Jul
08

The G.U.N.S.E – Wrappin’ it Up

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Aboard the mv Leif Ericson, returning the Expedition from Port-aux Basques, Rhodefoundland to North Sydney, Rhode Scotia, we went through the now familiar bike tie down routine…

…checked into our spacious, bunk bed lined cabin…

…then saluted what really was the ‘Best Day Ever’ with the traditional toast.

Sitting in the lounge waiting for the ferry to leave, we heard a page. “Would the rider of the Harley Davidson with Rhode Island plates please return to your vehicle?”

Uh oh.

Unleaded jumped up and took off running, with Dark Meat Snack close in tow. Sleeping Beauty asked me if I was going to go too.

“Naah. Whatever happened, I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to know. They’ll handle it.” I sounded calm, but the pit in my stomach grew.

While they were gone, I imagined the worst – that somehow Stormbringer fell into the ocean, or got crushed by a bus. They came back smiling, so I was instantly relieved.

“What happened?”

“The deck hand didn’t like the way I tied the bike down, because the tie down hooks were touching the chrome. He gave me some rope and helped me secure it better so the bike wouldn’t get scratched.”

We toasted the cautious and courteous deckhand, then retired to our bunks for some rest.

Morning came too early, as morning always seems to. Bleary eyed, we went through the now familiar bike untying routine, rolled down another wet and slippery deck back out into the cold fog. Wasn’t this supposed to be summer?

Stopping for breakfast at a donut shop, who else but a policeman rolls up. “Hello. Just checking out the bikes and the riders, seeing who’s riding what.”

After chatting for a while, Keith Buddha-ed the officer. He covered his face, afraid to show up on Facebook.

This response was typical of everyone in Canada. Nobody refused to take a Buddha picture, but nearly every single one would say something like, “This isn’t going to be on Facebook, is it? I don’t want that.”

Keith told him, “Don’t worry. Facebook doesn’t steal your soul. What is the big deal with it, anyway?”

“Well,” he replied, “a lot of times we’ll pick up a drunk and give them a ride home, rather than arresting then and filling the jail with a bunch of drunks. There’s really no sense in that. But lately, those drunks will take out their cell phones, snap a picture of themselves in a police car, then put it of Facebook. If the Captain sees our picture there, he yells at us for not arresting the drunks. It’s bad.”

Cops that bring drunks home? Kudos to you, sir. I could definitely live here. The officer left us with some great tips about riding the Cabot Trail.

The Cabot Trail is supposed to be one of the top motorcycling destinations in the world, and as a reward for hammering yesterday, we planned to take a leisurely ramble through this marvel of scenery and engineering. But, as she always does, Mother Nature ruined those plans. Fog. More cold and damp fog covered everything, making riding an exercise in blind faith, since the road ahead could barely be seen.

We stopped again at a little convenience store to dry off and warm up a bit.

At the stop, Keith Buddha-ed a girl bicyclist that was Gnoming people. This girl was interesting for two reasons. First, she was doing the gnome thing, but secondly, and more interestingly, she had a half full bottle of wine in her water bottle holder. I’m sure she was enjoying her own personal ‘Best Day Ever.’ You just never know who you’ll meet on the road.

Her resolve broken by ours, Mother Nature relented, the fog lifted like a curtain rising, and suddenly we had the best weather we’d had since Maine, which seemed like a year ago.

I decided to take one of my famous detours to see something long, hard and cylindrical sticking up out of the ground.


Things don’t always work out like they should, much to Dark Meat Snack’s delight. On the wrong bikes for the muddy trail to the lighthouse, we decided on the spur of the moment to take a whale watch boat tour, signs for which we’d been passing for miles.

We arrived at three, the next tour didn’t leave until four, so we competed in the first ever ‘Cabot Trail Ocean Stickball’ competition. Just like elementary school, I wasn’t allowed to play for fear that I’d hurt myself.


After that game, people drifted off to enjoy a few minutes of solitude. I thought it was amazing that eight days in we hadn’t had any major or even minor meltdowns, and that the bikes held up so well.

Finally 4 PM arrived, but before we could go out on the small rubber Zodiac fast boat, we had to suit up in the latest fashion craze, a snazzy red Gore Tex with a comfy, snug and well worn wetsuit underneath.

This guy’s job is to go out in a really fast boat and chase down whales. Great work if you can find it.

And, he was very good at his job. On our hour long tour we saw countless minke whales, two seventy ton fin whales spouting twenty feet in the air, and a pod (school? gaggle? mess?) of white-beaked dolphins.

Cheticamp would be our home for this, the penultimate – say it with me now – ‘Best Day Ever!’

The next installment of the Great Unsponsored Nova Scotia Expedition can be found here.

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Categories : Motorcycle

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