, the pharmacists introduced me to Tegaderm, which he said was recommended for road rash And what marvelous stuff it turned out to be! for wounds that were in the right condition. While in the pharmacy a big-eyed boy or maybe 8 or 10 was shyly eying my bandages. I heard him quietly ask his dad, "Did he do that skateboarding?" so I told him it was a bike crash and didn't hurt as bad as it looked, which didn't seem to set him any more at ease. He was terribly fascinated by it and couldn't stop staring at the bandages. I think there was a story behind that; maybe he wanted a skateboard and a parent had told him he would likely fall and get all scraped up so he should ride a nice safe bicycle instead? What an irony that would be.

Still early afternoon. A snooze would have been nice, but I knew that if I did that I wouldn't be able to sleep well at night. From the motel I could see down to the beach about a km away. Decided to wander down there and amble around a bit, and since it was a nice day took my shirt off to let the sun and the breeze play over my road rash; ahh, that felt good! This being August, the beach was, if not crowded, at least busy. I wandered out onto the hard sand below the tide line and meandered up to the breakwater at the harbour entrance and then back again... I'm not sure my scrapes and bandages didn't end up figuring in some kids' nightmares in the near future... On the road going back up to town I met two older gents walking down so with bandages for an icebreaker we had a pleasant chat, and then on my way.

Read up the instructions for the Tegaderm, decided I should try it on everything except my L knee and my hand. Showered, and settled in to deal with the wounds. Tegaderm is a breathable plasticy covering with some kind of an adhesive on one side and a cardboard frame around the outside to assist in placement (after which the cardboard comes off). Once on a wound, as long as the edges remain sealed and/or no sign of infection appears it can stay on for up to 7 days and is shower-proof, rain-proof, sweat-proof... New skin closes over the wound under the film more quickly than with normal dressings, and is pliable (unlike a scab) and results in minimal scarring. Perfect (although I kind of wanted to have a good set of scars...). So although the price per film is not inexpensive at first glance, by the time it has stayed on for seven days it costs less than the conventional gauzes and dressings that one would go through in that time. I also found out that, although the pharmacist thought one couldn't, large films can be cut in half to make 2 smaller ones as long as the pointed corners at the ends of the cut are made rounded (otherwise the pointy corners will lift off). So, one big patch on my R hip, a half-film each for my elbows, and another full film for my right knee. I was still going to need some kind of a gauze covering over elbows and knee while riding, because the new skin forming would be sensitive to sunburn, and the plastic film would act like a mini greenhouse and get very darn warm inside otherwise, but these coverings would be merely sunshades.
My L knee was still weeping too much to contemplate using Tegaderm, so that stayed with a normal dressing, re-used (shudder) Adaptic for today with extra Fucidin! This was my first use of the 3" 3M adhesive, and it was super. I made sure to bend my knee tightly when applying dressing and tape, and so had the most comfortable and least binding knee bandage of the trip, the wide tape on all 4 sides and no circumferential gauze or tape wrappings to pinch the tendons behind the knee. Mind you, it looked like a horrible lump when I was standing with my knee straight.

Supper, not bad. A bit of computer time to send e-mails ahead that I was delayed a day. Some web browsing and mindless tv, then aspirins and about 9p.m. to bed. And then it was morning. An excellent uninterrupted sleep despite the shoulder and being on my back.

From the physical perspective this had been the worst day of the trip: partly from still feeling the effects of the crash, partly from arriving late the previous night, from sleeping poorly, and from headwind: I was beat before I started; I just hadn't realized it until that fatal roadsign. On the other hand the hour and half walking to and on the beach were good, as was the long deep sleep at the end of it.

Solo Day8 Inverness-the Causeway (94km) (today's map includes yesterday) Cheticamp to Port Hawkesbury
Find more Bike Rides in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia Breakfast in the same place as supper last night, and I don't know what was going on in the kitchen but the place was almost bereft of customers and still it took forever to be served. How long can it take to make toast, fried eggs, and bacon? Quite long; apparently they were taking the sign "breakfast served until noon" to heart.

Back on the road, a very early start compared to the past 2 days although about 20 minutes later than I would have liked. Yes, alright, get over it-- I am.
Inland the first hour: until Mabou; with a couple of little 100m climbs along the way. Mabou is on an inlet so it only looks coastal (depending on how one defines that); neat little town actually. Then more inland and a downhill run to Port Hood, where I was filmed by some tourists perhaps wondering about my white wings. From there, variably coastal or slightly inland to the Judiques. At Judique proper I was startled by a large and official-looking sign proclaiming it the "home of Celtic Music", an honour which I rather expected would have belonged to one of the places the NS Celts originally came from rather than a place where they came to, i.e. someplace in the Old World. How silly and unimaginative of me. Along the way, a number of signs were spelled out in both English and Gaelic and I have to say there seemed little enough resemblance between the apparent sounds. Just inside Judique I stopped at a little museum and store to see if there would be a restaurant nearby for lunch; there were some bilingual signs on a table with the Gaelic phoneticized and yes, the phoneticizations didn't really follow the spelling, explaining my confusion. Talked about it a bit with the proprietress; in the end I could only assume that the man or men (a woman would never have botched the job so terribly) who first set Roman letters to Gaelic sounds was either illiterate in any Northern European language or, more likely, was determined to create such a dog's breakfast of it that no one would be able to figure it out (with the presumed effect of the language dieing out shortly, which it almost did.) This is not a scholarly claim, just an opinion derived from a shallow knowledge of some (not much) of the history of the area.

While there I got the answer to my question, so a few km down the road I stopped in at the Gaelic Music Center, which I would ordinarily have passed right by; it didn't look a bit like someplace to get a lunch. But the appearance was deceiving; I got a good sandwich and desert for a reasonable price, and live music by a fiddle and piano duet. Good lively beat, and when finally I was on my way I replayed parts of those tunes in my head to keep the pedals moving lightly (not dancing, exactly; I am after all not Contador! by a long shot; but a good rhythm nonetheless) and was so glad I had lunched there.

I was now on the landscape I had seen from Cape George on the ride to Antigonish. Mostly through coastal woodland, never far from the coast, and rolling moderately. Before I was ready for it I emerged into Port Hawkesbury and found my motel. Lord T'underin' but another place with a near vertical driveway, although at least paved this time. These people hate bikes... Struggled up the thing, went into the office and hit another wall of a different sort-- only one staff on shift, busy trying to clear up a credit card error caused by entering an extra digit in the Amount space, which caused a snowball effect so that when the attempt was made to correct the error the customer's card was then rejected. It pretty much balanced the breakfast issue but eventually to my astonishment I got checked in. First thing to do, phone around to drugstores to see if any Adaptic was available. One place in Port Hawkesbury had one packet. So, leave the Yak, jump on Banani, wobble off to that drugstore about 5km away. I didn't mind the distance, I had lots still left in me today. A successful mission! Shower, check the Tegaderms, all still good; a bunch of fluid in the one on the hip but it's not murky so that's normal and no infection; new Adaptic for the L knee and hand, sigh of relief. That knee is still very ugly but clean; still weeping too.

My motel was advertised in the Tourist Guide as having a restaurant, but the information was old and tourism was down so the restaurant was closed. So it was either go back into Port Hawkesbury or try the motel across the highway and up a bit. Their dining room was open but not very occupied; I would be surprised if it were still open: this was the worst meal of the two weeks by a long shot: Atlantic salmon you'd think should be pretty decent around here, but the poor fish was as dry as... (well, there's a Dutch expression that my dad always used but out of deference to Sinter Klaas I won't use it here)... pretty dry anyways. I ate because I had to; there was no pleasure in it with that meal.

After supper, some mindless tv and bed around 9. Apart from the supper and a few bouts of waiting, this had been a pretty good day; I felt energetic on the bike and was actually able to drink on the go again: still a bit of discomfort and awkwardness in getting the waterbottle out of the cage and at the top of the lift, but do-able easily enough; gear shifting was also much easier than the past few days. Banani made good time all day and the km's seemed to fly by (relatively speaking). A bigger test tomorrow.

I didn't exactly do the Cabot Trail completely, having left it at Margaree Harbour and not closed the loop. But I figure I did the important parts...

TNSTTTT and Then Some-- (5) Getting Home

2009-12-31T07:12:00.000-08:00

Solo Day9 the Causeway-New Glasgow (122km) Port Hawkesbury to New Glasgow
Find more Bike Rides in Antigonish Co, Nova Scotia
Having discovered there was a truck stop just on the other side of the causeway where very early or maybe even all-night breakfasts could be had, I came out of a good sleep at about 7 and was on the road quite early because of the length of the day's ride. Although I could have taken less busy sideroads like Havre Boucher, Tracadie-Bayfield and the Pomquet loop, I wasn't sure enough of what I could do to add the extra small distances (besides, didn't want to exactly backtrack myself!). So today I would stay on Hwy 4 wherever I could (that is, except where I had to be on the 104). Up to Antigonish some of the roads would be familiar from TNSTTTT; after Antigonish it would be all new to me on the bike.

This was the day that I discovered that the provincial authorities were so bent on keeping tourist traffic routed directly to Cape Breton that they didn't bother to mark the points where the old road, highway 4, left the 104 after the two had been merged for awhile (usually this happened at major river crossings, to avoid having to re-bridge when the newer highway was built). I do know from previous trips, by car, in decades past, that it had once been quite easy to follow highway 4 from the posted signs, but somehow over the years this has been lost. In the middle of nowhere it was reasonably easy to figure out, but in the western outskirts of Antigonish the signage was not only hopelessly missing, but also misleading. But the erstwhile unmarked 4 ran alongside 104 at close range, which had me wondering, so when a "no reason" little connector strip (of the type that is usually dug up at each end so traffic cannot use it, although in this case the ends were connected) came up I went that-a-way, got on the smaller road and stopped at the first house to find out if it was indeed 4. This was confirmed by a friendly retired nurse, so we also talked about the state of my bandages; she thought the little parasol-ish covers on my elbows and R knee were pretty sketchy until I explained what was going on there. Then on my way again.

Between Antigonish and New Glasgow I only saw one of the white shield route number signs telling me that I was on 4, and that one was so far between any possible accesses to the 104 that I had to assume it was an accidental survivor of a sign-purge operation. Ridiculous. Unnecessary. Unuseful. Unfriendly. Unforgivable.

Apart from the constant attention required to try to stay on my chosen route as opposed to that chosen by some wizard in DoT, and the never-ending search for highway indicators, the scenery was fairly normal for inland: woodlands and forest (not that there is a difference), small hamlets and the odd village, not too many openings with a view. Slight tailwind probably, although the trees block a lot of wind from reaching road level when winding through woodlands. Some rolling up and down but nothing severe.

I made pretty good time again today, and in the early afternoon came down to Sutherland River, where on the way outbound the mad dash with the Express had begun. Another 10km brought me into the outskirts of New Glasgow about mid-afternoon, where I stopped to phone for directions to HM's house; she was on TNSTTTT and when she heard I was riding back home offered me a bed and hospitality; gratefully accepted.

New Glasgow is a pretty small town and following her clear directions was pretty easy when I could find the street name signs, a problem not unique to this town. It seems that society can legislate just about anything-- except moral ethics in business and politics (I'm writing this while Harper is secretly celebrating the impasse at Copenhagen, in which he gets his way without having to say or do anything), and location and readability of street signs.

Having reached her house before her, I unhooked Yak and took Banani down to the nearby supermarket to get some bananas for bike-food the next day, and some more bandage&bike -oriented conversation. Then back, and laid out in the shade on her lawn while waiting. It had really been an unexpectedly fast and easy day, and I had been feeling strong with only a few twinges from the shoulder. Tired, yes; but not unduly.

Soon HM came along and I met their wonderful little dog (stole my heart a bit, that one). Cleanup, some sitting about chatting, and then her kids came home from their day camps. Well-behaved, pleasant kids; some curiosity about the bandages of course. As suppertime approached I became sous-chef and did what I could to help with preparations... The kids and I were ready for bed at about the same time. I wanted an early start the next day because I was hoping to make it the rest of the way home without another overnight on the road, and it would be a long day at best, my longest of the 2 weeks (saving the biggest til last, I guess) although the last few hours would be over familiar roads. So I made sure it would be okay if I quietly got myself up and fed and away early.

Solo Day10 New Glasgow-Mt Uniacke (155km) New Glasgow to Lakelands
Find more Bike Rides in East Hants Co, Nova Scotia
I slept well, and I think was quiet enough not to wake anyone. The dog was quietly content to let me putter around, and although curious when I did my yoga set didn't consider my floor-level exercises to be an invitation to play like my own dogs used to. A very polite little guy. It wasn't until he saw me outside and actually pulling out of their driveway onto the road that he decided I needed to be barked at; not much, just a bit.

Once again I was going as directly as possible, and why not: a serious distance to go, towing a trailer with some baggage. So it was to be Highway 4 again until Truro. Same sort of scenery as yesterday, but higher hills culminating in the morning in the slow gentle climb up Mt Thom (maximum about 4%) and then the slow gentle roll down from it. Again I felt strong and made good time.

It was a bit grey when I started, and I got rained on lightly for a few km just before Alma but then the sky gradually brightened and not long after crossing West River the sun came out a bit. There were two other incidents in the morning. On the way up Mt Thom the battery of the bike computer decided it had done it's job and died; I hoped to get a replacement in Truro. And on the way down Mt Thom at some point I lost my mind and rode to the right of the white line when the pavement was a bit wider than usual; the problem was that all sorts of gravel and other crud (broken glass) was lying loose in that strip of pavement that seldom had car tires pass over it to keep it clean. And I picked up a sliver of something which worked its way into the rear tire and made a slow leak. First puncture in about 2 years. Darn.

It was not a straightforward tire change. First the Yak had to be disconnected, then I had to find the fork-spreader, a tire lifter, a spare tube, the pump... all of these somewhere in the Yak bag in places where I had forgotten they had been put. I didn't have to unload the bag, just rummaged around in it for awhile and eventually, one at a time, came up with the items. I was doing a bit of heavy mumbling, under my breath I thought, but one of the residents nearby came out and started cutting up some logs with a chainsaw while I was at it so maybe I was being a bit too strenuous in my exhortations and he decided it was appropriate to over-ride my vocalizations. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. I didn't ask...

Back on the road again, about 20 minutes lost to this evolution; soon into the flat farmland outside of Truro and then into the town itself. I managed to miss one turnoff, but soon set that right when I stopped recognizing where I was. At the shopping mall on the way out of town I pulled in for a battery search. There was a Source electronics store; I figured I wouldn't have to look any further. Wrong! But they pointed me towards a jewelry store as a possible source (small s) and yes, there they were able to fix me up with the right replacement. Good. Then a Tim Horton's lunch and on my way again, only a bit more than 90km to go and all on "home roads". The sun was out in force now and the day hotting up a bit too.

Truro to South Maitland was pleasant riding, the small hills seemed smaller than on TNSTTTT (a bit earlier in the day this time). Then the long climb up the backbone and the bone-jarring ride down-ish to Kennetcook in the afternoon heat. At Kennetcook I stopped to buy water, filled the bottles, and then went to the ice-cream kiosk for some soft ice-cream which I enjoyed sitting at their tables in the shade, joking with a trio of ATVers who were there at the same time (felt a bit of a hypocrite, I'm not generally a fan of the ATV ilk. But was outnumbered. Well, they weren't bothering anyone or anything at the time.). They finished and left a bit before I did, and two of them actually managed to get out of the gravel parking lot without spinning tires spitting gravel and raising a dust cloud. The third one did, on purpose . Thanks. Ice cream is so much better with a coating of dust...

The road construction that had been in progress during TNSTTTT was finished so I had a nice smooth ride to Clarksville. And then the fun. With 130km behind me for the day already, the last 25km to home were through the Rawdon hills, a couple of good hard climbs to 200m or so, at gradients up to 14% on the last one although the elevation profile at Map My Ride shows "only" 10% River Herbert dip
Find more Bike Rides in East Hants, Nova Scotia. Just set a cadence and plug along; this is very familiar terrain, although usually without Yak but with bigger gears. It does make it seem easier when the road is familiar, and although I was somewhat dreading the steepest section it was after all not a problem; there is a big difference between a pair of 200m long, 14% ramps with an easier segment between, and the 4km of 14+% that the Highlands presented. And, let's face it, I was a feeling a whole lot better today than on the day of the last vertical challenges!

And so I came to Lakelands and the final 30m rise to home (and just in time for supper, which I had set up in the freezer before leaving). A great feeling! except...

"Mommmyyy! It's Ooverrr!! *sob*" (per "Just For Laughs")

Final footnote for this day: I had been planning to ride the Joe Howe Century later in the year, but when it came down to it 155km with a loaded Yak was hands-down more of a challenge than 165km without one so I didn't feel the need to do an official Century.

TNSTTTT and Then Some-- (6) Postscripts

2009-12-30T07:28:00.000-08:00

The whole thing was a fantastic experience, and the first true holiday I had had in decades. Existence was reduced to a series of very basic decisions (what to eat, where to stop for whatever needs, when to go to bed, when to get up... even the decision to continue after my crash was pretty basic) so mental stress was zero. The process of riding when not eating or sleeping eliminated any chance to think about problems (or a problem) that had been nagging me for years, nor did I ever find myself lying awake at night wondering about might-be's or might-have-beens. My biggest regret was that it couldn't continue forever, and the only other regret was the language thing I already mentioned above. Well, and a few regrets about not taking some roads less traveled.

The morning after my return I weighed myself at the usual time of day and discovered I was the exact same weight as when I left; quite a surprise. Pretty good control of the food intake, even if it was better luck than management. I mostly lazed around that Sunday, but did 1 hour at a low effort and reduced my food intake to what used to be normal for that level of activity. Imagine my surprise on Monday morning to find that I had lost 1kg in 24 hours! And another .7 and .3kg in the next 2 days, for a total loss of 2kg (4.4lb). Wow. When I found a dietitian who would answer a simple question over the phone (Is this normal or reasonable under the circumstances? (Finding a dietitian, period, was problematic enough: I now know that they are now mostly in the Yellow Pages as Nutritionists; an image thing, I was told: nobody wants to actually have a diet, they just want their nutrition efforts guided...)) I was advised that my metabolism was ramped up to produce a heap of extra calories every day, and it would take a few days to ramp back down to what had been normal before the tour. From talking to clubmates who did TNSTTTT, it would seem that one week wasn't quite enough to kick in the enhanced metabolism (or their bodies weren't as sensitive to it as mine was). Interesting and unexpected effect. Sadly, I never really got back into a regular cycling groove for the rest of that summer and fall, so that 2kg re-manifest itself, and then some, in not too long. Next year...?

The rest of this is all about the aftermath of the injuries, which may be of no interest to some readers, who may safely stop here and miss nothing... (that could safely be said at any point of the narrative, in truth)...

My first task on the Monday following my return was to organize physiotherapy and medical appointments for my shoulder. By the time I got home a bruise had started to show on the front of that shoulder, which initially I thought to be from tearing of muscle tissue somehow from the blow taken on the back of it. By about day 9 after the crash the bruise had finished forming (I am surprised at how long it took, especially since I don't normally bruise much), and showed the distinct shape of a piece of pipe. Which means the problem with the shoulder was not caused by impact with the ground on the back of it, but rather a blow from the frame of Banani on the front; so the bike had its' revenge for all the indignities I had put it through, a thoroughbred dragging a cart indeed, take that you!

I started physio that week, and continued with it for about 7 weeks before we were happy with the strength returning to the shoulder. It turned out to be a grade 2 separation of the shoulder: the upper end of the collarbone had been displaced, the ligaments slightly stretched, and ligaments of course do not unstretch very much so the tip of the collarbone remains a bit loose. It took me until late November to start trying to sleep on that side again (except the odd short "test") and that was because some other issue needed me to; some nights it can handle a few hours, and some it can't without discomfort, either while being laid on or afterwards. Apart from that it can do most things it used to, but sometimes will produce a sudden pang for no reason that I can discern.

The Tegaderm on elbows and R knee came off the day after I got home (a small part of that 1kg I lost, I guess...), the skin nicely healed over. The mangled skin over my R hip suddenly formed a small lake of fluid under the Tegaderm that day, which was then somehow absorbed (as near as I could tell, no leak formed) and by Wednesday (7th day since put on) was mainly dry underneath and fully skinned over. The L knee was a different issue, still too wet to plasticize although I did give Tegaderm a try on about day 10 but it became unstuck after a day and half, so back to normal dressings (I was now out of the Adaptic) for another few days. I hadn't noticed (or wanted to?) while I was still on tour that it was quite swollen too, to the point where the kneecap was undefined shape-wise. About the 18th I tried Tegaderm again, and it stayed on this time, giving anyone in sight a nice gruesome view of it. The view got worse when I bumped my knee into something, not very hard but hard enough to break a capillary or two (the Tegaderm remained unpunctured) so the normal slightly murky fluid which had accumulated under there became a fairly disgusting shade of purpley-red; after a couple of days not even I could stand the sight of it anymore so I took off the Tegaderm, washed the knee gently, and put on a new piece of Tegaderm. Finally on the 28th of August the knee had a complete new skin and the last dressing came off leaving a bit of modern artistry in several colours and textures open to the air. I was careful to use sunscreen on it for the next few weeks but by the end of September it was able to take a half-day on the bike without sunscreen (always supposing we had a half-day of sunshine when it was warm enough not to need leg coverings of some sort; this was, after all, October now.)

And that is it. Thanks for reading; hope you found it interesting and maybe learned something from it.