RIP: Wayne Rex Stallard 1926-2018

Eulogy for Wayne Rex Stallard,    1926 - 2018

Family Man, Friend, Mason, Rotarian, Veteran and a Jayhawk.

Delivered at Old Mission Methodist Church, Fairway, Kansas    December 12, 2018

Thanks to all of you for being here today, and celebrating the memory of Wayne Rex Stallard.  Rex means "king" and I would offer that is quite appropriate.  I wish to emphasize the word celebrate, for I believe Wayne would not want us to wallow in sorrow.  For those of you who do not know me, I am Peter Hilger, his son-in-law of 41 years.  He asked me to deliver his eulogy before he passed, and I am deeply honored for the opportunity to do so.

Commemorative Poster by Heather Hilger

I am going to start with some adjectives that I have both heard and have known about Wayne these past few weeks, and see if these match up with your own impressions and fondest memories of Wayne:

•      Smart
•      Caring
•      Fiercely Competitive
•      Quietly opinionated
•      Astute
•      Generous
•      Compassionate
•      Forgiving
•      Humble
•      Rock chalk

Well, that last one is not an adjective, but rather a state of being. 

As you dwell on these adjectives, and I know there are more, I will return to them, let me share my story with Wayne and Peach.

It was Spring of 1975.  I was an Architecture student at Georgia Tech who caught the eye of Becky, and at some point in time – you know, the fog of love clouds the precise memory of time – Peach came to visit Becky, whereupon I was invited to meet her over dinner:  a young college student with a blonde pony tail.  For those of you that knew Peach, that would not be a good start to creating an affirmative impression, and the word of this “boy” having a pony tail and dating Becky made its way promptly to Wayne, who would heartily disapprove of this potential match.  It was sometime later that I was invited to visit Becky in Kansas City, where I traveled by bus, quite nervous and without a pony tail, to meet her sisters Jennifer and Melanie, and of course, Wayne.

I guess it went a bit better without a pony tail – that was progress.  But Becky recalls how, when Peach suggested our intention to wed in 1977, he thundered “how is he going to support her?”, failing to recognize that Becky fully intended to support herself in spite of marriage, and I was still that good-for-nothing guy that had a pony tail.

So began my long association with the Stallard family. He was blessed with three daughters, but I think he was finally glad to have a son around every so often.  It is told to me that he often took refuge from the four women in his daily life outside by the barbecue, talking to their dog Schwerd.

From those early days, I picked up a few things that I have carried through my life.  First and foremost, an interest in business even though I pursued architecture.  Though Wayne wanted me to be successful (presumably so I could support his daughter), there were no lessons per se but one – he was an avid reader of business magazines, particularly Forbes Magazine, which I latched onto and absorbed for years.  It influenced me greatly in my own business, and those lessons, I am proud to say, I am carrying on to my students to this day.  That publication, and many others, occupied his extensive reading list until the end.

Mine is but one story, and it is filled with adjectives.  But what of your stories? Your memories?

Let’s start with his daughters.  Wayne set high standards for all of his girls, and all tried oh-so-hard to achieve those standards, not always succeeding in what he wanted for them, but each succeeding in their own ways for what mattered to them.

It was this high bar that enabled Becky to find her own interests, much in common with Wayne, such as sports, space and any manner of intellectual challenges.  And ultimately, Becky found her way into the information technology realm, to which Wayne said her “peculiar talents are well suited to programming.” She was never sure how to take that word “peculiar”, whether a compliment or “stimulant”, but it can be said that they ended up lifelong friends with common interests. They traveled together on several occasions to points around the globe that remain among her strongest memories of Wayne. 

  

For Melanie it can be said that she did not always agree with Wayne’s standards for her either, other than that she attended and graduated from KU!  And this led to lifelong challenges between them, but as in every challenge for Wayne,  this too was met with grace and ultimately redemption, for Melanie stated one of her strong recollections was Wayne’s forgiveness and embrace of Melanie when they really both needed each other.  Melanie, it should be noted, was key to Wayne’s care over the past year, and we thank her, he thanks her, for that tireless care.

Jennifer recollected upon his ability to recall the most arcane facts and figures, including one time around a dinner table a guest casually wondered what the origin of a Ruben sandwich he was eating, to which Jennifer simply called out to Wayne to answer the question – and he did, to the amazement of most except his family, who knew that he would likely know this arcane fact. And of her husband Earl Vicknair, it can be said that Wayne finally had another son.

Wayne took great pride in his two grandchildren, watching them grow up to become the self-sufficient high achievers they are, with particular pride that Ryan attended KU, and during those four years was a constant companion for Wayne - another son!  Ryan was then, and continues to be, a Navy man for which Wayne, a veteran himself, was enormously proud, especially as he rose the ranks.  He could challenge Wayne in gin and pool with the best of them. And it was perhaps the blossoming of Ryan’s love of Heather Sherman, found and incubated during these four years at KU, that resulted in an especially proud moment, their marriage in this very sanctuary eleven years ago. Wayne adored Heather, and she created this sign in his honor today.

And of Laura, he reveled in her travels around the world, and was especially proud to visit her in London not once but twice, to travel with her and meet up with his lifelong friend Harry Harrison in Scotland.  I should like to quote Laura:  I could combine all the languages I know and it would still not be enough to express how I feel about you and how much you have meant to my life. You are everything a girl could have wanted in a grandpa and my life has been filled with so many wonderful memories of you (and Grandma), ones that will always hold a special place in my heart. I will remember you for your kindness, for your intelligence, for your humor. I will remember you for your positivity, contagious smile and joyful spirit. I will remember you for your generosity, your fairness and your unwavering faith. These are qualities I've long admired and respected in you - and ones I have long hoped to live up to in my own life.

Two great grandchildren – Charlotte and Henry – visited him just a few weeks ago at his 92^nd birthday celebration.  And as young children ages 5 and 3 respectively, they do not always take a shine to imposing old men, sometimes finding them a bit scary, but on this occasion, they seemed to embrace him, even if they do not quite understand his place in their family history. But there is a heartwarming tale from this visit.  On the occasion of his birthday dinner, Charlotte insisted on saying grace.  Can you imagine what was going through Wayne’s mind at this moment?  He had come full circle with his own devotion, to his faith and to his family, to have his great-granddaughter at age 5 recite a prayer of thankfulness.  But not to be outdone by his big sister, Henry insisted on saying grace as well, and then proceeded to cradle the little microphone device Wayne used of late in his hand and recite a prayer devoid of any comprehension for the rest of us, earnestly delivered, with only the word “amen” barely understandable.  It was a magical moment for Wayne and the rest of us.

Me, Laura, little Henry, Heather, Wayne, Ryan, Charlotte and Becky
at Henry's Christening in 2016

Carl Stallard, two years and two months younger than Wayne, always looked up to his bigger brother, and seemed to follow his lead, for as Carl stated, Wayne was so much smarter than him, and that he always set the standard to do the right thing.  He recalled picking potatoes together on a farm in Lawrence one summer, a job which Carl had followed Wayne to. Wayne was always called upon to speak at family events, for he had a gift of the tongue, and of their visits to see Nadine in Kingsley, an event that brought Wayne and Carl into more constant communication later in their lives.  And perhaps the most telling story of Wayne’s devotion to family, as Carl recites it, was his eager enlistment in the Army Air Corps in World War II, where he was sent to Wisconsin for flight training.  And as the war then came to an end, the training abruptly stopped, for pilots were no longer needed.  But out of this experience and his demonstrated intellectual capacity, he was offered an appointment to West Point.  But ever devoted to his family and his mother’s wish that he had been gone long enough and needed to come home, he declined the invitation, and returned home.  So I guess we can be happy for his sacrifice, for his family here today would probably not be here, had he accepted the appointment to West Point!

Wayne Stallard in Army Air Corps - 1944

Shirley Stallard was the wife of Wayne’s older brother Glenn, and they were married the year before Peach and Wayne.  And so began a lifelong friendship between Wayne and Shirley.  Wayne had mentioned that she long ceased to be a sister-in-law, and instead became a sister.  Shirley was there for Wayne, through all the years thick and thin, through the slow demise of Peach, and as a steady companion for Wayne through his late life challenges.  The rest of us in the family adore you Aunt Shirley, and can only thank you from the bottom of our hearts for being there for him.

And we must recognize the wonderful companionship of Audrey Irick.  Audrey wrote a wonderful message to Wayne on his recent birthday, part of which I now share: “Yes, we have kissed, dined and had a little wine, but of all the occasions in the US, India, Australia, New Zealand, Europe, Mexico, Canada, Costa Rica, Hawaii and the San Juan Island, our favorite place was in your kitchen.  There we could openly share our thoughts and feelings, always laugh at some silly funnies, and comfortably pray.”  Audrey, we all know what a true friend you were to Wayne, and we thank you deeply for sharing your life with his.

Wayne and Peach led a good life, not perfect for there were many challenges along the way, of course.  But of those challenges, he always seemed to approach them with humility, to rise up again and dust himself off as if nothing ever happened.  He had a wonderful affair with food and wine, relishing a very good steak – Steak Wayne as it was called. Indeed, he loved Andre’s Confiserie, for he was well known there, and enjoyed all the Swiss charm and goodies they had to offer.  We have brought some of their treats for you to enjoy after this service, for he would have wanted it this way. But I think Becky may have said it best that more than the food itself, he enjoyed the "community of the table", to share the experience of food and life with everyone.  Today, this is his community of that larger table that is his life, enmeshed with all of yours.

He was, of course, devoted to his larger community, to all his businesses over the years, and to his colleagues in Rotary, the Masons, and Delta Tau Delta fraternity, all of which spanned nearly his entire adult life.  As to this church and his faith, I will ask Pastor Leslie to expand upon this devotion.

So have we covered the adjectives?  The teacher in me says “now class, let’s review”:

• Smart? – gosh, was he ever.  Have you seen his library? His reading list? His thirst for knowledge and the ability to recite facts and figures was an enviable trait.
• Caring? – one can only recite his daily devotion to Peach and her sister Marian as they both rested at the Garden Terrace nursing home.  He never gave up on them.
• Fiercely Competitive? – oh dear, this is a big one!  Whether on the tennis court in years gone by, whether playing pool in the basement, word puzzles, or cards with anyone that dared, he was fiercely competitive.
• Quietly opinionated? – not a grandstander, he.  But he was loaded with opinions that tilted strongly conservative, very much in keeping with the Greatest Generation that he was part of. He was very sorry to learn of President Bush’s recent passing, and watched his funeral with great interest.
• Devout? – ever so dedicated to this place, Old Mission Methodist Church, for so many years, with deep convictions and devotion to God
• Generous? – as we are in the midst of the Christmas season, that was always a special time for him, for we all awaited a certain envelope containing greenbacks, beyond the enormity of the gifts already received and opened.  And I honor him today by wearing his sport coat and the shirt off of his back, with WRS embroidered on the cuff.
• Forgiving? – as with all of us, there were many setbacks he experienced during his long life, but he always forgave and moved along to the next thing, as though that first thing never happened.
• Compassionate? – I think it can be said that he loved, that he loved well, and that he loved unconditionally.
• Humble? – he was a simple person, never one to rise above his humility lest he be perceived as arrogant.
• Rock chalk? – it is hard to imagine a more devoted fan of KU and all that it stood for – academics and sports, particularly I believe, basketball.  He has an eternal ringside seat now, as it truly was a state of his being.  

Oh, I am sure there are many more adjectives that we could ascribe, and as a wordsmith himself, he would at this very moment be challenging his daughters to a competition as to who would get the most appropriate adjectives – yet he would lose due to his own humility.  But on one point all can agree:  his mother had always admonished Wayne that "you should not act nice – you should be nice!"

We have lost you, Wayne, but we shall not mourn, we celebrate your life.  We are thankful for what you have brought to each and every one of us to enrich our own lives.  You will be rejoining Peach, your parents and siblings in the hereafter, and may you enjoy your eternal peace with them, knowing you have done well for all of us, until such time that we shall join you there.

And one final story. As each of us within the family now know so well, when you were talking on the phone with us, and felt that all had been said that needed to be said, you simply said:   “OK, Bye now”, and you promptly hung up.

OK, Bye now.

Traveling, with luck!

One version of luck is that God has given you a break.  I have had many miles these last few days along the southern half of the Cote du Nord to reflect on our luck.  Here I sit today, in Chicoutimi, Saguenay, on the last biking day of this trip, feeling quite lucky.

We were lucky to make all our ferry connections, including the final one up the fjord to Sainte Rose du Nord, a small, quaint village nestled into a hollow valley between high steep hills, reminiscent of the rural sections of the Appalachians.  Indeed, it was suggested that if the fog was too thick, the ferry would not run from St. Barbe to Blanc Sablon, that would have caused us to miss this entire Cote du Nord stretch for want of the next Bella Desgagnes ferry one a week hence.

We were lucky to have seen so much music on this trip, more than any other, and quite unexpectedly.  Yesterday, as we were checking into the Gite au Jardin Potager in Sainte Rose du Nord, a couple of gentlemen standing in the small front hallway spoke English, and suggested there would be music tonight - at 9:30 - in the tent.  We soon came to realize that we arrived in this village during the Festival of the Artisans, and were treated to two concerts: a local folk-ish group from Chicoutimi (our final destination today), and then these five fellow guests at the Gite - Les Charbonniers - a sensational five-person Quebec based a capella group formed in the 1990's with a very powerful, perfectly timed rhythm and blended voice.  Incorporating two sticks and drumming feet on a board for the percussion, this group ran through 60+ minutes of pure vocal energy.

Les Charbonniers a capella group playing in Sainte Rose du Nord

How would we have even come to know "mummers" in Woody Point, or a "kitchen party" in Rocky Harbor, or an Acadian vocalist in the church at Riviere de Tonnera, or a local open mike session in Port au Choix, featuring a couple playing much traditional Newfie music?  And what of the Saguenay International Rythym of the World  festival in Chicoutimi, featuring a young, award winning Latin jazz fusion group El Son Sono, lead by a brother and sister team on guitar and vocals, respectively.  Dancing in the streets!

What luck!

Ahh, but there is so much else, the small things that happen on such a trip, the biggest of which is being lucky enough to even make such a trip.  Of my body still able to handle the rigors (for I don't know how long). Of not having any accidents or mishaps given the number of miles on roads with little or no shoulder and trucks rumbling by.  Of not getting sick from drinking bad water - the potential certainly existed in a few places. But speaking of water, seeing so many waterfalls along the way that one took them for granted, except perhaps, the giant Manitou Falls and those towering cascades in Western Brook in Gros Morne National Park.

The Chute - the second of two successive waterfalls 

Wildlife is hard to see by bicycle. I was lucky to see two moose, even though everybody warned of the moose in Newfoundland - one cow that was standing roadside as I rounded an uphill curve, unable to get  its picture before it wandered into the bush.  And of wildlife, lucky to not have been spiked by several porcupines, nor struck by an angry kildeer, dive bombing me with an angry squawk as its little chick was scampering across the road. 

Lucky to hold this little fella, who was dizzy from striking a window
in St. Anthony.  We talked for awhile - chickadee whisperer!

Moose kill a lot of drivers in Newfoundland - and vice versa!

Of riding 15 days predominantly with tailwinds, and a few kilometers and one full day into the wind, beating the expected odds of headwinds along the entirety of the Cote-du-Nord!  Of Nelson, our cabbie, who showed up in Sept Isle in his Toyota cab, saw our bikes, and went home and got his own pickup to haul us 30+ miles down the road in a rain storm.

Of rolling to a bicycle shop in Baie Comeau, a fine small town with a great brewery, just as my pedal fell apart, which would have been an unexpected disaster - easily replaced so the trip could continue.  After all, there were only three bicycle shops on the entire stretch, near the beginning and two near the end.  And certainly, at least for me, only one flat before the first kilometer could be recorded (Richard had 4 in one day, but none hence).

That pedal has thousands of miles on it - poor fella!

What luck to stop for a moment at the main church in Les Bergeronnes, constructed in 1915, open, yet empty but for a church member/docent who could speak English well enough to give me a personal tour and history of this grand wooded edifice, including the old theater pipe organ purchased in the 1950's from an American theater in Philadelphia that now graces the sanctuary.

The Church of Our Lady of Good Desire in Les Bergeronnes
(Eglise de Notre Dame du Bon Desir)

My tour guide, delighted I was an  architect with whom he could
share the history and details of changes made over the years.

1950's Theater Organ

And speaking of humanly encounters, I would be remiss in not expressing our good luck in meeting so many people along the way, something that happens a lot on a bicycle. Most especially to Clara, who is still riding somewhere in eastern Canada and gives us updates.  To Christine and Nathalie, with whom a bottle of wine was split on their deck, just talking, watching for whales.  To our cabbies who spread their knowledge.  To the fisherman who gave us his story behind his fish house, and so many others.

 

Chatting with a fisherman along the way.

Christine and Nathalie - from Montreal

To Clara - wherever you are - grinding up those hills in flip flops!

And what luck, after seeing piles of tourists in Tadoussac, the first real quaint, yet touristy destination of our trip, piling into whale watching tour boats, to have Captain Keith give us a personal tour of the bay in St. Lunaire-Griguere, and get close to the whales in his small homemade 12 person launch.

Cap'n Keith - what a highlight you provided in your little launch!

What luck that we didn't have to sleep outside with no equipment, that all of our reservations came through without a hitch, even having navigated many of them in French.  The potential for a surprising error was certainly possible.

Or that we found food when we needed it, and never pulled out the first aid kit.  And of the food, the luck of experiencing some great (and not so great) traditional fare - French: meat pies and salmon pies, and Newfie: dried capelin, Newfie steak (bologna), brewis (fish and hard tack), bakeapples (not apples but single berries from a ground hugging, abundant plant), Cod tongues (yes, just as it sounds), and jiggs dinner (boiled salt beef and root vegetables).  And anywhere, abundant seafood (mainly cod and halibut), seafood soups and any manner of crustaceans and shellfish.  Not to mention the great luck in discovering some great ale's!

St. Pancrace Brown Ale - the best!  Especially with 1960's James Brown tunes
to accompany every swallow

Dried Capelin and deep fried Cod tongues

And what luck that I rode ahead of Richard most times, and that he was there to pick up that which I dropped: an inner tube case and one sandal that had fallen off unbeknownst to me.  And what luck that Richard was able to retrieve his cell phone in the car from his housemate Abby in time before we even took off from the airport on this trip, without knowing her phone number!  (thanks for taking our call for help, Carmen!).

Dare'nt I dwell on the bad luck of the trip?  The weather?  The crushing climbs?  The aches and pains?

No, that is expected on a bicycle trip - it's the law of averages at work.  Bad luck is just an opportunity to find good luck in its place.

Luck is truly a product of the unexpected, and this trip had so much of that as to dwarf those soggy climbs.

The end of the ride!  Lucky to be here.

The Value of Roads?

One would think that, with the only access to a seacoast village to be by boat before ice comes in, that a village would be lacking in services, lacking in basic supplies, even perhaps lacking in vibrancy.  That is not the case for many of the towns, including Harrington Harbor, one of many stops found along the roadless portion of  the Cote-du-Nord, the north shore of the Gulf of St. Lawrence.

View of Harrington Cove from the water reservoir

First settled as a fishing station by the indigenous peoples, it was formally settled as a village in 1871 by the relocation of a few southwest Newfoundland families to the cove and adjacent islands, likely spurred by diminished fishing at the time off the Newfie coast, and now numbering over 300 people.

The only church - Anglican of course - built on the rock.

Like all the Cote du Nord villages, fishing is the prime occupation.  To assure sustainability, this community developed its own cooperative processing plant.  There is a welding shop, a small grocery store with some produce, a liquor store, school and a hospital with a helipad, started in 1906 as one of the Grenfell Association’s regional medical stations for fishermen.  Water comes from a small, dammed holding pond above the harbor, with 5 “filling stations” where residents can connect to fill their own reservoirs in their houses.

The "roads" of Harrington Cove

And there are no local roads.  Literally situated on a large rock outcropping, the structures are connected instead by a boardwalk system spanning between outcroppings of rock, started in the 1960’s, and now used as the “roadway” for pedestrian and ATV travel.  The main wharf, hosting a small fleet of local fishing boats and a docking station for our freighter/passenger ferry, the Bella Desgagnes, is also clogged with ATV’s when the ship arrives, picking up or dropping off goods or passengers.  The ATV is really an all-purpose, all-season vehicle that enables a measure of freedom.  The boardwalks are the roads.

The wharf when the ship comes in

I paid a visit to Paul’s Workshop.  His door open, I poked my head in and was warmly invited to see this incredible man-cave of a wood shop, complete with all manner of machines, most purchased used and reconditioned.  Retired at 58, he previously owned the liquor store with his brother, which enabled his retirement. He spends summers in the village making things for people, including wooden spoons and such, and demonstrated his homemade “spoon horse”, a device with all apparent appearance of a child’s toy horse, but with a foot operated clamping device to secure the spoon while carving.  In winter, he heads inland to his cabin, cuts wood and carves.  Having built his own workshop structure, he also has his own sawmill for board lumber, and works to restore old woodworking machines.  Somewhat incredulous at the nature of his operation, his resourcefulness, and his retirement at such an early age, he simply commented that he doesn’t spend much, doesn’t need much, and enjoys what he does.

Paul's Workshop

Quite a complete shop

Paul showing me his "carving horse"

    

I think that is likely a similar refrain of the other 299 people, and so many more along the Cote-du-Nord.

The small sign in the window reads:
"One thing I never have to worry about around here is competition"

Back on the ship, sailing for the next port of call, I considered the impact of no roads.  When asked when, if ever, Route 138 would be completed, Tanya, our hostess at Motel Blanc Sablon, expressed her strong doubts, since most of these villages are English speaking and of English descent (migrants from Labrador, Newfoundland and Prince Edward Island) and the government of Quebec has not made it a priority to link their French culture with these English settlers.  Whether or not this is true, these people have adapted to this way of life very well over the past 150 years – the villages attest to this.  They have a remarkable sense of community, they have what they need and want (or so it appears to an outsider). 

But as I sat on the foredeck in the afternoon sun, I considered the impact of the eventual completion of Route 138 on these towns, from Kegaska to Vieux-Fort/Blanc Sablon, Quebec.  It would certainly enable more independence of movement, less dependence on a weekly freighter, and likely lower the cost of living for these villages, provided fishing remains the primary source of industry.  But what might be really imperiled is not the town, but the deck of this very ship that I now enjoy, departed for lack of passengers and freight who choose instead to drive the route.  Over our collective world history, roads have been the economic engine of a region’s development and a way to connect communities, whether by horse, wagon or automobile.

I love ships.  Might I be experiencing some future nostalgia for the present journey?   

I will enjoy it while it lasts.

The Bella Desgagne docked - one of many stops along the Cote-du-Nord

Defining the Perfect Ride

No two riders could describe the same perfect ride, but I am sure we could all agree on certain aspects of a perfect ride.

However, are we speaking of a single ride over a relatively short distance – say an hour or an afternoon?  Are we speaking about the entirety of an adventure: the good + the bad + the experience = a perfect ride?  Therein lies the judgment.

Departing Gros Morne, we experienced some rain, overcast and a tailwind to Daniels Harbor, partially along the coastline.  This gray theme was becoming too redundant. Riding further to Port-aux-Choix (meaning “port of choice” – three small harbors around which the town was constructed) was an evolving rolling landscape, picturesque in its own right with the sun desperately trying to chase the clouds away – succeeding for only a few hours in the afternoon, until we turned west to the Port, itself soaked in a thick bank of fog, unable to truly appreciate the splendid, treeless peninsula which we rode across to get to the town. But with a tailwind, anything is possible!

Chasing the clouds 

Departing Port-aux-Choix the next morning, still hung over with clouds, we traversed a “shortcut” along the shoreline, a beautiful, quiet, un-maintained gravel road through the space between the higher ground and shoreline, as the sky became gradually thinner.  And within a few miles after re-connecting on Route 430, we were riding in sunshine along a perfect shoreline for many miles, able to see and hear the waves crashing the rocks – with a perfect tailwind.  With a divergent course a bit inland to skirt a large bay, we hit the gently rolling hills with abundant sunshine, until we could spot the lighthouse in Flowers Cove, our stop for the day. This is the kind of ride that makes one giddy – a top ten ride for me.

The road best traveled - Flowers Cove to  Eddies  Cove

And it didn’t end there.  From Flowers Cove to Eddies Cove, a distance of about 20 to 30 miles, we were riding the shore under a crisp, clear blue, nearly cloudless sky, cool temperatures, with a beautiful tailwind, and the coast of Labrador visible to the west across the Strait of Belle Isle.  Thinking it was all over when we had to cross the highlands of the upper Newfoundland Peninsula, it was instead a beautiful run through this unique landscape – like an open tundra plain, with groves of short spruce, vast bogs and exposed rock plates.  And a tailwind.

The highland plains

The plains gave way to hills on the east side of the peninsula, hills that can punish the weary by their short steepness, but can nevertheless stimulate for the views and the thrill of the descent, but not always wind aided on this eastern coast.  We rolled into St. Lunaire-Griguet, a small town with a big heart, with one final climb.

But must the perfect ride be on a bicycle?

Consider our fate the next morning.  After getting to know the proprietor of a tiny local seafood restaurant for dinner (the Daily Catch), he indicated the potential for a whale tour the following morning at 9:00, originating out of his general store less than a mile down the hill toward the waterfront.  Now, our previous experience in a tour boat a few days ago – Western Brook fjord in Gros Morne - was a crowded affair where we were basically stuck with the spot we claimed when we boarded.  Today, Captain/Owner Keith (Iceberg Alley Boat Tours)  with his small, speedy hand-built launch, capable of seating 12, did this morning accommodate only Rich and myself for a personal tour of the bay and further into the Atlantic, under perfect skies and light winds, where we witnessed the rise and fall of many whales breaching the surface, along with a school of dolphins, and a visit to a ghost town vacated not so very long ago., but crumbling quickly under this punishing climate. There could not have been a more perfect ride!   But sadly, my one ambition to see icebergs melted away, literally, for we were but a few weeks late for the last of them (late April thru June, the sea is full of them, known here as Iceberg Alley).

This shot was a fluke!

 

And they got pretty close!

Surveying the cove at St. Lunaire

We then proceeded about 10km north to visit the object of our entire trip – the very tip of Newfoundland – L’Anse aux Meadow (this whole area is known as Vinland) - the site of a proven Viking settlement approximately 1000 years ago set on a treeless plain with the Atlantic unfolding to the north.  Dispatched by Leif Ericksson from Greenland, a group of 60-90 people “discovered” North America well before Columbus.  I guess for me, this was one of the older construction sites in the continent, aside of course from those settlements of native peoples, and worthy of a visit to put our location into a historical time-and-place perspective.  One could easily imagine the challenges life brought them for the relatively few years the settlement existed.

One of the original long house foundations - the slight mounded earth

Reflecting on this distant past, we rolled down to St. Anthony, the terminus of our visit to Newfoundland, and the start of our next journey to Quebec.

But that other perfect ride?  

A taxi with cabbie Preston giving us some cultural rendering of “Newfunders”, the absence of certain consonants in their pronunciation guide (“h” least prevalent), driving us back to fog bound St. Barbe for the short ferry crossing the Strait of Belle Isle to Blanc Sablon, on the Quebec/Labrador border, avoiding a wicked headwind across the headlands, and enabling our timely ferry connection. 

Main Street in Flowers Cove - the kind of stuff seen on a perfect ride

So what exactly was the perfect ride?  Bicycling along the coast? The highlands? The great weather (for the most part)?  The entirety of the four days from Port-aux-Choix to St. Anthony featuring great weather, scenery and cultural experience?  The taxi, whale boat or ferry rides?

For us, it is ALL part of the perfect ride.  But what all bicyclists can possibly agree upon is the impact of one singular aspect of a great ride – a tailwind!

Result of a good tailwind!

Gros Morne

I am at a loss for the right word - just the right word.

There are really no words to express this amazing UNESCO Heritage site that Gros Morne National Park is.  Stunning? - It has that capacity to stun.  Breathtaking?  Indeed, it can, but it is really more than that.  And the two days we remained in the park is not adequate to truly understand this place.

Wrapped around Bonne Bay, an arm off the Gulf of St, Lawrence, it is a place that rises to lofty cloud borne heights seemingly right from the ocean. These mountains are more like the Appalachians, wide, rolling green capped hilltops rather that rocky caps, with the exception of the Tablelands, a massive dome of exposed yellowish peridotite, the result of a geologic uplifting of the earths mantle - and a rock hounds dream!

Tablelands and the predominant yellow peridotite

Following our "mummer" experience, we all decided that Woody Point is just the right town from which to visit Gros Morne.  Rich and I spent the day atop Tablelands, climbing to a high promontory, and exhausting all  possible photographic options - or so it seemed until we saw yet another picture.  We arranged our cab back to Woody Point to await the water taxi to take us across Bonne Bay to our next stop in Rocky Harbor, on the east side of the bay, requiring a hilly ramble to our next motel.

Water Taxi

Reunited with Clara, who spent the day riding in search of a beach (and never having actually found one) we all shared a room for the next two nights to fully explore the park.  But as the evening was young, we visited a local pub for dinner and a "kitchen  party" as it  was called.  This, a single musician sort of orchestrates audience participation in songs, stories and such, even handing out all manner of banging sticks and rattles to have the audience participate in the music, mostly Newfie tunes. It was a fun evening again, of dancing and drumming.

The next morning, Clara was hoping to  summit Gros Morne, but the weather was not in any way cooperative, greeting us in singular liquid fashion.  We decided to take a taxi to the trailhead for Western Brook Pond, having made a reservation for the tour boat that circles this long, narrow fjord.  We arrived in dense fog, and waited for several hours in which we talked of life forward, only to have the tour cancelled - logically - because of the fog, even though it showed signs of starting to lift.  So instead, we walked a trail for a short distance and sat by Western Brook that drains the lake, sitting on a rock, and gradually taking in the theater which was the mountains unveiling before us.  What a magnificent sight!  The clouds gradually lifted, revealing the immense height and steepness that is this canyon in late afternoon sunshine, however briefly it lasted.  It was actually a fun, mellow and serene way to spend the late afternoon before walking out and catching our cab back to town.  Most of the day washed out, but the best part was saved for last - dessert!

At the "theater" that is clouds lifting . . .

. . . to a perfect backdrop.

Following an excellent meal at Earl's Restaurant (where several had suggested the best moose in town - for me Moose Stew), we retired early, a bit spent.  But the next morning, packing up and catching some pancakes, we parted ways with Clara, our enthusiastic, delightful, energetic, funny and charming travel companion of the past several days. It was like travelling with my daughter Laura, who has a similar wanderlust and enthusiasm for exploration (but NOT on a bike). Such fun, but a certain sweet  sorrow.   Ride on Clara, as I know you will read this, and say hi to your Mum!  [Ed: And we later learned that Clara achieved her goal of summiting Gros Morne peak (a 7 hour hike) while we were on the lake.] 

Inside the fjord

Rich and I headed north for the upper peninsula of Newfoundland, but on the way managed to get the last two seats on the same tour ferry we missed the day before, as the cloud ceiling was high and no rain.  It was a stunning two hour excursion up the fjord, taking in sheer walls of rock plummeting into the fjord, graced with frequent and high waterfalls.  But the ferry was a bit crowded, and with a high cloud deck and a grey cast to the light, we both agreed the visual magic was not the same as the day before, as we watched this same canyon evolve, bathed in late afternoon sun. That will be my memory.

And the word?  Magical.  I think it fits.  Enjoy the scenery:

TABLELANDS:

What appears to me to be Helleborus - strangely beautiful

 Harebells (Campanula rontundifolia)

View to the high glaciers of the Tablelands plateau from our promontory

The main water fall, glacier fed

Such a variety of plant life in this "moonscape"

View of Bonne Bay from the high promontory

View down west valley from promontory

WESTERN BROOK POND:

The clouds starting to lift

Oh, the waterfalls aplenty!

An old wash out, used by Caribou to cross in winter
to the highlands on the opposite side.

The mouth of the fjord, from inside looking west

And the formations were endless.