Part XIV “Three Provinces In One Day”

Wednesday, September 14^th, 2011
Fredericton, New Brunswick.

Morning came early and I awoke not fully aware of where I was. Drawing back the drapes I was surprised to see it had rained in the night, quite heavily judging by the size of the puddles in the parking lot. The rain had stopped but the skies were still ominous and it looked chilly. I decided to wear my rain gear as it would keep me dry from the road spray as well as provide an additional layer of wind break on what was likely to be a cool ride. Now, so far I hadn’t had one rainy travel day and while it certainly had rained earlier, it appeared I was going to dodge a bullet and lay claim to another dry riding day. My rain free record was intact!

Rolling up the Saint John River Valley some of the trees had just started to turn but nowhere to the extent I was expecting. Evidently it hadn’t been cold enough and without the overnight frost the leaves were still very green. The scenery was very pretty all through the valley and when I stopped for lunch the sun was out, the clouds were gone and the day was smiling. It was still a tad cool so I stayed with the rain suit for the rest of the day.

After a while I start to yawn and before you know it I’m nodding. This is not a cool thing to do on a motorcycle so I start scouting out places for a quick nap. I’ve done this many times before and I typically locate a safe, quiet spot, lay on the ground and grab some shut-eye. There is not much to choose from so I force myself to stay awake and I pull into the truck-stop at the Quebec border. I ride to the far back corner, park the bike, lay on the dry grass and I’m out like a light. Most of these wayside siestas last about thirty minutes and I get up refreshed and roll. Not so the case today. I wake up and it’s been over an hour and a half. Ninety minutes I’ve been passed out on the lawn! The once empty parking lot is now full of trucks, none of which I heard come in. Feeling in somewhat of a daze I get up and walk around to try and wake up. I’m soon back on my feet and officially enter Quebec.

The next stop is Riviere du Loup on the St. Lawrence River approximately fifty miles north. I roll along passing small neat , tidy farms, villages of white clapboard houses and the everpresent church with a cross on the spire, all the while dodging road machinery, flag-guys and holes. Big holes! On the edge of Riviere du Loup I spot a Tim Horton’s and immediately call Tea-Time. Inside I place my order, in French I might add, chat briefly with the kid at the counter. No English is spoken and I mark my first encounter in Quebec a success. All through Quebec I strive to conduct all my business in French and only got stuck a couple of times where my less than perfect grammar couldn’t measure up to my much better vocabulary. All-in-alI I found the people were not rude or discouraging. They sensed my effort and would often rephrase a question to help me rather than switch to English and give me the easy way out. In the end some folks were complimentary to my efforts and it all worked out fine.

During the tea break I meet another couple on a Harley Dyna. Lucas and Jenny hail from Bayfield, Ontario and like me have been on a long distance tour through the Maritimes. They too enjoyed Cape Breton and agreed it was well worth the long ride to get there. We take off and I see them a couple more times along AutoRoute 20.

Hammer time and I’m rolling west or in this case Ouest to Quebec City and then Montreal. At the Quebec line I gained an hour as I was now back in the Eastern Time Zone. This time was money in the bank and after some quick, in the head, cyphering I realized that Ontario was within grasp and certainly reachable tonight providing I didn’t waste any time. Another advantage would be as in the case of New York City, I’d be passing through another big city after dinner, in the evening, when the commuter traffic would have subsided. This proved to be a good decision as I went through Montreal without a hitch and was soon out on the West Island sprinting for Ontario. The GPS was programmed for Cornwall and I watched as the kilometers counted down and in what seemed no time at all I was in Cornwall. The first hotel I came to was full. Oh no I thought. Not again. I’m tired, of course. I’ve been in the saddle for just under one thousand kilometers and here we go again! I pull into the next hotel an Econolodge and it looks empty, whereas all the other hotels are full. Knowing it’ll probably be a flea pit I have no choice but to check it out as it’s likely the last game in town. The lobby is kind of shabby and dimly lit. On the greasy looking couch there is a gal that looks like she may be, you know, “working”. The bleached out blonde at the front desk clerk is leering at me, almost daring me to stay there. The clientele is sketchy and look like they may be renting rooms by the hour. In the hallways you can smell the lingering ghosts of every cigarette that was smoked there. Once in the room though, I’m surprised to its cleanliness and fresh smell. I can deal with this. I’ll lay low and make sure the bike and the door are double locked!

I manage to cook up some rice and beans in the microwave, thank you Mountain Equipment Co-Op for your freeze-dried culinary delights and get on-line and get my fix. I have a real computer Jones and have a hard time going a day without checking and writing emails as well as weather reports and other information sources I tend to frequent. Skyping with the Lady for a while and I’m going down for the count. We sign off and that’s about all I remember.

See you tomorrow.

Thursday, September 15^th, 2011

Cornwall, Ontario.

Again I wake up befuddled and yank open the drapes. Does this routine sound familiar? I am shocked to see pouring rain. Not just a few showers but a downpour right outside all over my motorcycle! That’s not fair! I’ve been on the road for a month and have not been rained on once. Nary a drop. Looking at the sky it’s obvious this is not going to let up in the next few hours so I sigh and kiss good-bye to my perfect record. A quick check of the Weather Network and Environment Canada web-sites and I see the storm is centrally located right over Cornwall. Gee, isn’t that where I am? The weather radar does however depict the storm continuing East and all is clear after, Kingston about an hour away. This is the price I pay for crowing about the fabulous weather I’ve enjoyed on this trip. A little dose of reality never hurts so I suck it up and pull on the rain suit.

I need fuel and some air so a quick stop at the Petro-Canada across the street and I’m on my merry way. Toronto is 430 kms away so I figure with stops I’ll be in Georgetown by mid-afternoon. As promised, the raid lets up just as I get to Kingston so I say thank you to the women and men of Environment Canada for being correct in your forecast. The ride down the 401 is neither exciting nor boring; it’s simply a ride along the 401. Quick and efficient. Plain and simple. The En Route Travel Stops are a marked improvement and a far cry from the old Esso Voyageur stations I remember from the past. They have a decent selection of eateries and at one point I stop at one with a Timmy’s and grab a bagel and of course a cup of tea. I also take time to call my Mother and arrange some accommodations, call the Suzuki dealer to arrange an oil change and call an old friend from the past to arrange a get-together.

Soon I’m nearing the Eastern outskirts of Toronto and the traffic and the speed picks up. Soon we’re going warp speed ignoring the posted 100 kph. Oh well I figure, when in Rome….. It’s not long before I’m passing the airport and rolling along to my exit at Trafalgar Road. Once off the 401 I take a moment to shuck my rain suit, make a washroom pit-stop and chill out from the cross-city tear.

I arrive about 20 minutes later and settle in for an evening with my Mum and Step Father.

The next day, Friday, is set aside for getting the bike’s oil changed at Brampton Powersports. Fast, efficient, courteous and well-priced. What more do you want? Check them out if you’re in Brampton, Ontario and your Suzuki, Honda or Yamaha needs a doctor.

I get the errands done, go visit my brother, get the latest two blog postings finished, edited and ready for posting, kick back and head out to have dinner with John, an old pal from eons ago and his wife Brenda at their home in Brampton.

Tomorrow I’m heading back to Vancouver. I’ve looked at a couple of different routes and it appears the most efficient and the fastest is via the U.S. West from Georgetown, cross into Michigan at Sarnia / Port Huron, west to Chicago and then it’s a straight shot either on I-94 to I-90 in Montana, U.S. 212 from Minnesota all the way to Idaho or even old Hwy 2 a bit south of and parallel to the Canadian Border. This looks like I have a decision to make once I get to Chicago. We’ll have to see how it all unfolds.

Tomorrow morning! Bright and early! I’ll be there!

We’re heading for home!

Part XIII “Cape Breton Island”

This morning I had breakfast courtesy of the hotel. I really like the “free” breakfast that comes with most rooms these days. I can only assume that the economy and the competition being what it is the hotel companies try to add as much value to their accommodation offering as possible. This morning I was joined by a vacationing senior couple from Alberta who had just returned from Prince Edward Island. We chatted while we ate and we both hastily packed up when we saw the time was getting on.

The ride to Antigonish, where I refuelled, was uneventful. Traffic was light and in short time I  was soon approaching the Canso Causeway connecting Cape Breton with the mainland. It is a short run across the causeway and then you climb a small hill and you’ve arrived. I do admit to feeling some excitement as Cape Breton was a major destination on the Bucket List. So far I had already accomplished two other “must do’s”, Knoxville and Cape Cod. Visiting Cape Breton was a large part of why I wanted to do this trip in the first place.

The road had already begun to twist and wind its way north to Sydney where I planned to stop for lunch. The road skirted the shores of Bra D’Or Lakes where the wind was brisk, producing lots of whitecaps on this large body of water. The air was warm, in the mid-twenties, so the riding was extremely pleasurable.

Once in Sydney, I grabbed a quick bite to eat, fuelled up and I was off and heading out on Hwy 105 for the start of the Cabot Trail. Now this famous route is why I came this far as it ranks in the top ten list of motorcycle destinations in the world. This is approximately a forty kilometer ride to the Trail Head just south of Indian Brook. About two thirds of the way there you come to the small village of Englishtown where you have to catch a ferry across St. Annis Bay. There is an alternative land route that takes you around the bay but it is about thirty-two kilometers longer and besides I can never resist a boat ride. This ferry ride would prove to be the shortest ferry ride I’ve been on including some of the Fraser River ferries back home in British Columbia. They trip to the other side took maybe three minutes; just long enough for the ferryman to collect $5.25 for the fare. While waiting for the ferry I met another couple, Ray and Wendy, out for an afternoon ride on their new, fiery red Harley-Davidson Street-Glide. They were friendly, chatty folks, as are most of the Maritimers. As we rode along we both stopped and looked at the sights together. Once we got to the National Park entrance, I was in the line paying my fee and they sailed through the “pass-Holder” lane. I never saw them again, however; Ray and Wendy if you’re reading this, I enjoyed meeting you very much and wish you a safe journey wherever your motorcycle takes you. Email me if you ever decide to come to B.C.

                                               Ray & Wendy

For the most part the road was in good condition with only a few construction or repair sites. Along this Eastern shore you follow the coast sometimes at sea-level while other times you’re twisting and climbing up to 247 metres in elevation where the ocean vistas are breathtaking. The sun continued to shine and the temperatures went over twenty-five degrees C. Up near the top of the Cape there is the small community of Cape North. I stopped to take a few photos as this was the furthest point from Vancouver and also the “official” starting line for the long trip home.

The clouds darkened a bit and threatened to rain but it never came to be. I was zipping along quite happily, pausing for more photo opportunities along the way. At one stop I was taking a few shots when this car pulled up and two couples got out. I asked if they’d mind taking my photograph standing with my bike on this cliff top. They obliged and we chatted a bit. They spotted my out of province plates and asked where in B.C. I was from. I replied Steveston, in the South-West corner of Richmond and inquired where they were from. It turned out one couple was from Vancouver and the other was from Tswassen; both locations minutes from where I lived. I laughed at the irony as it was only a short while ago I was standing at my furthest point from home and next I meet people who lived so close.

Glancing at the clock it was getting on to 4:00 PM and I had two choices. I could twist the throttle a bit more and ride back to the causeway which meant I’d be hotel shopping later into the evening or I could ride to the next town, in the daylight, grab a motel and find a seafood restaurant. An early night would also afford me an early departure and I would have a second day on Cape Breton. I could get in some journal and Skype time so the decision really was a no-brainer as far as I was concerned.

Once in the small town of Cheticamp I found the Ocean View motel right where the GPS said it would be and it kept its end of the bargain with the ocean views. Checked in, unpacked and headed off to hunt and forage for some dinner. Less than a kilometer down the road I see the sign for Laurie’s Seafood Restaurant. How convenient is that? Once inside I’m greeted by this friendly (who isn’t friendly on Cape Breton?) young gal whose introduces herself as Joanne. She’s really chatty and I welcome the lively conversation as we yakked about the Cape, the menu, the trip, the wine list, the specials any and all. I told her about the blog and she is interested so I write down the address and within minutes I knew it had been checked out as she had a comment and question pertaining to the most recent posting. She wants to be mentioned in at as the “Best Server on Cape Breton Island” and to tell all my readers who come to Cape Breton to drop into Laurie’s Seafood Restaurant in beautiful downtown Cheticamp and ask for Joanne. Well friends and neighbours I couldn’t agree more so Joanne, it was indeed a pleasure meeting you. Thanks very much for your friendly conversation and great service! Oh, and Joanne, you still owe me a dessert or did you really eat it?

Meanwhile back at the motel, I read and write for a couple more hours and I feel my head starting to nod. I take one last quick walk outside along the water, head back inside and called it a day.

Next morning the squawking gulls served as my alarm clock, I hit the shower and then soon packed up and ready to roll. A fellow motorcyclist, Bob, from Edmonton, drops by and chats for a few minutes. He was part of a group of four people with two bikes on a similar multi-week tour. They had been to Newfoundland and enjoyed it very much. I envied them as there was no way I was going to make it to the Rock this trip. Right after Bob left, another fellow, Wayne from Alabama, stops by. He’s a rider/tourer back in the U.S. and quite interested in the V-Strom. We yak motorcycles for a while and I tell him it was only a couple of weeks ago I was down in his neck of the woods and riding the Blue Ridge Parkway. Wayne has ridden it too and we have something else to talk about! This is one of the benefits of motorcycle touring. You meet some of the nicest, friendliest people and I enjoy all the folks I’ve met. Thank you.

Down the road apiece I’m a tad peckish and I spot this roadside café. The door's open, I hear music inside so all appears good. I step inside and say hello to the gal at the counter. Once again, I encounter a warm, friendly Cape Bretoner who likes to chat. Unfortunately they do not serve your traditional breakfast, however; she did have some biscuits, jam and cheese and could whip me up a plate of that. Could I get a pot of tea to go with it? You betcha… and I’m sold. She’s talking while making the tea and we discuss a cross-Canada trip she and her boyfriend had done. Now this was true coast to Coast and they started in Cape Spear, Newfoundland and drove all the way to their final destination in Torfino B.C. She knows a lot about the local area and all the famous people living there or from there. For instance did I know that Farley Mowat has a residence on Cape Breton? Yes I was aware of that, but I didn’t know where. She was quick to tell me it was just up the road in Cheticamp. Well I’ll be! That was where I had stayed just last night. Now I’m a big admirer of Farley and his wife, Claire’s work. I fantasized meeting him in town, and popping over to their house for a whiskey or two. Farley would read my blog and later post on it, “Steve. I really enjoyed reading about your trip. Keep up the good work. Your friend, Farley Mowat.”  I was gazing off contemplating this scenario when hot tea on my lips jolted me back to a painful reality.

The road was lazy and meandering and I relished every mile down the West side back to the causeway. Once across I bade farewell to Cape Breton Island and vowed to return someday. The Cabot Trail was nice, but to me the highlight of this part of the trip was the scenery and all the wonderful people I met along the way. It was a sad good-bye, but I throttled down as it was a three hour ride to Moncton and the long ride home. At the Nova Scotia-New Brunswick border, I stopped at the Nova Scotia visitor centre as it was closed when I went through the previous day. I bought a soda and a couple of things and returned to where my bike was parked. Next to my bike were now two other motorcycles. I checked out the license plates and lo and behold they both sported B.C. tags. I chuckle and decide to wait around to meet the riders. A few minutes pass and these two guys, about my age, wearing motorcycle jackets come ambling across the parking lot. We introduce ourselves and it turns out Jim and Ken are from Burnaby and Surrey respectively. Another encounter produces two guys who live not far from where I do. Very funny! Jim and Ken were long distance warriors too having been on the road for the last month, the same length of time as I had, Their routing was different to mine so we compared notes and gathered for photographs at the “spare no expense” Welcome To Nova Scotia highway sign. Have a safe trip guys. It was great meeting you.

I decide to make a run for Fredericton as my hourglass for the trip now had more sand in the bottom than in the top. From this point on I had to pick up the pace and be very selective what I did and where I went as I to stay focused on getting home in time to…..er…..to…….ahh…. GO BACK TO WORK! There, I said it and it left a sour taste in my mouth. Oh well, get to Fredericton and I know how to kill that.

The ride was pretty quick along Hwy 2 and but I still arrived after dark feeling very tired. If you recall, a few posts back I made the observation, the more tired you are the less available the hotels are. Well tonight was no exception and I wasted a lot of time looking for a place only to be denied at the front desk. I finally locate the Lakeside Inn which still had a couple of rooms vacant. I score one on the ground floor with a space to park my bike right in front so I could drag all my gear inside.

Once inside I cook up some freeze-dried curried chicken and rice, pour a stiff one, update my journal and complete the editing on a blog entry and post it. Phew! What a day! Needless to say I’m pretty bagged out so without further ado…….lights out!

Part XII "North By North-East"

Saturday, September 10th
Brewster, MA

All too soon and it's time to go. After the morning preliminaries, shower, load the rest of the gear on the bike and I'm good to go. Good to go at 9:15 AM. What a slacker! The family gathers around and we say our goodbyes. It's been a wonderful week together, although it is unfortunate we live so far apart. To the next time we meet.

It's rather cool this morning so I opt for a fleece over my regular riding shirt. The traffic is light as I make my way along RTE. 6 to the Sagamore Bridge. Once over the bridge I point Buddy Black north to Boston. We're moving along at a brisk pace and soon I see the exit for Plymouth. I'm hungry and crave pancakes so I say to myself I wish there was an IHOP or similar close by. Well lo and behold not 200 meters later and there is a sign denoting what services are available at the next exit and wouldn't you know it there is an IHOP! I call this serendipity and peel off onto the exit ramp. Making a left hand turn and I notice my left signal light is acting strange. I haven't seen this before so I cancel the switch and try again. All appears OK  and I think no more of it. After parking I do, however; take a moment to shift my gear around thinking that perhaps the load has pushed down onto the rear left signal and disturbed the wiring. Once in IHOP I order the short stack and a pot of tea.

I'm back on RTE. 3 and nearing Boston which I whizz through as there is next to nobody on the road. Going through Revere in the North-End, a woman in a car comes screaming through on my right, cuts across in front of me missing the front wheel by maybe 3 meters. Well my heart leaps and I lay on the horn which has all the attention getting power of a Fisher-Price toy. It is virtually useless and she continues on. I speed up, draw alongside and oh yeah, she's on the phone. Thanks for almost killing me!

New Hampshire comes and goes quite quickly and then I'm in Maine, the last state I will likely be in on this trip. While lane changing I'm noticing the signal light is acting up again; in fact both signals are going haywire. Sometimes they come on, sometimes they don't. I'm trouble-shooting this problem in my mind as I ride along. I look down and this time I have no gauges! No speedometer, no tachometer or temperature and worst of all no gas gauge. Doing some fast math in my head I worked back how far it was from the last fuel-up. This was still well within my travelling range so I know I'm not going to run out of gas. If worse comes to worse I can always track distances on my GPS and use hand signals so it is more of an annoyance than a show-stopping problem.

Knowing there is a service centre coming up, I'll pull in and start trouble shooting the problem. I figure it's likely a fuse and maybe they will have some at the service stop. To get to the fuse panel it means unloading a few things to get to the seat. The fuse box is conveniently(?) located under the seat and eventually I manage to wrestle if off and poke around. I check the manual for the fuse diagram, locate the one protecting the signals and instrument cluster. Well I was correct in my assumption because it is indeed blown. I walk over to the service booth and lucky for me they have fuses. I grab two 15A and also a 20A and still get change from a dollar. Yes I know replacing a blown fuse with a higher rating is not a good practice but I wanted to hedge my bets until I got this remedied. My mind also told me that fuses blow for a reason and this was only a symptom, not the problem. Once the fuse is popped in I fire Buddy Black up and presto, all is functioning, even the signals. While I'm doing this little procedure a guy on a BMW GS1200 is parked alongside and we're chatting as motorcyclists do. We yak about bikes and trips and routes and roads, the usual banter. Tom is heading to Bar Harbour and invites me to his place if I'm stuck for a place to stay. This is just another example of the camaraderie you encounter in the fraternity of motorcyclists. I make a note where to find him, at the Jack Russell Tavern in Bar Harbour should I be in that area.

The bike appears to be fixed so I saddle up and head North once more. About four or five kilometers up the road I signal for a lane change and there is no signal. I push the switch a few times and try again. No go and the instruments die. Pulling over I have to go through the whole procedure unloading the luggage, replacing the fuse and reloading the gear. This routine has grown very old very fast so I vow to use hand signals until such time as I can get this issue fixed. I turn my iPhone onto Data-Roaming, dreading the cost and search out Suzuki dealers in the vicinity. Bingo, there's one in Buxton, just a tad South-West of  Portland and a mere 37 kilometers from here. I punch the address into the GPS and make a bee-line to the dealer. Once off the highway it is a rambling ride through rural Maine and I'm enjoying the sights and smells of the countryside. The dealer, Reynolds Motorsports is right where the GPS said it would be. I pull in and see where the service department door is and park. At the counter I'm greeted by Eric and tell him the problem and do they have time to take a look at it. A quick check of the log reveals yes, they do have time, so give I him the particulars and wheel it into the shop. I unload all the gear and dump it on a picnic table in a covered breezeway. I set up house with my book, and computer to which Eric provides the pass code for their wireless router. A while goes by and the tech comes out and tells me it is likely a relay that has failed. The next question is, "Do you have it in stock?" He replies, "No." and my face falls. He quickly informs me don't worry. This relay is common in several Suzuki models and they will cannibalize a new bike in the showroom and get me on my way. Well this is indeed great service so I happily return to my book.

Another half hour goes by and Eric breaks me the bad news. The relay didn't solve the problem. They have traced it down to the switch on the handlebar. This time they don't have a replacement either in the parts department of on a similar bike in the showroom. Basically I'm hooped but at least I now know where the problem lies. The guys at Reynolds Motorsports bent over backwards to help me and to which I say thank you. Now I know what the issue is I'll use hand signals and arrange for a replacement unit in advance once I get back into Canada.

Back on the road I decide to run up to Augusta, the state capital and call it a night.

A few emails, a journal update and some Skyping with Lori and I hit the hay after a long tiring day.


Sunday, September, 11th
Augusta, ME.

I'm awake before 7:00 and look out onto another nice day. It dawns on me this is the 10th anniversary of 9/11 so I hold my own moment of silence in respect to all the poor souls who lost their lives on that tragic day.

It's a quick run up to Bangor all along singing "King Of The Road" with it's line, "Third boxcar, midnight train. Destination Bangor, Maine" at which point I veer off making my way to Hwy 9 which is a cross country highway straight to Calais, although they say Callass, and the New Brunswick border crossing.  Hwy 9 is an absolutely wonderful ride and I'm very relaxed looking at the forested and almost mountainous landscape. It is about a ninety mile ride to Calais which passes in fairly short order. Once in Calais, I hit the Duty-Free shop and make my way over the border. Crossing from Calais, Maine to St. Stephen, New Brunswick was likely the easiest border crossing I've had in quite some time. The Custom's Officer, a young woman, was friendly  and spent more time asking questions about my trip than anything I had to declare. When I pulled up I handed her my passport and an itemized list of my purchaces but she just glanced at it and talked about the ride; a far cry from the rude encounter I had in Sweet Grass Montana a month previous.

                                                 Highway 9 in North-Eastern Maine.

Once clear of the border it was smooth sailing along the shore of the Bay Of Fundy. What remarkable seashore scenery and the road was top notch. Now my understanding is the winters in New Brunswick are fierce with lots of snow right? Well how is it they can build a wonderful highway that withstands the winter elements yet in Britich Columbia, the banana belt of Canada, where the winters allow for golfing, the roads are disgraceful? Utter crap compared to New Brunswick and add to that Alberta where the winters are equally as ferocious yet the roads are far superior to B.C.'s. I'm at a loss.

                                             Freighter in The Bay Of Fundy.

I skate through Saint John and soon I'm in Moncton and in need of a cup of tea. A quick look around and I spot a Tim Horton's just off the highway. My first meal back in Canada was a Tim's steeped tea and blueberry fritter! Welcome home! So I'm sitting or standing in the parking lot at Tim's and people keep coming up to me and chatting. They see the BC plate and their curiosity is provoked. This is not a problem by any stretch of the imagination as these kind folks are very friendly and genuinely interested in this guy on a laden down motorcycle who's come all the way across the country. Even a local RCMP officer, getting gas and a donut, go figure, stops by and says hello. Evidently he took some RCMP training in Comox and tells me how much he enjoyed it there. This is a great welcome home, where folks come up to you, extend a warm handshake, slap you on the back and call you 'bye. The Maritimes is famous for it's friendly people and my first encounter proved it all true. Once this trip is over I will provide an epilog to the blog where I intend to list the "Best Of" and the "Worst Of" everything and everybody. I ask you to stay tuned for what promises to be a riviting, in-depth analysis of the tour.

                                                Crossing into Nova Scotia.

Losing an hour as I'm now in the Atlantic Time Zone, time is of the essence so it's throttle on and I'm heading for New Glasgow, Nova Scotia. Crossing the Provincial line I stop at the fancy Welcome Centre only to find it has closed for the day. Too bad as it looks like a good one, perhaps on the return leg? I'm running late tonight, much later than I usually do for it's soon dark and getting cold. The speed limit is 110 and I'm sitting on 120 with no problem at all. There is a marked increase in police presence and they are roping in many an offending customer. A couple of hours later the tank is getting low, really low, dangerously low. I've punched in "fuel" into the GPS and it has responded with several options. I start hunting them down and every one is closed. It's 9:00 PM on a Sunday night in rural Nova Scotia so it's understandable, however; not funny. My gauge is doing it's "Final Warning" routine and I have to make a quick decision. I can waste time and precious fuel chasing down a gas station or I can beetle it into New Glasgow, which is not that far away, find a motel and deal with the fuel crisis in the morning. I opt for door number two, set a course for the town and in what seems like no time at all I espy a Comfort Inn with a gas station, albeit a closed gas station across the street, Oh and there is a Timmy's right next door to the hotel. Now how good is that? About as good as it gets in my books considering the circumstances!

At check in the young woman gives me the "Motorcycle Rate". Now this is a new one on me but I'm not going to argue with her. She explains it's late and the hotel wants to draw from the large quantities of bikes that pass through the area. I tell her it's a great idea and she slaps a whopping discount on the room. She hands me the pass key and soon I'm unloading and dragging my gear inside.

It's late. I'm cold and tired. I have a hot shower and a warm refreshing beverage so it's not long before it's light's out and I go to sleep thinking about tomorrow's ride with Cape Breton waiting just around the corner.

Part XI "Escape To The Cape"

This past week has flown by with some things accomplished but also leaving me with a laundry list of of "To Dos" untouched. The weather factor had a huge influence on what was doable and what was not. Last Thursday, the 1st of September, I arrived here on Cape Cod and it was cheerfully sunny through to Tuesday when the rains began. I laid low for a few days, catching up on letters, paying bills, yes, real life does continue on whether I'm there or not, going through the trip expenses, hitting the shops and galleries, sorting photos, reading and enjoying a few much-welcomed and might I add, well deserved, afternoon naps.

The first full day, Friday the 2nd, I was alone, riding around revisiting a lot of places left over from my childhood summers. A lot has certainly changed; more development, more people and more traffic. When I was a kid it was busy during the summer but certainly not to the degree of present day. The beaches, for the most part looked the same. Some of the parking lots were relocated, a response to the ever-present erosion that is rampant here as well as familiar stores both remaining or now gone, replaced by the new flavour of the year.

I rode along Rte 6A, with it's friendly curves, winding my way from Dennis east to Orleans, stopping along the way to do some banking and mail some cards and a package. A funny or more so an annoying visit to the bank left me with a bad taste. I needed some working capital; cash some traveller's cheques to replenish the coffers. Riding along I saw a T.D. bank on my left and veered off into the lot. I go inside and am greeted by a beaming teller. I say I want to cash some traveler's cheques and she gives me a look as if I'd just spat on the counter. Do I have a TD account. No. Do I have an account at any local bank. Again no. She flatly turns me down due to the fraud associated with traveler's cheques. I point out these are American Express traveller's cheques and are they not guaranteed by Am-Ex? She clucks a terse "It doesn't matter. We don't cash them." This is frustrating because I'm thinking if they won't cash them then other banks are as likely to have the same policy leaving me strapped or looking for an Am-Ex office, using the ATM to access cash at home or worse using a credit card for some cash advances which is certainly not where I wanted to go. I give her an equally dirty look while departing and head off down the road in search of a more congenial bank.

A mile or so up the road there is a Cape Cod Savings Bank with a big empty parking lot. No time like the present I wheel in, walk in and again greeted by a smiling teller. I present my cheques and she asks if I have an account there. No, I'm sorry I don't. The smile dissolves and she sadly shakes her head but at the same time another woman in the bank catches her attention and says they'll do it. I assume this woman is the manager, because immediately the teller switches the smile back on and everybody is friends once more. I pull out the cheques and start signing. I am restricted to a maximum amount of one thousand dollars. That is more than I was originally looking for but I figured better get it while the gettin's good. So now I was solvent again, the teller gives me one last face splitting smile, I thank her profusely and smile at the manager on my way out. Conveniently the post office is across the street so I was able to get both my errands done. Now I had the rest of the day to go an expedition of rediscovery.

Next port of call was Orleans the main mid-Cape shopping centre. I take a tour through town noting what has changed since my last visit in the mid 90s. That's changed, that's gone, that's still the same, that's new; all of these observations kept my head on a swivel. I toodled off to Rock Harbour to see the charter fishing fleet. Now Rock Harbour, one of my favourite places, looked pretty much the way it has always looked. Smart charter boats neatly moored in their respective berths; their sign boards affixed to the pier touting their prowess as charter captains while displaying their contact information and photos of recent successful charters. The breakwater at the entrance remained untouched; after all who would move a long chain of boulders? I sighed contentedly knowing some things remained the same and lit out on the next part of the ride. I caught Rte 28 and rode south-west leaving Orleans, passing Pleasant Bay heading to Chatham. I remember once in Chatham I saw a bumper sticker for sale in a tourist shop which laid to claim, "Chatham, MA. A quaint little drinking town with a fishing problem." I made a note to myself should I spot one of these stickers I'd buy it and put it on my Jeep at home. Taking a side road off Rte. 28 I followed the shore along to Chatham Lighthouse and park the bike across the street. I take some time looking down on the beach, across the sandbar and out into the Atlantic. Fat lazy seals make their way swimming parallel to the shoreline. Due to the comeback of the Striped Bass the seals have set up residence gorging on the fish stocks much to the chagrin of the local fisherman. Along with the seals sharks have also migrated to this particular length of shoreline creating fear among residents and visitors alike. The fat stripers make for fat seals that make for fat sharks.

                                           Chatham Lighthouse.

                                         The beach below Chatham Light.

                                               Returning to port.

I continue on along Main Street through Chatham's shopping district, back onto Rte. 28 still riding west. The next stop on my list was Hardings Beach. I found the turn, Barn Hill Road, without any problem as the plaza on the corner still sported the "Shop Ahoy" sign mounted in a ships helm wheel; just as it was fifty years ago. Ahhhh. Somethings never change. The road to Hardings is a short run of about a mile finishing up at the parking lot toll both. The attendant, an older gentleman, greets me. I explain I was on a childhood memory quest and would it be OK if I just rode in for a few minutes and had a quick look around? He asks where I'm from and I tell him Vancouver BC. He looks at my license plate on the bike and breaks into a big grin. He goes "Oh Vancouver!" I immediately know what's coming as he launches in about the Bruins winning the cup. Well it was to be expected. I take it graciously and congratulate him and the Bruins for a hard fought victory. He then tells me to go ahead into the lot and take all the time I need.  I shake his hand and off I go to the second lot at the far end of the beach where my Dad always parked. Surprisingly there are not many people there save for the Beach Bandit's truck. This snack truck was there when I was a kid, serving up greasy fried delights and ice cream, although it appears the truck has been replaced since then. Hardings looks the same although I noticed the grass behind the dunes has expanded over the years. The ever present washed up seaweed was gathered up and piled at the back of the beach as it always has been.

I saddle up and ride out of Hardings, passing the man at the booth who heartily waves and wishes me a safe trip. Back onto Rte. 28 I turn off onto Rte. 137 heading back to the north shore of the Cape. Now this part has changed drastically. I don`t recognize it at all. This area, once almost a wasteland of sand and pine forests, is now inundated with retail overload. Small malls are everywhere along the way and none, absolutely none of it looks the same.

Getting close to Brewster I see a familiar friend and veer left onto Tubman Road. This rambling country road was a favourite of my Dad`s. Trees lined both sides of the road and their leafy boughs would meet overhead creating a tunnel effect making a spooky ride for us children. Well at least it did when I was younger. Now there is more development, the trees no longer touch, due to the increased overhead power lines and I swear they have smoothed out some of the curves and knolls. Poor old Tubman. Another victim fallen prey to progress.

It`s getting close to dinner time so I jump back onto 6A west and head back to my motel in Dennis detouring for a quick run up the hill to Scargo Tower. Another old time favourite, Scargo Tower remains untouched save for the increased development coming up the hill. The trees have grown up a lot and the view is now more limited than what I remember.

Scargo Tower. Dennis, MA.

      

                                           View from Scargo Tower looking west.

A quick stop at Captain Frosty`s for take out cod and clam cakes and I`m back in the motel for a night of photo sorting and updating my journal. All in all I was fairly satisfied with the day`s events. Later that night I was chatting on-line with my brother Dave and he asked if I had felt any of the old magic. It was a question I had been pondering all afternoon, to which I replied, yes; to a certain extent. While buildings had come and gone, the true essence of the landscape rekindled a stream of memories which will live with me forever.

Saturday, September 3rd.

With no need to get up early I treat myself to a sleep in, finally rising around 9:00 AM to another warm sunny day. Today is check out so I pull all my gear together and start loading up the bike, The gal who works at the motel takes a curious interest in all the stuff I have and how it fits onto the bike. She  watches the entire process, chatting with me as I assemble the load. An Eastern European accent reveals she is from Bulgaria. Soon I'm ready to roll.

All loaded up I have nothing to do and all day to do it so the day is mine. This is as good an opportunity as ever to run up the entire length of Cape Cod to Provincetown and have a look around. Once I circle the traffic roundabout at Orleans I start to question my choice. This is Saturday of the long weekend and traffic is at a crawl all along Rte. 6. This is the only road that goes the entire distance so like everyone else I`m stuck. In Eastham I get fed up and hop off at a Dunkin` Donuts for a cup of tea. I get an extra large to go and sit on a bench outside watching the traffic creep along. Finishing my tea I saddle up and cut back into the column of cars. Things start to pick up and I`m merrily cruising along at a breath taking fifty kph! This too gives way and save for the odd slowdown we're up to the posted speed limit as I pass through Wellfleet. I take a couple of side detours from Rte. 6 dropping in at Newcomb Hollow, Head Of The Meadow Beach and Highland Light. The cliffs here are high and the surf is wilder on this exposed side of the Cape. Provincetown is well within reach and it's only a matter of minutes before I'm negotiating the narrow and crowded Commercial Street. Provincetown has always been an edgy kind of place. During my lifetime it was once very arty and home to the Beatniks. Next came my favourite period, the Hippie era. In the seventies P'Town transformed again and became the vacation destination for the gays and lesbians and continues to be to this day while the art galleries have grown in numbers. I took the time to visit a John Lennon art exhibition at a local church on Commercial Street. Being a huge Lennon fan I found this a fascinating display featuring many different periods of John's life. It was entrance by donation and you could buy prints of the various pieces on display. There was a wide selection for sale albeit a bit rich for my pocket.

                                      Commercial Street. Provincetown's famous main street.

                               I saw this T-Shirt in the window of a shop in Provincetown.
                                        Yeah. OK. I get the point. Enough already!

 Parked on the pier in Provincetown.

That's by bike, Buddy Black, laden with all the gear making friends.

                                 

Tiring of the town I ride up to Race Point, see the lighthouse and drop by the visitor centre, gratis, thanks again to my National Park Annual Pass. This piece of plastic has paid for itself this trip at all the National Recreation sites I've visited. I'm soon back on Rte. 6 heading south to Brewster where my brother Mike and Sister-In-Law Carol should be there by now. I pull up to the house. Crack a cold or fairly cold one hiding in my luggage and wait for their arrival. I send Carol a text inquiring as to her "20" and lo and behold they are mere minutes away. They show up. My two nieces Alana and Jessie, accompanied their respective gentlemen David and Mark, soon arrive followed by Mark's parents, Sue and Al and the party is on. We stay up a tad too late as is always the case but all is well and everyone is looking forward to a fun week together.

Sunday through Friday.

The days start to run together as everyone sinks into downtime. I was already in that headspace so to me it's business as usual. More of Mike and Carol's friends, Marybelle and Mario, arrive late Saturday night or early Sunday morning, to round out the gang. During the weekend and the first part of the week we go to the beach, out for dinner and kick back in the evenings with books, cribbage and lively conversation. Come Tuesday the rains arrive and shut a lot of beach activity down until Friday. We fill the days by going shopping, well the ladies did; me not so much as I had limited space for any more stuff. I revisit Provincetown with the family and spend the day walking the streets while popping into the narrow shops and galleries.

                                               Your typical Provincetown shop.

During the week I received an interesting email from Ken, a fellow I met on the pier in Provincetown last Friday when I was there alone. He and his wife stopped by to chat as I was gearing up for the ride home. He rode a BMW GS which was parked further along the row from Buddy Black. He asked me about the trip and we yakked about both mine and his travels across the country. I give him the blog address in case he wanted to follow along. As I mentioned, a few days later I get an email from Ken. He had read one of the chapters and saw I was planning on doing an oil change when I got to the East Coast. He invited me to their home in Harwich where I could do my oil change in his garage. He had lots of tools, a bike lift and the means to dispose of the old oil. In reply I thanked him profusely saying I  just had the oil changed while I was in Knoxville a week ago, It was a generous offer and indicative of the hospitality one encounters in the motorcycle community at large. Thanks again Ken and I wish you safe travels wherever you GS takes you.

It is now Friday afternoon. The sun is shining. A gentle breeze has the trees whispering as I sit in the screened sunroom writing this chapter. I have the house to myself as everyone has run off to the beach to enjoy the sun. I think I'll head over there in a few minutes and take advantage of this wonderful afternoon before the day slips by. My week on Cape Cod is coming to a close. It's been a wonderful relaxing week and I have enjoyed hanging out with my family and new friends. Tomorrow it's load up the bike and start the journey North to Nova Scotia. This is the plan so hopefully the weather will oblige and I can explore Cape Breton, one of the world's top rated motorcycle rides. Another "Bucket List" item is within reach and I hope to tick it off the list by this coming Monday. The next leg is about to begin so I will be posting to the blog as the adventure continues.

Stay tuned. There's lots more to come!

Part X "Sanity Check"

Hello everyone.

Thank you for taking the time to read my stories. They are fun to write and knowing someone will actually read them makes it all the more pleasurable. It has been a wonderful trip so far. I have seen a lot of places, met a lot of people and have amassed some wonderful memories.

At this point a couple of things come to mind.

First of all I've received some feedback the Comments section is very unfriendly. That's an understatement. I too have been frustrated as it sometimes won't let me comment and I own the account! Your feedback and comments are very important so I'm asking if you have a comment, question or snide remark and you can't post it in comments, I invite you to email me. My address for this trip is steviebee16@gmail.com. Any and all email will be answered.

Second point. I will be taking a week off to lay around Cape Cod, hanging out with my brother and his family while recharging my batteries. I may or may not have Internet access in the next seven days. I will continue to write these short stories and will upload them wherever I can find access. It appears I may have to go to Starbucks every couple of days just for the Wi-Fi! After next week I will be back on track with the usual postings along the road.

The upcoming posts will deal with the continuation of this tour and the eventual long ride home, hopefully before the snow flies!

Again many thanks for all of your comments and support. When it comes to family and friends I am indeed a wealthy man.

Stay tuned.....

Steve Buckton
Dennis, Massachusetts
September, 02/11

Part IX "Check One Off The Bucket List"

Wow was I tired! I slept in til 7:00. Sheer luxury. The routine is easy and can now be performed in my sleep. Pack the gear. Load the gear. Strap the gear to the bike. It is now almost a mindless task.

It's going to be another long day. The hotel has free breakfast so I'm carbing up while I have the chance. Eggs, sausage patties, English muffins, lots of hot tea and a couple of oranges. Jessie, the young gal I met last night, appears in the breakfast room, and fuels up while we discuss the upcoming day. She suggests avoiding the Interstate and I'm all for that. Hands down! I drag out the map and we take a look. Now there is a local road, Hwy 146 that looks promising. It follows the Connecticut shoreline for a while eventually merging into Hwy #1 which continues along the coast well into Rhode Island. This looks good so I set the GPS up accordingly.

We move out and take the "InterSlab" for a couple of miles and the then veer off onto Hwy 146. Jessie is a great rider and handles her Honda sportbike with confidence and skill. I know many woman riders and all have attained the high-level skill set required to run these machines. My #1 gal, Lori is a very strong rider. I have followed her for many a mile and always admire the line she rides on the highways and the twisties. Sunshine Sue can ride with the best of them and I know there's nothing Little Deb likes better than "running with the Big-Boys." Jessie fits in the same class as you girls with no problem whatsoever.

                                            
                                           Jessie proclaiming the virtues of her Honda.

Now off the "Slab" we follow 146 down through some quaint little villages and turn once we hit the shoreline. The aftermath of Hurricane Irene can be see with the downed trees, the huge amount of beach sand that is piled up along the side of the road, burying fences, smashed cars and household debris scattering the landscape. In a lot of locations power is still out and the stop lights are now ad hoc 4-way stop intersections. It all seems to work and everybody appears to get along. We reach a point on 146 where the police have the road blocked so the power company can clear a fallen tree and replace the downed power lines. For us this meant a U-Turn and retrace our footsteps about two or three miles. No problem. We deal with it and we're back on track on Hwy #1 in less than twenty minutes. Along the way we stop for a refreshment break at a place called the Rustic Cafe. It is in a lonelier part of the countryside, although Jessie points out the irony of their sign, "The Rustic Cafe" and underneath that "Wi-Fi Zone". Too funny. It is an oxymoron of sorts.

                                           Connecticut Shoreline


Refreshed we're on our way continuing along the coast here and there as well as quick returns to I-95 whenever a bridge comes into play. Eventually we cross into Rhode Island and make a pit stop for fuel. Jessie is hungry and so am I so we do the "What do you feel like routine." She suggests sushi and being from Vancouver I have no problem with that. I ask the GPS for some suggestions and presto(!) a few come up with the closest being over in Newport, about a 20 km ride away. This is a no-brainer so we're off. This side trip for lunch actually has a secondary benefit to it. Heading to Newport now meant we would have to take the two bridges that span the openings to Narragansett Bay putting us on the east side and much closer to our final destinations.

The GPS was true to form and led us straight to the front door of Sumo Sushi. I love these devices! Parking was at a premium so we ducked into the lane beside the building and found a spot at the end. I asked the guy in the store if it was OK to park there. He replied that it was pretty good but sometimes the local constabulary did issue some tickets. He told me to give him my phone number and he'd call me if  any problem arose. Now that was downright neighbourly and I thanked him for his goodwill. Lunch was good, although I am spoilt by the Vancouver sushi prices. It was easily three to four times more expensive than what I was used to at home.

We saddled up and made the trip out of town up to I-195 where we would split up; Jessie to Pawtucket, outside of Providence and me east to Cape Cod. When we got to the division and Jessie inadvertently took the wrong exit, we stopped, said good-bye and we went our separate ways.  I wish you well Jessie. It was a pleasure riding with you that day. Now I was off on the last dash for the Bourne Bridge and onto the Cape. Traffic was not overly excessive until I got to the bridge ramp. It took a few minutes of jockeying and everybody found their place in line. I crossed the bridge deck at 5:15 PM and gave a whoop as I had now completed a life wish and ridden coast to coast. It seemed so long ago when I first started planning this trip and now two milestones had been reached. The first was getting to Knoxville. The next was ride onto Cape Cod to complete the second checkpoint. Both accomplished and me feeling none the worse for wear, save for a few equipment hassels, I was very thankful and extremely happy.

Motel time and I was strict with myself this time. I told myself, the first motel after crossing the Dennis municipal line. Oh and it had to have Wi-Fi. The first one I came to I rolled in and the place was deserted. Parking the bike I ventured into the office and was greeted by a woman who happily confirmed vacancy, (Duh!) and yes they certainly did have Wi-Fi. Truth be known their Wi-Fi connection is one of the best I've used on the entire trip.

So here I am. Two major items on the trip list accomplished. Got myself a clean motel, I'm the only guest there, good internet access and no need to get up early in the morning.

I think I deserve to sleep-in tomorrow. Don't you?

Part VIII "On The Road Again"

Monday morning I say goodbye to Kathy and Trey and Knoxville. This has been a wonderful weekend and will be part of my memories forever. I fell in love with Tennessee. With it's beauty, friendly people and rich history. I only wish I lived closer so I could return again soon.

Kathy and Trey are wonderful hosts and I thank them for their hospitality, the great rides, the delicious dinners and their warm friendship. It is reassuring to see a couple so comfortable in their love for each other, their faith and sense of community. God bless you both.

It's 8:15 and I'm saddled up and ready to roll. I jump in with the morning commuters speeding down I-75. I connect onto I-275, then I-40 and then it's south on US-129 to Maryville where I fuel up. From there it's Hwy 441 which cuts through The Great Smokey Mountain National Park. This is a glorious ride twisting, then climbing and descending into and through the valleys all the way to Cherokee, North Carolina. Now Cherokee sits on Native American land and is heavily commercialized with T-Shirt shops, gift shops, restaurants and a casino. I stop for lunch at a cafe and have the Alice Cooper wrap. It consists of a tortilla, roast beef, cheese, horseradish, jalapenos, chillies and a long list of other ingredients that escape me now. Anyway it was good and I managed to sidestep any heartburn.

Get this. I'm in the parking lot of the cafe and there is another motorcycle beside me with Massachusetts plates on it. I get to talking with the man and his female partner. He finds I'm from Vancouver and he starts crowing over the Boston Bruins' victory over the Canucks for the Stanley Cup. I'm going yeah, yeah, yeah....and he's giggling like a school girl. I tell him I was expecting some heat over the Canuck's choking but not until I at least got to the Massachusetts state line. Here it is North Carolina and I'm already under fire, taking shots. The guy laughs uproariously. I think this must be the highlight of his vacation. Oh well it's only a flesh wound and I expect to hear lots more when I get to the Boston area.

                                            Here I am at mile 460 and ready to go.

Cherokee is also the starting or ending point, depending on your direction of travel, for The Blue Ridge Parkway. This magnificent road runs for 460 miles along the top of the Blue Ridge from Cherokee, North Carolina to Staunton, Virginia. The Cherokee end is mile 460 and it counts down from there.The road runs above the other roads and towns much like an elevated railway or freeway system. There are certain points along the Parkway where you can hop off, go down to the town below for fuel, food or lodging. Now I have an IPhone app installed with the entire Parkway on a map. A Map App if you will. It is an exact copy of the one given out by the park personnel. Very handy.

The road is twisty and in very good condition. There are lookouts or as they say Outlook points chiseled out of the mountainside every mile or so. This is a welcomed addition as the views are incredible! You can see for miles and miles over the valleys in over 180 degrees. The Appalachians are truly one of the most beautiful spots in the eastern United States. Riding through these neck of the woods there are many references to Daniel Boone who walked these woods back in the 1770s. Once away from the highways it would all pretty much look the same as it did then.The wild life is an interesting mix of deer, raccoons, skunks and wild turkeys. Other than in a glass I'd never seen a wild turkey before. They peck along the side of the road in the late afternoon and early morning much like the Ruffed Grouse in Canada. Being fairly skittish they quickly scoot off when you approach them.

                                                    Oh Dear. What a shame!
                                                  
That night I stopped at a campground by Linville Falls. The Blue Ridge Parkway is a National Park and as such offers up campgrounds along the way. The one I chose was certainly one of the cleanest campgrounds I've been to. The sites were all raked, the washrooms were very clean and the entire campground had a look of being cared for. That's your tax dollars at work! It was a self-registration site, however; the resident campground host appeared and yakked with me as I filed in the information on the envelope; showing me where to put my name on the line marked "Your Name". I was glad he was there or I wouldn't have made it past "Your address!" Sixteen dollars seemed a pretty good price for a site so I stuffed the bills into the envelope while the host helpfully pointed out where I was to lick the envelope. Yup. Right where it said "Moisten Here" and how to put the envelope into the drop box slot which said "Put your envelope here." I shudder to think how people got by the days the host wasn't there. The entire park must go ruin.

Being fairly tired, I ate early and hit the sack as the day drew to a close. The miner's headlamp helped me read for a while until my eyes started to close and then it was lights out.

Tuesday, August 30th.

Morning came early. Long before the alarm and long before the sun. With no immediate need to get moving I languished in the bag for another hour or so and listened to the sounds of the forest. Chirping, whistling, squeaking were all intermingled into one continual soundtrack. Feeling guilty, I got up and started breaking camp while preparing a light breakfast of oatmeal, fruit and tea. It seems this is what I eat most mornings and must sound mundane, but it's quick and easy and I like it. Enough said. As a side note I had another equipment failure this morning. My "Unbreakable" bowl broke. Plain and simple. It fell on the ground and broke. Oh well. I'll keep an eye out for a Wal-Mart and get it replaced. After loading up I hit the road, first stopping at the Visitor Centre located just down the road. The place was empty save for a young Ranger who was busy yakking on the phone to a friend about her new boyfriend and much, much too busy to deal with any annoying question I might have.

On the way north the fog was thick. So thick I was riding at less than 30 kph with the 4-way flashers on. I saw a sign that recommended not using the parkway when it was foggy or snowing. I could see why, as I couldn't see at all. My Safety Angel showed up and I opted for one of the escape roads off the Parkway and back down to civilization, where coincidentally it was just as foggy. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, I pulled in for a hot tea and soon enough the fog lifted and I was off and running again.

The day is uneventful save for hopping on and off the Blue Ridge Parkway. After a while I tired of the 45 mph speed restriction and once again left the Parkway and opted for Highway 221 which ran in a sort of parallel direction. I did this for a while, got back on the Parkway and eventually left it for good around Roanoke, Virginia. You can go faster in places but the road is narrow and winding so it it not advisable to rip it up too much. I arrive at Harrisonburg, Virginia late in the afternoon and put the horse in the barn for the day. Another day gone by and I'm trashed tired. No camping tonight as I'm in need of a shower and some on-line interaction.

Lights out by 11:00 PM.


Wednesday, August 31st.

It's a late start, around 9:00 AM but I feel rested and raring to go.  I-81 was a quick alternative and  soon I was in West Virginia. The day is still early enough and I have nothing but time on my hands so I can afford to play tourist for a while. After a few miles I saw a road sign for Harper's Ferry. Now even my rudimentary knowledge of the Civil War knew this was a key battle area where the Union Army was soundly beaten by Stonewall Jackson and his troops.

I roll up to the park office, pull out my Annual Pass with a flourish and it is happily received. Cha-Ching! Another $10.00 saved. My park pass has almost paid for itself. The park is well run and consists of three different locations. There is the main site with the visitor centre, which was where I arrived at. After that they had a shuttle bus running every 10-20 minutes taking you to the town of Harper's Ferry and to the battle field on Bolivar Ridge. I stopped at all of the sites and had a wonderful time looking over the interpretive information that was provided. Down in the town of Harper's Ferry, situated at the fork joining the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers you could feel the history as you walk around the village. There was a rock outcrop where Thomas Jefferson had delivered a speech.There was the building named John Brown's Fort where John Brown and twenty-one comrades took a stand against slavery. For the rest of the day I was singing The Battle Hymn Of The Republic as I rode along the roads where the Union and Confederate armies had boldly marched one hundred and forty-eight years ago.

                                                     Harper's Ferry


I continued on the back roads to Gettysburg which was interesting but the town was in a shambles. Construction crews were ripping up the downtown streets and the town was in no mood to receive visitors. I gassed up, took a cursory look around the National Visitor Centre, sadly the pass was not required, and high-tailed it out of here stopping only long enough to add some Dot-4 fluid to my hydraulic clutch reservoir.

After that it was hard-nose the highway as I beetled out of Pennsylvania and crossed into New Jersey. I knew I was in New Jersey not by the Welcome To New Jersey sign but by the mountain of trash at the roadside rest stops. What a mess. This was not just car littler bags but piles of green garbage bags much like you'd toss out on the curb for the garbage guys to pick up. I can only assume they came from careless RV owners too lazy to stuff them in the dumpsters the State had provided. Now I faced another dilemma. I could call it a day and spend the night in rural New Jersey and tackle the NYC commuter traffic the next morning. On the other hand if I deal with New York now then I'll be going thorough when traffic is at it's lowest ebb and I'll be well and clear the next morning, however; it will make for a late night. I take Door #2 and decide to git 'er done that night git 'er over with. Checking my gas gauge produces a loud DOH! I'm getting down to the dregs and this is not a good thing going into the Big City. The last couple of exits prior to the Holland Tunnel are fast approaching. Quickly I bail off the first ramp I see and where safe pull over and enter "Fuel" in the GPS. As luck should have it there's one within 1 km. I come to a traffic light, take a look around and quickly see I am in the Wrong Neighbourhood. Big Time! Not fooling around I streak back onto the freeway and grab the next exit going to Newark Airport. Once again I enter "Fuel" into the GPS and it responds with some convoluted set of instructions which take me through the Newark Port Authority area, through another sketchy part of town and comes to a stop at this seedy looking gas station, which thankfully is open. A Russian woman comes out to pump the gas while these sinister looking guys watch from the lube bay door. No time for small talk as I pump the gas into the bike's tank under her watchful eye.Time to pay; I pull out my money clip and it is mostly hundreds and a few singles. Not enough small bills to cover the fuel. Being careful not to flash this kind of roll around I tentatively ask the lady if she can break a hundred. "Da. Ees Noo praablam." she replies, snatches my C-Note and disappears into the station. I'm struggling with the side stand on the bike wanting to catch up with her and protect my interests, so to speak. Meanwhile the guys at the lube bay are starting to pay me a little more attention as I run this gauntlet to the station office. Once in the office the lady gives me a big smile, my change, a receipt and tells me to be careful. Now I'm not sure if that means be careful riding, be careful in the neighbourhood or be careful walking past the lube bay guys. Either way I don't take it lightly, wish her a pleasant evening and I'm gone. Out of there!

I cross over into New York, run up the west side of Manhattan and north into the Bronx. Traffic was heavy and snarled in places. I'm chilled out and enjoying the sight and sound of the city. I'm getting some odd looks but that is mostly due to the large load I'm carrying on the bike, Everything is starting to move and in no time I'm speeding along the freeway passing Yonkers, New Rochelle, White Plains and into Connecticut. It's dark, I'm tired and the traffic is heavy and moving fast. Much too fast. They had absolutely no regard for a weary motorcyclist and I must have appeared a pest on the road. I'm doing 130kph in a 55 mph zone but that is just too slow for the New York motorists. I finally get onto I-95 and it is still fast and furious. This is the only time on the entire trip where I have felt somewhat threatened in the traffic. It must have been my fatigue level because usually I am not intimidated in traffic. After all I am a Transit Operator and mix it up with the Bad-Boys on a daily basis!

It's time to start looking for a hotel and of course the more tired you are the less available hotels there are. I find a Best Western just off I-95 in New Haven, good catch as I collect their reward points, and yes they have availability. There is  guy checking in in front of me and I overhear the clerk saying the rate was something like $140.00. Ouch! It's way too much but it may be the only game in town and I might have to bite the bullet. My turn and the clerk smiles, sizing me up. I ask the rate for AAA members,. He changes his smile and says I can give you $10.00 off. I feel there are still some chips on the table so I pull out my Coast Mountain Employee card say, now you understand I do work for the Government.  Well now he's like family and wanting me to meet his sister. He does some lightning-fast typing and a with a grand flourish tears a piece of paper off the printer for me to sign, proudly showing me the rate of $68.00 plus tax. That's more like it and I nod my satisfaction.

While parking my bike I run into a young woman getting her Honda Sportbike unpacked. We get to talking and she says her name is Jesse and tells me she has come all the way up from North Carolina. We decide to compare notes over a cold refreshing beverage but alas, the Connecticut Fathers had deemed that no one shall have fun after 9:00 pm and that no one may purchase a six-pack after the twilight hours. The place is in lock-down. I'm bagged but we arrange to meet in the morning and ride together as far as Providence.

A few emails and I'm toast...again!