A Town Too Full

So, off the ferry I head for St Johns. This should be another highlight of the trip, but the only problem is that despite trying to book ahead, there are no hotel, motel, B&B or hostel rooms available. As it turned out the George Street festival was on, so everything was booked solid. George Street may be the street with the most bars in the world, it's certainly in there with a claim.

To play it safe I stopped at one of the ever helpful Information desks, where the staff suggested nothing would be available, so I decided to just book something nearby for the first night and hope something came up on the second night. I had almost gotten a room the night before, but it was going to cost over $400 for two nights, but as I tried to book it, the classification changed to unavailable. So I ended up in a B&B in a town called Holyrood. Actually that was after I sent some postcards from a nearby town to a few of you. I'd didn't have all of the address details for one, so the very nice postmistress gave me a stamped addressed envelope to her office so that she could get it stamped properly and sent when I got the missing stuff. She had been a war bride and had links to Scotland, and it seemed there were a few in the area.

Having dumped my gear in the B&B, i changed out of the goretex and into my kevlar jeans and mesh jacket and headed off. It had been misty and cloudy all day, but no rain so I felt safe enough. I rode straight to Signal Hill which overlooks the harbour and sea as I really wanted a nice picture from there. This is what I got.

All that way and mist so thick I couldn't even see the other side of the narrows. This wasn't going well.

I came down slightly from the hill but it wasn't much better, so I decided to wait until the next day. I did have a chat with a guy who lived there who said the mornings and evenings were often like this and that I should try in the afternoon. He also gave me a few other things to look at when I came back, but I mentioned the lack of hotel rooms so I may not stay long. He was surprised and suggested some places I could try, so I made a mental note for the next day. Riding back through the town on the way home I really liked the vibe of the place, lots of people out for a good time it seemed, but then it began to rain and I got soaked through.

This picture was taken from almost the same spot the next day. It's of the entrance to the harbour, known as the narrows. Signal Hill looks over this stretch, and can see into the harbour and well out to sea.

This is the view into the harbour. The houses here are all wooden, with sort of slat boarding on the outside. They look very pretty, but also like they would be freezing in the winter.

After the hill I went back into town to make some calls and visit the Information place in case they knew of any vacancies. They did make a few calls, as did I, including to the friend of the lady from the B&B the night before, but nothing was available. There was possibly something for over £170, but that's three nights in a motel or eight camping, so I decided I didn't need to stay here that much.

I was wearing the goretex suit so getting the usual stares as I went around taking photographs. This is the famous George Street.











I'll let you make your minds up about these next two....... Classy or sleazy, and genius or pathetic.

With no rooms available, I decided to start heading west a day early. This would break up the 450 odd mile day I had planned into two days which would be much easier. I ended up in the town of Gander overnight. The first hotel I stopped at (which was supposed to have a laundry) had no vacancies. At least the guy at the desk told me that before I could even ask. On walking outside there wasn't a single bike in the car park, but the hotel next door have availability despite wedding functions going on. Lots of bikes too, so I don't know where I was just being grumpy or if the Comfort Inn has a no motorcyclist policy, or maybe just the guy on the desk was a trumpet.

What it did have were lots of things like this. I've been having a strange feeling since Sydney that this is the corner of Canada where families that may have loved each other a little too much send there offspring. That combined with the huge four wheel drive trucks and frankly far too much country and western music makes me think I'm in the deep south from time to time. My bike is just to the left in the picture to help you with the scale. I'd swear the bonnet on that thing is five feet high.

This morning a lady from one of the couples I'd been talking to the evening before came over to apologise that they hadn't found me the previous night as they were going out to a club with live music. Oh no, no live music, or chasing girls from the wedding, someone had to stay in and update their blog.

Cabot Trail and Beyond

There are a few phases of the trip, it starts with the wedding, then rolling around on the bike, and finally the cooldown at the end with a couple of days planned for Montreal. then seeing family again around Ottawa.

On the riding part, one of the things I was most looking forward to, was the Cabot Trail. It's a 185 mile scenic drive around the north western coast of Nova Scotia, named after the explorer John Cabot.

When I got up is was damp and foggy, so for the first time I decided to put on the Aerostich Roadcrafter goretex suit that I'd bought. This thing is a one piece luminous yellow riding suit, of a kind that no-one seems to wear here, so I attracted more odd stares than usual.

I ran the trail anti-clockwise, or counter clockwise as they would call it here, so the first part is up a small mountain called Old Smokey. I can't say much about the scenery for this section as the fog was so bad I had enough to do just looking for bends. The road surface also wasn't great for a lot of the first part with potholes as at home, but also large cracks as if the roads was being forced upwards. I've seen lots of these cracks all the way up from Toronto, and to repair them they seem to flatten them down and fill them with a kind of tar. Even with them filled they can still tramline your tyres so you need to be careful around them.

I stopped for breakfast at a place called Coastal Waters, where a guy sells t-shirts for bikers stating that they have completed the trail. I was risk, but it can go very carrying enough junk so didn't feel like adding to it, but the steak was fabulous. While chatting to a couple here, they told me that a biker had been hit before on the trail, by a car which didn't stop. He had come round a corner in a 30km/h section and the car was in his lane. His friends were behind and managed to help him, but he'd damaged his shoulder and face. Lots of the bikers here wear sort of half helmets with an open face and cut high so the ears and bottom of the back of the head are unprotected. I don't fancy them at all in the rain.

When I left there it rained for a couple of hours. My suit kept me mostly dry, but I found I'd left a vent open which had let in some water. I've spent an hour or so in most towns trying to get a repair kit for my helmet, but no-one seems to stock Shoei here. A guy in one store told me it was just too high end for most bikers here. So, without it I've been forced to ride with an open helmet, plus sunglasses most of the time as the rain goes into your eyes otherwise.

The Aspy Fault runs through the park, and the guide had told me that the experts think this is connected with some of the valleys in Scotland. I thought she was at it, and was just playing up to the accent but the sign here confirms it.

This is the valley the fault runs through. At this stage I was soaked, but the weather was beginning to get better on the west side of the trail, so I'd dried out again by the time I'd finished the loop.

I filmed two sections of the road, but I can't edit the film here so I'll have to do that when I get home and then repost to this section.



With the trail complete I headed off to Sydney where the ferry leaves for Newfoundland, with the plan to stop at Louisbourg on the opposite coast before getting the ferry around midnight. Sadly I ran back into the rain and got soaked again, making this section really unpleasant. It was getting later in the day and with a sudden brainwave I decided to check the opening times for Louisbourg as I didn't want to ride all the way there to find it closed. It was now 3.30pm and it closed at 5pm, so I decided not to bother. It's a shame as I'd really wanted to see it, and for those who don't know it was the main French fortress in this part of the world, which they held while Britain and France were fighting over the fishing grounds and Canada itself. This fortress is actually a replica re-built and populated with actors during the day, because as ever when the British finally took the fortress they razed it to the ground.

Instead I went to the cinema to dry off and watched Captain America. It was ok, was the best I could say about it.

From the it was an overnight ferry to Newfoundland, on which I couldn't get a cabin as I'd booked late, and so was left with a reclining seat. This was actually ok as it was quiet with maybe only six people in a space for forty. It turned out the rest were camped in the lounge where the wifi was. This caused some drama for two girls who had a cabin but wanted to stay up in the lounge all night drinking and talking loudly. Eventually the staff sent them to their beds.

Green & Red

The weather has beeen holding up, with long sunny days since I left Toronto. It's cooler here than it was at the start of the trip, which is welcome, and amkes for easier days riding.

Today's plan was to leave Halifax and ride up to Prince Edward Island, specifically the town of Cavendish. I'd wanted to see the island anyway, but since I have a friend mad on the Anne of Green Gables story I figured I'd go up there and take some pictures.

To get there I was riding back into New Brunswick, then over the Conferderation bridge onto PEI. I had no idea how long the bridge was before I got to it, but it turns out it's the longest bridge in the world over ice covered water. It's not icy all the time, so I guess that just means there is alonger bridge out there somewhere.

The roads are slower here and more windy, plus there is a lot of roadworks going on. The roadworks has been the same all the way up, I just haven't mentioned them before, I guess as there is only a short season to repair everything before the next winter.

After the extravagance of Halifax I'd decided to camp tonight in Cavendish. There are a few campsites around, but I opted for the National Park site as it's right on the beach.

The water isn't very warm, but it's ok for splashing about in. The area is famous for it's red sand, with protected beaches all over. There was a famous beach about an hour or so away, but you can't actually walk on the sand, so I abandonded the idea of going to see it, and went for an ok, very expensive steak instead.

Here as in Nova Scotia there are a lot of place names from Scotland, New Glasgow, Dingwall, Inverness etc. Doesn't make me homesick, but it's nice to see how deeply the heritage is rooted.

This is the farmhouse upon which Anne of Green Gables was based, complete with the famous buggy. The book was Lucy Maud Montgomery's first, though she had worked as a reporter and had numerous stories published before that. Maud as she was known lived with her grandparents as her mother died when she was a toddler.

You can wander about inside the house, and in the barn that feature in the books, along with walks in the haunted woods and lovers lane.

The Island makes a huge amount of her legacy, and there's a model village based on the sequal Anne of Avonlea where actors walk around in period dress.

The book itself has been translated into numerous languages, and I believe it's been on the Japanese school curriculum since the 50's. I was fairly unaware of it, but I maintain that if anyone had told me that it was about a red head with pigtails I would have given it a look.


From there I rode back through the capital of the island, Charlottetown. That felt like a mistake as it was busy and hot, so I ended up just passing through and heading for the ferry back to Nova Scotia.

Unless it's a very short journey you need to tie the bikes down on a ferry. Each time so far there have been different types of straps, so it can take 10 minutes or more to get the bike sorted, by which time all the car passengers are settled.

This journey was only about an hour, so I opted for food rather than updating the blog. I've been trying to eat twice a day, but with the heat and need to munch miles I don't always manage it.




The ferries carry anything and everything. This trailer witht he buggies on top was carrying racing horses. They seemed a bit distressed by the end of the journey, kicking out a bit. We need to be fairly careful around them with the bikes, particulalry the loud Harleys, but fortunately everyone was sensible and waited until the trailer had moved before firing up the engines.

Once off the ferry I had hoped to get to Cheticamp on Cape Breton, but the slow roads meant I only made it to Baddeck for the night. The campsite this time was a commercial one, and the pitches had power and water as well as wi-fi, so one of the blog updates came from here.

There were a lot of bikers in the campsite, most here to ride the Cabot Trail, a 180 odd mile loop around the coast through a national park.

I'd planned for an early night and more blog updates in the morning, but just as I'd got into my sleeping bag the two guys at the next pitch came over and invited me to their campfire for a chat and cigars.

Azar and Ralph were doing a similar trip to mine, but in less time and not going as far north. They lived near my Uncle in Brampton, and invited me to the their group rides when I got back. I explained the bike wouldn't be going back there, and even so it would be harder to keep up with their BMW road bike and modern Yamaha cruiser.

Ralph had suffered a few problems with the roads, the brace haolding on his pannier had shed it's bolt, and he'd lost one of the bolts on his number plate too, so it was barely hanging on. Easy fixes though, but reminds me to keep an eye on the bike.

Halifax

The next morning Frank and I met up for breakfast, then he had to head off to work. This let me play tourist.

This is Pier 21, Canada's equivalent to Ellis Island in the USA, where all the immigrants landed and were processed. The huge thing behind the building is a cruise ship. It was amazing to see it slide out sideways from the dock, pirouette, and the sail out of the harbour.

The Pier 21 museum is quite small, but you could take hours to go round it, as it has stories which you can play from people who entered the country there, stories from people who worked there, and from the charity volunteers who were always on hand whenever a ship came in.

Another famous landmark in the city is the Citadel up on the hill behind the downtown area. The fort dominates the city even today, and it's said that it's presence was the reason why the city was never attacked.



I think this next cannon, was perhaps an early prototype, or maybe French, with them keeping it nice and clean and out of the way in case the Germans came through.








After touring there I went for a walk in the city parks, where I came across this bandstand.






The bandmembers were mostly older, and they played what I'd call big band swing music. The older folks loved it and a few were dancing away on the grass, though not quite as enthusiastically as some of the gentlemen who were in town for the parade.




Halifax also played an important part in the rescue of survivors from the Titanic, with some salvaged items on show in the museum. This next picture shows the grids that the divers use when doing searches on the floor bed, though this is used more in archaeological digs.

This little boat is a similar kind of star as Thomas the tank engine. He and his friends in the harbour, move things around, controlled by a harbourmaster.

After that busy day Frank and I met up for dinner again, before he had to head off for his flight home, so here's a picture of us eating. The eagle eyed amongst you may notice that without the visor I've gotten a bit of sun. Sadly it means I won't be able to eskimo kiss for a couple of days.


Oh, there was some kind of disaster on Franks way here involving our cousin Matthew and some sunlight glinting of a weather balloon and dazzling people, which meant that I didn't get the earplugs.

What a Gay day

After barely surviving the pirate attack the previous evening, I thought it best to ship out early the next morning and head for Halifax. I'd planned to stop a few times on the way at places the guide books had mentioned, so the plan was for a simple short day without any hassle.

I still hadn't booked anywhere to stay in Halifax, but I didn't think it would be a problem. By now I was in need of a washing machine again, so i was keen to stay somewhere that had a laundry facility. For that reason I had thought about a hostel as they always cater well for the traveller, but it seemed none were available. Not to worry though as Frank's room would have two queen beds, so I had that as a fall back.

As an added bonus Frank was bringing out my ear plugs that I'd left in my main bag with him, as I'll pick it up at the end of the trip. These things were custom made to fit my ears and really help with fatigue and drowsiness on the long sections.

The weather here is as changeable as at home, which makes it a bit trickier to ride without a visor as I lose some UV protection. The folks are a hardy bunch though, still visiting the beach, though I wouldn't call it sunbathing.

Just across from that same beach was one of the memorials for the Swiss Air flight 111 that crashed in the sea just off the coast. The recovery operation was split between two sites on shore, which made a triangle with the crash site itself. This is the memorial near Bayswater with the other memorial from Peggy's Cove below.


They thank the community for their help at both sites, as everyone was pitching in to help recover what they could. Sadly, no-one survived the crash. Although places like this can be sad, it's also a chance to reflect and be grateful for what we do have.

From there it was a short ride into Halifax itself. As I hadn't eaten all day I stopped off at a McDonalds. I know it's not the healthiest thing, but they do offer free wi-fi in a lot of their outlets which can be handy for keeping in touch. Frank has sent a text to say he'd arrived and was in his hotel, and I was still chasing down a place with laundry, but having no luck. The back-up had also fallen through as Frank had a king bed, rather than the queens we had been expecting. It was about 3pm by now, and the day had heated up so i was feeling all hot and sweaty again, so I figured the best plan was to head to the same hotel as Frank and just check into my own room for a couple of days, as I was getting tired of moving on every day.

At this point I was heading to the hotel that Frank had sent me a link to, a Holiday Inn in Dartford, just across the water from Halifax. This however is disputed, and someone claims he sent me a new link to a different hotel, in downtown Halifax. I couldn't reconcile what Frank was telling me he could see form the hotel window, with what the map said he should be able to see, so I set off for the casino as it's an easily recognisable landmark. In doing this I went through the park area where traffic just came to a stand still. The engine began to overheat, and even though the fans kicked in, the heat just welled up right through me.

It turns out that this weekend was the gay pride march in Halifax, hence the closed roads, and the distinct lack of hotel rooms. I'll spare you the next couple of hours of me getting more and more annoyed, mostly with myself, and riding around the city, but I eventually found a hotel on the main street for bars, that I could see Franks hotel from. The room was somewhat expensive, but the location was right and it had parking for the bike. To give you an idea, here is the kitchenette area complete with dishwasher. I don't even have a dishwasher at home.

The bonus with the hotel though, was that it had a guest laundry.

Anyway, quick shower, and change of clothes and we were off out for the night. It turns out that Frank has this weird thing of wanting his picture taken while eating, so this is the man himself in the Five Fishermen in Halifax.

From there we went to one of the breweries, but the tours had finished for the day, so we ended up in a pub called the lower deck which had live music.

Frank had to work the next day, so I made sure he was back at his hotel by midnight. In true Rock'n'Roll style I then went and did some laundry.

Borders & Pirates

After the drama of the night before, running out of fuel and such, I'd got up bright and early and headed for the border a few miles away. Land borders can be a bit tricky and I'm never sure quite what to do, so when I started seeing signs I gave them my full attention but still somehow missed what I was supposed to do.

There was no gate or barrier leaving the US, so I soon found myself in no mans land just before the Canadian side. Realising I was supposed to pull in to the area marked public parking, I decided the easiest course of action would just be to retrace my steps.

In hindsight I can see why they freaked out. I mean they've gone to all the trouble to build the thing and then there's me doing a u-turn and riding the wrong way down a one way road, missing all the hardened security booths that have been set up for folks entering the US. So the guard comes running over and we have a chat. The technique I usually adopt at this point is just to agree with everything the person in authority says. It worked, and he kindly took the green form thing I'd been supposed to hand in and was on my way. It probably even saved me time.

From there I was heading for St John, New Brunswick, not to be confused with St John's, Newfoundland, to get the ferry to Nova Scotia. First stop was one of the tourist information offices, which are really good here. They can't give you enough maps and brochures, and the young lady in this one was kind enough to draw with a highlighter on my map how to get to the ferry terminal. It was at this point I realised the clocks had changed and I'd lost an hour, but still had plenty of time. St John itself feels a bit run down, but everyone I met was either nice, polite, or helpful and sometimes all three.

As ever I hadn't booked ahead so when I got to the terminal I found out that the ferry was full, but I could get on the wait list at number 11. It would have annoyed the life out of me, if after all the tearing around I'd have to wait another day, but again it all worked out and I made it on.

I'd hoped to see a bit of the Bay of Funday, but it was a real pea souper all the way across, which is when I finally got time to load the first set of blog posts.

As I now had a full day before cousin Frank arrived in Halifax, I opted to run around the south coast, passing Yarmouth and then finding somewhere to stop for the night. On the way to Yarmouth I had a bot of a problem in that the peak and visor on my helmet broke. This was due to me fitting a thing called a pinlock to my visor before I left. The pinlock makes the visor, sort of double glazed so it won't fog up during heavy rain, but in fitting it, I'd broken one of the retaining screws. The second screw had just worn lose, I guess with the buffeting as I'd mostly had it up due to the heat. I'd looked for spares on the way, but no-one seems to stock Shoei helmets, so I had no choice but to stop and dismantle the remaining screws and take it off completely. In a comedy moment I dropped one of the clear plastic screws and couldn't find it, so I packed everything up, in the hope of making it scared to be left behind, feeling like a parent telling their kid, that's me going now. Anyway it worked and I found it, so just two I need now rather than three.

A chat with another nice tourist information lady had suggested that Shelburne was nice, so I headed off there. I checked into a motel, where I think I must have been the only guest based on the lack of other vehicles. The owner was clearly in need of a chat as he kept me for about 30 minutes telling me about his life in the Canadian navy. His ship was apparently the first that could take on supplies from three other vessels at the same time. One of his favourite memories from his service was his ship breaking down for a month in Newcastle. As they were due to go ashore they were forbidden from drinking Newcastle Brown Ale, which is of course what they immediately all did.

When I finally got free I went out to take some photographs. Continuing the nautical theme i wandered down to the waterfront, where I immediately noticed the Admiral's flagship looked very lightly defended.

Sure enough, some pirates had noticed the same thing, and despite the heavy patrols by the British, it all kicked off.



At times is was a little hard to work out what was going on, even with the announcer randomly shouting things.

Part of the confusion was down to a local in a sportsboat, who had pulled his outboard up until it was almost out of the water then proceeded to rev the engine like a lunatic, all the while doing a slow bypass in front of the period boats, waving like the queen.

It got more interesting still when the shore based troops opened up.
I'd read about Shelburne before I left, but forgotten most of the detail. It was at one point the fourth largest city in North America, and it has the third largest natural harbour in the world, after Sydney and Halifax.

It's where all the people still loyal to the British crown landed after America won it's independence, including some 2,000 freed slaves who stayed to farm, then left when they found the soil was poor. The agreement they reached was to be shipped back to Africa where they formed Freetown in the new country of Sierra Leone.

In the end, with all that ordinance going down, i'm sure you can guess what happened to the flagship.

Rules of Overlanding on Motorbikes

There are a few rules that you should follow when doing any long trips on a bike. Two of them are:

1) Never pass a fuel station without fuelling up

2) Never ride at night

I like riding at night, and I’d done it the night before when I had already checked in and had a place to stay, but generally you want to avoid it if you can.

Today would be a mammoth day, heading back over the 112 that I’d rode last night, checking out a store that hadn’t been open for the sleeping bag I wanted, and going to a bike shop in Conway first, then running down the 302 to Portland before taking the US1 route along the coast, through Camden and on to Bar Harbor. I’d originally planned to spend a night or two in Bar Harbor, but with leaving later this was cut to one night, then none, when we realised that a cousin would be in Halifax with work the day before I’d planned to be there.

From Bar Harbor, I’d ride on to somewhere near the border with Canada, so that it would be an easy ride the following day. I generally like this laying up as it leaves more time to sort any potential problems, one of which was the ferry from St John, New Brunswick to Digby, Nova Scotia only running twice at day at noon and either 8pm or 11pm. The day I needed to travel was a noon and 11pm day, so it meant I had to be there by around 10am. Oh, another fun fact is that you lose an hour as you cross from Maine to New Brunswick.

The day started well, the 112 was fun, but nothing like the thrill of the night before. I tried again ti buy a specific sleeping bag, but no joy, and went to look at some lovely bikes. That done I then headed down the 302 to Portland, before running up the coast.

In these states there is a law that says you must yield to pedestrians wanting to cross the road. It’s not like at home where there is a light with buttons, it’s just a painted section that anyone can wander over at any time. In a busy town you can have five of these within a quarter mile, invariably they all get used, so you wait then go, then wait then go multiple times. In this heat it just makes me melt, particularly when the bike boils and the engine heat wells up before the fan kicks in.

To add to that pleasure, I the heat also makes me drowsy at times during the day, and you need to fight to concentrate. That day during a very hot drowsy period, my stomach also began to rumble, then the fuel light came on. I came to a halt in a town called Bridgton, fortunately outside a public library, next door to a petrol station. Their toilet saved my day, and fuelled up once more I could continue on. These trips are made up of highs and lows, and that road to Portland was a really horrible part, that I just had to fight through.

From there to Bar Harbor was better, but a long slog, getting very commercial just before the end. Bar Harbor itself was lovely, but very busy with tourists. I stopped and wandered around for a while, fueled up again then rode around the national park. With that done, I then headed off towards the border.

I hadn’t planned to ride all the way there, just to get closer and find a motel for the night, but as i left I picked up the 1A instead of the 1, which went slightly out of the way, although it seemed much faster. I realised my mistake fairly soon, you sort of develop an instinct for when the route has gone awry, but decided to wait until the next crossroads to work out how to correct it. When I got to the junction there was a Subway, so I managed to get some dinner just before it closed. There was also a petrol station, but as I didn’t need fuel yet, I rode on. When I got to the road I should have been on there was another petrol station, but again I didn’t think I needed fuel yet, and as this road seemed full of petrol stations I’d just ride on. Needless to say that was the last open petrol station for 90 miles.

As I rode on it got darker and more desolate, though there was still traffic moving around. The night was cooler, and further on a fog rolled in which felt damp, which at first was nice. The fuel light came on as usual around 140kms, but with no fuel around I had to keep going. The furthest I’d gone on a tank was 165kms, but soon I was passed that, with very little in the way of habitation around, riding up onto a high plain then back through forests. I purposely stopped looking at the odometer, but knew sooner or later I’d run out of fuel. Sleeping outdoors didn’t bother me, but having no fuel, and then perhaps missing the ferry the next day did.

Sure enough after a long time, the engine coughed and then died. I dropped down through the gears and coasted to a halt, fortunately outside one of the few houses on the road. This was by now around 9.30pm, but the lights were on, so I wandered over, looking and smelling like a swamp thing as I’d been sweating all day, and asked the owner if he could tell me where the nearest petrol station was. The poor guy had been watching tv in just his shorts on this sweltering night, but jumped up, put a t-shirt on and went to his garage where he found a fuel can with petrol in it.

As I took it back to the bike a car with way too many lights stopped, and sure enough some of them began to twirl in blue. Sadly it wasn’t a mobile disco, but a cop, who was very polite and helpful, telling me that the nearest gas station was only 10 miles away, the guy with the can had said 6, but the cop was right. I tried to give the guy some cash for a beer but he wouldn’t take it, so with a bit of fuel now on board I then rode the final 10 miles almost right to the border to find the fuel station and gas up again. There was a motel on either side of the garage, both with the lights still on, but still being an idiot I was going to ride into town, before common sense finally kicked in and sent me back to the first motel. It was just a short lone of maybe a dozen en-suite rooms next to the owners house, so I had to ring the bell, but the guy was fine about it. The room was cheap, so I’d thought it may not be that nice, but it was scrupulously clean.

With my gear unloaded I made space in a pannier, walked back to the petrol station and bought a cold six pack of Budweiser. Rather than drink them, I loaded them into the pannier and rode back out to my saviours house to drop them off. Just to push my luck to the absolute limit, I rode without a jacket, helmet or gloves again, in the dark. My bike is anything but quiet, so my original plan of leaving the beer on the guys porch was scuppered as he was standing outside by the time I had turned around, even though I’d done the u-turn away from his house. He must have had a horrible sense of déjà vu thinking another bike had run out of fuel as he was shouting can I help you as I walked close. I just held up the beer, said I’d made it to the garage and wanted to say thanks. He was full of you shouldn’t have bothered, but without him my night was have been far less pleasant.

The ride back was uneventful, shower then finally to bed.

Important lesson learned was that even being pushed, the bike ran to 224kms on the tank, which would mean the long leg of the Translabrador is feasible.

ATGATT

There is a thing in motorcycling known as ATGATT, which stands for All The Gear, All The Time. What it means is that if you’re out on a bike you really should have all the safety equipment on, so boots, gloves, proper trousers and jacket, and the helmet. Only the helmet is required by law, but it makes perfect sense to wear everything when in the UK.

Out here though, full ATGATT can be just as dangerous, as the heat in just incredible.

I’d have two riding options, for hot weather, my Hood Kevlar jeans, boots, elkskin gloves and mesh jacket to go with my Shoei Hornet. Or if it’s cold or raining I swap the gloves for Alpinestars 365, and the jeans and mesh jacket for an all in one Aerostich Roadcrafter. So full goretex.

The heat out here, makes even the mesh very warm. It’s bearable when you are moving, but in town, or stuck at lights, it gets very warm. It’s possibly just me, as I really can’t take the heat at all, so even just standing outside in the shade I start to sweat.

Today’s plan was to leave New York state, head through Vermont, and then on to New Hampshire, as I’d read about a couple of good routes through a national park. To cut down some miles and have an easier day I’d changed the plan to take advantage of a ferry across a lake that I’d found out about in the motel lobby the night before.

I was still stopping a lot for fuel, which was a worry, but put less than $10 in every time, so still couldn’t work out how much the tank held. I’d been trying to run it slightly longer each time, but was really nervous of running out of fuel. During one of the stops I’d been chatting to a guy from Quebec on a triumph who was heading the same way. He picked up on the accent straight away and told me about his trip to Skye, but most folks haven’t commented on it.

The motel for tonight I’d pre-booked in a town called Littleton in New Hampshire. I’d read about the helmet laws there, but when I asked at the motel desk the lady didn’t know, so I wasn’t sure. As i dumped my gear in the room I could hear bikes zipping around all over, and when the next Harley roared past wearing just trainers, shorts, a t-shirt and sunglasses he confirmed that you didn’t need to wear a helmet in this state.

The route I’d read about went to a town called Conway, which has outlet malls and lots of other shopping. Another good thing about New Hampshire is that there is no sales tax, so I’d planned on buying a few things.

I thought it over while I had a shower and figured that as I wouldn’t get another chance like this I was going out without the helmet. Since I had no helmet on I figured there wasn’t much point wearing gloves or a jacket either, so i rode in just jeans, boots and a long sleeve t-shirt, with my oakleys on.

I felt absolutely fine doing it, not hot and sweaty for the first time on the bike, and enjoying the freedom. There was one moment, when a moron pulled out of a side road onto my 60mph main road and would have wiped me out, but I’d seen it happening a long way off and managed to avoid her. A Toyota Prius would you believe. I couldn’t work out if she just wasn’t paying attention or hated bikers, so I rolled up beside the drivers window and looked in. A lady, maybe 50’s, not a hint of apology or embarrassment, so I guess she did it deliberately, and just didn’t care. I passed her, then she went nuts again, beeping and overtook me, flying up to the back of the pickup truck in front, where she started behaving again.

As I said I’d seen it coming a long way off and managed to avoid her, and despite wearing no gear the thing I was worried about most was losing my oakleys to the wind.

In the end I didn’t buy anything at the stores, despite trying hard.

Around this time it was starting to get dark, and I hadn’t yet eaten, but decided it would be best to go back to where the motel was while I still had some light. The route back was the 112, the Kancamagus Highway which gets a great write up for bikes. As I started to ride it, the sun went down, so with oakleys off I rode on.

What I hadn’t realised until I saw the first sign warning of hundreds of collisions was that there are will moose here, which are more active at night. So given that I had no gear on, I let a car behind overtake and used him for light and as a shield. I’ve always liked riding at night and despite not being able to see any scenery it was thrilling. A slight annoyance was a couple of bikes behind me, the one in front must have been a full dress Harley with his three main lights all on beam. I had to angle my mirrors away to avoid being blinded which was annoying, but not the end of the world.

The road goes through a national park, and ends up with a 23 miles blast up Interstate 93 back to Littleton. All of this in the pitch black, no helmet, jacket, or gloves.

I loved it, one of the best rides of my life.