The last stretch

 Today was another long day of 365 miles, or almost 600 kilometres. The gravel section i think is about 159 miles, but it's in two sections with tarmac in between around the abandoned town of Gagnon. This was a mining down bulldozed in the 80's, but the roads are still there if you go off to look for them. I knew this would take me a while so I didn't plan any side trips.

First thing was to ride on to Fermont and fuel up. This is another mining town, so I guess the huge building is another company owned thing. The language switches here to French, of which I only have a few words, but it'll be fine.

 The first gravel section from Fire Lake to Mount Wright is dreadful. The day was grey and overcast to begin with so the mine doesn't look as bad as it could, but it's still ugly. The lake is a strange colour and the leavings scatter the area all around.

Lots of trucks on this section moving between the mine and the town, even pre-fabricated buildings are being hauled around on this road. Helicopters are ferrying things too, and I saw one float plane buzzing around.

 This picture doesn't really do justice to the scale of the place, but those little tonka toys are the huge things you need to climb a ladder to get in to. That's my little camera on max zoom, and they are still tiny.

I'd been carrying fuel on my back for the last two days in the rucksack, but I found it unsettled my balance, so I'd tried strapping it to the main bag again. On one side I'd secured it to the main bag, but that proved to be a mistake as it dragged all the luggage off to one side. In the end I just let it hang as I'd gotten fed up trying to sort it. At one point a pickup stopped me to tell me it was loose, just slowed to a halt after he'd passed me. Stopping out here isn't all that easy either and I generally like a nice long planned approach, but had to haul up quickly. He apologised when he saw it was safe, just ugly looking, but I knew I'd be better off with the fuel in the tank as soon as I could.

This was one of my nightmares. I'd stopped to try to repack the load again, and when I went to move off the bike wouldn't start. I knew I had fuel, the starter was turning, it just wouldn't catch. So after taking off my gear again I start pulling off panels, checking electrical connections, fuel lines, fuses, everything I could see, but still nothing.

I'd swiped an apple from the hotel lobby so I ate it while I considered my options. While the road was busy before I'd seen nothing in all the time I was stuck here. In the end the flies got so bad I put my helmet back on, and when thinking through what the problem could be I went back to basics and checked the simple things. It turned out I'd hit the kill switch when I put the helmet on the mirror. The kill switch is a big red switch on the right hand side of the bars next to the throttle. the idea is if you have an accident or come across a bike that's been in one, you hit that switch and it shuts off the engine. With it on, the bike won't start, just like an immobiliser. When I figured out I was so glad no-one had come along and found it for me.

I'd had conflicting information regarding the next petrol station so I ran until the end of the middle tarmac section where one report had suggested it was. When it wasn't there I put the fuel from the bag into the tank and set off on the gravel again. These sections of gravel are older than some of the others I'd been on, and it's full of blind corners, blind summit, swoops and climbs. Whoever designed it must have been on an acid trip as it was treacherous. You can't see what's coming and you need to cross a railway line over and over again. I counted eight crossings, but it may have been more.

The good thing about the long first stint was that I didn't need extra fuel to get to the Manic % dam fuel stop where the tarmac started again. At the first petrol station the bill was $17.28, so I handed over $50.28 and the lady gave me $15 ish dollars in change. Um, no. I think she'd rung my fuel through twice, and when a guy in the queue explained that she got shirty with him. In the end it got sorted. The next fuel stop at Manic 5 a similar thing happened where i spent $17 on fuel, bought an ice lolly to celebrate the end of the gravel and some lifesavers five flavours. The lifesavers are great, like fruit polos at home, always good to crunch on when taking a break. Anyway, I had a $20 note ready and some shrapnel and she rings up $32. Um, no.

After that it was a long tarmac section down to Baie Comeau. Those same swoops, dips, blind corners and summits were there, but on tarmac they were fabulous. I just coasted all the way long, though still being overtaken by all the pickups and cars.

In Baie Comeau

Labrador City

Nice day again the next morning. You can imagine a local checking, keys, wallet, mesh hat as he nips out for a paper.

I called the town office to check on the tours, but the morning one had been cancelled, so the earliest was 1.30pm. That was leaving it later than I'd like to head for Labrador City, so I decided to miss the tour. That was a shame as I was looking forward to it. The restaurant had pictures of these huge rooms, half a mile across with one small desk in it, sort of like a Bond film.

When I went down to check out the receptionist, said be careful on the road. Now people have been telling me that for all of the trip so far, but I knew this was different. I quickly went through the do I want to know argument in my head, but figured it could be a bad section of the road, so I had better be prepared.

A motorcyclist had died the previous day heading into Churchill Falls from the west, so the road I would be riding in the opposite direction today. Thankfully he only said it was about an hour out of town rather than giving me a distance, as at my relative speed an hour could be 40kms different from his and I really didn't want to be looking for an accident site.

As he explained it, there was a lorry nearby, so the clouds of dust reduced visibility, but I wasn't sure if the there was impact with the truck or not. He did mention a cyclist was there, and I'd seen the cyclist the previous day as I was unloading my bike, but he'd gone in the evening. When I went downstairs the cyclist was working on his bike in the big hall in the large building. I asked him if he'd seen the accident, and he told me he'd been involved. He also mentioned the truck, but said the first he knew of it, the motorbike had hit him from behind, he fell left onto the road, and the motorbike with rider, went right off the road. The rider went over the bars and hit the only pile of rocks for 100 metres in any direction. He was pronounced dead at the scene. The cyclist was shaken up and bruised, his bike had damage, so he was hoping to hitch to Goose Bay and rest up for a week. He was heading back to Ohio where his parents lived of the course of the next few months.

I noticed that I was much slower that day. The road probably wasn't as bad as the day before, but I couldn't get the crash out of my head. It's not really worth speculating on how it happened, but I couldn't stop thinking that it was rider error.

The picture of the road I took that day during my only fuel stop. You can see the grooves again, the heavy area of stones on the right hand side, and the horrible camber of the road. Once you get into that loose stuff it's hard to get back out.

You don't really have a lot of time to look at the scenery as you have to concentrate on the road, but when you stop, or when you can grab a second, it is very nice up here. Lots of trees, lakes and such stretching off as far as the eye can see.

I knew that the tarmac was extending out from Labrador City to Churchill Falls, but I didn't know how far, so I was very pleasantly surprised when it began about 90kms from the town. There was a McDonalds at a junction, so I'd pulled in to use their free wifi so I could find my motel, that I'd booked in advance this time, only to realise that it was next door.

Labrador City has always been dominated by the mines nearby, but it's going through a boom at the moment, so rooms are hard to get without booking in advance, and it seems that every other vehicle is a pickup with an orange flag on it. I guess it makes them more visible to the huge trucks on the mines. 

It was nice to have a Tim Hortons again and a Subway, but odd to see that they were open 24 hours out here. The mines must run all night.

 No real point to this picture other than I thought Jubbers was a cool name. As ever pickups with flags abound.

There were quite a few bikes running around too, very clean Harleys and some sportsbikes thrashing around, not indicating, or indicating the wrong way. They were like angry insects buzzing around on this little tarmac island.

This bike was in the motel parking lot the next morning. It's also from Ontario, and has a second set of tyres next to it. The knobblies are on it now and the road tyres stacked next to them, so I don't know if they are about to be fitted or have just been taken off.

That's the Trans Labrador Highway pretty much complete, as it's tarmac to the border with Quebec nearby, but there is still 150 miles or so of gravel to do tomorrow including a section that I've been told is one of the worst.

Churchill Falls

After the mammoth run yesterday, this is only 280kms or so, but i'll still need to carry extra fuel. The staff at the petrol stations are used to people filling containers, but I have had some weird looks with the fuel bags. No-one has tried to stop me or said anything about it though.

The going was easy to begin with, I think almost 80kms (50 miles) of tarmac, leading out from Goose Bay, so I made decent time. When that went though, the road was horrible. I counted four sections being graded, and the rest of it just seemed to be marbles all day.

I'm not entirely sure of the process in what the graders are doing. I understand that they make the surface flatter, but I can't work out what the purpose of all the stones is. They Highway team, seem to dump all the stones on the road, then the grader shuffles them around as best I can tell. To be fair they do usually warn you with signs where the grader is working, but the really evil thing it does is to create a berm in the middle of the oad that can be 8 inches or so high. Riding behind the grader isn't too bad as it's heavy so it's tracks smooth a path, but at some point you need to overtake be ploughing though that berm. Ideally I'd do this at a right angle, but that means going too slow, so you need to attack it a little and hope you land ok. If the grader is on the other side of the road, then you can have oncoming traffic in your lane. What fun that is.

I've finally managed to get the video camera recording properly, so this is the first day when I have high definition video on the TLH, but i'll need to edit it first, which probably won't get done until I get home. Hopefully I've filmed the part when the tyres got on opposite sides of a berm, then a wiggle became a weave, which very nearly became a tank slapper. On another occasion once over the berm and on the wrong side of the road, I had two pickups behind me, so had to move more quickly, so quickly that I couldn't get safely back over the berm, so the two trucks crossed over to the correct side of the road and undertook me. I managed to get back across only when the berm ended as this time it must have been almost 1 foot high. The picture above is a point where I'd just had enough for a bit and had to stop. The bridge was fabulously flat and stone free.

I often find it easier once I've stopped for a few minutes. Whether the road does actually get better or it's all in my head, I couldn't really say, but stopping for a breather does help.

Churchill Falls is a company town, in that the energy company which diverted all the water from the original falls to generate electricty, built it, owns it, and for the most part only it's employees live there. The big building in the centre of town contains the only motel, the supermarket, bank, pool (I think) and probably some other stuff. I guess it makes sense in the winter, you only have to go to one place, but it feels slightly odd. It reminds me slightly of work, as the building I work in has a small supermarket, hairdresser, deli, two starbucks, a bookshop, drycleaners, flower shop etc.

The company runs tours of the plant, so I'd hoped to get on one, but it was still early in the day so I was in half a mind to push on to Labrador City. What I thought best was to go into the motel, see if they had any rooms, and if not I'd push on. It's a strange feeling of how you can really have had enough of gravel for the day, then when you get off it, for an hour, you're thinking of pushing on and doing more.

All the rooms were booked, but the company also keeps two rooms on standby, so the receptionist was going to give them a call to see if they needed the rooms, and he'd also call the town office about a tour for me, so I went into the restaurant for something to eat. I'd been craving chicked fried rice and spaghetti for a week or so now, and since I'd manged to get chicked fried rice the previous night, I went for the spaghetti. Neither of them were very good. I did get a result on the room though in that the company could free one up, but the tour was cancelled since the guide was ill. I decided to stay the night int he hope that the guide was ok the following morning.

This is a photograph of the town hanging on the wall in the restaurant. The flash of my camera doesn't help but it gives you an idea of the scale.

Later that evening I asked at reception if there was anything to do in or near the town. There isn't, apart from a few side roads where you can see the falls, but they are even worse than the main road so I declined.

The town does have one pub though, so I wandered off there. Another important thing to mention about this road is the blackflies. For those at home, think of big midges. On the road when I stop to refuel or for a rest they swarm around you, which can be annoying, so I left my helmet on for the most part. I did have a mesh hood thing I could put on but didn't feel the need. Except in Churchill Falls. But I left it behind when I went to the pub. I was moving fairly quickly, and it can't have been more than a mile, but I was swarmed with them. In my hair, mouth, nose, ears, just all over. Even when I made it into the pub I was still pulling them out my hair and squishing them.

The pub was quiet, maybe half a dozen folk when i enetered. Most using the gambling machines they have, where you feed in notes, and get a receipt for your winnings which pays out at the bar. The gamblers were doing so well that evening that the manager or owner had to come down with more cash after the till was running dry.

There was a new barmaid, so the few drinking were teasing her and teaching her how to make some cocktails. I only stayed for a few then braved the flies again heading back to the hotel for an early night. 

A fall and a bear

 The next leg from Port Hope Simpson to Happy Valley/Goose Bay is the long one. It's 260 miles, or as I recorded it 414.5km between the petrol stations. To get there I had to load up heavy with fuel, so the pic to the left shows my bike doing it's impersonation of a fuel tanker. The hot water bottle looking bag tied to the bars is fuel of about 10 litres of petrol. There's another bag of fuel with 8 or so litres in the black rucksack tied onto the yellow roll bag. In the end I made it comfortably, but it's a nervy time carrying fuel like that, particularly in your lap and I was glad the RCMP didn't see me.

This pic on the right was taken just after Cartwright junction and shows my planned stops for the next three nights. You get an idea of the road surface here as well. The verge can be very soft and you sink right into it, and the stones at the edge sometimes cover the whole road, so it's like riding on marbles.

As soon as you can it's best to refuel the main tank from the bags, as apart from the obvious less chance of things catching fire, it keeps the weight lower down. During one of these stops when the bike was parked as you see in the photo I was getting the fuel nozzle out of the pannier on the right, when I pulled up on the buckle and the bike just fell onto it's side in a slow motion sort of way that Del Boy would have been proud of. On adventure types bikes, as well as the knobbly tyres, bouncy suspension and larger fuel tanks, you also get pegs and levers that fold or are protected. I have none of that on this bike, so I had two or three seconds where I was just stunned. I'd seen the mirror fold in, so I knew that wasn't broken, but if the gearchange lever has snapped, then I'd need to ship the bike for repair or back to Ottawa.

First I had to lift it back up, and if I thought it was heavy in a turn with the engine off, it's much heavier when on the ground. Wet weight is 236 kilos, with fuel and luggage it's probably around 265, so 580 or so pounds. Picking up a bike was one of the things covered in my training years ago, and I've had some practice with my own bikes at home, so I managed it, but it was hard work. Once upright I could inspect the damage, and to my relief all that was wrong was a bent clutch lever, even the indicators were ok. I can still use the clutch, but the lever will need to be replaced.

Once I'd fulled up I continued on into Happy Valley. It was a long hard day and when in town I found a Burger King, so in I go looking for ice cream. They had none. Not that they had sold out, they just didn't seem to sell it. Outrageous.

I stayed in Happy Valley that night, which is the traditional town part, but there was more life in Goose Bay, which is the adjoining town, that's built up around the airbase used by 5 Wing. You can drive right onto the base, and I did by accident while roaming around, but I didn't see any planes.

In the hotel I asked the receptionist about the dump as you can see bears there. She told me where it was, and just to be sure I pointed to the road on the map and she nodded, so off I set. She was right about where the dump was, but wrong about how the map related to her narrative, so I was sent off the wrong way on the right road. After five miles of really bad gravel the road turned to sand so I stopped just as a couple of guys appeared on a four wheel drive buggy. Best I can describe it is as a beefed up golf cart looking thing. They sent me back the other way down that horrible road, which feels far less pleasant when you're just wearing a shirt and no gloves.

I'd rode up to the dump, got off, took off my helmet, went into the pannier and took out my camera, and only then realised there was a bear behind me. This is a North American Black Bear. They can run at 25-30mph, they swim for fun, they climb trees and are dexterous enough to open a latched door and open a jar.

I've done a similar thing when I went looking for kangaroos in Western Australia, and noticed them right beside me, but they don't have teeth and claws, nor do they eat people.

To give you an idea of how close it was, here's a pulled back shot with the bike in frame, and the bear to the right of the sign on the little ridge.

It's a small bear to be sure, but you suddenly realise that you are the on foot surrounded by trees, any one of which could be hiding more bears, or just one large hungry one.

There was a four wheel drive there and a pickup, fortunately neither were playing country music, but I was the only idiot on foot. You can't really tell from the picture, but it's getting dark at this point, so when the bear wandered back into the woods behind it, I decided to be sensible and head off too, rather than wait around for more.

Port Hope Simpson

 The weather had changed again the next morning, back to a gorgeous sunny day. The ferry booking office opened at 8am so I was out in the queue by about ten to. As I hadn't booked in advance I went onto the waiting list again. It's normally ok and they'll squeeze a bike on, but it can be a nervous wait.

In the end it was fine and they even manged to squeeze on another truck and two more cars after I'd gotten on. One of the crewmembers tied my bike down for me. He'd had a 1983 Magna but sold it recently and had regretted it ever since. He'd even tried to buy it back from the guy that he'd sold it to, but he wouldn't do it.

 The entryway is very narrow, but most of the truck drivers were really good at slipping inside. One guy leaving the ferry went a bit nuts though, shouting at the guy who was guiding him.

As I was one of the last on I missed the mad scramble for the comfy seats that always takes place on a ferry. It can be quite funny to watch ordinarily nice people get very territorial.

The cafe was quite expensive but the chicken soup was nice.

The weather then changed again and began to look quite ominous as we approached the shore. The terminal is actually in Quebec, but there are no roads leading to the rest of the province so you need to turn right and head into Labrador.

Fortunately it was just mist with no rain, so it was a quick run up the 81km of pavement to Red Bay, where I fueled up before the gravel began. It will now be around 140km to Port Hope Simpson, all on gravel road, and apparently this is one of the worst sections, so if I can manage this the rest should be ok.

 As ever I hadn't booked ahead, so I was heading for the hotel in town and hoping they had a room. Ideally I would phone in advance but I have no reception on my phone and payphones seem few and far between.

The gravel road was a challenge, lots of potholes, ruts, and tracks which will tramline you. What you need to do and what I found very hard was to relax into it and don't fight the bike. You're guiding more than actually steering.

 The roads in town were worse, I guess they don't get the same maintenance as the highway, but you still see cars on them. As I was looking for the hotel I found these three bikes parked outside a restaurant so i went in for something to eat. The three guys had come up from Cape Cod, though one was originally from Dublin. They had two GS's and a Tiger, but even they they'd had problems with for seals. We swapped information on the road ahead as we were going in opposite directions, indeed I haven't seen another bike going the same way as me, all are doing the route clockwise.

The statue above appears on the tourist brochures and maps in Newfoundland and Labrador. It's been photoshopped in to a mountain scene, but the locals have taken it to heart and you see these stone figures all over the province.

The restaurant also had a bakery attached, and across the road a B&B, so I asked if they had any rooms available. They had one left so it was an easy choice and an early night for me. I never did find the hotel, even when wandering around later.

 

Icebergs & Vikings

It carried on raining or drizzling all day, which was a shame. The day before had been nice and reminded me of riding through Glencoe, open moorlands, ponds, lochs, mountains all stretching away. Today was more like the Ayrshire coast, but the rain made it harder work. I've mostly fixed the visor on the helmet, but it's not a flush fit as in most helmets, as it should have the peak over it. This means the water can run down the inside which is a problem in heavy rain.

The plan for the day was to ride to St Anthony to look for icebergs and to overnight there, then head back to the ferry at St Barbe early the next morning. The ferry runs three times a time so I haven't booked it, but I did call in to check where the terminal was and if it had a petrol station nearby. From there it was a soggy ride to St Anthony. You don't even need to go out on a boat to look at the icebergs, the first one behind the bike in the photograph above was just off the coast in the town itself.

I'd got talking to a couple here who recommended that I ride out to Goose Cove as there were more icebergs there, larger than the set near town. I also tried to book into a hotel, but as ever they were fully booked.

To get over that annoyance I went out to Goose Cove and these are the icebergs from there. There was a small boat motoring around them, but again you could see them perfectly from the coast.

There were lots of sightseers around, tourists and locals, most with cameras, some with picnics and umbrellas.

The colours change as the sun comes in and out of the clouds, and you can see the bulk underneath the sea.

As the sign suggest, these icebergs have been travelling for over a year to get here. The ice was formed some 15,000 yeras ago and is some of the purest water on the planet. It's a shame it was raining or the colours would have been much brighter.

I'd wanted to see the Viking village at L'Anse aux Meadows, so I made a new plan of going there and then riding back to St Barbe which would avoid me having to get up early to get back to the ferry.

 The village was discovered by a Norwegian explorer Helge Ingstad in 1960 when he came over and asked the locals if there were any unusual mounds nearby. Then began the excavations, which determined that the settlers came from Iceland 1,000 years ago. They reckon there were 4 visits covering a period of 12 years, within a 20 year timeframe. Some of the visits were peaceful, others broke down in violence over the women, someled to treachery and murder. 

Parks Canada has recreated the village, or part of it and has actors in period garb telling stories of life at the time. Despite the rain the village and guided tour were good fun.

On leaving there I'd been looking for a public phone as my mobile didn't have any reception. The plan for once was to book ahead so that I had a room at the motel next to the ferry terminal.

I also knew I needed fuel, but I remembered the town I'd ridden through had two Esso stations, so I thought I'd pass the first and get fuel at the second. Except there wasn't a second, and there wasn't any phones.

Then began another ride, feathering the throttle, wondering if i'd run out of fuel. Finally I spotted a fuel station on a rise in the next town, but since it was Sunday evening, it had closed. I made it onto the next town, which was the one with two Esso stations, and it had a public phone, so I called ahead and got a room. I don't know if I got the last room or not, but I did see people being turned away later.

Despite the patchy wifi you are now fully up to date. I'm about to pack up as I'm on the wait list for the ferry to Labrador which leaves in two and a half hours. I've just had a chat with two bikers, a retired couple on two BMW GS bikes. They have been telling me about the bad sections on the road, with one of the worst being the section I'll attempt today. If it really bad I'll just turn around, but if I get through this there is only one other bad section on the road. They also said that they rode with two guys on Ninja streetbikes who were fine on the road which gives me some confort.

Um, fuel again

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.