Over the Hill and Far Away……….

Having spent yesterday evening with a couple of contacts of Mark who share his commitment to both education and fine wine, we faced the day with rather less enthusiasm than usual. This was not helped by leaden skies that promised rain at some stage of the day. The weather forecast was equally gloomy, suggesting that we might be sandwiched between a thunder storm and the tail-end of an incoming hurricane. 

My spirits were lifted slightly when, on leaving the hotel, I was  accosted by a lady who asked me if I was the owner of the Indian. She then went on to say that her husband had just been admiring it (please note that this admiration was not apparently extended to the other bike in our party).  I am now beginning to realise that I am riding a middle-aged-man-magnet – a concept that I must admit I am not entirely comfortable with.

Anyway we set off into the face of some very unpromising weather to cover the 80 miles or so to the border crossing at St Stephen/Calais. However about 50 miles down the road the skies began to clear and by the time we reached the border it was sunny and hot again with the bike thermometer reading temperatures in the 90s. The crossing went reasonably smoothly, with Mark sailing through his customary strip search. The officer dealing with me was pleasant and courteous but seemed in no hurry to let me through and I became uncomfortably aware that, as time went on, I was starting to exhibit a lot of the signs that might be associated with someone who had something to hide! However eventually we both got through and sadly waved farewell to the land of Canaan Bog and Crapaud, the lumberjack shirt and the maple leaf and of course the friends who have been so hospitable to us on this trip.

The ride down through Maine was very pleasant as the rain held off and the temperatures stayed high. The speed limit was 55 but this was fine as we were in no hurry and the bikes actually seem happiest at about that speed. We passed through numerous pretty villages, including Cherryfield, which describes itself as the “Blueberry Capital of the World” and even seemed to have a blueberry-themed play area and a giant walk-in blueberry to prove the point.

We travelled along Highway 1 which is the coastal highway. It has been superseded by other roads now but originally ran 2400 miles from Key West in Florida up the east coast to the Canadian border. However Maine is another place that is not short of the odd tree or two so although we were riding along near the ocean we could only catch the odd glimpse of it through occasional breaks in the forest. 

After about 4 hours and 180 miles or so we arrived at the “Twilite Home for the Bewildered Motel” which describes itself as a “mom and pop”  place except that it transpired that Mom has recently taken off to visit her daughter who’s just had twins, leaving Pop to deal with the holiday rush. Pop immediately endeared himself to us by admiring the Indian and waxing lyrical about how crap Harleys are (although he confessed that he would never say that to anyone American)! He was also able to recommend a good lobster restaurant that was within walking distance (albeit about a mile away at the bottom of a steep hill). 

We have therefore just been into town and first had a couple of beers at an Irish pub (which was easy to find as it was bravely displaying the Irish tricolour amidst a sea of stars and stripes).  We then went on to eat a vast selection of crustaceans and shellfish whilst watching fish jumping in the Union River which runs just by the restaurant.

All in all it’s been a pretty good day and we are now back at the motel relaxing and contemplating an early night. Mark has already been practicing his snoring and is promising a virtuoso performance which will raise the roof later.

Tomorrow we are going to Portland which is only about 60 miles down the coast so we’re hoping for an easy ride and lots of time to explore the place. 

Let me start by wishing Canada a belated happy 147th birthday. I have to say she doesn’t look a day over 120.

This is a bumper two-day edition of the blog as last night I was felled by a vicious brisket (of which more later) and was bedridden from about 9pm onwards. 

I was deeply touched when, on rising on Tuesday morning, I discovered that Walt had been up until 3am trapping bear (or “barr” as I believe they pronounce it here) to provide my long-awaited traditional breakfast. To my surprise, the organs in question resembled (and in fact tasted just like) silverskin onions but Walt assured me that they were the real thing.  His account was supported by the fact that I thought I could see a bear glaring resentfully at me through the kitchen window as I ate them. There were also pancakes and maple syrup for the less adventurous breakfasters.

Thus fortified we bade Margo and Walt a fond and grateful farewell and set off to Route 101 and Fredericton. It was a comparatively easy ride of about 80 miles but the temperatures were in the 90s, but that was fine so long as we kept moving. We passed through a lot of pretty little communities all of which seem to have at least one white wooden church. For a while I tried to work out the proportion of Pentecostal. Baptist and CoE among them. The Baptists seemed to be ahead by the time I lost count. 

We found our hotel quite easily as it was just off the highway. After luxuriating in the air-conditioning for a few minutes we decided to ride into the city centre to see what was going on and work out if it was possible to walk in from the hotel later. After looking at the St John River and catching heatstroke we went back to the hotel and had a quick shower before ordering a taxi to take us into town (having decided that a three-mile walk in 90 degree heat was probably not advisable). 

The Canada day celebrations were in full swing and there was live music in Officer’s Square which is part of the old Garrison Quarter where the military garrison used to be stationed. We entered into the spirit of things and I had my face painted while Mark got that Harley Davidson tattoo he’s always wanted. Unfortunately it is in a place that only Jane will be able to see. 

Just about everyone was wearing red and it was nice to see a nation with such pride in itself. It was also quite nice, as Brits, to be at a celebration of nationhood that didn’t leave us with a sense of furtive guilt about our role in its history. 

It was quite surprising, at one point, to hear one of the band announce that a guest musician had come “all the way from Devon” to be with them. When that was qualified with “So he’s had to come in over the bridge” you remember that there are lots of British place names in this area!

We ate at “Brewbakers” where we made the fundamental mistake of each ordering a starter, which turned out to be quite sufficient as a main course (although to be fair the two pints of beer beforehand can’t have helped). Mark’s main course was a double rack of ribs which appeared to have come from a Stegosaurus and I had the brisket, which was absolutely delicious but could have fed a family of five for two weeks. After that there was little option but to crawl off to bed and lie groaning and sobbing for 10 hours.

The overindulgence and early night last night at least did mean that we were probably the only two people on Canada who didn’t wake up with a hangover this morning. We were therefore able to set off early and ride up the St John River valley to Hartland. We took Route 101 which is a pleasant single-lane road passing through some rather nice countryside which includes the usual abundance of trees. The only slight drawback is that the road came to an abrupt stop some miles from Hartland. It used to go all the way but it has now been replaced by a newer road and the 101 simply comes to a dead end. We had actually ridden past a sign telling us we were running out of road but we will continue to maintain that it was not sufficiently clear! 

At the place where the road ended we found the remains of a car radiator grille and a spent shotgun shell. There’s probably a story attached to that, which may well involve a shallow grave in the woods somewhere nearby!

We finally got to Hartland and rode over the longest covered bridge in the world. We took its picture and then found the only bar in town where we had a cup of tea, ate two pickled eggs each and headed back. We were expecting a thunder storm on the way home but it hasn’t shown up yet. The round trip was 165 miles and at one point the thermometer on the bike read 104 degrees F, just as we got back into Fredricton. In fact at that point the Indian refused to start after we stopped at a gas station. This was slightly unnerving but once it had cooled down for a few minutes it seemed ok and I think I can allow it a bit of a sulk in the circumstances. 

We have now covered about 1100 miles in total and the bikes do guzzle gas so we generally have to top up twice a day. They seem to do about 35 mpg. Fortunately fuel is cheap here and we are only spending about 12-15 dollars each time. 

We are now just about to meander back into Fredericton again (having failed to learn our lesson from last night).