At the airport I needed to unload some stuff from my big box – it was heavier than 70 pounds, by around five. Open up the box and take out my jacket, 72. Fish out the bag of rocks: 67. Done. Hearing my story the lady behind the Air Canada baggage desk winked and let the bag go on without the extra charge. 

Knowing that I have suspicious boxes, I head to the oversize x-ray machine for where I can explain what’s in it. He checker needs to open the small box anyway – not a surprise considering the rat’s nest of wires and metal bits in it. He give it the thumbs up and the big one doesn’t even need to be opened again. W00t.

Getting to the gate I notice the plane isn’t there. It shows up after our flight is scheduled to depart. Crap. We take to the air around 45 minutes to an hour late. I start worrying about making my connection to Cleveland since I only have 1:45 to make it to the gate, and that includes waiting for my bags, customs, and re-checking them. Crapity, crapity, crap.

Sure enough, my bags took long to show up. Inexplicably my small bag landed on the fragile line. I didn’t even know there was a fragile line. Ironically, the “fragile” item looked like someone drop kicked it.

On to customs with half an hour to go. On to being punished for honesty. I checked that I had food – freeze-dried food to be used in case of emergency. Wait a while I go to the agriculture desk to get checked. Cleared with 10 minutes to go. Get to bag-check with 5 minutes. Crap.

There’s another flight in 4 hours. I get rebooked for that one. Finally I check my bag. Then take a freakin’ shuttle to get to the other concourse. Even if the flight was on time and I didn’t have any issues there’s a chance I wouldn’t have made it.

More waiting.

At least I’m cleared through customs (in theory at least), my bags (er, boxes) are checked, I have my boarding pass and am waiting for my last leg of the trip back home to a waiting Ennie.

Just a few hours left.

A bit of mirth

“Attention, the flight to Grand Rapids is now ready for boarding. I do have a rather strange request though: that the  ladies sit at the back of the plane; this is due to weight and balance concerns since and this is a very full flight.”

Everyone laughs.

“Did you weigh is on the way in?” ask a woman walking to the counter.

The attendant relays the response quietly back to her walkie-talkie: “Yeah, I told them. They all laughed at me.”

Afterward their nephew and his girlfriend took me the hour drive to Blanc Sablon to board the plane. I had to leave a few things behind (the stove and fuel containers) that he promised to post back to me when I get back home. Otherwise it was a rush through the hand-check security since they don’t have an X-Ray there.

We went up in the air, taking off from the tiny Blanc Sablon airport, and landed just a few minutes later in St. Anthony. A few more folks got on making it a full plane. Around a half-hour after we touched down we took off again headed to St. John’s. The long leg of the flight in the Dash-8 lasted an hour and a half. The scenery that I saw out the window was as spectacular from the air as it was from the ground with the mountains, trees, water and the speckles of little towns scattered about.

Landing in St. John’s gave me the biggest surprise of the trip: a fellow I met on my way west in Gander, John, was there to pick me up! O. M. G.

I gave him the address of the blog while there and he checked it out on Sunday morning and saw Ennie’s post that I was flying to St. John’s. There’s only one flight from in from Blanc Sablon each day so he took a chance. Just about anyone I’ve met out here has been the nicest people I’ve ever met. We found me a hotel room, dropped my big crates off and went off to have some beers in an Irish pub on George Street (if I recall correctly). Beer is good. Seems a lot of Irish settled in St. Johns which explains the theme. A band came in to set up for some live music as we were getting ready to leave.

Before dropping me off at the hotel he took me up to Signal Hill where Mr. Marconi tested out his newfangled wireless gear. (Guglielmo Marconi: his name is fun to say!) I looked over to Cape spear a few miles south down the shore to see where I was standing in the rain just a week prior.

He dropped me off at the Battery Hotel for the night and I had an overpriced steak. That’s life. At this point it’s only money, eh?

Settling in to my room I looked out my window seeing a view that would be worthy to be on a post card. Wishing I had my real camera working I snapped a few shots with the small one hoping to capture a bit of the scene. Again, that’s life.

On a brighter note though, I talked to one of the workers here on the dock and she was quite confident that I’ll be able to get to Goose Bay even though I don’t have a reservation. While it’s not perfect, I’ll take her word over almost anyone’s at this point.

I started talking to the biker (bicycle biker), Guillaume (French for William), I spoke of before and if the ferry leaves tonight we’ll; likely split a double hotel room if there’s one available in town. No reason to spend more money than you need to. He speaks far better English than I speak French, we manage fine and chat for a few hours about our journeys.

We leave!

The ferry actually started boarding at 8:30 and we were on our way by around 8:45.

As I’m writing this it’s just gotten dark and we’re in heavy waters. I see people all around me going for the sick bags. All of this is in complete contrast with the ferry that took me over from Nova Scotia to Newfoundland which was a smooth and relaxing ride. This ride is not fun in any way. I’m just happy that I’m on it now. It gives me more time to get to Cartwright for tomorrow night.

The ride tomorrow shouldn’t be too bad – around 255 miles according to the map around two-thirds of it dirt. I figure around four or five hours aught to do it. From what I’ve heard the ticket office opens at the Cartwright terminal at 8:00 AM for the evening’s journey that leaves at 7:00 PM that night. That being said, I want to be there when they open! I don’t want to figuratively and literally miss the boat!

More bikers

As we were about to get onboard, a bike pulls up. It’s a big Victory cruiser. Atop are a couple that hop off and start taking to me. They are far more hardcore than I. Last year they circumnavigated the continent on their Victory over the course of four and a half months. Not just something like a four-corners thing, or just the United States and Canada, but the whole frickin’ continent. Down to Panama.

!

On the Kawasaki Vulcan!

Awesome! Hats off to those two! Congrats to Susan and Richard for following their dreams! You can see more of them at chasingtheroad.blogspot.com.

They had other cool stories to tell too, like crossing the North Atlantic on a ship many years ago in very rough seas.

As we got closer to the other side and we were exchanging stories, they even had a question for me: about camping in Alaska, is it cold? When we were up there it wasn’t to cold. In fact the previous night seemed colder than any night we had in Alaska the year before.

Goodbyes said and internet information exchanged we mounted up our bikes and drove off the ship back onto the mainland.

Landing on the other side

We got a late start and the rough seas compounded things. We disembarked the shore at around 10:30. And it was dark. And the fumes from the ship had fogged up my visor something fierce.

Nothing worse than going through twisty roads, in the dark, with moose, and your visor up.

A few miles up the road, on the Labrador side (we landed in Quebec), I thankfully found a hotel with rooms! I just didn’t feel like trying to drive up the coast without seeing the scenery or seeing where I was going.

The Northern Light Inn in Lanse Au Clair up inLabrador had the front desk closed, but a party was going in the bar. One of the employees was playing pool and came back to the desk to check me and another fellow in.

They promised internet access, but something is hosed up at the moment.

Last night was cold. Real cold. I’m amazed I didn’t wake up to frost. I guess the clear night that led to the nice sky let all the heat out. I’d take cold over rain any day!

Just want to say it again: Gros Morne is amazing! I need to come back when I have more time to spend. They even have guided hikes where they tell you what you’re seeing about the geology and wildlife. Cool stuff that I didn’t have a chance to do this time; I really need to make sure there’s a next time.

Waking up this morning was completely different. The sun warming my face game me a needed boost. The ride up the Newfoundland coast astonished at every turn with new views of the coast and ocean on my left, and mountains on the right. The mountains made the geology of the region apparent with the folds of rock being thrust up, then partially eroded away again.

The final bit of the ride to bring you up to date was windy. Riding at an angle while going straight windy.

I’m hear at least.

Talked to a local too, he doesn’t think I’ll have a problem getting to Goose Bay with my bike!

Speaking of bikers, I met up with a bicyclist from Quebec. He rode up here and is going to be riding up in Labrador too. He seems to be riding almost a century every day. He sold everything that he owns (except the bike and gear for the trip), quit his job, and is taking around six weeks to travel. When he gets back home he’ll get a new job and repeat next summer. Amazing dude!

Back to waiting for the ferry here in St. Barbe.

I stopped to get a pint of fresh-picked raspberries along the way. (delicious by the way) In an atypical way, any time I saw something picture-worthy (and can safely do so) I pulled off to the side of road to get the picture. It’s a welcome relief from the previous “gotta get there” mentality.

As I got to the park I stopped at the information booth to get a general idea of where I should camp if I only had one day in the park.

The ranger-lady paused at the strangeness of the request… one day in the park? How can you even do that?

After it sunk in for a bit she pulled out a park brochure and started pitching various ideas. She settled on camping at Trout River since you go through the tabletop mountains and then the next day ride through the rest of the park on my way to St. Barbe. Walking back to my bike I noticed that next to the Canadian flag the United Nations flag was flying as well. So back I went to ask. Gros Morne is a UNESCO World Heritage Site! Coolness!

The ride through the park simply took my breath away. The natural beauty of the landscape unfolding after every turn made to pause to consider how lucky I was that I was here on an abnormally perfect day. The fjords to the right, some mountains with a bit of snow clinging to them in the background, hills covered in trees to the left. I couldn’t ask for more.

As I took a left to to to Trout River the landscape changes as dramatically as well. The lush greens gave way to a eerie moonscape of cliffs and boulders that is the Tabletop Mountains. The ranger said that the geology of this area is some of the most fascinating of all. Checking into it I read that the rocks that I was seeing were some of the best examples of mantle rocks in the world. I picked up a couple to go with the ones from Cape Spear.

On one of the stops I made as I got into the park itself I ran into some folks I saw a few days before on the mainland! It was Geb and Marie from Whycocomagh! They are both retired and can afford the time to go al slowly as they want. They were budgeting around two months for almost the same trip. That is something to aspire to!

Eventually I arrived at my destination camp site. I rode around to pick a suitable spot and settled on #8. As I was setting up another group pulled up and started setting up next door in #6. Loud people. I know we are all outside, but you really shouldn’t use your outside voice when the target of your conversation is two feet away.

I bit the bullet and moved to luck #13. As I’m writing this I can still hear them off to my left. I pity the people that are even nearer. It was a worthwhile half hour spent moving all my crap 100 meters down the road.

A few injuries to report as well. I got stung mightily by some flying insect. I don’t think it was a bee since I’ve had those before. It was an instant searing pain that felt like someone shoved a super-heated needle into me. Even after 4 hours I can still feel it like something is pulling on my skin. Lastly, a tent stake came and bit me on my knee while I was getting the tent set up. I think it was just feeling a bit ornery at the time, so I’ll give it a pass for now.

Another interesting person I met was Dave. I think I mentioned that the ship I came over on caught fire a few weeks ago. I heard all sorts of explanations about what happened, but now I know from someone who was on the boat when it happened! Some heat exchanger on the seventh level was the culprit. There were even flames coming out of the side of the ship! It’s a metal boat so nothing really bad happened and their voyage continued as planned. Dave and his wife, who are on their 30th wedding anniversary (if I recall) started it off with a bang! At least they got comped a lunch and their “Deluxe Cabin” (just like mine) was free after the fact as well.

Finally, looking up at the sky this cold late-summer night, I see the Milky Way. It’s been years since I’ve seen it last. Even with a camp fire going, the sky is dark enough that the galaxy overpowers even the light the fire that’s keeping me a bit warm.

This is a park that I definitely have to come back to with some more time. And more Ennie too.

Tearing everything down has become routine again. From start to finish it only took around 20 minutes; 10 minutes of which was in the tent staging things to go outside.

It’s a good thing I started when I did. The rain started coming down heavier as the minutes passed. The sky teased with a patch of blue in the distance, but it was just that, a tease.

Driving up the east coast of Newfoundland I took a look at the map. It was strange looking at the Zumo with a checkerboard off the side; that’s where the map ends. I drove to the end of the map. Browsing the map between turns I noticed a bit of land that juts out just to the south of St. Johns, so I told the GPS to get me there and not St. Johns. I guessed right! Where the road took me was Cape Spear – the easternmost point in North America. I have pictures of the signs to prove it. (Aside: I can add to Wikipedia to f

Even with the light rain and hiking for what seemed like miles up and down the trails in my full riding gear I felt on top of the world! One of my goals has been checked off my list: to be the person most east on the entire continent. Why is that a goal? Beats the hell out of me, but it does sound kinda cool, eh? The persistent dampness didn’t lessen my excitement as I marveled at the Atlantic. A hunted down some rocks that seemed native to the spot to bring home and began the long and arduous trudge back up the hill in the rain to the bike.

It’s no wonder that the crews stationed at the defensive battery in WWII said that this was a damp and depressing place. If your job is to work there I would agree.

I punched in St. Johns as my next destination to see what there is to see there. As I approached the rain started getting even heavier, progressing from a light rain to somewhere between rain and a heavy rain. Much like the Eskimos née Inuit allegedly had dozens of names for types of snow, motorcyclists have a similar range when it comes to rain. It’s all annoying, but to different degrees.

I drove down what seemed to be the main drag, Water Street, but I didn’t have the motivation to stop anywhere. The heavy morning traffic conspired with the rain to spoil that affair. I’ve been told that I need to get a squid burger… unfortunately that will have to wait until next time. Such is life I guess.

The drive back across the island

I quickly decided that I, unfortunately, wasn’t going to do a whole lot I can do in St. Johns I set the destination back to the western half of the island. This consisted mainly of driving around in downtown St. Johns going up and down streets and hills. I was able to see several examples of the prototypical house style – the attached and colorfully painted buildings that one always associates to the region.

While navigating out of the city I had, what I would describe as, my first “traction incident” of the trip. The tires I installed on my bike, Michelin Anakee 2s, seem to “talk” more to me about traction than previous tires I had. I never really knew, I suppose, when I was getting close to the limit. Once I seemed to exceed that. In what is a gentle right-hand turn the front stepped out a good six inches. I guess a truck dumped some diesel or something on the road. Thankfully it was over as quickly as it began – and in the same state: both wheels on the ground. I thought for sure that the front would just tuck in and I’d be along for the ride.

Once I got out of town the road was for the most part the exact reverse route as yesterday. There’s one way in, and the same way out. Another peculiarity almost caught me out today: the lack of gas stations. I started off the day with a quarter tank of gas. I figured I’d get out of the hubbub of the city then get gas. The range countdown was down to 17-miles to go before I found a gas station. With the bike fueled I had to contend with me getting fueled too. If you notice I never mentioned breakfast up there. I figured that the rain we were having would end as I drove west and I would get some food when it stopped raining. I figured wrong. Some Red Bull in my tank would have to sate me for the time being.

The scenery was the same as the day before, but all the while different. The forest greens now gave way to a procession of muted pastel greens that faded into the sky with the distance. The layers of the scene piled on top of one another in a dozen different shades of gray-green. The sky illuminated the landscape with the silver and pewter clouds that soften the edges of the world with the mellow light they cast down. The blue lakes were now a nearly white blue-green that reflected both the sky and the rough water that was being kicked up by the fierce winds.

The beauty was tempered by the difficulty in driving the roads. The paving of the highways differs from that of that states. Commonly standing water is encountered during the rain here making the roads far more treacherous than what I’ve encountered in the past. Several times the tires told me without incident that they were starting to lose adhesion on the pavement.

Six hours in the rain were enough to get by the defenses of my riding suit. The one weakness – the zippers in the crotch – started to let in some moisture. Nothing bad, but enough to get really annoying. I knew from the previous day when I “stole” some Wi-Fi from the Comfort Inn that I can get Internet in Gander so that’s where I decided to go.

Landing at the Inn I got a room, cleaned up a bit and decided to take a suggestion from one of En’s coworkers: go to a Tim Hortons; “They have soup to warm you up.” That they did. A coffee, soup and salad did the trick of making up for both breakfast and lunch since it was already 2:30.

Getting back to the room I attended to the wet clothes and went online to check on the ferry again. More good news (kinda at least): they don’t book the ferries to 100% capacity, if you show up early enough the crew has some discretion to load you on.   Much rejoicing!

A bit of surfing and it was time for dinner. This time another local (it seems) chain: Mary Browns. They’re famous for Chicken and Taters, eh. (Note, Canadians don’t like the possessive apostrophe (see also: Tim Hortons)). Not bad at all. The experience was made complete by the guy in the kitchen that made sure to suggest things in a very Beavis way. “Cole slaw! Cole slaw!” Cole slaw it was. He did it to the next customer too. It worked just as well.

The evening topped off by some good Canadian brew (Labatt in this case), I bid you all a good night!

A steak and cheese skillet and coffee. That’s the way to start a day.

Attached to the Comfort in was a Jungle Jim’s restaurant (that I have since found to be a chain) that was a good way of starting off the day. Before the ferry let-down I had a distinctive spring to my step. I finally felt like I was on top of the world walking down to hall to the joint.

As a complete aside, taking pictures with a cool digital camera seemed quite strange though with the Kodachrome song playing in the background. I miss film. I miss the look of film. But at this point I can’t give up digital. There’s no way I could even carry enough film for the shots I’ve already taken, let alone whatever other shots come in the rest of the journey.

The Ferry Situation

I talked briefly to someone at the Newfoundland and Labrador Ferry service on a very bad Skype connection off of pilfered Wi-Fi about my situation. It seems that the crew of the ship have some discretion about who gets let on that doesn’t have reservations. I tried to make just a reservation for myself but the connection was too dodgy to continue. It looks like there might be hope to get to Goose Bay. Hope hope hope with me. 

On the road

The more I ride through Newfoundland the more this reminds me of our trip last year to Alaska. It feels like I’m in the foothills to some mountains, but I know that’s not really the case. I guess they are what’s left of mountains from the plates colliding.

Most strikingly fireweed grows here as well. It’s an opportunist that likes poor dirt after a fire. Poor dirt next to the road seems like a good substitute. It might be a weed for many folks, but to me it’s so closely tied to adventure that I can’t separate the two. The vibrant reddish-pink petals of the stalks of flowers never fails to catch my eye. The growing season for it looks to be almost over though; many of the stalks that displayed the flowers are shriveled to stalks of pink filaments that once held the flowers. Some just have a few flowers left on the tops, the rest having served their purpose to spread the “weed” further afield.

Good.

Road to La Manche

I’m writing this from my camp a the La Manche provincial park. From my reckoning this parks sits furthest East on the island. I’ll be among the first the morning sun will hit tomorrow. That makes me happy.

But before I set up camp, first I had to get here.

Turning off the Trans Canada Highway (TCH) that loops to the North of the island things changed abruptly. On the TCH things were mainly pine forests with many lakes of varying sizes to either side. Terra Nova National Park typified this a lush pine forest framing gorgeous deep blue lakes; lakes that are “Crayola Blue” surrounded by “Forest Green” trees.  (This isn’t like glacier run-off lakes that glow an other-worldly cyan)

After turning south, the world changed. It went from the rich greens to a prairie scrub that wouldn’t look too out-of-place in Wyoming. The difference was countless large boulders that were strewn across the landscape (doubtless from glaciers in eons past). The greens of before changed to more desert-like earth tones. In the background stood prominent outcrops of rock – one of which looks like what I imagine Devils Tower might look like a few million years from now.

Winding my way south to the coast the road turned hilly with far steeper grades than I saw earlier in the day. The last one, the tiny road down to the camp, was almost as steep as Grove Hill in Chagrin Falls, except dozens of times longer. I pity anyone without a motor vehicle to get out of this place.

Dinner

Mmmm… canned Irish stew. Way better than the “Kam” of previous days! A bun from that meal served as a fine accompaniment to the canned stuff. I’m sure it’s not good for me, but <shrug/> what can a guy do? Te freeze-dried food is just as bad for me anyway, and I’m saving that just in case I get into a pinch somewhere (I hope not, but it’s a good cushion)

Signing out,
The Man of La Manche

If I can find another from another make that I can Frankenstein on I’ll do it… but I think I’ll be fine until home.

Here’s my plan for the next week. I think this is quite doable without trying to be a hero on the bike. (i.e. I could do it in half the time if I really felt the urge)

Monday: Head most of the way to St. John’s. Camp if the weather’s descent, motel otherwise.
Tuesday: St. John’s. I want to see the Atlantic from as far East on N. America as you can. Some rocks will be collected for interested parties.    Head half-way back toward Gros Morne.
Wednesday: Easy day. Head to Gros Morne and camp! (should be only 3 or so hours of road time)
Thursday: Head north and camp near St. Barbe (another easy day of exploring the coast)
Friday: Catch the early ferry to Blanc-Sablon (10:30 AM) Start heading to Cartwright. Probably camp near Mary’s Harbour. Collect some more rocks, hopefully some Labradorite, for other interested parties.
Saturday: Final 150 miles to Cartwright. Make it there by 5 or 6 and I’m golden! Catch the ferry to Goose Bay and relax for the trip over!

Off to get some coffee and breakfast and head on over in the direction of St. John’s.

Keith reminds me a bit of my dad in his outlook from what I can tell at this point. 

We both were riding the same direction after the ferry and both landed at the same hotel here in town: the Comfort Inn.

I hadn’t planned on riding for a couple hours in the dark with moose around, but I didn’t have much of a choice. The moment I left St. George’s Bay I was in the middle of nowhere. It was around 50 minutes until we even hit a gas station; the next one was another half hour. It had grown dark while we were getting off the ferry (it made for a wonderful sunset over the water while on the ferry) so I couldn’t really start camping since setting up a camp in patch black painful when you’re not familiar with your surroundings. The next hotel was another hour up the road.

Which brings me here to the Comfort Inn in Corner Brook, Newfoundland!

As a bonus however, I made some good time to my next destination: St. John’s!