Fri 19th April:
When I left Waverly for the 2nd time, I still was not sure what my plan was. I had a destination for the day – Boylston, a little place near the coast about 220 km to the NE and I was heading towards Cape Breton but still had not decided whether or not to do the Cabot Trail.
The road was highway, followed by a wide two-lane « A » road. The latter was smooth and virtually empty and would have been a very pleasant ride, had it not been for the wind and the cold. In spite of my best efforts to adjust the windshield and my new ear-plugs, I was still getting a hard time with buffeting noise.
I eventually arrived and found my IKEA equipped room. The only sign of life was the owners’ dog, which came on to the balcony each time I rode past the house. The place was pretty isolated, with nowhere to eat within walking distance. Although billed as self-catering, the kitchen was barely adequate; luckily, I found a dehydrated carbonara cornet in the local store. This was a plastic cone thingy, with all the makings of a pasta carbonara, minus a bit of bacon.
The night was passable although the mattress and the duvet were both on the skinny side; folding the duvet in two made it warm enough. To add insult to injury though, next morning, the shower was lukewarm! I left with no regrets, still having seen neither hide nor hair of the owners.
Sat 20th April:
Although the morning was overcast and damp, the forecast was promising, so I decided to go for Cape Breton. Saturday’s ride was to a place called North Sydney, and this would set me up for starting the Cabot Trail on Sunday.
I followed the coast road from Boylston for some 60 kms, discovering that the coast road doesn’t follow the coast. For the most part it ran through forests of pine trees; this becomes a bit boring after a while. I decided that Canada must be the Christmas tree capital of the world.
The road did touch the coast at times, and usually at little harbours or villages. These exhibited another feature that was coming to characterise the rural areas I was passing through; everywhere had an air of untidiness and dilapidation, almost. Maybe this was due to the recent winter, because the many fallen trees and branches certainly contributed to the aura, but surrounding many houses, and lying about towns, villages and business yards were the rusted remains of cars, ride-on mowers, agricultural machinery and other metal skeletons of uncertain provenance. Some of the houses were also a bit run down, but many, if not most, were smart and new looking, but still surrounded by the detritus of winter and decay. Although the houses were detached and individual, they were all really the same – wooden framed, with a certain Gothic style about them; some of the older ones I saw would not have looked out of place in a horror movie, with pouring rain and flashing lightening!
I negotiated the causeway to Cape Breton at Port Hawkesbury, and set off up Route 105 towards N Sydney. Now Jen had told me, when I had spoken disparagingly of my previous experiences, that I would become greatly fond of Tim Hortons eateries, not necessarily as a place to eat, but as somewhere to warm up. This proved to be accurate much sooner that I expected. Ninety kilometres and 90 minutes after starting I was freezing; the cold – low single digit temperatures – had penetrated my 6 layers and I was chilled to the bone. At a place called Whycocomagh I stopped to thaw a bit, and this proved fortuitous, for here I was to meet Simon, an ex-firefighter, an ex-biker and currently part-time truck driver from Dover.
He stopped to look at my bike, offered to take a photo for me and once we got to chatting, we hit it off pretty much immediately. We had coffee with his driving mate, the three of us doing a pretty good job of partially blocking the doorway. The guys gave me directions to N Sydney avoiding the highway, which was, like yesterday, cold, boring and windy. Simon offered me accommodation for the night if needed since I would be passing by his home on my way out of the Cape.
Somewhat thawed I set off to find Narrow Waters, and its little ferry, from where I would go to Iona to get the ferry to Christmas Island. Unfortunately, I had misunderstood the directions and started off in the wrong direction; this was largely because I was confusing the new directions with those I had received from my host for the evening. She had recommended not taking the Orangefield turnoff and going via Iona to avoid riding isolated country roads. I thought this was just to avoid narrow twisties, which seemed to me an excellent reason to go that way. When the guys mentioned the Iona ferry, I immediately thought I had to go through Orangefield – wrong and the map shows it better than I can describe it.
To cut the story short, I ended up on a corrugated gravel road to rival any I had come across in Africa. Once I was sure I wasn’t where I was supposed to be, although I was on the road to which my latest guide had directed me, I pulled over to consult my tourist map and GMaps on my phone; remember I had no GPS thanks to a story that I haven’t shared yet. Just as I had decided on which way I was going, a car came along, and to my great relief, the occupants confirmed my choice. In the end, the gravel part was less than 10 kms but when you’re cold and keen to get on, being lost in the middle of a forest does not engender a sense of adventure, but rather a certain sense of humour loss
Iona, when I got there was not much to speak of; actually, I don’t think I went into the town proper as I turned into the ferry “terminal”. The ferry was a simple RoRo affair pulled back and forth across the channel by a cable. The journey there and back took about 10-15 minutes loading and unloading included.
Once off the ferry, at Christmas Island, I road up along the coast through places with names such as Big Beach, beaver Cove and Boisdale. The road to North Sydney was pleasant, but unremarkable; more forest, more curves and little traffic. I arrived cold, just for a change, at my next accommodation and really there’s not much to say about it. It was a small room in a house with a shared bathroom, and on the landing a kettle and microwave that was advertised as a kitchen. It did have a bath though, and the water was hot; I made full use of this and noted how I’d forgotten the tingling feeling in your hands and feet as the blood and heat returns. I haven’t been so cold in years!
After my bath, I wandered up to a local motel – The Clansman – where I had a passable steak and chips; it was Saturday after all 😉
I don’t think I visited the Cape and the best time of year, so rather than do it down, and put you off visiting, I used the top photo to give an idea of what it can look line – credit for the photo to the Cape Breton Island website.
Belfast-2-Belfast-By-Bike 