Crossing Paths

Oh, the people you meet!

It is always a consequence of travelling solo on a fully loaded bike that conversations are likely to ensue. This trip has been no exception, and so some tales of the people I met along my journey.

I had long been anticipating crossing the Bay of Fundy to St.Johns, New Brunswick.  The Fundy, as it is called here, has one of the highest tide swings in the world.  I arrived at the ferry dock around 4:30 for my 5:30 departure, just as the inbound ferry was arriving.  I parked my bike by a fence as I unpacked some clothes for the chillier transfer as I never like to be inside a ferry, preferring the deck view. I did take note of another passenger being dropped off near my parking spot, overhearing the well wishes of departing friends, and we said hello to each other as she passed by.  Did not take much note of this, as there were lots of people hanging around.  I also spoke at length with another gentleman from Riviere du Loup (on the St. Lawrence, a town I had passed through on my 2013 journey), also a biker with four bikes, comparing notes in broken French/English as best bikers can communicate, he quite jealous of my trip and inspired to visit his son by bike.

The Fundy Rose - awaiting boarding to St. Johns, New Brunswick

Finally boarded the ferry and found my way top starboard side behind the bridge to observe the departure, and hopefully see whales in the Bay during crossing. There weren’t many people up there, but that was fine.  I counted the rungs on a service ladder at 20 from what I could observe to be high tide and a presumed low tide.   That could be easily 20’ of difference.  Finally, we pushed away, my tour of Nova Scotia complete and the next leg to begin.

Boat houses and the tidal swing most evident as we departed

But I was curious.  As we departed I observed the southern tip of the Annapolis peninsula as we were heading out to sea, and one could easily see the tide lines, but was this now low tide?  Or did it go lower still?  I had taken note of the same woman I had seen earlier, standing and contemplating the shoreline as I was doing a bit farther aft.  I was just curious enough that I walked over to her, said hello again, and asked her if she knew this to be low tide, hoping she was a regular, local passenger.  She thought it not actually fully low tide yet, and indeed was from St. Johns, but now embarked on her first ferry passage after having visited with her friend of 30+ years.  And so ensued a conversation with Patty that lasted the entirety of the voyage.  As we had similar interests and past experiences, primarily in the Canadian Rockies, we shared all manner of stories of adventures, especially as we were soon quite fog bound in the middle of the Bay, with no hope of seeing anything, yet in the cool chill we remained on deck, chatting away about kids (her four), careers (hers as a mother having left her older teenage kids for this trip – first time ever), and all manner of other topics that strangers can discuss.

Our view from the Ferry - no whales to spot!

Apparently, the fog in St. Johns is quite common.  Over the course of our conversation, Patty invited me to get a ride across the bridge since bicycles cannot cross, and further extended to an  invitation to stay at her home where she could get me back on the road in the morning.  But with some regret, she thought her kids would not appreciate it, (as she has done so for travelers before much to their chagrin), did not know the state of her house after a week – you get the idea – yet as tempting an offer that was, a hotel seemed best, but I did accept the ride.  St. John’s, when we finally arrived around 7:45 was socked in thick fog and getting dark – the last thing I wanted to do was ride my bike in a strange place, guided only by my GPS, in dark fogginess – that would be a frustrating and dangerous experience I cared not have.  So her son Ben picked us up, we stopped at Tim Horton’s for dinner, and then I was dropped off at a hotel along my way out of town in the morning. With a big hug, Patty departed, both of us richer for the experience.  Thanks for the lift, Patty!  

That fog became mixed with rain overnight, and the weather the next morning was miserable, including a persistent headwind.  But I had a ways to go to get to Campobello Island, on the Canada/Maine border area.  I slogged through three hours on the TransCanada highway - pretty, but not interesting, safe though, with a wide shoulder and rumble strips from which I could hunker against the wind, rain and fog.  And when I finally exited this freeway near St. George, blue sky and sunshine finally broke through, and following a quick lunch, I was again on quiet backroads, enjoying the scenery, and taking two connecting ferries.  The first was to Deer Island, run by the Transportation Department, including a large truck and a few vehicles, an extension of the state road.

Seems impossible that such a rig can work on these small ferries - glad mine fit!

The second privately run ferry, which  I spotted was shortly ready to depart as I rounded a curve, was a diminutive barge-like platform that could at most hold perhaps eight vehicles, but at this moment had only one, and five other bicyclists.  I sped across to reach the ferry just in time, and we departed. I was then chatting with the other bicyclists - whom I shall refer to as the Ferry Five.  All younger, fairly recent college graduates trying to find their way in the world, in some form of career transition from New Orleans, as a group of friends making a round-trip journey from Portland, Maine, around Nova Scotia, now on the return leg. Of course there is lots to talk about, and we covered much in that 30 or so minutes it took to cross the pristine bay to Campobello Island, site of an international park.  I was planning to encamp at Herring Cove but a few miles away (a fabulous spot) as  they were continuing on across the US border to a friends farm down the road, and so we parted ways.

The Ferry Five taking in the whirlpools swirling the sea around us

Following a visit to the "cottage" of Franklin Delano Roosevelt on the island, I crossed the border bridge in Lubec, Maine and headed through some very beautiful backroads, but a genuine roller-coaster of steep hills, causing an acceleration of fatigue, to where I took the chance on a rails-to-trails pathway that would potentially run flatter but be slower due to the gravel surface.  On this trail, I encountered Nathan, who had just this day, August 24th, departed Quoddy Head near Lubec for his transcontinental journey to San Francisco.  He too, was struggling against the gravel surface, and as we were heading to the same Sunset Point campground, we rode the balance of the day together, he suffering his first flat tire in the process.  In the toughest of situations, having company does seem to make the miles melt away a bit faster.  Nathan, a recent college graduate from Hamburg, New York, seemed eager to learn the tricks of a seasoned veteran, and I was happy to provide them, most especially since I found out that he had no food, stove, plate/bowl, fork, spoon or cup, expecting instead to get this along the way.  As there was no food to be had near Addison and our campground, I shared my freeze dried chicken gumbo with him, and in the morning, instant eggs served with a list of suggestions to make his journey more successful.

Nathan pushing down Hwy 1 - and San Francisco!

We did ride the next morning together, had a real breakfast at a local cafe in Milbridge, and followed US 1 until early afternoon, where I would part ways for Bar Harbor, and he would continue on.  As I was approaching my turnoff at West Sullivan, I noted a small food stand along the side of the road on which five rather familiar bicycles were parked.  It was here that I introduced Nathan to the Ferry Five, a reuniting if you will with "Professor", a crossed path once again, where we all shared some ice cream and stories.  Nathan departed on his journey with the best of wishes, and I rode with the Ferry Five near to Bar Harbor, where they were headed to a campground, and where I would cross paths with my sweetheart, Becky, and with Ryan, Heather and the grandkids, Charlotte and Henry for a weekend outing in Acadia National Park.

The Ferry Five + Nathan with the "Professor"

Crossing paths, and the stories they generate, keep me going.  But there were many paths I crossed - the countless cemeteries that dot the villages - whose story was only told in stone.  And of this story, cold and hardened to the truth of the seas that have claimed so many in this region, I could only imagine the toughness of these sailors and fisherman.  My journey is simple compared to theirs . . .