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.