The final ride

Eric's take... 

The last day of riding was on a ferry,  not a motorcycle. After an afternoon of terror the previous day, it was a peaceful 6 hour ferry ride over to Nova Scotia. But what a great trip! I heartily recommend  Newfoundland. It's a shame we did not have more time. I wished we had been able to take the West Brook boat ride into the fjord of Gros Morne and the hike in Tablelands is apparently not to be missed, but we did! The people are wonderful. Warm, open hearted and funny. They speak in a tongue that is virtually incomprehensible but it is a lovely one. Also amazing camaraderie with my friend George. His ability to connect with the locals is a sight to behold even if you can't understand them. He's much too young to retire. A very quick mind and a dry sense of humor that is enormously entertaining. Margot please let him do more motorcycle trips; I could not possibly keep up on a bicycle!!!

George's take...

Last night, after a lazy day on the Newfoundland - Nova Scotia ferry, we loaded the bikes into the trailer and drove a few hours before crashing for the night at the Travelodge in New Glasgow, NS.

The Travelodge, a rundown place, could use some management help.  On Hotels.com, we had reserved a no-smoking room with two beds. When we arrived, all that remained was a smoking room with one queen bed.  No thank you.

After jousting for 10 minutes, with a line of tired travelers behind us, we worked out a solution.  They would clean an unoccupied first floor non-smoking single suite for Eric.  I would take the smoking single up on the third floor, along with a can of air freshener.  I was lucky.  There was a distant smell of smoke in my room but one I could deal with.  It took them 30 minutes to ready Eric's place.  By 11:30, we were settled into our respective rooms the night.

After an early morning workout in yet another modest hotel fitness room, I went to the lobby for breakfast; a packet of oatmeal, a small glass of juice concentrate, a five ounce blueberry yogurt cup and an apple for the road.  I then went up to shower as Eric emerged to eat.  We met a the truck at 8:30 and were quickly on the road.  Ten hours later we pulled into Portland where Eric dropped me off at the Concord Coach bus station. 

From there, an easy two hour bus trip to Boston's South Station.  I am now on the MBTA Green Line on the last leg of the journey.

Eric and I had a memorable two weeks exploring the northeast corner of our continent.  We experienced Newfoundland & Labrador in all its natural glory.  Extreme weather conditions, dramatic coast lines, sweeping barrens, seabirds, moose, caribou, whales, icebergs, the northern lights - its all part of this remote province.  At the right time of year, and with a little luck, you can see it all.

I'm grateful to be able to take these trips with Eric. We explore together, challenge each other, share, muse, tease and laugh together.  Oh, do we laugh.  Eric's friendship and the camaraderie are a big part what makes the trips special.  Thank you, my friend. 

A fellow traveler said to me awhile back; "You never want it to end and you can't wait to go home."  I feel the same way.  I love visiting new places, meeting fun and interesting people and experiencing different cultures.  But, home is where my heart is; my equilibrium, my life's routines, my friendships, my family and especially my loving wife, Margot.  There's no place like home.

Until our next adventure.

-george

Sent from my iPhone

It’s 5 pm and all hell broke loose.

Close your eyes and imagine the most scared you've ever been. I don't mean 

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

Riding hard while working for victims

We rode 200+ miles yesterday, more than half of it in the rain and stinging cold.  My wool socks were soaked.   Ice was forming around my toes.  Though I had heated handgrips, my mesh gloves did nothing to fend off the water and the wind.  It was tough.  Eric and I compared it to the day we rode from Idaho, through Montana to the west entrance of Yellowstone; raw, wet, searing cold.  Ouch.

Conditions improved considerably when we stopped for lunch at the Plum Point Motel and Restaurant.  The vegetable beef soup, hot chocolate and grilled cheese sandwiches were transformative.  At that moment I considered them to be among the world's greatest treasures.  Aaaaahhh!

Under the table I dried my feet and swapped out my socks.  I don't know if the waitress noticed but I didn't care.  I dug out my down gloves.  They ended up making a world of difference.  With warm feet and hands and no rain, the afternoon stretch was glorious.  We entered Gros Morne National Park with the horizon sun lighting up the mountains to the east.   It was a bewitching moment as we strolled into Cow Head just before dusk.

We settled in last night at our previous home, the Shallow Bay Motel.  After a nice dinner (Eric had the salmon, I had a Caesar Salad with chicken) we headed next door to the Gros Morne Theatre Festival production of "Fly me to the Moon."  It was a terrific two-women comedy.  I loved it.  So did Eric.  Afterwards, I had a beer at the hotel bar while Eric called Celia.  We were in bed with lights off by 11.

Having Bluetooth intercoms on our helmets has been a blessing and a curse.  It's great being able to warn each other of potential road hazards, discuss plans for the coming days, talk about things going on in our lives and much more.  The downside of the intercoms is that Eric receives many phone calls throughout the day from clients, staff, opposing attorneys and journalists.  He's representing many N.E. prep school sex abuse victims.  There are serious settlement discussions going and people on all sides are wanting to talk to him.  

Of course the media has its nose in it too.  The New Haven Record had an article the other day (see link) and 

http://www.myrecordjournal.com/news/latestnews/10868057-154/after-helping-to-break-silence-about-sexual-misconduct-at-choate.html#gallery-1

other articles are coming.  It's amazing that we can be on motorcycles 500 miles up the Newfoundland peninsula in the most remote place I've ever been, and these people are tracking Eric down.  

It was abhorrent what was happening on prep school campuses throughout the 80's and 90's.  Eric doe not share client details with me but it is clear that these people, women and men, have suffered horrible trauma.  The past cannot be undone.  However, Eric helps provide them some comfort by way of negotiated financial compensation.  It's important work.  I admire his commitment to it and to those who have suffered.

After breakfast, we're off to Port aux Basque  for the return ferry to Nova Scotia on Thursday.  Another long day of riding ahead but th forecast is for clear skies and slightly higher temperatures.  Phew!

Sent from George's iPhone

The Viking settlement in northern Newfoundland

From: <rmacleish@chelaw.com>
Date: September 26, 2017 at 10:45:48 AM GMT-2:30
To: <georgegardner@gmail.com>
Subject: The Viking settlement in northern Newfoundland

After leaving the Genevieve Bay Inn, we drove north to the tip of Newfoundland. It was a clear and sunny day and we stopped briefly at the Saint Anthony airport for a bathroom break.

At the airport, we learned from a security guard that the people we had observed off the road were picking partridge berries. We've had a few of those berries over the past few days and they taste something like blueberries.

I do have to say that it is been hard to find authentic local food. For the most part our choices are fried chicken, fried chicken in a bun or fried chicken with fries. The only exception has been cod tongues which I ate, but which George wrote about. Stated simply, they were disgusting even with a heavy dose of lemon juice and saturations of ketchup. I'm hoping for a little fresh cod or perhaps a tasty moose curry tonight. 

George continues to converse with the locals.  He is very interested in them, as always, and  they seem to take a real shine to him. He was the life of the party at the women's darts night in Genevieve Bay. The contestants readily agreed to video interviews after their match.

We made it up to the Viking settlement in the early afternoon. It was really quite interesting. The Vikings arrived here from Greenland more than 1000 years ago. Archaeologists believe that they were only here for about four seasons. They came to gather wood to bring it back to the farms in Greenland for building materials. Apparently, there was a significant global warming almost 1000 years ago and it got so warm that the Vikings were able to grow barley in Greenland. The other significant Viking settlement was in Iceland. 

It is approximately 2500 kilometers from here to Greenland. The Vikings would not come across the open water but go along the coast of Labrador. They wanted hardwood rather than softwood so they would harvest oak in New Brunswick and bring it up to this settlement. They took a bath every week, as opposed to Europeans, who took a bath once a year. 

The site was discovered in 1960 by two European archaeologists. When they arrived to do their research, they asked the locals for any evidence of disturbed ground. The locals brought the archaeologists out to the site where there were indentations in the ground. The archaeologists determined after a dig this was a human settlement, the first Viking settlement discovered in North America. 

Well so much for Christopher Columbus. He's been getting a bad rap anyway and it seems the Vikings were the first Europeans to discover North America. Of course, it had already been discovered by various indigenous people and their presence was also found at the same site.

At the end of our tour, George and I were permitted to put on Viking helmets and hold swords and shields. There are some truly infantile photographs of us in costumes which are included in the blog. 

We headed out to Saint Anthony's after our visit to the site. We learned this morning that we are sufficiently far north that polar bears visit this town regularly during the winter after arriving on icebergs. There are various exhibits in town about the famous Dr. Greenfell who brought medical care, nursing homes and a hospital to this part of the world at the beginning of the 20th century. It's pouring rain and I hope we don't need the services of the good doctor on our ride south today!

Roderick MacLeish
Of Counsel
Clark, Hunt, Ahern & Embry

Women’s dart teams at the Genevieve Bay Inn

It's early Monday morning here on the Viking Trail at the Genevieve Bay Inn, a converted school, just south of Bird Cove, Newfoundland. Last night the owner's 77 year old mother, Mary, left out a Continental breakfast for early risers. I'm so grateful. I've had a cup of tea, a bowl of oatmeal, a glass of juice and I'm about to make a cup of coffee in the Keurig. Life is good.

It's isolated up here. I'm looking out the window. The mouth of the Gulf of St. Lawrence lies beyond the road and a spit of trees. On the other side of the gulf is Labrador from which we returned last night. A few pickup trucks have roared by, surely fisherman or workers for the electric grid who've overslept and are late for work. It's in the upper 30's. I could see breath when I stepped outside. Our motorcycle visors are frosted over and the seats have a thin layer of icy dew. The first snow is a few weeks away.   They say the ground will be white until May.  Ouch.

For me the isolation, especially during my early mornings alone, has provided a quiet opportunity to reflect, mostly in appreciation.  Though still unsettled about my recent early retirement, I'm grateful for my health, my wherewithal to explore, my loyal friends and especially my family, which has grown with the addition of two wonderful son-in-laws in the past 14 months. My daughters are blessed to have found parters that they respect, enjoy and deeply love. What more could a father want?

I've taken some crazy cycling trips over the last few years and have one long one planned for next year. Margot and the kids prefer that I don't do these things but they've been supportive, knowing the joy it brings me. I'm incredibly appreciative of that too. Thank you, Fam.

It's the third day of fall back home but up here, winter is imminent. The whales are migrating south, seasonal businesses are closing up, ATVs and SkiDoo's are coming off the trailers, firewood is being loaded into garages and the competitive dart leagues are gearing up.

Last night we arrived at the Genevieve around 6:30.  We are the only guests for the night.  The desk clerk, Elizabeth, called the chef (who turned out to be Mary) to tell her to come in and cook for us. I told her that it was unnecessary, that we could make due until breakfast. Elizabeth was insistent so I backed off.

After checking in and taking a quick shower, we went to the bar for a beer and to wait for Mary.  Eric took a seat at the bar and chatted with Elizabeth, who also tended bar.  I took a seat over by one of the dozen dart boards where two women's teams were having a make-up match (last Wednesday's contest had been postponed because the "Nan" of one of them had died).  

I asked whether they minded an audience.  One of them with a wry smile replied, "No, as long as you're willing to sing for us".   The others laughed heartedly.  I did too and sheepishly answered with a weak line about how that would be more of a comedy show than a concert.  They politely chuckled and went back to their business.

Awhile later, Lori, the one who suggested I sing, came over and asked how Labrador was and more specifically, about the boat ride.  I was puzzled but then assumed she knew that anyone passing through at that time had to have come from the ferry.  As her questions continued it became clear that no, we must have met somewhere along the way.  Trying not to put my foot in my mouth I faked it, pretending that I remembered her.  I did pretty well.  It turns out that she works for the ferry terminal (she had been in her heavy rain gear that day).  We had talked to her for a couple of minutes and she had warned us about the heavy seas going over to Labrador.  When I introduced Eric to Lori a little while later I could see that he didn't remember her either.  I think I did a better job of faking it than he did.

I really enjoyed watching the women play darts and I occasionally joined in  some of their banter.  The Nufie accents were difficult to understand, especially after they'd had a few drinks.  There were ten of them ranging in age from about 25 to 70.  There was even a mother/daughter duo.

Another of the women, Daltsey, came up to me and said I bet you've never heard talk like that before.  I said honestly that they spoke so fast and with such strong accents that I didn't understand a word of it.  I asked whether she and the others would repeat it on video after match.  She happily agreed to.

When the match ended, she, Lori and another, Matilda, called me over.  The other women quickly left.  Daltsey said, lets get started.  So I pulled out my iPhone and began taping.  I still didn't understand what Daltsey was saying so while the others laughed, she slowed herself down and walked me through it.  Oh my goodness.  I've been in lots locker rooms over the years but I've never heard anyone talk like that.  I can only imagine my facial expression when she was translating.  I'll have to burn the videotape.  Eric and I were back to the room by 10 and lights were out by 10:30.

The night before night in Labrador, after waiting out the storm, in the hotel dining room, over fried cod tongues, over-cooked steak and a couple of local lager, we acted like adolescent american boys, talking inanely.  Best I could tell no one could here us.  They must have been curious though.  A few times we had deep, long belly laughs.  It was fun.  Laughter, salve for the sole.

Eric's snoring continues to be a problem.  If it was rhythmic it wouldn't be an issue but his pants and snorts are labored, like a truck downshifting on a steep incline.  I bark at him multiple times each night but he keeps the pillow over his head and can't hear me.  Last night I whipped a pillow at him.  That didn't work either.  What to do?

And another thing.  Oddly, the other night for the first time, Eric put the toilet cover down before going to bed.  You can imagine my middle of the night reaction in the dark when after a few moments I digested the decidedly different sound.  Not good.  Enough said. 

Other than that, the cohabitation has been smooth.  It can be challenging sharing a small space with someone, especially with the amount of gear we have and our vastly different sleeping habits.  But we make it work.

Yesterday, after a relaxing breakfast, we drove to the ferry terminal in Blanc-Sablon to purchased tickets for the afternoon boat  back to Newfoundland. Saturday's ferries had been canceled so yesterday's we're filling up fast. By buying the tickets early we were insured getting back to Newfoundland last night.  We were anxious to do this because today we want to get up to the first know Viking settlement in North America.  It's north of St. Anthony at the very tip of Newfoundland's Northern Peninsula.  It should be pretty cool. 

The ferry was easy; cold, but calm and fast.  

And a bonus; the Patriots game was playing on the port side TV.  We were able to watch the entire second half, including the unbelievable finish. It made my day.  I'm not sure the Pats deserved the win but I'll take it.

Happy Monday to all.

Sent from George's iPhone

Saturday in Labrador

From: "Gardner, George" <g.gardner@northeastern.edu>
Date: September 23, 2017 at 9:44:06 PM GMT-2:30
To: Blogger Blog <Capegeorge1.george@blogger.com>
Subject: Fwd: Saturday in Labrador

From: Eric MacLeish <ericmacleish@gmail.com>
Date: September 23, 2017 at 9:02:43 PM GMT-2:30
To: George Gardner <g.gardner@northeastern.edu>
Subject: Blog

Arrived in Labrador yesterday via ferry. Heavy seas on the way over and I had to retreat to the stern deck to avoid seasickness. Strange experience for an old salt and someone who wants to take his wife and family on a sailing vacation. 

You technically arrive on your Labrador vacation in Quebec. A strange part of Quebec since there are only four towns to the left that are within this part of the province.  After that the road ends and it is 250 kms to the next town. But these four towns retain their Québécois identity,  both linguistically and culturally. If there signs in English they must be a fraction of the signs in French. 

Go to the right and you soon pass the provincial border to Labrador. 27,000 residents in the province and ATVs and skidoos are everywhere. We spent the night at the Northern Lights Inn. Unfortunately it is not cold enough for the aurora borealis so we missed that. We also missed riding our bikes today since we were treated to the remnants of Hurricane Jose. But George headed out to clearing weather for a walk

and I followed shortly. We didn't bump into each other. 

I made my way on a trail out to the head of St. Clair's Cove while made his way to the bubbling sands. See video. I'll let George speak about the bubbles.

I had a great walk along this dramatic sea trail. See other photos. On my way back, I stopped to meditate in a desolate area and was

interrupted five minutes later with a big "hello."

William was a native Labradorian with a masters in environmental sciences. He was also incredibly informative and friendly. He explained everything you could possibly want to know over the next 1.5 hours ranging from how to

pronounce "Newfoundland," which I had mangled (it rhymes with "understand") to Inuit  culture in the almost inaccessible Northern Labrador villages. 

We were later joined by another native named Gus who came up on his ATV. He just drove up on the trail and stopped his machine. At first I thought he knew William but that wasn't the case; he just stopped to be friendly. 

I learned a lot. Labrador was transformed in 1992 when the department of fisheries closed the province to cod fishing. It happened overnight and it has not been lifted.  Basically, the European and Canadian factory fishing boats perfected the art of catching cod and the fleet decimated the cod. By the way, cod is simply referred to as "the fish" up here. Striped bass, the prize of  Buzzards Bay, are considered an invasive species. 

The ban on cod fishing transformed these towns. But Labradorians are self reliant and many people are self sufficient, living on Moose, rabbits and vegetables like potatoes and carrots which are found in numerous gardens both on private land and in public areas like the side of the road. 

Our server just told us that she grew up in a town accessible only by water. It used to be the biggest cod town in Labrador. Population 3,000. Now it's deserted. 

The Inuits that populate the Northern have not fared well. Many were nomadic chasing the substantial caribou herd.  The government restricted the native population to certain areas destroying their hunter gatherer culture. 

I just tried the cod tongues for dinner. I first told George that it was probably one tongue from a giant 500 pound cod. Our server corrected me saying that the cod were 10 to 15 pounds and that the tongues on my plate were from five fish. I would probably not repeat the food order. The tongues taste just like what you might imagine a cod tongue to taste like. 

George has bonded well with the locals and he is filled with ideas about charitable foundations intertwined with technology that could help the struggling population. Apparently, the new hydro electric cable from Northern Labrador does not deliver power to local villages. George is concerned about this and has some ideas, that I advised him to keep to himself for the time being, on low cost solutions to capturing the current grid and transforming it to AC power. He explained a lot of this to me but I didn't understand most of it so forgive my primitive explanation. This is another example of George's commitment to the underserved with the use of cutting edge technology. 

Sent from Eric's iPhone

Hunkering down in L'Anse au Clair

I'm sitting at Robin's, a coffee shop across from our hotel, the Northern Light, here in L'Anse au Clair, Labrador, just over the boarder

from the eastern most part of Quebec in the Gulf of St. Lawrence.  The sun is supposed to rise in an hour but the fast moving clouds blowing from the south are dark and ominous.  There will be no visible sunrise today.  

We've been forewarned.  A big storm is coming.  The wind is already howling and the rain is a couple of hours away.  The weather reporter (TV's are always turned to the Weather Channel up here) just said the winds will be reaching 90 kilometers per hour.  The two Robin's employees, Samantha (She relocated from Boston 11 years ago to join a guy she met online.  They had a baby together but have since split) and Lisa (born and raised here) are sitting here with me on the cozy  upholstered chairs, sipping coffee and awaiting the morning coffee rush.  They say 90 mph is nothing.  It regularly gets to 120 around here.  Yikes.

The people here are a rugged bunch and they take pride in it.  Lisa showed me photos on her phone of she, her son and a dozens of others riding on their snow machines to a hockey tournament last winter.  They regularly ride an hour or more to rinks in Quebec.  She also showed me photos from last February of her pickup truck in front of her house.  The snowbank was twice the height of her truck.  She's lucky.  Her friend owns a big truck and plows her driveway for her.

Eric and I are going to hunker down today.  I'm fine with that.  I have my laundry going in the guest washing machine back at the hotel.  I'll have a relaxing breakfast when they open at 7, organize my stuff, do some reading and if I feel adventurous, go for a hike and a swim in the rain (Samantha and Lisa say the Jersey Trail cliff walk is worth the effort and there is a path from the trail down to a rocky beach.)  I might even take a nap.  Eric's snoring is loud and persistent.  My disrupted sleep is taking its toll.

Yesterday's 120 mile ride from Cow Head to St. Barbe might have been the toughest I've ever experienced (though Eric contends our 2009 ride up Highway 15 in the deserts of Nevada/Utah was worse).  There is no forest or vegetation up here.  Just rock.  The wind blows unobstructed off the water.  It tossed us around like a windsock in a gale.  I don't mind steady predictable wind.  What was scary was the intermittent 30 mph gusts that threw us sideways.  The logging trucks barreling by made it worse.  Like last spring's mountain biking in Nepal, I spent most of the time zenning myself to a calm.  I relaxed my shoulders, loosened my grip, wiggled my toes and kept telling myself "this is fun". 

We stopped along the way a couple of times to enjoy the coastal surf before arriving 

at the St. Barbe ferry terminal around 1 p.m.  We unwound at lunch and then took the 1.5 hour ride across the Gulf of St. Lawrence to Blanc-Sablon.  

The seas were choppy and winds were heavy but the ride was uneventful.  I spent most of the time napping while Eric went to the deck for fresh air.

The only restaurant here in L'Anse au Clair is in our hotel.  After unloading the bikes and showering, we sat for a nice relaxing dinner.  Our waitress recommended the pan fried cod tongue but I opted for the turkey soup and Greek salad instead 😊.  Eric had the house special; the pork chops.   Because the waitress messed up our order, she brought us each a second beer, on the house.  Living large.

Unfortunately, the weather delay, along with Eric's need to be home by Friday has us changing our plans.  We no longer will be able to circle the Newfoundland perimeter.  We will take the ferry back to St. Barbe tomorrow or Monday and cross the northern peninsula to L'Anse aux Meadows, 25 miles north of St. Anthony.  L'Anse aux Meadows is a UNESCO World Heritage Viking settlement discovered in 1960.  I'm looking forward to checking it out.  From there we will go south to Corner Brook and then back to Port aux Basque for the return ferry to Nova Scotia.  It's disappointing change but provides a good reason to return.  I'll tuck my Newfoundland research into my desk drawer for another time.

Happy weekend everyone.

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