This morning was our last morning waking up in a tent, and our last morning in Nova Scotia. Since the last update, we made our way down the northeast coast of Cape Breton, crossing back into mainland Nova Scotia at the Cansco Causeway. We rode along the buffer zone between rain and sun all morning, luckily we were on the sunny side but clouds threatened until we returned to the mainland and sunny skies.

After a stop for lunch, we proceeded down the southern coast of Nova Scotia, since we came up to Cape Breton along the northern coast. While the roads were not as good, the scenery and isolation were better. Several times we looked around and commented to each other about the absence of other vehicles, homes and people. We traveled through miles of unspoiled coastline, interrupted occasionally by a tiny village, each complete with a church, although most missing a gas station or any other basic services. Off the main route were many dirt roads, beconing for a future adventure with a more appropriate motorcycle and some more miles under our belts.

The day bordered on sensory overload, and the only thing keeping us from becoming tired of scenic shoreline vistas were a few twists and turns through thick pine forests, where the growing smell of funk in my helmet was drowned out by the smell of pine.

With our rear ends and backs at their limit, we stopped at one of the few campsites after logging a long day in the saddle. The campsite ended up being a gem, with a pretty lake literally within five paces of our tent. We cooked and ate our nightly “gruel” watching the sun set over the lake, and then adjourned to our sleeping bags where we weathered out a cold night in total comfort.

Before going to bed Meghan put a big smile on my face when she commented that she had missed spending time in the ten during our last two nights in motels, and was glad to be camping again.

The next morning it was clear fall had arrived in Nova Scotia. In the short time we were here, the temperatures had dropped several degrees, and the nights were downright chilly. A few “early bird” trees along our route were also beginning to change color. We were once again glad we had decent gear and consistently had a good, warm night’s sleep when camping.

The next morning was more of the same, not that that’s a bad thing. Rugged coastline, broken with small villages and short detours through pine forests. At one point, in the distance we saw a large white church atop a hill, and I thought to myself that it was too bad we could not figure out how to get up there and see it. Our good luck continuing on this trip, the road we were on went right past it. The church was built in the late 1800′s, and was a large white wooden structure, with a small graveyard in front. While relatively unremarkable, the church and cemetery overlooked an expanse of coast interrupted only by islands dotted with stately pines before merging into the limitless sea. I commented to Meghan that they certainly gave the dead the “million dollar view” in this town, and regret not stopping to take a couple of pictures.

The evening found us in the most expensive campsite of the trip, and overall the worst. It was filled primarily with RVs and other more permanent trailers, and our neighbors spent the evening drinking and holding court at 3AM, after letting an alarm clock buzz from 1 until 3.

We left as quickly as possible, and made our way towards Peggy’s Cove, supposedly one of the most photographed lighthouses in the world. We switched to a minor highway for most of the morning, and with some minor technical difficulties, made it though Halifax to the Cove. We enjoyed a fresh Lobster roll near the lighthouse, and then took an obligatory lighthouse photo along with the rest of the busloads of tourists milling about the rocks much like the skeptical seagulls that observed them.

We left Peggy’s Cove and followed the Lighthouse Trail, a road hugging the southern coast and passing several lighthouses. We were back to ourselves on the road once clearing suburban Halifax, and took a detour to one of the lighthouses, a small structure on a deserted cove. While not as pretty as Peggy’s Cove, the solitude made it worthwhile. We noticed some men working the rocky shore in small boats with what looked like a rake with a very long handle. We saw a man sitting in his car, previously unnoticed by us and asked what the fishermen were doing.

“Irish mollusks. You eat ice cream?” He said in a strange accent, almost a much thicker version of the most backwoods Maine accent. Puzzled by his question we both nodded and he said that apparently Irish mollusks are used to make ice cream. Who knew? After he asked us about our travels we parted ways and headed for the town of Acadia, right outside Yarmouth and the ferry back to the US.

The campsite in Acadia was not particularly noteworthy, save for having little real estate on which to park and pitch our tent, and having free showers. We awoke 30 minutes earlier than planned, around 6AM when a bunch of Harley guys near our site began warming their engine by revving them and letting the entire campsite delight in the sound of their loud pipes. We packed up and made a quick stop by Tim Horton’s, the Canadian equivalent of Dunkin Doughnuts, and our only stop at a chain restaurant of the entire adventure.

Bearing breakfast, we waited in the long line for the ferry, answering the rudimentary questions and finally riding aboard, strapping down our bikes and finding a place to sit out the six hour trip. We arrived in Portland, Maine later in the afternoon, and spent most of our time on US soil waiting for Customs to process us.

Once legally admitted to the US, we made a beeline for North Conway, NH, where my parents were staying at their mountain house, supervising an addition. We spent two nights with them, catching up with family, airing out and drying our gear, and checking out the addition. Unfortunately the next day was a long and increasingly wet ride. About 100 miles from home, the cold and rain was getting to us. We pulled over and Meghan was able to get one of her friends, Jessica on the line, who graciously volunteered her parents’ home for lodging that night. Tired and wet, Jessica and her parents graciously sheltered us for the night, and we got an early start the next morning.

Luckily there was little rain and the ride home was uneventful. It was quite an adventure, considering we had been on the road for over two weeks, and Meghan started the trip with 120 miles on her odometer, ending over 2400. We saw many beautiful sights, sun, rain, different and interesting people from many parts of the world, and lived with nothing but what we carried on our bikes. Aside from the beauty and new sights of the trip, I really enjoyed living a dramatically simplified life. Your existence consisted of a motorcycle, the clothes on your back, and the gear you could strap onto the bike. In a space smaller than a couple of suitcases, we had everything we needed: shelter, clothing, food and drink.

Our days were completely absent of meetings, plans or agendas. We’d wake up in the morning, consult our map and establish a general plan, and then change the plan as needed. The only item on the docket each morning was eating, breaking camp and riding. With beauty all around, and the hum of the motorcycle in your ears, each day was spent largely in the comfort of your own thoughts. Being on a bike allowed us to experience the environment with all our senses. Warm days riding through forest would bring smells of pine, and rides near the ocean would let your skin feel the minute changes in temperature, or the slight increase in humidity brought on by proximity to the sea. All of this would have been missed in the “saftey” of a car.

Reflecting on the trip over the days since returning home, we’ve decided to postpone plans of a more involved, multi-year trip through South America and the rest of the world. We need some more experience riding, and some recent good news percludes dropping out of society just yet (will post said good news once some more things are worked out, and no, Meghan is not pregnant). I am hoping to hit Alaska next year or the year after, and perhaps make my way across the entirity of Canada and return via the Northern US. Time will tell…

Pictures can be found below:

Categories: Travel
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