It's early Thursday morning.
I'm sitting in the lobby of the St. Christopher hotel in Channel-Port aux Basque, Newfoundland. This hotel has a small fitness room but it's locked. I think the night clerk is asleep on the couch in the back room. It would be too mean of me to wake him up to let me in. I'll sit here and work on the blog for a little while instead.
We arrived in Port aux Basque last night at 7 p.m. It was wet and dreary and getting dark; poor conditions for riding motorcycles, especially with the first mile-long stretch of metal grates in the ferry terminal and on the surrounding bridges. Thankfully, Saint Christopher's was only 10 minutes away, up on the hill overlooking the harbor. We were able to arrive, check in, shower and leave for dinner within a half hour.
Opting not to eat at the hotel's run down dining room, we walked down the hill to the waterfront pub, The Harbor. It was a lively basement scene with the Red Sox on the TV, a dozen women at one table celebrating a birthday, a group of boisterous hockey players at another table and a few single guys, each sitting alone at the bar.
The service was slow and the food (me; a Greek salad, Eric; chicken quesadillas) was below average but it didn't matter. We got a flavor of the people from this small industrial town (pop. 4,500), located at the extreme southwest tip of Newfoundland. Like in Nova Scotia, and Prince Edward Island, the people here are engaging, interesting and interested, and seemingly kind. We probably wouldn't fit in for long. 😊
We were back at the hotel by 9 and decided to go into the hotel bar for a nightcap. An older couple was playing on one of three gambling machines, there was a vacant dartboard in the far corner and a small oak veneer bar with a young bartender sitting behind it looking bored an forlorn.
We took a couple of stools at the bar. The drink selection was meager. I didn't see anything I wanted. Eric suggested a double Grand Marnier. I agreed but regretted it almost immediately. That stuff is so sweet and syrupy. Definitely not my thing. It was pricey so I nursed it over the next hour before finishing the night with a shot of the local moonshine named Screech. My former colleague Pam had warned me about Screech. The "Newfies" take great pride in how terrible it tastes (much the way the Greeks feel about Retsina). The only thing I can compare it to is turpentine. It stings going down and has a strong lacquer aftertaste. Compared to the Grand Marnier, I'll take it.
The 29 year old bartender,
who didn't want us using her name in the blog, talked of her five year old son's first day of school, her empty daytime life without him, her distain for all things Labradorian and how miserable it is in Newfoundland from May to October. Not the most uplifting of conversations. That is until 9:30 rolled around. That is when the final episode of "big brother" came on. She became transfixed. She hasn't missed an episode in 12 years and thinks it is the best programming that TV has to offer.
Neither Eric nor I had ever heard of Big Brother before. She was incredulous. She introduced us to each of the characters (she called them candidates) including her favorite, Paul. "Paul is the best contestant they've ever had. I love him. He's definitely going to win." OK then.
We stayed in Port aux Basque because Eric and I had agreed one unbreakable rule for this trip; no riding motorcycles after dusk. There are an estimated 150,000 moose in Newfoundland, many of them grazing alongside the province's major roads (apparently they like to lick the road salt). With a brain the size of a walnut, moose lack any instinct for self-preservation. They often dart unexpectedly into oncoming traffic, especially at night. At six feet tall and 1,800 pounds, you can image the damage they can cause. Virtually everyone we've talked to has warned us about them. Natasha, our server yesterday at the Hotel Dalvay, told us about her brother's incident where his car struck a moose between its front and rear legs, flipping in onto the trunk of his small car. Stunned, the moose laid there for awhile shaking its legs before rolling back onto the ground. Thankfully, both her brother, and the moose, were OK.
The ferry ride over was easy. The sky's were overcast, the water relatively calm (though Eric had to spend much of the voyage on the upper deck due to nausea) with dozens of dolphins escorting us along the way.
I passed the time talking to truck drivers, reading, napping and even doing a little Pilates our on the deck. The six hours flew by.
Yesterday morning we arrived at the N. Sydney ferry terminal at 9 a.m., nearly three hours before it's scheduled departure. Unbelievably, they were already shutting down ticket sales. We got the last two available slots. Phew! Good karma for starting the motorcycle portion of our adventure.
We killed an hour at Tim Horton's before boarding. I ordered oatmeal from Marilyn, an older woman behind the counter. I didn't watch Marilyn prepare it. When she brought it back topped with brown sugar, I politely asked whether she could make me another one. She responded no, that that was the last of it. I said that that was fine. I would scrape it off. A funny thing that the fruit comes on the side but the tour doesn't. Anyway, I could tell she felt bad about it. I shouldn't have said anything. A few minutes later she came to our table with a fresh bowl of oatmeal. What a sweetheart.
When leaving I followed a man with cerebral palsy out the front door. He caught his foot on something and took a hard tumble to the pavement. It must have really hurt. From behind, I cupped my hands into his arm pits and lifted him to a stand. His nose was scraped and his shirt and pants were covered in sandy dirt. He declined further assistance and labored away. I'm afraid this must happen to him a lot. I wish I could have been of more help.
We spent Tuesday at MacNeil's, a low budget motel on rte. 105, a few miles west of the ferry terminal.
MacNeil's was recently renovated. The room had a fresh coat of paint, comfortable mattresses and a hot, strong shower. Perfect.
Jimmy, the owner, let us park the truck/trailer there for the next week. How nice is that. He saved us more than $100 in parking fees. 😊. I'll make a point of leaving a glowing review of MacNeil's on Trip Advisor. If you're ever in Sydney, stay at MacNeil's. Tell em George sent you.
Somehow, during our long drive from PEI, the ratchet straps in the trailer loosened, resulting in the Honda falling against the BMW. It was a alarming but honestly, it could have been much worse. The Honda had only a few scrapes and both of its mirror enclosures were knocked off. I was able to fix them easily. We'll have to inspect the bikes more frequently on the drive home.
I've become so accustomed to bicycle traveling over the last few years that I'm now feeling out of sorts with my morning motorcycle organizing routine. On my recent five-day cycle trip to Canada, I had packing down to a science; what stuff went in which pannier, which pannier went on which side of the bike, how to stack and safely secure the tent/sleeping bag/air mattress, and gathering snacks, money, spare tubes, the pump, bike lock and Camelback in my day pack.
Yesterday I found myself unable to find my sunglasses, iphone, keys, gloves and more. It was disorienting. When we arrived at the ferry terminal I realized I had left my chest protector back in the truck. Ouch. This is the first trip that I'll be riding without one and I'm not looking forward to it. Eric recently bought an airbag vest. It's an amazing piece of technology. Maybe I can find one in Newfoundland somewhere.
Also disorienting is the fact that Newfoundland has its own time zone. It's such an odd thing. It's 30 minutes ahead of Atlantic time, 90 minutes ahead of Boston. If anyone knows why they do this, let me know.
Today we're riding up the west coat to Rocky Harbor in Gros Morne National Park. If we get there in time we're going to hike along the fjords and/or boat out to the small surrounding islands. Praying for dry, moose-free roads.
By for now.
Sent from George's iPhone
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