Dino's blog for mini adventures and endurance challenges
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To PEI (with lots of food)

August 23rd, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 62: Sainte Marie de Kent to Cumberland Cove (137.5km)

I was packed off in the morning from Aaron and Shelley’s with a full belly, a lunchbox full of the blueberries that I picked yesterday, and other provisions for the journey – including a small bagful of homegrown beans! I added significantly to the beans’ food mile by carrying them with me for 137.5km before they pimped up my noodle dinner. The noodles, ridiculously, I’ve been carrying for 4,000km.

I had an easy and enjoyable start to the day cycling along the river. I pedalled past sloping farmland, wooden houses decorated with Acadian flags, old worn looking pick up in the driveway and the occasional bored teenager on a bike.

After less than an hour on the road I couldn’t resists nipping into Tim Hortons. On the one hand, for the entire trip I have been promising myself that one day I would buy a whole box of donuts. On the other hand, staying with Aaron and Shelley reminded me how homegrown vegetables are unparalleled in their tastiness. Oh dear. I ended up buying a whole box of Timbits (translation: donut holes). The box of 20 Timbits did not, I’m afraid to say, last til lunch.

Timbits

Timbits

After 50km I stopped in Shediac where the remaining Timbits were devoured along with juicy, handfuls of blueberries bleeding purple juice over my fingers. I am glad the washroom has a mirror as I had blueberry juice all round my face.

After lunch I pedalled again, and continued to pedal, and kept on pedalling. I did that thing that if someone else does is really annoying: “Oh, just a few more km.” Then, “oh just a few more” and “let’s just reach the top of this hill” etc. I managed to churn out 108k, before I stopped for lunch at a pretty spot overlooking the Northumberland Strait, the stretch of land that separated Prince Edwards Island (known to all as PEI) and mainland Canada.

When the smudge of indigo on the horizon sharpened into view my legs found the energy to push faster. It’s confederation bridge! The road to a new land! The crossing to my penultimate province!

Monty and I had to catch a shuttle bus as it is illegal to walk or cycle across the 13km bridge. Blimey, I was glad for there was only a small barrier protecting the two lanes of traffic from the fall into the drink. The snaking bridge curved over the blue waters.

The first thing you notice about PEI is the rusty red rock that borders the island. “It goes right the way round,” the driver said. “Some sort of sandstone I think.”

Shelley had tipped me off that PEI is famous for its icecream. “It’s tourist prices,” the driver had huffed when I asked for directions. But thankfully the BIDIB (beer, icecream, delicious item budget – $400 that I saved by not going to Newfoundland) afforded me a double scoop of cowberry and salted caramel in a sprinkle coated waffle come. Nom nom nom.

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The last icecream-fuelled kilometres to the campground were the best of the day. The cornfields shimmered in the lowering late summer sun. I turned my head to catch vanishing views of the bridge standing like a blue snake on stilts over the water. The cornfields were bending over in the wind. The windy sky was a spotless blue save for a few contrails. A flock of starlings swirled over the fields.

My campground overlooks Northumberland strait. The sun has set behind the line of spruce trees. The surf nibbles at the shore. The strong wind buffets my tent. I am sitting under the flap of my tent when I notice the moon rising. It is pink. The large disc appears on the eastern horizon like a second sun that has been wrapped in a rich salmon coloured silk. It is moments like this, in awe of the quiet majesty of nature, that make all the cycling – and all of life – worthwhile.

Foraging for mushrooms

August 23rd, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (1 Comments)

Day 61: Miramichi to Sainte Marie de Kent (90km)

As a general rule of thumb, in Canada the cycling days have been glorious and the rest days have been spent wishing I was on the bike. My ride to Sainte Marie de Kent and subsequent rest day broke that rule, in the nicest way possible.

The day’s cycling was fine but largely uneventful. There had been no threat of rain so I’d slept with the tent flaps open and thus had a bone dry condensation free tent to pack up in the morning. Monty and I set off along the main highway. The highway isn’t actually very exciting. Is just a strip of grey Tarmac that bounces up and over the hills and through the forest. Every now and again I would pass through a small village decked out in Acadian flags. Some villages had painted the trunks of their electricity pylons in the Acadian colours. They really are quite patriotic.

All around I could smell the piney, green fragrance of the forest. Soon enough I arrived in the town of Richibucto where the fragrance of the forest was interrupted by the strong scent of the sea. An aggressive line up of gulls watched over me while I ate my lunch by the small harbour. After a short snooze, ended by an extra loud screech from a gull, it was time to get pedalling again.

My lodgings for the night came into view down a long, bumpy track cutting between a riot of wild bushes. I was essentially in the middle of glorious nowhere. At the end of the track, a large trailer stood in front of an old white house. Aaron, Shelley and their young son were out at a farming conference when I arrived but I was greeted by a very cheery note and muffins.

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I wandered around the back of the house to where a line of washing was hanging up. There was a very large veg patch, stuffed with tangled towers of green beans, green tomatoes, neat lines of onions bursting through the soil, and a lively proliferation of leaves and squashes exploding out the patch. I went over to say hello to the chickens and the three goats (named Hans, Goat String and Tweedledum).

When Aaron and Shelley returned home they offered me the sofa, the tent or the mosquito net to sleep in. The night looked to be bright and clear so I opted for the mosquito net.

As it fell dark I set about gathering kindling for the fire. A bright full moon cast bean-pole shaped shadows across the freshly mown grass. A chorus of insects buzzed in the background as the pop of the fire flung sparks into the sky. I chucked some grass on the fire to create some smoke to deter the bugs. It gave off a nice smell too. Aaron and Shelley came out the house and sat by the fire. We toasted some marshmallows. It grew late, though no darker thanks to the moon. When Aaron and Shelley retired to bed I snuck into my sleeping bag and fell asleep with the brilliant moon arching south west across the sky. The birds had stopped singing, the chickens had long since gone to roost, the goats bleated for a while but soon quietened down. Only the faint chorus of insects, their buzzing amplified by the silence, remained.

I was woken up when the cockerel called. The sun hadn’t yet risen but the eastern sky was a palette of artist’s colours. Wandering around, capturing the morning light on my camera I woke up the goats who jumped up on the fencing bleating. I worried they might escape again.

My rest day was perfectly restful. In the morning we went blueberry picking and in the afternoon we went on a successful forage for chanterelles. After that I had a lazy nap under the mosquito net until it was time for dinner and therefore time to munch the chanterelles. In the evening I again fell asleep under the gaze of the moon. The only difference this evening was that the evening soundscape missed the bleating from the goats. Hans, Goat String and Tweedledum had, just before dinner, been picked up by the butcher. They will return in freezer bags.

I couldn’t have wished for a better rest day and am very grateful to my kind hosts for having me stay.

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The Hobbit

August 18th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 60: Beresford to Miramichi (103km)

Today has been notable for its uneventfulness. I guess out of 60 days of cycling then at least one would be boring. Let’s keep it brief.

Top 5 notable events of the day:

1. Saw herd of wooden cut-out cows standing in someone’s front lawn
2. Cycled into headwind. Swore at wind.
3. Had roadside nap
4. Applied hydrocortisone cream to itchy sting / bite (?) on my derrière
5. Excited to find just ripe bananas for sale in gas station

That’s it.

But for entertainment for you, dear blog reader, I will now include a recent email from my Dad:

“For some reason I was thinking of your blog as I went to sleep last night, and thought that when your get your tyre (tire) sorted out in Charlottetown you could call it “The Two Tyres”. Then I thought “Why not make it a trilogy?”:
The day you were doing your washing by hand along with a number of other campers – The Fellowship of the Wring
Getting your bell back after you thought you’d lost it – The Return of the Ping.
Enjoy. Love, D”

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Cycling through Acadia

August 18th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 59: Campbellton to Beresford (110km)

Isn’t it lovely to wake up in a bed?

I had the hostel dorm to myself and so had enjoyed an uninterrupted night’s sleep. Bed linen. A comfy mattress. Silence. No bugs. I fell asleep under the red glow of the emergency exit sign and woke only as the morning light crept through the gaps in the window blinds.

The hostel occupied an old lighthouse building. The outside of the lighthouse, neatly painted in red and white, looks just the part as it sits overlooking the widening Salmon River. The light on the lighthouse, I learnt, had only been turned off for the last time a few weeks ago. The light is owned by the federal government and they had switched it off as it the lighthouse was now redundant due to another light situated on the nearby wharf.

It was tempting to stay another day but I have a plane to catch and over a thousand kilometres still to cycle. So I pressed on. Goodbye lovely lighthouse.

Yesterday I had crossed a time zone but I pretended I was still in the old time zone to allow myself an extra hour in bed. On the road, the sun had already begun to heat up the day. The misty clouds that were resting over the houses on the far shore early in the morning had now vanished.

It was a beautiful day. I cycled along a quiet road bordering the coast. I could still see the far reaches of Quebec fading in the distance as the river gave way to the sea. A single sailing boat stood in the calm waters. A sign pointed to the crabs and scallops for sale. The houses were decorated with bright triangles of red, white and blue bunting. The Acadian flag swung out to the east, erected by the wind. I only missed Acadian Day by a day but clearly nobody had got round to taking down the decorations yet.

The Acadians are the descendants of the French colonists who live in the Maritimes. Along the Acadian shore of New Brunswick you are as likely to hear French spoken as English and most people seem to be bilingual. I am intrigued by the confusing accent they have here. Last night I was playing with my iPad in the hostel while a couple of folks chatted away in strong, almost incomprehensible accents. I decided to covertly record them speaking and felt very sneaky… Until I realised they were taking about me!

Mid morning I stopped for a gigantic maple walnut ice cream and sat overlooking the water. It’s the coast from here to the end, I thought. From here to the Atlantic. I could get to Halifax in less than a week but I am going to finish with a flourish.

Today passed without grand incident or hilarious mishap. It really been just a very pleasant day’s ride along the coast of New Brunswick.

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Frazzled nerves

August 17th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 58: Causapscal to Cambellton (81km)

Uh-oh. That doesn’t look good. I was doing my morning check on Monty. Brakes fines, rims fine, tyre beading bulging out of rim. Uh-oh.

The bulge!

The bulge!

I had treated myself to double coffee this morning. The large dose of caffeine coursing through my veins fuelled my anxiety as I Googled my options. I’ve had a tyre explode on me before. It had looked like this, I had nonchalantly ignored it and carried on cycling to work, until one day – BANG!

How far would this bulge survive? I was hoping 80km. I cycled as fast and carefully as possible. Long sections of construction did not help my nerves as Monty bounced on the dust and rubble. I tried to enjoy the scenic views, pushing to the back of my mind the constant worry that my front tyre was going to EXPLODE ANY SECOND.

The scenery was very beautiful as the 132 followed alongside the Matapedia River. The river is renowned for its salmon fishing. Men in beige waded in the shallow, rocky water. The sun came out, illuminating the edges of the angular hills. Forest stretched in all directions. The road was quiet. It reminded me of being in BC.

And then…

ARGGGG!!

A black bear is running in the road right in front of me. I screech on the brakes as the bears jumps past. The bear!? The bear?! I swivel round to look, but the bear has already disappeared into the overgrowth.

My heart rate had rocketed. I had chucked out my bear spray yesterday because I thought – thought! – I am no longer in bear country. My nerves, worn by the worry of an exploding tyre, were now frazzled.

Soon enough I reached the bridge that would lead me to a new province: New Brunswick. I was closing in on the bike shop and (fingers crossed) the tyre had not yet exploded. I was counting down the distance to Campbellton not in kilometres, not in jelly beans consumed but in the number of hours it would take me to walk from here to Campbellton if my tyre exploded. 5 hours, 4 hours… I felt happier once I realised that Monty and I could walk to town before nightfall.

The river separating Quebec from New Brunswick

The river separating Quebec from New Brunswick

Thankfully we reached town without any loud bangs. I wheeled into bike shop #1. Alas no suitable tyre. I wheeled into bike shop #2. They had a tyre that was the right size. The mechanic grinned at me in a camp yet gormless way (an odd combo, I know).

“It’s a good tyre,” he said, emitting an aura of cluelessness.

It costs $20. That is about £12. Call me a bike snob but I do not trust a tyre that costs less than the socks I am wearing (yes, I do happen to be wearing very nice socks). It costs less than the pizza I ate in Rimouski.

This man had apparently never seen a touring bike. My concern piqued when he asked “did [Roberts, Monty’s frame builder] create that handlebar?”

The tyre is awful. Bits of different length rubber poke out the edge. “It’s a good tyre,” the mechanic enthused again.

It is a shit* tyre, my instinct said. Lo and behold, the online review later confirmed that it is indeed a shit tyre. On the plus it need only last until I get to Charlottetown where a better bike shop can sell me a better tyre.

If all else fails I shall buy a pizza and strap that on the rim.

*pardon my use of language but there are few adjectives suitable for this tyre.

Notes:
Why is the tyre about to explode?
Most tyres don’t explode if they are pumped up properly and aren’t really old and worn out. My Schwalbe marathon plus tyre appeared to have a manufacturing defect that has made it bulge. The tyre has however travelled 10,000km with a touring load so I would still recommend these tyres.