We ate breakfast at Coastal Restaurant in Ingonish. They are the "Home of the Ringer," a burger that was featured on the Canadian Food Network. Naomi had ringer sauce with her eggs. The food was great. Highly recommended. We jumped on a whale watching tour right after breakfast. The water was insanely calm. I am pretty sure you could have seen a guppy from a mile away if it broke the surface. The count included: 3 minke whales, 2 sea turtles, 2 sunfish, 1 eagle, and a seal. We drove back up north on the Cabot to get to Meat Cove. We heard awful things about people in Meat Cove-- the kinds of things people say about country bumpkins. We wanted to take the turn to drive up to the northernmost tip of Nova Scotia anyway, and it turns out those things are all wrong! The last several miles of the drive were very hilly, dirt roads that traced the corners of sheer cliff faces. We ran out of road at a campground that was built into a cliff. A few crazy and determined RVs had made it up there. We hadn't planned to stop driving yet, but the place was so amazing that we got a site on a grassy edge of a cliff. The site had a perfect view of a huge pebble beach. As we finished setting up our campsite, a group of bikers were getting ready to kayak. One of them, a guy in his mid 50's who was a dead ringer for the Dude, asked us if we wanted to join them. His name is Bean're. There was a waterfall not far away, and he wanted to use it for the ice bucket challenge. They had asked for one too many boats and had a tandem waiting down at the beach ready for us. After kayaking, we climbed up to the top of the campground and had beer and mussels at the little shack next to the office. We shared a table with a couple from London and France (no underpants). She quit her job to go on this trip, and is using the trip to figure out what she wants to be when she grows up. We finished our beer on the porch with the motorcycling group. Bean're was uploading the video of the waterfall to YouTube, and was trying to do it at prime time. It turns out that Bean're is something of a celebrity in the motorcycle rally world. He makes his living off his blog and paid appearances at rallies. "Prime time" on the internets is Sunday night according to Bean're. This is when he gets most of his traffic. He hasn't had an address in 7 years, and traveled the entire globe on his purple chopper. You can check out his blog, and follow his travels on Facebook. He had a bit of an entourage of really great people with him. One of the other guys, Scott, was an even deader ringer for the Dude. He has been on his Goldwing and hasn't been home in 9 months. They had bought 25 pounds of mussels, and invited us down to the beach to share them. They invited us to stay at their place in Stewiacke to join them for mud sliding the next day, and they offered us a place to stay in Digby where there was going to be a big rally. In the morning one of the guys, Timo, offered us coffee and oranges, and asked us to go to Digby again. We realized hat he had passed us the day before on a little Harley on the way up to Meat Cove. He is a bike builder and leather craftsman, and will be showing there.
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As soon as we drove out of Margaree, the sun came out. It seems weather here camps out in one spot and doesn't move. We did the better part of the Cabot Trail. We skipped the road to Meat Cove, and camped in the park a little north of Ingonish. We camped in a sunny campsite, and met Mario and Nina. They are doing a trans Canada trip next year and wanted to check out our gear. They offered a place to stay in Halifax, and made some recommendations for the Bay of Fundy. We ended the night with a nature presentation sponsored by the park. We learned that park presentations can be awkward.
We took a day trip to Baddeck, where it was sunny and warm for the first time the whole trip. We stayed put rather than moving on. The Alexander Graham Bell museum is there, so of course we had to visit. He is a villain in the Deaf community and the A. G. Bell association is thought to lead the charge for oral education and against sign language. Don't worry, the money we spent on the museum goes to the Canadian national park system (or so said the cashier). The museum, not surprisingly, did not make him out to be such a villain, and didn't even mention some of the darker bits of history. Here are some highlights: We went to Baddeck Lobster Supper. All the tables were adorned with trash buckets and plastic tablecloths--the mark of a good seafood place. Naomi got the local snow crab legs, which were great. Mike's salmon was not so hot. We asked the server where we might get a drink and avoid some tourists, and she led us to the yacht club. The bartender at the yacht club was a local girl who just came back from a gap year after college. Everyone in the place knows everyone else who walks in. Turns out the bartender is the daughter of the captain/owner of the giant old sailboat that does tours out of Baddeck. She and her dad and sometimes a friend take that boat down to the Caribbean every two years for maintenance. They sail a straight line to get there. That puts them waay offshore. Her graduating class had 28 students, and the school building housed students k-12. The classes now are even smaller. A truck driver and boat mechanic agreed that things are getting harder and harder for the locals.
Every person we met, when they found out we were staying at the Normaway, said "Oh! Crazy Dave's place!" Crazy Dave was the MC of the caelidh the first night. A very friendly drunk lady and a guy we mistook for her husband asked us to join them to listen to some music at the Thistle Down Pub at Invery Inn, but the locals just call it the pub. The musician was the drunk lady's cousin. They all said he is a terrible musician, but that is sort of why they go see him. After confirming the quality of the music, and getting to know the family of the man who was not married to the very friendly drunk lady, we headed back to Normaway. We tested out Mike's brand new bright lights, and made it home safely. We liked it so much we decided to stick around. We headed up to Cheticamp thinking we might try a whale watch. The captain of the boat, who had one arm, and his mate dissuaded us. The captain said that despite what the sign said this was not a wales guaranteed kind of whale watch. Apparently all the boats have stayed in the past few days because of wind, and as he put it, "it's just us, and we are one small boat in a very big ocean." He said the waves were as high as the cabin, but that he didn't care if we puked or not since the mate, a 16ish year old girl, was the one who had to deal with the people.
We drove up to hike Skyline Trail instead. The landscape inside Cape Breton Highlands park is completely different from the outside. The rest of the day was like this: We did our laundry in the morning, and got some advice from another patron. She turned out to be the superintendent of the local school (retired). Her son was an engineer and worked for Bombardier, but they wanted to move him to BC, so he bailed and decided to scratch out a living in Port Hawkesbury. She told us to make sure we find a caelidh. We looked at her funny, and she told us that caelidhs are like square dances in barns or restaurants. They host them regularly in most of the communities up here. Naomi kept falling far behind, which as it turns out means she is tired. We pulled over and this happened: After her nap, the GPS routed us to a gravel road. At the head of the gravel, one sign said dead end, and another had a milepost with distances to several towns. Naomi said go, so we tried it. Then the rain started. Then the gravel turned to dirt. Rivers emerged. The dirt turned to softball sized cobble. Mike turned around. Naomi followed, verrry slowly because she does not like to turn. By the end of the day we were fairly wet and tired. We ended up in Margaree that night at the Normaway, as recommended. We got a cute cabin with a wood burning stove and a swing on the porch. There were three horses and a donkey in the pasture next to our cabin. We washed off the grime, and headed to the lodge for dinner. After dinner, we headed to the barn for a caelidh. The barn was full of people, even in the rafters. It was a mix of locals and some tourists. There were two redheaded sisters playing fiddle, and one guy on a piano. The sisters had been playing and dancing in this area since they were about six. They looked like they are now in their early thirties. This area is known for its music, but to hear these folks talk about it, it seems that its survival is by no means guaranteed. Apparently the older generation had been carrying the torch, and younger folks hadn't had much interest for a while. The pianist started a fiddle club at the local school a few years ago, and they all seemed really proud that there were now a handful of young fiddlers. The sisters were both involved with organizing the Celtic Colors festival, which was advertised all over, and the woman from the laundromat in Port Hawkesbury had mentioned with some real pride. At 10pm they moved the chairs and it was time for the caelidh proper. An old guy named Bill had the microphone, and sat on stage calling out square dancing steps. We left a bit before 11, and the barn was still packed. Leaving Grand Lake, we headed northwest across interior Nova Scotia and we were treated to some sun and some pretty rolling hills and farmland. Very different riding here, higher speed, sweeping curves, no cliffs. We were racing a freight train much of the way, it was a tie, though it's not really a fair race since we have to stop whenever it crosses the road. No pictures. Having too much fun. We stopped in Truro at the CatShack, a motorcycle and four wheeler mechanic/dealer, to get some Different chain lube for Naomi's bike. the off-road stuff we had been using was flinging off all over her tire in the rain. They helped us clean it up and gave us some tips on chain maintenance. The the parts counter guy came up to Naomi and said, "how's she cuttin' there bye?" which as it turns out has nothing to do with the bike. It means "how are you" and an appropriate answer would be "fair to middlin." Anyway, he talked with us a bit about his K75, and about our trip. We also enjoyed another brief glimpse of the sun. From Truro, high speed roads to New Glasgow and back to the coast, though a different one this time, the Northwest coast between Nova Scotia and PEI. We again rode into the rain. Saw a dirt side road out to a point and took it to a lighthouse. There was something round and red/orange in the rough water off the point. Either a buoy or a life raft. Couldn't tell. Contemplated calling the coast guard. Didn't. Sorry if that meant someone didn't get rescued, but figured that call would the butt of a joke about the idiot tourists calling in an emergency buoy. Who makes lifeboat shaped buoys anyway?? There was another family there, and they took some pictures for us and recommended that we stop at The Normaway Inn in Margaree. After a late start, we headed toward Peggy's Cove. It was a pretty little town that looked a bit like Menemsha on the Vineyard. We grabbed a quick lunch at a tourist trap, and ran screaming out of town. We grabbed a quick lunch at a tourist trap, and ran screaming out of town. We got to Halifax, but neither of us felt much like bombing around a coastal city, since we live in one. We landed in. Citadel, which we poked around before heading out of town. We ended the ride that day in a Provincial park. We had the whole campground nearly to ourselves, and got a great beachfront spot (see what I mean about plenty of coast?). There were even blueberries! Maybe they weren't blueberries, but we are a lot of them and aren't dead so I guess it's okay. We woke up in a panic because our alarm was confused about time zones, and so were we. We sat and watched the sunrise out of our cabin, and then headed downstairs to watch the boat come into port in Yarmouth. Little did we know that was the last time we'd see the sun for a while. We got off the boat, and had a pretty ride out of Yarmouth. Then the clouds came in, and we pulled over to get our ridiculous duck suits on. It was just in time. It rained so hard the rain was flooding our helmets as if the visors weren't there. We barely made it a quarter mile down the road, and ducked into a UFO museum (!).
It lightened up enough to get back on the road. We made it to a lighthouse in Baccaro, where we were able to get out of the duck suits. We rode on a bit more and stopped for lunch in Shelburne, where we happened to meet up with one of the BMW guys from the ferry, Chris. He was on an R1150R. It was a little hole in the wall, but the seafood chowder was so full of sea that you could stand your spoon up straight in it. Best of Mike's life, until he ordered another rival chowder at dinner. Then Naomi crashed (energy, not motorcycle). We ended up at a hotel in Lunenberg. It is a tourist town, albeit a very small town. There are tall ships and cute colorful stores. They don't seem to realize how very cold it is here (60s and overcast in August). They are wearing shorts, and leave the doors open in restaurants. After several hectic days of trying to get our lives in enough order to abandon them for two weeks, we made it on the road today at about 4:30. Mike says, "getting out of the house was a grind. I was stressed out, but Naomi was a saint as always." We took the highway to Portland, and got on the ferry. We lashed the bikes down in a line of about 30 bikes. We happened to be next to a few other beamers in a sea of pirates. One of them is a 1979 R85, which if memory serves is the same as my (Naomi) dad's (minus the slash 7). The ferry is really nice. We got a room at the front of the boat. It has several cute pillows, which made me feel very fancy. We took some pictures, but will have to post them later because they are on the camera. Aside: Mike just asked how fast we are going, wanted to know if we could be trolling for tuna, promptly answered his own question (17 knots... 18 by the time I typed this). He also informed me that we have 180 miles to go. We are now sitting in a bar at the front of the boat. There is a piano player, and Mike is very absorbed in navigation. He wants to ask Carlos, the crew member who is responsible for our our cabin, if he can go see the bridge. I'm pretty sure the answer is no, but we are going to try to milk this honeymoon thing as much as we can. Another couple has us beat though. She is still wearing her wedding dress. Okay, I'm going to geek out with Mike. We are packing up and getting ready to go. We donated our life savings to REI last night, and have planned a tentative (and overly ambitious route).
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