The Lighthouse Route, Nova Scotia

January 31, 2026January 31, 2026 / 650thumper / Leave a comment

Everyone tours The Cabot Trail on the east coast, but the west coast has its own charm.

After riding the TQT (Trans Quebec Trail) from Magog to Rimouski, I’d had enough of dirt roads and boreal forest and decided on a change of pace. I contacted my good friend in Nova Scotia to see if she was up for a visit. Sharon and I met as undergrads at Western University, so long ago the university was then called The University of Western Ontario, and we’d kept in touch through the years. She’s one of my oldest and dearest friends and I don’t see her enough, so I spontaneously reached out. Thankfully, my timing was good; she’d just finished her teaching duties for the summer and her schedule was clear. I decided I’d nip down to central Nova Scotia for a short visit, then ride The Lighthouse Route that follows the NS western coastline from Halifax through Lunenburg, Liverpool, Kejimkujik National Park Seaside, Yarmouth, and around to Digby. Then I figured I’d cross The Bay of Fundy on the ferry and start making my way back to Montreal. Where the first week was remote solitary dirt and gravel riding through forest, the second would be asphalt, ocean, lighthouses, cafes, bookstores, and microbreweries.

Google said Sharon was only 7 hours from Rimouski by highway, but I wasn’t in a hurry so thought I’d ride mostly dirt roads down. In fact, I could still follow the TQT south out of Rimouski and then follow my nose. It brought me to the northern gate of a large nature reserve (ZEC) standing between me and New Brunswick. I write “gate” but there was no actual barrier, just a small building that you stop at to buy your permit. There is a small fee to enter these reserves. I’m not sure why, but this is Quebec and there’s usually a fee attached to most things. No doubt the money goes toward maintenance of the building that houses the staff member whose job it is to collect the fee.

The man inside started to fill out the paperwork for my fee. I noticed that he was a two-finger typist so I guess a certain typing speed was not a requirement for his job. We got to the point where he collects the fee and I caught something about “trois cent kilomètres,” which caused me some concern. (He didn’t speak any English so obviously that was not a requirement either for the job.) A few questions of inquiry and I discovered that, yes, it was over 300 hundred kilometres through the reserve. (This man was now earning his wages.) I wasn’t expecting that and hadn’t filled my extra fuel bladder and didn’t know if I had enough gas to get through. He also said it wasn’t advisable to ride through alone because there are a lot of moose and not many people in the reserve. With that, I wished the man adieu and decided to find another way down to Nova Scotia.

I rode back out to the main road and plugged Sharon’s address into Google but with the option to “Avoid Highways.” I figured if I couldn’t ride dirt, I at least didn’t have to ride highways. Google did pretty well and in fact found me some interesting dirt to ride.

However, once I got into New Brunswick, Google did less well. I think some of the NB backroads aren’t mapped in Google using anything but satellite imagery because I soon found myself on an ATV trail that looked pretty gnarly. Yes, it wasn’t highway, but it also wasn’t a road. Fortunately there was a sign indicating I needed a permit (yes, another fee) to ride it, and given that I was fully loaded and alone, I decided to back out of that one too. It wasn’t easy getting to Nova Scotia. Clearly I couldn’t ride through the drive-through province without using highways.

Now I was somewhere in New Brunswick and getting low on fuel. I didn’t have cell service so couldn’t look up the nearest gas station so I went old-school and asked a man who was cutting his grass. (Thankfully, there was a house.) He said to continue until I reached the St. John’s River and then turn left and that would take me into Edmundston. Phew! Every tour requires at least one fuel scare.

Soon I was not only fueled up but also at a tourist information centre, which in Edmundston is housed in an old military block house on the St. John’s River.

Prepared to defend against the attacking tourists.

And before long, I was set up for the night at Parc Provincial de la République, which is nowhere near as revolutionary as its name suggests.

The next day there was no avoiding it: 5+ hours on the Trans Canada Highway south and then east, cutting through bush with moose fence on either side, a 120 km/h asphalt corridor that numbs the mind and body but gets you into Nova Scotia, where you can drop down a gear and start to smell the ocean. I had in mind to camp at 5 Islands Provincial Park, which I missed the last time through by accidentally staying at 5 Islands RV Park (very different), only once I got there after a long, exhausting, boring day in the saddle, I was told they didn’t have a site. The Not Since Moses race was that weekend in which participants run along the muddy beach at low tide. Sounds like fun but unfortunately it meant the campground was full. With some advice from park staff and a phone call, I found a site just 30 minutes west along the shore in Glooscap Campground in Parrsboro. I was now right on the shore of Minas Basin with Sharon just a short ride away on the other side of Cobequid Bay.

Minas Basin, an inlet of The Bay of Fundy.

The next day, while circumnavigating the bay, I came across this roadside sign, which seemed apropos since I wouldn’t have been in Nova Scotia if it weren’t for what was happening in The United States.

Reads, “Elbows Up. We are proud to be Canadian forever. July 1867”

“Elbows Up” is a reference to hockey, Canada’s official national winter sport. It refers to a style of play by Mr. Hockey, Gordie Howe, who used his elbows to defend himself against larger attacking players. It has become a rallying cry for Canadians against Trump’s punishing tariffs and threats of annexation. The date indicated on the sign is when Canada officially became a nation, comparable to 1776 for Americans.

As a Canadian, I’ve watched with a kind of dispassionate curiosity the political events and discourse happening south of the border, but lately the conflict and tensions have crossed the border and become more personal and threatening. I normally don’t like to get political in this blog because it’s one of those topics one is supposed to avoid at the dinner table so perhaps should be avoided in this public conversation as well. Let me preface the following comments by saying that I’m in agreement with some of Trump’s policies and recognize that the Democratic Party seems to have abandoned the working class and adopted a politic based more on race and identity than pragmatic economics. I’m not a fan of open borders, despite understanding why many people might want to flee difficult situations in their home countries. I don’t think mass unregulated immigration is viable long-term. And while I’m not an anti-vaxxer, I’m curious to see what Robert Kennedy Jr. is going to do with health care reform and food and drug safety in The States.

However, Make America Great Again cannot involve violating international law and annexing sovereign countries and continents. It should not involve turning a friend and ally into an enemy and opponent by breaking trade agreements with unreasonable tariffs designed to crush industries that have served both countries very well since 1989, when the US-Canada Free Trade Agreement (FTA) was first signed by President Reagan and Prime Minister Mulrooney (superseded by NAFTA). If President Trump wants to change the nature of the US-Can trade agreement, there are mechanisms built into the agreement for that. But Trump wields tariffs like a club, threatening to use them according to his whims when he even hears something he doesn’t like. That is not a viable economic strategy for developing stable trade and investment relations.

In 1969, then Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Elliot Trudeau said that living next to America is like “sleeping with an elephant. No matter how friendly or even tempered is the beast . . . one is affected by every twitch and grunt.” And currently the beast is far from friendly. How does a relatively small country like Canada deal with a unfriendly United States? I think the answer can be found in one of our oldest stories, Jack and the Beanstalk, a story that is perhaps 30,000 years old. Jack knows he cannot survive on his own against the giant, so he enlists the help of the giant’s wife, who feeds him and hides him when the giant returns. Perhaps she too is afraid of the giant. This is exactly what Prime Minister Carney has suggested in his recent speech at the World Economic Forum in Davos—for middle-sized countries to cooperate and form alliances to protect themselves against hostile superpowers. That speech has clearly angered Trump because, as I write this, he’s threatening a 100% tariff on all Canadian goods, although his motives for this latest threat are unclear.

But back to Elbows Up for a moment, while we are still stopped at the side of the road. I miss riding in The United States and hope these political tensions are resolved soon. I plan to tour in my upcoming retirement not only the eastern seaboard but also The Continental Divide, including Utah, and the Pacific Coast Highway, among other destinations. I haven’t yet seen The Grand Canyon, or the Bonneville Salt Flats, or ridden The Great Smokey Mountains or The Outer Banks. So please, my American readers, don’t take it personally that I’ve decided to participate in the tourism boycott for now. It is a price that we are both paying for President Trump’s decisions. I feel it’s just something I ought to do while President Trump is being disrespectful. In every single course outline I present to my students, there is a sentence at the end of the section on class rules: “Mutual respect is the basis of all relationships.” Referring to Canada as the 51st state and our Prime Minister as its governor is not being respectful.

Feel free to comment below on what I’ve said above, but if I may extend the analogy of the classroom a little further, another of my class rules is that any and all comments are valid as long as they remain respectful in both tone and content.

After a few days of rest, conversation, campfires, and catching up with Sharon, I loaded up the bike again and headed south, skirting Halifax and picking up the 333 that took me to my first lighthouse, Peggy’s Cove. The first time I visited Peggy’s Cove, I camped about 15 minutes away at Wayside Campground and was able to get down to the lighthouse at dawn to take the photo above (banner image). This time it was later in the morning and it looked very different.

My tour now was not solitary, and unfortunately, I got more of the same once I reached my destination for the day, Lunenburg. I set up my hammock at the campground, then walked down into town for a pint and some fish & chips.

Click on arrows left and right for slideshow.

After dinner, I got an ice cream and walked down to the dock to see Bluenose II.

The last time I was here was with Marilyn. In fact, we’ve visited Lunenburg a couple of times and now, alone, I experienced another kind of loneliness from the previous week as everywhere I went her absence was all the more poignant, exacerbated ironically by the streets and restaurants teeming with tourists.

I decided to wander over to the other side of the bay where it was quieter and provided a peaceful view of the harbour at dusk. The next day I was strangely happy to pack up and continue west along the coastline, out from the crowds and into the more remote side of the province.

My first stop was LaHave Bakery, just off the ferry that takes you across the LaHave River. One of my favourite things while touring is stopping at a bakery for a midday snack and coffee, and it doesn’t get any better than the LaHave Bakery. They have not only delicious baked goods and coffee but also an adjoining bookstore and a dock out back where you can sit while you enjoy your treats.

A good coffee, some baking, and a book. Simple pleasures.

After, I continued along the 331, dropping down onto secondary roads that hug the shoreline of the peninsulas as I headed west to Kejimkujik National Park Seaside. Don’t ask me how to say it (or spell it, for that matter), but it’s on the southern shore about halfway between Lunenburg and Yarmouth. You can’t camp there so I went to Thomas Raddall Provincial Park just on the other side of the bay and set up there. As soon as I’d strung the hammock and made my way down to the beach, I knew I would stay here for a few days.

Port Joli Beach at Thomas Raddall Provincial park, looking across to Kejimkujik.

I went for a swim and read for a bit, then hopped on the bike and rode over to the park, only by the time I got there it was getting late, the parking lot was completely empty, and I knew I was all alone in this large, remote park. You have to walk a narrow trail to get to the beach from the parking lot and signs at the trailhead indicated the presence of bears. I’d left my bear spray back at camp, and when I saw signs of bear activity on the trail, I decided not to risk it but return the following day better prepared. Sometimes you just have to listen to your gut.

Back at Port Joli Beach for another peaceful dusk.

I’ve written in an earlier post about how, at my age (62), I’m trying to take some days off the bike while touring. Rest days, recovery days, sightseeing days—call them what you will, they are helpful and needed and ensure I slow down a bit and don’t ride past attractions in the quest to cover miles. Kejimkujik was the perfect place to spend a day and in many ways felt like the highlight of the tour.

And speaking of rest, the last time I was here with Marilyn, I was so exhausted that I fell asleep sitting up on a rock at the shoreline, much to Marilyn’s chagrin, who found it a photographer’s paradise. At least that’s her memory of our visit, but in truth I was just “resting my eyes.” This time I was well rested and hiked the trail, then found a viewpoint to sit and take in the sights and sounds of the ocean. Seals were in the bay in front and a bunch were bathing on a nearby island, which I was able to see through my monocular and photograph by putting it to the lens on my phone.

Kejimkujuk beach
Kejimkujik shore
Seals sunbathing

While hiking the shoreline trail, I rounded a corner and saw a bear up ahead, but it skedaddled into the bush when it saw me. Kejimkujuk Seaside really is a special place. If you are a nature lover, make sure it’s on your destination list.

The next day I continued along the shore toward Yarmouth. I found this quaint mom and pop diner for breakfast in Bayman (Highway 3), and later in the heat of the afternoon, a classic ice cream parlour in Barrington Passage. It was a different kind of tour from first week but I was enjoying the comforts.

Classic NS breakfast diner.
Yes, there are still places in NS that spell it “shoppe.”
Sainte Anne Church, the oldest parish in the region (1799)

I stopped at the Canadian Tire in Yarmouth to get some oil for the bike, then rode inland to Castle Lake Campground. It was a campground unlike any other I’ve stayed at—the biggest, for sure, with lots of heavy equipment and construction going on, and some unusual artifacts, like a dismantled McDonnell CF-101B Voodoo sitting on a flatbed. I’m not sure what they plan to do with it. At any rate, I was happy for the site because everything else was full.

The next morning I was treated to one of those peaceful moments that make camping for me preferable to a cheap room.

I was now getting near the end of my loop. I rode into Digby and bought my ferry ticket for passage the following day. Then I had the day to spend so I decided to ride the Digby spit. It’s very different from The Cabot Trail, but special too in its own way. Where The Cabot Trail is spectacular and exciting, the Digby spit is quiet and peaceful, but not without some interesting attractions.

I stopped at the reconstruction of folk artist Maud Lewis‘s home. If you haven’t seen the movie Maudie (2016) starring Sally Hawkins and Ethan Hawke, it’s worth a look. Someone who as a boy knew Maud has built a pretty good reconstruction of her tiny home (the original is in the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia). I have to admit that I don’t understand the artistic merit of folk art, but I can appreciate a good story, and the story of a young destitute woman with numerous physical challenges finding love and artistic success in rural Nova Scotia is a good one and exemplifies much that is right about Canada.

Murray Ross beside his replica house on the site of the original.
Maud Lewis in the doorway of her home, 1961 Photograph by Cora Greenaway

Murray Ross told a few stories from memory about Maud, including that she soaked her paintbrushes in turpentine and the terrible fumes in the little house likely contributed to her lung ailments later in life.

A little further along the spit, I pulled off at the appropriately-named Sandy Cove.

Sandy Cove, NS. No crashing waves here but a very pleasant rest stop along the spit.

The Digby spit is comprised of several islands. There are free short ferries rides that take you to the outer islands. If you have the time, keep going because there are some interesting attractions further along.

Shortly after getting off the first ferry, look for the sign for Balancing Rock. You have to survive a very buggy hike along a trail to the shore to see it, but it’s pretty neat. (Pro tip: wear your helmet with visor down on the hike.)

Keep your eye out for whales. Finally, if you make it that far, Brier Island not only has ice cream but also a lighthouse out on the point.

Brier Island Lighthouse, my final lighthouse.

I’d never made it out to the furthest island before, and doing so this time felt like the end of the road for this tour. The next day I caught the ferry across The Bay of Fundy and started heading home, stopping at my buddy Mark’s place again in Rivière du Loup for the night before pushing on to Montreal.

Reflecting on the tour now, midwinter, I have to admit that the planned tour changed pretty dramatically, from an ambitious solo off-road ride across two major provinces, to three weeks on the TQT, to one week on the TQT and one in rural Nova Scotia. Some of that downgrading was from a lack of confidence in my bike, some from a lack of confidence in myself. When I had a stupid tip-over turning around on Mark’s driveway, I discovered that I could barely get the Tiger back up again on my own. My back is not what it used to be, and my confidence took a hit.

I’m working on getting my mojo back. I’ve been working really hard this winter on my strength and fitness to prepare my body for the kind of retirement I want to have, and moving to a bike 150 lb. lighter with Honda reliability will give me confidence again to explore on my own. That includes plans for some epic tours, but I’ll leave that for a future post. For now, I’m looking forward to buying the Honda 300 Rally in the spring and having some fun with the boys on the trails next summer.

The Homestretch

February 12, 2024February 13, 2024 / 650thumper / 1 Comment

Marilyn and I got a kick out these signs. The NL potholes don’t compare to Montreal’s.

After a night crossing on the ferry from Newfoundland, I decide to ride The Cabot Trail, then stop at friends in Nova Scotia and Maine before the final push home.

The night crossing was terrible! I think it ranks up there as one of the most miserable nights of my life, such as once on a day trip in Germany when I missed the last train back to Munich with no cash in my pocket and too young to have a credit card so had to sleep on the street, or when I once slept in a trailer with a door that didn’t properly close, in June, in Canada, and got eaten alive all night by mosquitoes. The snoring was like a thousand mosquitoes entering my sleep to feast all night, or an over-sized dentist’s drill boring through my ear-plugs. I tried slumping in my chair, both sides, slouching, curling into a fetal position across two chairs (and an armrest), lying on the floor, trying a different floor . . . nothing worked. Eventually I gave up and went for breakfast in the dining hall.

This was the only enjoyable part of the entire crossing, during which I struck up a conversation with a young man at an adjacent table. He was from Cape Breton and had recently started working on an offshore oil rig. It was interesting to hear about that experience and life in Cape Breton. The story I kept hearing during my travels from him and other locals is that the Maritime winters are not what they used to be. Very little snow and many have sold their snowmobiles. Fishermen report of increased fog. Great White sharks have been spotted in the waters off Ingonish, etc. etc. Yeah, we know, you must be thinking—the planet is getting warmer. Duh! I only mention it because Marilyn has always said she wouldn’t retire to the Maritimes because she couldn’t take a Maritime winter. Thanks to global warming, the east might be back in the cards! (However, as I write this, it’s just received a record snowfall).

When I said I was headed to Baddeck on a bike, he suggested I take the 223, the Grand Narrows Highway that goes up through Iona. Nice tip! Here’s a taste.

It’s like that the whole way—twisty right along the shore of Bras D’Or Lake where it juts up into the Narrows. The pavement is a little broken but not bad. Keep in mind that I’m operating on one hour of sleep and that brush on the right that comes up close to the road is always a red flag for me, so I’m holding back. I would have my fun later in the day on the Cabot Trail.

After arriving at Baddeck Cabot Trail Campground, one of my favourite campgrounds and my second stay there this trip, I set up camp before hitting The Cabot Trail. Yes, the definite article deserves to be capitalized because The Cabot Trail is an iconic ride. I’ve done it before on my 650GS but wanted to do it again on the Tiger. So after a quick nap, I headed off.

I told myself, given my sleep debt, I’d just cruise it, but it wasn’t long before I was lured up into the adrenaline zone—until the bike twitched on a tar snake mid-corner. Never a pleasant feeling and I decided to cool it down.

The real fun was riding out to Meat Cove. The road is twisty and undulating and broken in spots, and then it turns to dirt. It started to rain, which made it more interesting. The dirt section had recently been graded so there weren’t any potholes or washboard to worry about.

This is exactly the kind of riding the Tiger is made for—twisty asphalt and light off-roading. I was having fun, once I got the damn ABS off. (I wish it were easier on the Tiger than having to navigate down through menus.) Unfortunately, I didn’t get footage of the best riding into the campground because the camera turned off for some unknown reason, but trust me, I was power-sliding the rear wheel out over the cliff-edge on those left-handers. 😉 Maybe it’s best that the wife doesn’t see that footage anyway.

I was pretty annoyed when I discovered the camera had stopped. To be honest, I’m not happy with much of the footage from the tour, so I’m definitely going to change how I work with the camera. Maybe I’ll use the phone app so I can see when and what I’m filming (or when I’m not filming), and maybe I’ll use the loop setting in which the camera constantly records over the same bit of memory card until I stop recording. The only issue with loop mode is it drains the battery fast. Voice commands don’t work with wind noise at speed, and I don’t want to be fumbling either with the camera or the phone, but I’ll experiment in the spring and come up with a better process. If you use an action camera, I’d be interested in hearing about your experience and set-up.

Anyway, back at Meat Cove, I arrived amid a torrential downpour, much to the amusement of hikers who were laughing at me while waiting it out in their SUVs. I didn’t care. A hormone concoction of endorphins, dopamine, adrenaline, and testosterone were coursing through my veins. It was time for a fresh lobster roll at the Clam Chowder Hut and the bragging rights photo.

Some bikes can’t make it in to Meat Cove but the Tiger sure can.

There’s a lot more of The Cabot Trail I could show but this is already going to be a long post, and there’s no shortage of footage available online. It’s always a great ride, and I’m glad I made the effort to do it again while I was near. I ended up doing the complete loop and was back at camp in time to enjoy a campfire and some of the bourbon I’d picked up earlier in the day.

My destination the following day was Urbania, Nova Scotia, just south of Truro, where some friends of mine live. I met Sharon in 1986 when I was an undergrad, so our friendship is long! I’ve admired her dedication to her writing career and teaching work and watched her fall in love and marry the man of her dreams, move out of the GTA (Greater Toronto Area) and into their dream home built largely by her equally talented husband, Kevin. If any of my older readers remember the Canadian 80’s band New Regime, well Kevin was the lead singer, among other accomplishments. This would be my first visit to their new place and I was looking forward to it. They have several acres of property that back out onto the Shubenacadie River.

The current was especially powerful after the rains the previous night.

The riding in Nova Scotia is excellent and probably worthy of a separate post, but I’ll just say here that Old Highway 4 from New Glasgow down to Bible Hill is about as good as it gets for a secondary highway through non-mountainous boreal forest. It was the original primary east-west highway until the Trans Canada was put in, and you can take it all the way to or from Sydney, Cape Breton. I followed it for much of the day and only jumped onto the Trans Can toward the end as I was racing against a system of precipitation that was moving into the area.

As I rode up the driveway to Sharon and Kevin’s, it started to rain. And it rained! There was a massive thunderstorm during the night and, in fact, major flooding in Halifax. We actually received an evacuation notice during the night because we were near a dam that was at risk of breaching. (Whatever . . .) My timing was lucky: I was happy to shelter in place under a solid roof with good friends. The extreme weather also got me thinking that you can’t escape climate change. Forest fires out west, ice storms in Montreal, flooding in the Maritimes—wherever Marilyn and I end up for our retirement, we’ll have to deal with some form of extreme weather.

The next day Sharon and I walked her property down to the river. One of the gems of their property is a tree they call Grandfather Ash. Unfortunately, since I visited, this magnificent tree was severely damaged in Hurricane Lee last September.

Despite the extreme weather, the visit was restful and restorative. The energy on their property is quiet and calm, and I hope my retirement home is as lovely. I keep talking about retirement because it’s very much on Marilyn’s and my minds these days. I’ll be teaching for another two years, until June 2026, and then we’ll be moving out of Quebec. I could write a lot about my frustrations with Quebec politics, economics, and sociology, but let’s stick to adventure touring. The short of it is we have to decide whether to move out west to where Marilyn has friends and family (good riding in The Rockies!) or out east to where we’d be closer to my friends and family. Either way, it’s going to be difficult leaving the friends we’ve made here, but I’m not going to think about that now. Thankfully, we have a few years to decide and emotionally to prepare.

After a few days visiting, I had to tear myself away and get back on the road. I had two more nights planned and wanted to get over the border into Maine the first night. I headed back to the Trans Canada on the beautiful, winding 236.

I had to get around the Bay of Fundy and took the highway as far as Sackville, then split off onto the 106 because I prefer secondary highways. Soon after crossing into New Brunswick, as I came through Dorchester, I saw a giant sandpiper at the side of the road.

I’ve seen the giant goose in Wawa and Husky the Muskie in Kenora, so I thought I’d stop and take a closer look. Even more impressive was the Bricklin parked in the lot.

Bricklin was a Canadian car manufacturer located in Saint John, New Brunswick, in 1974-75. With the help of provincial funding, they built about 3,000 cars, but problems with reliability of the acrylic body panels and other issues drove the price up and the car company soon went bankrupt. The car has a Chrysler slant 6 engine, a Datsun tail, and other parts from Chevrolet and Opel. It’s crowning feature are the winged doors that open upwards. I got talking to a young lady out front and accidentally mistook it for a DeLorean, which must happen a lot. The DeLorean is another long-nosed, snub-tailed, winged car of yesteryear, made famous by the Back to the Future movies. This Bricklin’s in great shape, obviously without a spot of rust on it, and no blistering that plagued the early models.

I’ve said it before, this is what I love about solo touring. I can stop whenever something catches my eye, meet people, and explore. It turns out that I’d stumbled upon the Dorchester Jail, the second oldest jail in Canada and the only privately owned provincial jail and Canada. It’s also the only privately owned Death Row in Canada and was the location of the last double-hanging in New Brunswick—the Bannister Brothers. That reminds me of a skull I once saw at Eldon House in London, Ontario, that was from the first hanging in Canada. Actually, it was the first two hangings because the rope broke on the first try, which leads me to wonder if the executioner apologized to the murderer for having to put him through his execution twice. Hmm . . .

I’ve never spent a night in the clink but if I ever want to, I know where to go. The jail has been converted to an AirBNB and you can enjoy a night in a cell for a moderate price. I don’t know if that includes use of the courtyard during the day because there was at the time of my visit another interesting vehicle there beneath a cover.

This bad girl (the truck, not the woman, who graciously lifted the cover to show me) had a bit more rust on her than the Bricklin. Love the tractor tire front bumper, almost as good as the Bricklin’s featured “energy-absorbing” bumpers.

Also of interest was this metal arch that was constructed from horseshoes, locks, car parts, tools, chains, and prisoner shackles. And amid it all—I don’t know if built or placed—was a bird’s nest.

This place was a feast for eyes, but I had miles to go before I sleep so had to push on. I soon was passing through Saint John, NB (not to be confused with Saint John’s, NL), stopping only to fuel up and caffeinate up because it looked like it was going to be a late arrival at my destination, Cobscook Bay State Park in Maine. By the time I arrived at the border, it was already dusk.

Are you nervous when crossing borders? I’ve crossed the US-Canada one so many times I don’t get nervous anymore, but I’m always cautious about what I say because I know the power these officers have. I knew they were going to ask me the usual questions and was prepared. Our conversation went something like this:

Customs Officer: “Where do you live?”

Me: “Montreal.”

CBP Officer: “What is your purpose entering the US?

Me: “I’m on my way back from Newfoundland and just passing through.”

Officer: “Are you travelling with anyone?”

This is where things started to go sideways. I had pulled up alone so wasn’t expecting this.

Me: “Well, I was travelling with my wife, but she flew back early from Newfoundland for work and I’m riding back alone.”

Officer: “Are you meeting anyone in The United States?”

Another unexpected question. Now I should know better than to say more than is necessary, but I’m honest to a fault. I did, in fact, have plans to meet up with a reader of this blog who lives and rides in Portland, and we thought it would be fun to get in some riding together while I was passing through. So I answered honestly. I thought, better safe than sorry.

Me: “Actually, I’m meeting a fellow rider in Portland, and we’re going to go for a ride together. She’s a reader of my blog.”

This answer did not seem to help, and now I was beginning to feel more sorry than safe.

Officer: “What is your relationship with this person?”

He clearly wasn’t familiar with motorcycle culture. Or blogging.

Me: “I write a blog about my motorcycling. I’m meeting someone who is a reader of my blog. She lives in Portland and, since I will be passing through, we thought we’d meet up for a ride together.”

Officer: “So, it’s . . . like a date?”

I felt like I was digging myself in deeper. He clearly had missed the reference to my wife. Some jokes came to mind that might have lightened the moment, but I know enough never to joke with these guys. Sometimes I think that a lack of humour is a job requirement. I felt like I was at the door of a speakeasy and chose my words carefully.

Me: “No, I’m married. I’m meeting a fellow motorcyclist in Portland to go for a ride together. That’s all.”

I was tempted to enlighten him about the communal aspect of motorcycle culture, about blogging and the writer-reader relationship, or to provide a short romantic history of my marriage, but like I tell my composition students, sometimes less is more. The ball was in his court. By now the notorious Maine mosquitoes were out and finding their way up my nose. I looked him straight in the eye.

Officer: “Have a nice night,” he said, and handed me back my passport.

I felt like I’d just hit another tar snake and was happy I still had some of that bourbon in my pannier.

An hour later I had my tent set up, food on, bourbon poured, and a fire lit. That night I wandered down to the water to get out from under the trees of my campsite. The sky was huge and clear, and it was a perfect night for stargazing. I lay on my back and used a great little app called SkyView (Android and Apple) to pick out the constellations.

Highway 1 Maine is a secondary highway that follows the shoreline almost all the way into Portland, passing through quaint towns along the way. I took it west-east in 2017 when I did my first tour out to Cape Breton and The Cabot Trail and my plan was to do it again the other way this time, dropping down into Bar Harbour en route, which I’d heard a lot about. The cost of secondary highways is always time. It was very hot and the going was slow, slower than I remembered. Still, Google Maps was telling me that Bar Harbour is only about a 2-hour ride from Cobscook Bay, so I thought it would be perfect for a mid-morning coffee stop.

I took a short detour out to charming Lubec, ME.

I wouldn’t know because I never made it. As I was coming down Highway 3 south, I got stuck behind no less than four trucks—a hydro truck, a cement truck, a transport truck, and a dump truck—with no chance to pass. Volume got heavier and slower and it got hotter as morning developed into midday. At the same time, what I was seeing wasn’t particularly appealing—clam huts, lobster shacks, pirate-themed mini-putt, hotels, tour busses, hunting and fishing stores—and I began to wonder why I was there, crawling along in a wake of diesel fumes. There’s a national park there and I’m sure the coastline is impressive, if you can get to it, but whatever natural beauty might be drawing all these people to this region is so buried beneath layers of tourist development that I didn’t want to spend any more time trying to find it. As the traffic slowed to a crawl I said “Fuck it!,” pulled a U-turn, and got the hell out of there.

Now I was running late (am I never?) so had to abandon my plan to continue along Highway 1. Google Maps was saying the fastest way to Portland was the interstate, so that’s what I did. After the frustrations of the secondary highway, and given the heat, I was happy to ride at speed. I decided to get my coffee from a Dunkin’ Donuts at one of the exits and met there, by chance, Eric Foster, whom I had written about in a previous post. He’s the guy who crashed on the Trans-Taiga and was rescued by local trappers. On this day he was riding the newer Tiger 900 and had seen my 800 XC, the same as the one he crashed, so jumped off the highway when I did to have a chat. Small world. I’d never met him in person but it now made sense; I remember he lives in Maine. He told me Bar Harbour sucks during the tourist season. Good to know.

I was down to my final night of the tour and thankfully my friend, Berry, had something special planned for me. Berry and I started corresponding a few years ago. At the time, she also rode a 650GS, so found my blog that way. Soon our online conversations turned to other things like diet, politics, and literature, but motorcycles are the thing we usually talk about. When she decided to upgrade her bike, I was honoured that she sought my opinion on the Suzuki V-Strom 650, which of course I endorsed. So when I knew I’d be cutting back through Maine and passing close to Portland, we decided to try to meet and get in a ride. She went one step further and graciously offered to put me up the night in her beautiful house. This meant not only that I was spared setting up camp one last time but also that I could see a little of Portland. She took me on a tour of the old town out to a seaside restaurant where we could sit out and eat seafood while hearing the crashing surf from where it came. It was a fitting end to my Atlantic tour.

We did get in that ride. The next day, Berry followed me part of the way up toward the Canadian border, or rather, I followed her. I figured, let the local lead and choose the route. Here we are riding Highway 153 which, as you can see, is pretty nice.

Eventually, Berry split off at Conway and started heading back toward Portland. It was nice meeting her and putting a face to words, and I’m sure it won’t be the last time we meet. In fact, the NEBDR ends in Maine, so it may be sooner rather than later.

There was one more good section of road remaining on this tour and it was The Kancamagus Highway (NH Rte 112) from Conway to Lincoln. Rever lists it as a G1 road, which is one of America’s Best Roads (Epic Incredible Roads)—their wording—and I would agree. After a rip over the mountain range, you get to decompress as the 112 winds its way parallel to the Pemigewasset River through the village of Loon Mountain, where I visited for the New Hampshire Highland Games for my very first overnight adventure tour, back in September 2016.

At a certain point of every tour, you ride back into familiar territory. It’s always a very noticeable sensation for me. After exploring for weeks and seeing everything for the first time, eventually, usually in that final day, you ride a road you’ve ridden before and remember the first time you rode it. You might even recollect your excitement or heightened attention at seeing it for the first time, and I guess that is why I like to travel. It’s that curiosity about the world that comes alive when you are experiencing the unfamiliar. Time slows, days are long and full, your senses fully alert, your mind constantly thinking, processing information, acquiring knowledge, keeping you safe. I can’t see myself spending vacation time at a resort; I think I’d get bored in two days.

The motorcycle is the perfect mode of travel for people like me who like to experience something new. And Newfoundland was certainly new (pun intended). I don’t think I could get bored with it, and I’m sure I’ll be back sometime in the future, God willing. In the meantime, it’s going to be very interesting to try a different type of touring altogether next summer when I do the BDRs (MA and NE, back to back). I’ve never done two weeks+ of constant off-roading, so there will be new technical and athletic challenges for me. At the same time, I’ll be exploring the Appalachian Mountain Range from West Virginia to the Canadian border. If you want to follow along, you know what to do.

What are your plans for the coming season? I always like to hear from readers so drop a comment below.

Lunch at The Blue Donkey and up through Smuggler’s Notch to the border. In total, I was on the road 25 days over just about 10,000 kilometres (6,000 miles) for an average of 400 kilometres per day.

Life is an Adventure

November 2, 2020November 3, 2020 / 650thumper / Leave a comment

The meaning of life in four simple words.

Recently I had one of those incidents of reflexive karma in which you go to help someone, only to have it come around and help you. It began when I wandered into my college’s bookstore co-op last spring. This is one of my favourite pastimes between classes, usually right before or after picking up a coffee. A book on display jumped out at me.

My son is a pretty good procrastinator and his birthday was coming up, so the book caught my eye. Not suffering particularly from this ailment myself, I bought the book then and there.

Then the Covid lockdown hit and so I ended up having the book longer than expected. Naturally, I started reading it, and I have to say, it’s an excellent book! It presents this complex and deep affliction in clear language and clever illustrations, using Buddhist metaphors and practical exercises to help readers stop procrastinating and start living life to the fullest. One such exercise is to make a Personal Vision Statement.

The authors claim that goal-setting does not work very well in motivating people and avoiding procrastination. That’s because the goal-posts are always moving. What happens when you achieve your goal? There may be a moment of elation, but then . . . what now? Another goal is set, and on it goes. You live in a perpetual state of striving, with very little celebration—not enough to keep you motivated. A better method is to find meaning or purpose to your life. This will fuel your efforts every day, not just at the milestones.

But coming up with a Personal Vision Statement is not easy! Try capturing your idea of The Meaning of Life in a few sentences. The book of course helps with this exercise and suggests a series of drafts. You can find the worksheets here but you’re better off just buying the book. Suffice to say that a good vision statement encapsulates your values. The authors also suggest you think a bit about what your legacy might be and to include what they call Ego 2.0 activities—contributions to others or society, since that’s where we find deeper meaning than in strictly self-serving acts.

Here is my first draft. It’s pretty lame: “Live each day as if it’s my last, but confident that I still have years ahead to experience my dreams. Those dreams are realized in small acts today, just as a marathon is run in thousands of sequential steps. Direct my efforts to giving to others, but don’t forget to give to myself. Enjoy all that the moment offers.”

Like I said, pretty lame. Kind of reads like Desiderata on valium with a dollop of schmaltz on top. There were a few more drafts—something added about listening to the opinion of others but trusting mine—and then, almost as an afterthought, “Keep in mind that life is an adventure not a destination.”

Live each day as if it’s my last, but confident that I still have years ahead to experience my dreams. Those dreams are realized in small acts today, just as a marathon is run in thousands of sequential steps. Direct my efforts to giving to others, but don’t forget to give to myself. Enjoy all that the moment offers.

I wrote all this in my journal, and when I recently finished that journal, I flipped back through the pages before putting it away for posterity. This is one of the things I like about journaling: you can see in those pages all you have been thinking and feeling in recent months. And when I came to the section where I was writing those drafts, it came to me—the perfect vision statement: simply, life is an adventure.

The authors say that a personal vision statement need not be long and complex, in fact can be one sentence, but you might be wondering how I could possibly capture the meaning of life in four words. Let me explain.

The first motorcycle tour I took was in 2017. I’d just gotten my full license the year before and, naturally, had to ride The Cabot Trail in Nova Scotia. I scheduled myself 10 days. I packed up my tent and camping gear, an assortment of tools and spare parts, an old car GPS, and lots of peanut butter and pasta. I had a general plan with reservations at a few campgrounds, but between those fixed points was a lot of room for flexibility. The idea was to explore.

Those were the fullest 10 days of my adult life. I remember sometime around Day 6, I texted my wife that I’d be heading home the next day to be there in two days. She said, “Don’t you have another four days planned?” It’s not that she wanted me to stay away longer, she was just genuinely confused; I’d said my trip would be ten days. Now I was confused too. I’d completely lost track of time and was two days ahead of myself.

“Wow, I’ve got an extra two days!” I texted back. Then I thought back to the beginning of the trip, a mere six days earlier. It seemed like weeks ago. My days were so full and yet I was so present in each moment, they were the longest days of my life.

It’s not that it had all been easy and good. On Day 2 the bike wouldn’t start after one of my rest stops, and there was an ugly hour of anxiety trying to figure it out. Later I discovered that the ferry I had planned to take to Deer Island, NB, was permanently closed, leaving me to find another way to get there in the fading light or change my accommodation plans. There was driving rain, and stifling heat, dehydration headaches, a bee up the sleeve, phone charging issues, navigation problems, and an unexpected oil change. Oh yeah and I dropped the bike. Twice.

But there was also crossing the Penboscot Narrows Bridge, take-out fish & chips on the ferry to Deer Island, going down into the Springhill coal mine, off-roading in the Cape Breton interior, the switchbacks of The Cabot Trail, swimming in the North Atlantic Ocean at Port Shoreham Provincial Park, and Peggy’s Cove at dawn. There were the people I met along the way, from the guy who helped me when the bike wouldn’t start, the Quebecois cyclist on his own adventure through Maine, my ex-colleague Guy at Seascape Kayak Tours, Yannick my off-road buddy in Baddeck, and Walter, who wandered over to my campsite and offered me a cold beer after a wicked hot day of riding, not to forget the staff at Adrianne’s Cycle Service in Moncton.

Seal Island Bridge. Cape Breton Island, NS

But there is one moment in particular that stands out for me when I think back on that trip. It was at the end of Day 7, just when I was starting to get comfortable and confident with this adventure touring thing. I’d left Baddeck in the morning and ridden over the Seal Island Bridge into Sydney to buy a new phone cord at the Best Buy there. Then I picked up Old Highway 4 that took me along the shoreline and out to Port Hawkesbury and over the causeway, where I turned left onto the 344, the beginning of the spectacular Marine Drive that hugs the Atlantic shoreline.

He was singing Green Day’s “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life),” and it occurred to me that I was—having the time of my life.

Sometime in the afternoon, I saw a sign for a provincial park and decided to stop for lunch. It was a sandy beach, and I went for a swim to cool off in the heat. When I returned to the bike, I asked a woman in the parking lot if she knew of a campground nearby. She directed me not only to “the most beautiful campground in Nova Scotia” but also to “the best fish & chips” at a local microbrewery not much further down the highway. So I followed her advice and set up at Boyston Provincial Park, then rode into Guysborough to The Rare Bird pub. I sat out on the terrace that looked out onto the wharf, and as I waited for my dinner to arrive, I enjoyed the amber ale and the sound of a local musician singing and playing a guitar. He was singing Green Day’s “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life),” and it occurred to me that I was—having the time of my life.

I was in my element, living in the moment and exploring, seeing things I’d never seen before, meeting new people, enjoying my bike, trusting myself, and discovering what life presents me literally around each corner, whether good or bad. I have only experienced this feeling of freedom once before, when I backpacked through Europe for a month in my 20s. Similarly, I was exploring the world, and life was an adventure. If only life could always be like this, I thought.

And it is.

Goodbye Cape Breton

August 11, 2017August 11, 2017 / 650thumper / 1 Comment

Great Bras d’Or Lake overlooking Boularderie Island

One of the nice things about travelling solo is that you can play it by ear, so to speak. My wife likes to have a trip planned out before leaving home, with reservations for each night made weeks in advance. I decided to reserve when needed (i.e. weekends) and keep the week open and flexible. Yeah, the trade-off is that when the sun is setting and you don’t have a place yet to lay your head, it can be stressful.

I had planned to go from Baddeck to Meat Cove, a campground at the eastern tip of Cape Breton. It’s a pretty spectacular place and popular amongst bikers, if only to be able to boast about doing the dirt road required to get there. My wife and I were there with our dog a few years ago. The campsites are literally on the precipice of cliffs overlooking the ocean and we were worried our dog would make a false step and plummet to his death. But when we were there we realized that, as a border collie, he is in his element. Meat Cove is like the true highlands (not that I’ve ever been there)—rugged, raw, and a bit dangerous. Just the type of terrain to herd sheep.

But I digress. I did not return to Meat Cove this time. When I left Montreal, I had 3000 km before I needed an oil change. Surely enough, I thought, to get me there and back. Except it took 3000 km to get to Cape Breton so I started to look for a place that services BMWs. Turns out there are none in Nova Scotia, but a biker forum pointed me to a mom and pop operation in Moncton called Adriann’s, so I decided to start heading that way instead of further east. Besides, I’d already done the Cabot Trail, and going to Meat Cove and back would basically mean riding it again.

First I had to go to Sydney to the nearest Best Buy. The micro-USB cord I use to charge my phone off the bike when riding was acting up. Sydney is a port industry city and a fine place to pass through when picking up a phone cord but I wouldn’t want to live there. In fact, it appears that most places that were built on mining and are now transitioning to something else are not very nice. I picked up Highway 4, the same Old Highway 4 I took to get to Cape Breton, at Sydney and took it back to the causeway. It was hot and I had decided that morning to not use my fuel pack, which was a bad decision. A fuel pack is a 3-litre bag of water you carry on your back either under or over your jacket. There’s a tube you can tuck under the chin of your helmet to sip water all day. It’s great, but 3 litres of water starts to feel like 30 after a several hours, so in the interests of comfort, knowing I had a long day ahead, I packed it instead of wearing it and bundgied a Nalgene to my bags instead. I chose the wrong day to choose comfort over hydration. Lesson learned: I made a note to myself that the discomfort of carrying water is preferable to the pain of a 2-day headache, which is what happens when I get dehydrated. To make matters worse, I suffered my first sleeve bee sting. And the traffic was bad getting off the causeway because the trucks have to be weighed..

But once off, things improved. I turned left at the first junction onto the 344. This is the beginning of Marine Drive, 7 hours of twisties and the best motorcycle route in NS according to Eat, Sleep, Ride. By this time I was looking for a lunch spot, and I pride myself on finding good ones. Heading along the 344, I saw a sign for Port Shoreham Beach Provincial Park and decided to check it out. It led me to another magnificent lunch spot.

Beach

It also provided an opportunity finally to swim a bit in the ocean and cool off. There were even change rooms.

By this time it was getting on in the afternoon, so back at the parking lot, I asked someone if there was a campground nearby. Boy, did I luck out! She used to work for the tourism bureau and recommended “the most beautiful provincial campground in Nova Scotia,” just a little further along the 344 at Boylston. You climb and climb up from the road to a spectacular view of the bay.

Boyston PP Sites are administered on an honour system at a whopping $21.60 a night tax included. They are grassy and private and quiet. If you’re ever in the area, be sure to stay at Boylston. She then proceeded to tell me where to find a micro-brewery pub with “the best fish and chips in the province.” If I hadn’t already been married, I might have proposed.

With my site chosen and the tent up, I rode into Guysborough to The Rare Bird. The terrace was open out back and it looked out onto the wharf where they have live music. A young man was playing an acoustic version of Green Day’s “Time of Your Life,” and I couldn’t help thinking, as I sipped my amber ale, I am having the time of my life.

Guysborough

Day 8

Next day: finishing Marine Drive and going to Peggy’s Cove.