Over the Hill and Far Away……….

We set off out of Prince Edward Island on Sunday morning with joints and livers gently creaking after another night’s overindulgence in seafood and beer at the Blue Mussel. 

It was relatively easy to find our way off the island by following the signs to “Crapaud” (although quite why anyone would want to name their community “Toad” is totally beyond me). We then crossed the Confederation Bridge again which is just past the McCain factory. Next time you’re having your oven chips you can reflect that they probably came from PEI.

The toll for getting off the island is 18 dollars for a motorcycle but you do get an awful lot of bridge for your money. I didn’t manage to check the exact length but it was well over 6 miles. Just after the bridge the road surface had more patches than a tramp’s trousers and the riding did get a little hairy for a while. It was one time to be grateful to be on half a ton of metal with a low centre of gravity. After that it was, well, trees really, for about 150 miles. It was a very hot day and at one point the thermometer recorded 95 degrees F. Somewhere along the way we passed a deer that had tried to cross the road and unfortunately hadn’t quite made it, causing substantial damage to itself and the car that hit it. 

We did exchange lots of “low fives” with other motorcyclists. For those of you who weren’t along on the last trip – this is a peculiarly North American greeting between bike riders. Imagine dangling your left hand over the side of a rowing boat and gently swishing the water and you’ll have mastered it. There were so many other motorcyclists that eventually it began to get a bit tedious so I decided  to assume an “I ride an Indian and am thus superior to you and therefore more aloof” sort of indifference.

One problem with the Indian is that it does attract attention from other motorcyclists who wish to discuss its finer points with me. As my knowledge does not advance much beyond a basic grasp of the fact it has two wheels and an engine, this can become a little awkward at times but I can usually refer them to Mark who seems to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of such things. Failing that I ramble on about “gruntle valves” and “integrated waffle irons” and this generally ensures that the enquirer backs away sharply whilst nervously wishing me a safe onward journey

Along the way Mark’s Harley started to show a red warning light. There was no indication on the bike, or the online manual, about what this meant. When he later googled it, he found that several other people had experienced the same thing and none of them knew what it was either. It may indicate that the tassels on his panniers are shrivelling in the heat  or it may simply be something to remind him not to be too complacent as this is a Harley and it will inevitably break down at some point.

After an otherwise quite a pleasant ride, which was growing a little tiring towards the end,  we got to Rothesay which is just outside St John. Margo and Walt have a lovely house overlooking the Kennebecasis River (try pronouncing that when you’re drunk – I did, and it ended very badly indeed). After sitting on one of their many terraces quaffing a couple of beers and eating copious quantities of dried seaweed (a local delicacy which I understand they eat all the time here in order to give themselves a prodigious thirst for beer) , we showered off and we all headed into St John where we drank more beer, had a delicious meal, another drink by the harbour and then home to bed.

When I awoke this morning the house was full of the heady scent of pine and cedar – but enough of Mark’s aftershave. There must be few places that have such a delightful view to look out on in the morning (or indeed at any other time) and waking up with a hangover was as close to a pleasure as it is ever likely to be. After breakfast we decided to do the Fundy Trail which winds along the coast of the Bay of Fundy for a few miles offering fantastic views of the Bay and more trees than you could shake a stick at. It starts just beyond the pretty village of St Martins that boasts a harbour and a wooden, covered bridge, which we drove through. The trail accommodates cyclists, walkers, motorists and motorcyclists equally and is a delight to ride. Occasionally a break in the trees permits a glimpse of the bay and views across to Nova Scotia. We then had a delicious seafood chowder at the Cave View Restaurant at St Martins (so named because if you look out of the window you can see a cave).

Although it seemed like only a short distance to travel today we actually covered nearly 100 miles there and back.

Tonight we went back into St John to watch Margo perform “girl encrusted music” (TM M Emrich) with her all-female-except-one steel band “Balysto”, which, despite a lack of elderly men with large beards and banjos (as one might have expected in this part of the world), was extremely entertaining and had a significant section of the audience dancing round waving tambourines (something that Mark and I only narrowly avoided by invoking a national and cultural inability to indulge in such activities). 

Tomorrow we are very much looking forward to the long-promised bear testicles for breakfast although we are being kept in suspense as to which species of bear will be providing them. Thus fortified we will be setting off for Fredericton which is not too far from here and which we be our base for the next couple of days.