Gander has an interesting history, mainly due to it's airport. At one time it was the largest in the world, with over 1 square mile of tarmac. All Transatlantic flights stopped here to refuel, and it was one of the few where Russian airliners would mingle with American spy planes during the cold war. One of the guides I read said it had 6,700 unexpected guests for a few days following 9/11.
I didn't go to the airport, but I did go to the Aviation museum, but unfortunately it was closed. It did have some cool planes outside it though. The first plane is a fast pointy one, the second is orange and looks like it can land in water.
This silver plane was my favourite. I toyed with the idea of waiting until the museum opened but was keen to be on the road, so instead just set off.
It should have been an easy day, 300 odd km's along a main highway, so I hadn't bothered checking on petrol stations. I'd also decided to run a little longer to save stopping for fuel so much, but as I left the town of Badger (cool name) I began to get a bit worried as I didn't know where the next town was. Road signs here are pretty poor, they rarely tell you hoe far away the next town is, and even rarer do they tell you when the next fuel is. Anyway I made it to the hext town with the trip counter reading 180kms. The petrol station looked more like a truck stop, rough roads and the pumps weren't marked clearly, so I decided to roll on for a bit. I thought I'd be ok as the last time I ran out of fuel the count was 224kms, but just over a mile away when I'd decided to do a u-turn and come back, the engine cut out. You suddenly remember how heavy a 200 odd kilo bike is when the power is switched off mid turn.
I've been carrying fuel bags for the Labrador section, so all I had to do was unpack the luggage, get a bag out and walk the mile back to the petrol station and fill it up, then a mile back to put it in the bike. When I got back a local biker had stopped for a chat, but his accent was thicker than most, so I could hardly make out what he was saying. It's hard to describe the accent, it seems almost tonal, not quite Irish, not quite Scottish, and very fast. He'd had a bike like mine years ago and was rattling on about it. All I wanted to do was fuel up and go, so I opened up the bag, and some of it splashed out getting me and him. That gave me some respite while he was cleaning down his leather chaps, then he started up again, before randomly getting on his bike and riding away without saying goodbye.
I took the bike back to the petrol station to top it up before setting off, it was actually quite nice inside, with 20 odd flavours of ice cream, so I have a vanilla cone as a reward for rescuing myself from my own stupidity. As I was finishing it off and just about ready to go the local biker reappeared, but I just took off without waiting for another chat.
What I did learn was the the bag holds 6.5 litres and the tank 13.1 litres, so I should be safe for the long leg in Labrador that I'd been concerned about.
From there it was an easy run through Deer Lake to Rocky Harbour in Gros Morne national park. I opted to stay at a campsite, as they had laundry onsite which makes the logistics simpler. The pitches are set up for the huge caravans and trailers that are popular here, so my bike and small tent seemed lost in the 50 foot drive and tent area that I'd been given. Actually lost is appropriate as when I was sitting waiting for the washing cycle to finish I realised I didn't know where the key for the bike was. I've realised it's been packed away in the luggage before, usually as I'm just about to set off, but I could always get to the spare key, but this time I had no idea where it was.
I retraced my steps, looking in the laundry room, the washroo and all around the picnic table on the site, but couldn't find it. I re-checked again, when I got back from visiting the local swimming pool, but no joy. The pool was nice, set up on a hill, overlooking the town and bay, but it was full of screaming kids so I didn't bother going in.
It rained all night, so I didn't quite get the early start I'd wanted as it takes longer to pack things away when you are trying to keep them dry. I'd even taken to checking the bin in case I'd put it in there with the brochures I no longer needed, but couldn't see it the night before or on the morning. With the bike almost packed, on the way back from the washroom I found the key on a platform for the water tap, next to the bin. A guy came along a few minutes later to ask if I'd lost a key as he had found one on the road and left it on the platform. I thanked him and realised I'd been lucky again.
This picture is of the beach at Rocky Harbour. The second has a red house of a type you see all the way up from New England. I guess the roof is shaped that way so the upper level has more space, and it's used in the barns as well as houses.
It should have been an easy day, 300 odd km's along a main highway, so I hadn't bothered checking on petrol stations. I'd also decided to run a little longer to save stopping for fuel so much, but as I left the town of Badger (cool name) I began to get a bit worried as I didn't know where the next town was. Road signs here are pretty poor, they rarely tell you hoe far away the next town is, and even rarer do they tell you when the next fuel is. Anyway I made it to the hext town with the trip counter reading 180kms. The petrol station looked more like a truck stop, rough roads and the pumps weren't marked clearly, so I decided to roll on for a bit. I thought I'd be ok as the last time I ran out of fuel the count was 224kms, but just over a mile away when I'd decided to do a u-turn and come back, the engine cut out. You suddenly remember how heavy a 200 odd kilo bike is when the power is switched off mid turn.
I've been carrying fuel bags for the Labrador section, so all I had to do was unpack the luggage, get a bag out and walk the mile back to the petrol station and fill it up, then a mile back to put it in the bike. When I got back a local biker had stopped for a chat, but his accent was thicker than most, so I could hardly make out what he was saying. It's hard to describe the accent, it seems almost tonal, not quite Irish, not quite Scottish, and very fast. He'd had a bike like mine years ago and was rattling on about it. All I wanted to do was fuel up and go, so I opened up the bag, and some of it splashed out getting me and him. That gave me some respite while he was cleaning down his leather chaps, then he started up again, before randomly getting on his bike and riding away without saying goodbye.
I took the bike back to the petrol station to top it up before setting off, it was actually quite nice inside, with 20 odd flavours of ice cream, so I have a vanilla cone as a reward for rescuing myself from my own stupidity. As I was finishing it off and just about ready to go the local biker reappeared, but I just took off without waiting for another chat.
What I did learn was the the bag holds 6.5 litres and the tank 13.1 litres, so I should be safe for the long leg in Labrador that I'd been concerned about.
From there it was an easy run through Deer Lake to Rocky Harbour in Gros Morne national park. I opted to stay at a campsite, as they had laundry onsite which makes the logistics simpler. The pitches are set up for the huge caravans and trailers that are popular here, so my bike and small tent seemed lost in the 50 foot drive and tent area that I'd been given. Actually lost is appropriate as when I was sitting waiting for the washing cycle to finish I realised I didn't know where the key for the bike was. I've realised it's been packed away in the luggage before, usually as I'm just about to set off, but I could always get to the spare key, but this time I had no idea where it was.
I retraced my steps, looking in the laundry room, the washroo and all around the picnic table on the site, but couldn't find it. I re-checked again, when I got back from visiting the local swimming pool, but no joy. The pool was nice, set up on a hill, overlooking the town and bay, but it was full of screaming kids so I didn't bother going in.
This picture is of the beach at Rocky Harbour. The second has a red house of a type you see all the way up from New England. I guess the roof is shaped that way so the upper level has more space, and it's used in the barns as well as houses.
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