..................being alone in a strange dark place or watching a horror flick kind of scared. I mean flat out terror, the kind when you think you might die and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Now imagine that terror lasting 30 minutes.
That's what happened to us, both of us, late this afternoon after riding 210 miles from Cow Head, Newfoundland to about 20 miles north of Channel-Port aux Basques. Entering the final stretch, in the rain and darkening skies, there was a sign that read, "Strong winds, next 20km." Ha, we chuckled. We've dealt with gusting winds this entire trip. Been there, done that.
Soon thereafter Eric's intercom battery died. We lost communication. A few minutes later the road dropped into a valley, wide marshy expanses on both sides. From the left, the win started to gust. As taught, we leaned our bikes into it, maybe 20°, to offset the effects. That worked for a little while until the wind began to swirl, hitting us from both sides. These weren't little puffs. They were active squalls, blowing with increasing intensity.
We laters estimate the strongest blows to be 35 plus knots (40 mph). We rocked back and forth, struggling to keep the bikes upright. We slowed considerably but that didn't help. At one point I was steering the bike left but was being pushed right, over the solid line to the outside edge of the shoulder. I thought I was going to be blown down the embankment.
Eric turned on his emergency flashers. I followed suit. A caravan of traffic, led by a tracker trailer truck, was right on our butts. It was terrifying.
There finally was a small cut out of road ahead. We pulled in. We were nearly blown over just sitting in on bikes. It was crazy.
We wrestled with what to do next. Screaming into the wind we strongly considered sitting by the side of the road for the night. We agreed that we could make due with the cold, rain and lack of food. However, we worried that the bikes would fall over. Moreover, the mountains loomed ahead. I felt that if we reached them, we might then be sheltered from the wind. We decided to crawl on. A good choice. Within a mile the winds died down. Crisis averted.
We pulled into St. Anthony's hotel ten miles later. We got off the bikes, slapped high fives and with shared relief, stumbled into the lobby.
A hot shower, a quesadilla dinner and a double bourbon brought us down to earth. It was a day I'll never forget.
A few more miles of motorcycle riding are left... to the ferry terminal here in Port aux Bosque tomorrow morning and then an additional few miles away from the terminal in Nova Scotia tomorrow night. We then store the bikes on the trailer for the long ride home.
It's been a memorable trip, one that I'll treasure for years. But I'm ready for it to end. I'm done. Time to get back on my bicycle, my true two-wheel love.
Feeling blessed and so lucky. Goodnight all.
George
Eric's take...From: Roderick MacLeish <rmacleish@chelaw.com>
Date: September 27, 2017 at 10:16:57 PM GMT-2:30
To: "capegeorge@gmail.com" <capegeorge@gmail.com>
Subject: Fwd: Revised blog. Use this.It was 5 PM when all hell broke loose off the port side.
The last several days of motorcycle trips tend to be easy riding. George has gotten over his jitters and we're used to the bikes. There's a lot of banter over the intercoms as we reflect back over another successful trip. Of course, these conversations are highly privileged and involve a range of topics.
Today started off no differently in Cows Head Newfoundland. We spent our second night (one going up the other back) at the splendid Swallows Inn. We'd seen a very good play the previous evening at the really nice community Playhouse. The only sign of things to come was a bizarre conversation I had over breakfast with a man who invited me to take a motorcycle trip with him to Morocco. In retrospect, a bad omen.
The bikes purred as we set off south to Corner Brook. We went to our favorite Tim Hortons right off the trans Canadian. I generously agreed to tuck George's gloves into his jacket, much like I had done with my two daughters when they were five years old on the ski slope. But it was now starting to rain and the temperature was dropping.
Our destination was Port aux Basque, the sleepy metropolis at the southern end of Newfoundland where we would catch a ferry tomorrow to the tip of Nova Scotia, retrieving our truck and trailer in North Sydney. It's been a very relaxed and enjoyable trip with George. I really enjoyed the camaraderie with George, the people from Newfoundland and the trip to Labrador was a terrific experience. Upon reflection, even the Cod tongue was a bearable dinner.
We were about 20 km from our destination when we saw large yellow signs warning us of gusty winds for the next 20 kilometers. Annoyingly, an RV pulled out directly in front of me from the gas station, and I was determined to pass it. I was annoyed that it was temporarily blocking my view of some splendid mountain scenery coming up on the left-hand side.
Several minutes later, the last thing on my mind was revenge on the RV. I got hit immediately from the port side with a gust of wind which I estimated was more than 25 knots. No problem, I thought, this is a one time event.
I had badly misjudged the situation. Within seconds, I was hit with an even harder gust. The gust actually pushed my motorcycle almost off the road. The only maneuver to prevent catastrophe was leaning the bike on an angle. I checked back in my rear view mirror and saw George fighting the wind and meandering all over the road. I was now grateful that the RV was ahead and blocking some of the wind.
We have been in high winds before. On our first trip, we faced strong crosswinds in Nevada that led George to retreat to the breakdown lane with his flashers on. But this was different. This was a gusty wind, not a consistent one. You had to react immediately and if you lean the 600 lb bike into the wind, you had best be prepared for a let up and you must straighten the machine. This involves very quick reactions. And I go on Medicare next month.
The RV was now out of sight, cresting over the next hill. I was keeping an eye on George in the rearview mirror and he seemed to be having a better time of it than I was. This may have been due to a better skill set, but more likely the result of his riding my much heavier Honda, which also has a lower center of gravity than my BMW.
At some point, George overtook me. Looking back on the incident, neither of us remember why. But, suddenly, I was falling in back of him. I struggled with the bike and wrestled it to stay on the road.
In the past, I have made fun of George unfairly for putting his flashers on when he is going slow. Now it was my turn. This is a two lane road with trucks who had no sympathy for motorcyclists. After ranting about the RV, I suddenly found an 18 wheeler within inches of my rear bumper. Well maybe a few feet, but it sure seemed close.
Suddenly, I was hit with another blast which had to be more than 35 knots. I leaned the bike into the wind and was promptly hit with a blast from the starboard side of equal strength. I had never experienced anything like this. I can honestly say that I was truly terrified. I was no longer worried about George; this was a fight for survival for both of us.
We pulled into a small piece of pavement on the right side. The tractor-trailer screamed past me, issuing a virtual shower of water on my motorcycle and me as it passed. Since my motorcycle intercom was no longer working, I yelled at George once we stopped asking him what he thought we should do. The wind was blowing so hard now that we could not go more than 10 miles an hour safely.
Our situation was untenable. We couldn't even get off the bikes; they would be blown over. I did take a moment to relieve myself, but the bike was tipping in the wind. George told me that he thought we should continue at slow speeds and I bravely nodded. I could see that the road turned to the south up ahead and that the mountains might block the wind. It was either continue or face abandoning the bikes and snuggling with George for the night on the side of the road. Not an option.
Our gamble paid off. The wind decreased to about 20 knots and we limped into Port aux Basque to our hotel. A truly dramatic end to a terrific trip!
We are here tonight having a celebratory drink about our good fortune, and our kind bartender Cecilia told us that she had seen three tractor-trailers flipped over on that same stretch of highway!
Roderick MacLeish
Of Counsel
Clark, Hunt, Ahern & Embry
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