Title: Day Ten – The End
Date: August 28, 2007 8:43 PM
Category: Bike
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It’s now time to leave PEI. After yesterday’s ride, I’ve decided to take the bridge of the island for two reasons: Firstly, it’s closer, so I have to ride less in PEI and secondly, the road there looks part way decent and potentially able to make amends for the poor riding so far.

The downside is this is going to be my longest day for a long shot. On the map, it’s going to be 446km. While that wouldn’t even come close to landing me an iron butt award, it’s farther than I’ve done on the Daytona ever and I was sore last time. Still, I can’t get back any other way and the route I chose in Nova Scotia looks to be another scorcher…

But first, I have to leave this island. heading south-west on highway 6, I turn down the 254. Like the other two-series road I rode yesterday, this is clearly a farm path, but it does seem to at least have some curves. It seems also pretty clean, for a farm road at least, and I’m having fun. Well, relatively anyway. A short jig over highway 2 sees me on more familiar straight farm roads, but they are at least deserted. Eventually, I make my way to Borden-Carlton and hit the bridge. The GPS decides to send me on a detour through the little town at the foot of the bridge, Port Borden, but for once, I can’t blame my GPS: It’s my ham-fisted way-points. A few minutes later and I’m on the bridge and this is an experience. It’s a 13km long bridge between PEI and New Brunswick and it is literally a big ramp up and then down. It’s somewhat unnerving to realize that there is just a small concrete block between you and a few hundred feet down, but at least the block is keeping the wind down. I would not want to cross this on a bad day.

After 13 soporific kilometers following a line of cars unable to pass each other and doing barely the speed limit, I’m in New Brunswick at last. Unfortunately, highway 16 which leads off the bridge isn’t an improvement. It’s as straight as anything laid by the Roman armies and full of little breaks for cops. Luckily, there are none, but I can imagine folks speeding over the bridge just to get away from PEI all the sooner.

Just before Coburg, I pick up the 366 before almost immediately leaving it again for some unmarked road. Again, this is due to my programming the GPS whilst imbibing Tequila. However, it does turn out to be quite a fortuitous mistake. This road is fun and deserted. I think it actually turns out to be the 366 anyway, but it seems nothing is signposted in NB, before I realize I am actually back in Nova Scotia.

After about 20km of highly recommendable twisty fun, I reach the intersection with highway 6 and the riding doesn’t suffer for it. I’m following this road to Tatamagouche, where I plan on taking a lunch break. So far, the scenery has been typical farm land for the most part but by meeting the six, I’m back on the coast and the view improves as a result. Each town is nestled on a little bay that reveals a small fishing village with little but charm to offer. If this continues, lunch might be hard to come by.

The 6 continues the fun I’ve had so far. it’s not quite as much fun as the 366, but it is somewhat devoid of cars. People too. And Animals now I think of it. I start to zone out and realize it’s just about time for a break. I relax a little and realize Tatamagouche is only a few km ahead.

Pulling into town, it’s clear this is the best option for stopping. It’s a one street town, but does seem to have three restaurants at least, though on closer inspection one is closed. I park the bike in the municipal lot, which is really a stony field behind the general store and wonder back to the road. The chowder house looks the best bet so I head in. Regrettably, there’s no seating inside, but it’s another lovely day so I head out to the patio, which is deserted. As I have no sunscreen on, I choose the gunfighter seat in the shade in the corner. Being six foot and clad in leather it also makes me look enigmatic. I hope. It certainly seems to deter the servers from taking my order.

At this point, I realize a mosquito is on my arm, feasting away. Then I realize there’s another behind me. Several in fact, though they seem to be just milling for the most part. I remove my jacket and contemplate moving into the sun. I decide against it for reasons unknown. Ordering the chowder and some orange juice (honestly, why do these places not stock mineral water?) I’m starting to hope she comes with it quickly. I end up swatting with my book as much as I read it. Those early mosquitoes must have told their friends about me and I’m starting to think I’m now the buffet. My back is itching, but I’m wearing a shirt and they can’t have bitten me there. I’ve certainly got a bit on my arm and one on my neck, but while searching for more, she comes back with the chowder. It’s good. very good and I’m momentarily relieved to have some new sensory inputs.

The patio is started to fill up now and i notice no-one else is doing the same spastic dance as I am between mouthfuls. I then notice the old guy next to me is quite covered with mozzies and they are exsanguinating him before my eyes. If I don’t leave soon, he’s going to be a dried up husk. And then I realize that if they are doing that to him, they are doing it to me too, or at least trying. Redoubling my arm-waving I’ve now rejected all notion of looking cool in favor of cramming whole chunks of lobster and bread into my mouth.

Enough’s enough. Suiting up, I leave the rest and run inside to pay the check. Back at my bike I survey the damage. A couple of bites on my neck, two on my hand and one on my upper back where the buggers likely nipped down my shirt. I’m itching all over though and I’m happy to get back in the saddle and press on.

From Tatamagouche, it’s time to leave the 6 and head down the 311, then 256, taking the inland route to Pictou. Not only does it look more fun, but also the road less travelled. I’m not wrong. Aside from some small towns with the odd local waving at my doing 90 through their village, there’s nothing here. No cars, no cops, no animals defecating on the roadside. This is motorcycle heaven.

Before too long, I’m back in Pictou and heading south on the 106 where just a few days ago, I’d set my personal speed record on a public road. No attempts to break it this time. It’s my last day and a cop would just spoil it. It’s also not for long. As I pass New Glasgow for what seems like the 10th time since I got here, I head down the 104 for 5km before picking up the 374 south. If I hadn’t come so far already/had a more comfortable bike/wasn’t such a lame pussy I’d have taken the 347 for a longer, even twistier ride back, but my final stretch is starting and I’m aching already. Besides, it’s always good to have a goal if ever I come back and the 374 looks fun anyway.

The 374 takes me over the center of the province, aiming straight for the southern coastal road and just as it looked on the map, it does not disappoint. It’s long sections that climb through dense forests pierced by rocky outcrop. It bends incessantly as if being straight is a terrible thing for a road (it is) and it’s deserted. This is a 90km stretch and I pass three cars and one light truck and there is nothing headed the other way.

All too quickly I am in sheet harbor that marks the other side of the province. From here, it’s hog the coast all the way home, or at least back to the Radisson hotel from whence I started out some eleven days ago. Like the Cabot trail, this trail, the coast road, is famed for it’s riding and there’s nothing to dislike. It’s quick, well maintained (at least the part not under construction was) and meanders like the mississippi. In and out of small towns, some pretty and others less so. There’s ample opportunity’s for the scenery minded to stop and take the air, something I had little intention of doing.

But this last 100 or more kilometers are hard. My arms are aching and my ass is numb. At one point, I have to pull off the road and fill up with gas, even though I don’t need it, just for the break. I’m not sure what the black be-leathered man spanking his own ass looked like to the gas station attendant, but I paid at the pump and didn’t raise my visor so I really couldn’t care less.

Pressing on, I’m entering Dartmouth. Soon, over the bridge and shortly after, hitting the Radisson. The nice thing about ending in Halifax and not (say) Toronto, is that entering town on that final leg is a very short ride. Parking in the familiar lot at the radisson, the ODO tells me I’ve just done 456km. 10 more than the gps, I know, but I did take a small detour for the gas.

As I’m laying in the hotel, I start to tally up the distance. It’s 2480, just shy of 2500 and I contemplate touring around town just to break the 2500 barrier.

At this point, I should also inform that it was here that I removed my shirt for something of a shock. It seems that under armour is no defence against mosquitos. On my back were perhaps 20-30 bites. It seems that the one or two I managed to swat away were merely the decoys.

On any other bike, that might be doable in two or even three days, but on the Daytona, it was hard work. In part, it was due to my being overweight. 6′ and 210 is perhaps a tad big for pretty much any middleweight, but especially the Daytona with it’s elevated rear that forces you onto the tank and bars but in return provides such razor sharp turn-in. In part, that was just the way the vacation was. I picked roads that looked fun and took me to the places my family were staying, and as it was a family vacation, I didn’t want to be riding all day either.

If I went again, I’d definitely spend more time in the Cape and take the entire southern coast road, at least the section North of Halifax. I’d be inclined to recommend dropping the southern leg out; Highway 8 and the Annapolis valley weren’t the most interesting routes I had ridden and i’d be inclined to swap that entire section for another day around the Cabot Trail or even the sunrise trail. The lighthouse trail is perhaps the biggest dilemma for me. True, I rode it in the rain and fog, which made it miserable and the road surface is very poor, though now I know it is certainly not the worst the province has to offer. The problem is having been around it, I can see it has immense potential to be worth the detour. So, if you are headed that way and there is some improvement in the tarmac, let me know as there is a section I didn’t get around to due to the rain…

I’d certainly also drop the entirety of PEI from any repeat journey. It simply isn’t worth the detour, though unless you rode into the province, that would forego the route along the North coast as you come into the province. Parts of that were definitely among my favorites.

Overall, i’d have to say the cabot was the highpoint however. In sections, it’s very technical, but I’d relish the challenge to go around Cape Smokey just one more time.

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