Labrador black flies and Basques

From Port au Choix, I rode north to St. Barbe to catch the ferry to Labrador. I had a fantastically strong tail wind and averaged over 15 mph for the day, impressive for a loaded touring bike. On some sections, I hardly pedaled as the wind pushed me along at over 20 mph.

The coastline was gorgeous and there was hardly any traffic. Life on the road doesn't get any better than this!








There was quite a back up at the ferry port since the two morning ferries didn't run because of the high wind. Being on a bike, I got a spot on the first boat out for the hour and a half trip.


It was quite a rough crossing and I felt a bit queasy but didn't get sick.

Labrador was the last major part of Canada I had left to ride so now I've biked in every Canadian province and territory except Nunavut since it doesn't have roads leading to it.


As I was riding along, I met this fellow out picking bakeapples.


Bakeapples also known as cloud berries are wild berries that grow in Newfoundland and Labrador.


They make jam out of them or put them in muffins. They're quite tasty. They are called bakeapples from the bastardization of the French question: baië q'apelle?, meaning what is this berry called.

Other wild berries are partridgeberries, crowberries, and wild blueberries. In most B and Bs, breakfast includes a nice selection of homemade jams. My favorite is partridgeberry which tastes a lot like cranberries.

I stayed in a motel near the harbor because the black flies were fierce and camping in that is absolutely horrifying. Thank goodness, we don't have black flies in the Pacific Northwest. They are much smaller than mosquitoes but bigger than midges. They come in swarms and have a vicious bite that turns into a nasty, itchy welt. They bite along my hairline, in my hair part, on my wrists, behind my ears, and under the helmet straps. Mosquito bites are a joy-filled pleasure compared to these beasties.

The next day I rode the 50 miles to Red Bay which used to be a whaling outpost for Basques in the 16th century.

I stopped by L'anse Amour along the way where a Paleo-Indian burial site dating from 5000 BC was found.


There was a neat road leading to a lighthouse on the point.





This section of road has been one I've wanted to ride for about 15 years so it was nice to translate a line on a map to reality. It was tough riding but quite lovely.





They've found several sunken Basque galleons from the 16th century in the harbor at Red Bay along with lots of other artifacts including a cemetery and the remains of try works where whale blubber was rendered into oil.

This was a boat that was used to hunt and harpoon whales.


This is a board from a galleon. It has a ship etched into it near the top of the board.


A model of a galleon based on one of the excavated wrecks.


The anchor and capstan.


A model of the try works.


A pot.


Clothing based on those found on skeletons in the cemetery.


The town from above the bay.


After spending time in the museum it was time to head back to the ferry. To save time, I decided to try to hitch a ride. The first truck that came along stopped and gave me and the bike a ride. This is Rick, an electrician who works in Labrador City and was heading back to Newfoundland for a few weeks of vacation.


I caught the three thirty ferry across to Newfoundland and continued riding north.

Location:Labrador

Moose in a bottle and other adventures

I took a huge ferry to get Newfoundland.


I've been on lots of boats but never one with a helicopter pad.


We arrived in Port aux Basques in a heavy fog.


Parking the ferry was amazing. The engines pushed the ship sideways up to the dock! I've never seen anything like it.


It's official! I'm in Newfoundland.


I camped in a lovely campground near this beach.


I was invited to dinner by my neighbors and was introduced to some traditional foods including salt meat and bakeapples (more on that later). As I had been warned, Newfoundlanders have a strange accent so I had a tough time understanding my hosts. They were offering me all sorts of goodies but it took a few tries for me to understand the offer of 'moose in a bottle' since she pronounced 'bottle' as 'baa-a'. It was a rather large bottle so I politely declined being uncertain as what to do with it.

I really lucked out because the wind shifted to the southwest giving me a nice push past the windiest spot on the island, Wreckhouse.


When big storms come in, the wind is strong enough to tip over big semis and even the train that used to run up the island.

This museum display is all that's left of the train line on Newfoundland. Instead of a smooth rails to trails like in PEI, the old line is pretty torn up by ATVs.


On the top of a hill in Corner Brook is a marker describing Captain Cook's exploration of Newfoundland. He did a great job mapping the coastline.



I camped near Corner Brook. I have no idea what serviced laundry and unserviced showers mean.


I was in a bit of a grouchy mood. Navigating around Corner Brook had been annoying, the girl at the information center said the Captain Cook memorial was a must see so I crawled up the ridiculously steep hill for what was a rather disappointing spot, and I was just tired. So, at the campground I asked for a nice quiet site. They said they had a good one for me so off I went to set up camp.


Well, one neighbor had a huge snarling, barking pitbull from hell. He then started blasting obscenity laced rap. Then the neighbor on the other side came back and turned on country western really loud. So, my quiet campsite went something like this (extreme liberties taken with lyrics): mf ho, ya mf mf.... Bark, bark, snarl, bark.... My girlfriend just left me, woe is me... Snarl, bark... My dog died, life is so sad... Snarl, snarl... Waaaaaaaa (a kid on a bike screaming because the dog scared him).

Ahh, camping can be so restful!

-- Post From My iPhone

Location:Newfoundland

Heading to 'The Rock'

I rode back to Antigonish yesterday and, after looking at the weather report which forecasted about an inch of rain for tomorrow, decided to completely skip riding Cape Breton (the northern part of Nova Scotia) and take the bus to North Sydney where I'll catch the ferry to Port aux Basques in Newfoundland.

Before all my new Canadian readers freak out over my skipping this pretty section of Nova Scotia, it means that I've pretty much decided to come back to the Maritimes next summer. There is much more of PEI that I'd like to explore and I have a feeling that I'll want to spend more time in Newfoundland, also. So, Cape Breton and all its prettiness will be thouroughly explored next year.

As I was heading up to the bus terminal, I stopped to talk to a letter carrier about my adventures. She runs a B and B near Cape George and invited me to come stay there next summer.

The bus to North Sydney didn't leave until 7 in the evening so I decided to wander around Antigonish a bit. This is Celtic country so the street signs are in English and Scots Gaelic.


Gaelic is one of those languages where one just stares blankly at the words without a clue as to how to pronounce them. For example: caleigh is pronounced kaylee. Here is some more.


It's almost as unpronounceable as this First Nation's language in British Columbia.


It's a college town, home to St. Francis Xavier University, one of the best schools in Canada. It's a beautiful campus.





Wandering downtown, I stopped by the library where an artist was working on a lovely stone mural. I chatted with her and some other people and all of a sudden I hear someone say he is Hungarian. So, I met Árpád, an anesthesiologist and his wife and little girl. They invited me over for lunch and Árpád made paprikás csirke with nokedli, (chicken paprika stew with egg dumplings) the ultimate Hungarian comfort food. It was absolutely fantastic. Árpád's wife is from Cyprus, so there was a trilingual conversation going on in Hungarian, English, and Greek. It was great to meet you all! Ismét köszönöm a vendéglátást!

I am currently on a bus heading to North Sydney. I'll catch the ferry tonight and will be in Newfoundland in the morning.
-- Post From My iPhone

Location:Newfoundland

Playing Dress Up

I got back to Nova Scotia and camped at a nice provincial park in Caribou where they made room for me even though they were completely full. Traveling by bike, I almost never get turned away from a campground even when it's full.

The next day I rode the ten or so miles to Pictou, home of the replica tallship, Hector.





The original Hector was the first ship to bring immigrants from Scotland in the mid 1700s.


Imagine climbing to the top of the main mast in a heavy swell!


After the Battle of Culloden in 1746 when the Scottish Highland clans were defeated by the English, life became very hard in the Highlands. In desperation, about 200 highlanders, answered this advertisement for emigration. (In old text like this, the lower case letter s looks like an f).


They sailed from Ullapool at the head of beautiful Loch Broom in the Scottish Highlands.

This is what belowdecks looks like where all those people were crowded in for twelve weeks. The bunks have four levels.


I can't begin to imagine what that place was like. Imagine the smell of 200 unwashed bodies and the toilet buckets on the heaving North Atlantic. Even the modern replica, which is kept in port, felt cool and damp on a warm sunny day.

After arriving in Nova Scotia, things got really bad. The promised land of milk and honey turned out to be a forested wilderness without any land cleared for farming. They were completely unprepared. One clansman went out to shoot a bear after hearing about how formidable and dangerous they were. He came back saying that it was actually pretty easy to kill but he was surprised at the long pokey things in its fur. He had shot a porcupine and thought it a bear. The Scots did survive and thrive and many of their descendants are still here in Pictou.

Near the ship Hector was a group of Red-coated Highlanders drilling with muskets.


They had a canon, too. Her name is Charlotte.





I went over to talk to them and was asked if I wanted to join them in their 18th century encampment. I, of course, jumped at the chance. I was provided with period appropriate clothes and spent the rest of the day and the next morning with the 84th Highland Regiment. The bike cleats were the best I could do for shoes but the rest was pretty authentic.


I went out for beer with some of the guys.


The captain was quite the story teller and regaled us with many stories from his time in the Canadian military and other more shady adventures. Note the broadsword slung on his back.


I got to sleep in an old style tent.


They fed me a great dinner and breakfast.


This little girl had a great time despite looking a little grouchy in this picture.


In the evening, I hung out with these great people from Ontario (after they made fun of my bike shoes). Thanks for the beers and the company, guys!


I got a lesson in the workings of the flint lock musket. This is the entire mechanism that is driven with only two springs.


To load and fire, you bite of the top of a a paper cartridge that has a pre-measured amount of black powder. You put a small amount in the pan in the firing mechanism and snap the cover shut on it. The rest of the powder goes down the barrel, followed by a round, lead musket ball that is in the base of the cartridge (these guys obviously skip that) and the paper wadding of the cartridge. The whole thing is packed into the barrel with the ramrod. To fire you pull the cock back two stops and pull the trigger. When you do, the flint hits a piece of steel making a spark igniting the powder in the pan. There is a small hole that goes from the pan through the barrel through which the flame travels thus lighting the powder in the barrel, discharging the rifle with a satisfying bang. Re-loading takes three to four minutes.

Many English expressions originate from this time. The metal that holds the flint looks like the head of a cock (male chicken) so we have cocking a gun. When the flint lock mechanism becomes worn, the musket can go off half-cocked. If the main charge doesn't ignite but the ignition charge does, you get a flash in the pan.

I had a fantastic time, members of the 84th Regiment! Thanks so much for the hospitality. I hope I can join you again, perhaps next summer, in the 18th century.

Location:18th century Pictou