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.

In a pleasant parallel with last year’s trip we seem to be in the middle of a heatwave here. We had two nights booked at the motel here, mainly so that Mark could consume twice his bodyweight in shellfish and crustaceans at the Blue Mussel Cafe, but we couldn’t have picked a better  spot to enjoy the hot weather. Today we travelled a grand total of 12 miles, to and from the beach at Cavendish.

The day began late (for me at least) and I was woken to find Mark standing over me in full biking gear with his bucket and spade in his hand raring to head for the beach. He muttered something about the weather being lovely and wanting to feel the sun caressing his helmet…. I therefore leapt out of bed and onto the bike and within seconds we were on our way.

We arrived at Cavendish not long after and stopped for a beverage at the “Beavertails” stand which was run by two wizened ancients. We were greeted with a cheery “Have you biked here?” to which we replied that in fact, contrary to appearances,  we just like the feel of leather next to our skin on a hot day and the helmets are simply an accessory for carrying cans of beer in. The elderly male then busied himself with trying to make a pot of tea; a task he undertook at the speed of a particularly dilatory glacier. Meanwhile the female half of the double-act tried to engage us in conversation, an enterprise that foundered on a combination of her, and our, deafness, mutually incomprehensible accents and general cross-cultural confusion.

On the way to the beach we passed “Green Gables” but resisted the the urge to visit it on the basis that Mark already had already been there, I knew nothing about it and it also sounded rather boring.

Cavendish beach has everything you could hope for in a beach i.e. it had sand and a copious quantity of sea (which I actually ventured into). The sea was cold but not impossibly so and I seemed to suffer only hypothermia and minor nerve damage as a result.

After that, it was off to the Blue Mussel again for a light lunch of oysters and crab cakes, washed down with copious quantities of water. Yes, you read that correctly – water – as we had the bikes with us. We are planning to return this evening, having cadged a lift from the motel-owner’s niece for the second night running. People here are very generous and we also had an offer of a lift from the waitress at the restaurant. The motel is only about a mile away from the Blue Mussel but unfortunately there is a large body of water in between and the walk round that would make it about 3 miles. 

I write this after a further visit to the Blue Mussel during which we consumed yet more oysters and another lobster or two along with a bottle of wine or so to wash it down. We are now back at the Pines Motel where Mark is impressing everyone with recounting the merits of the Harley Davidson Heritage Softail and I am assuming the persona of the enigmatic man in black on the Indian Vintage – or was that the vintage man on the Black Indian?

Toodle pip, or Parp Parp as Toad would say – more tomorrow. 

The day began with a bit of a disappointment. We had secretly hoped for a traditional breakfast of bear testicles with a side of lobster claws but had to settle for a very agreeable omelette instead. But let me express our thanks to Margo and Walt for your generous hospitality and please rest assured that we have recommended you to every biker that we have met on the way. Many of them have said that they will be calling in on you with the rest of their gangs when they are passing through! And if you noticed any nasty smells lingering about the place – that was Mark,  not me! 

We set off about 9.30am  with promises to meet up again on Sunday and headed off north to Prince Edward Island. It was a perfect riding day with temperatures around 70 degrees Fahrenheit. The Indian happily grunted away at about 2500 revs (for the less technically minded, that counts as about tickover speed on a Japanese bike) and we made fairly good time .

The road was mainly dual carriageway and the only concern was that,  as New Brunswick is a bilingual province, up to 50% of the drivers might be Frenchmen who were passing us at 80mph  whilst simultaneously swigging from a bottle of wine and eating a large baguette. And then of course there were the ever-present moose……

However we survived, and after about 250 miles or so, of which we saw little but trees and perhaps more Dutch barns than are strictly necessary even in an agricultural environment, we arrived at the Confederation Bridge. This stretches for 8 miles across the Northumberland Strait onto Prince Edward Island and therefore by bridge standards is rather long. We crossed the bridge and as we did so the temperature dropped about 10 degrees F. It’s a toll bridge but we only have to pay when, or if, we leave and as PEI is so lovely the issue may never arise.

After another 25 miles we checked in at the Pines Motel in Rustico at about 4pm, We then got a ride from the owner’s niece to the Blue Mussel cafe where we ate huge amounts of seafood, including oysters, mussels, mackerel and scallops along with copious quantities of beer and wine. We also watched the sun going down over the bay in front of us and contemplated on the meaning of life. It really is an idyllic spot but would probably  not suit anyone with an allergy to lobsters. 

We are  now feeling generally quite pleased with ourselves and will be turning in fairly soon. We are staying here tomorrow so there is a strong possibility that further large amounts of seafood may be consumed,