Aurora Renews: Epic East Coast Magic

Nova Scotia....she's a beauty.

Once during this most recent cycling tour of the Maritimes, while speaking to my mother on the telephone at one point, she gently asked me in a a way she hoped I wouldn't discover her sort of altererior motive "So, um, Kay. On this trip do you feel a bit more like maybe you're, um, over the whole biking thing?" all I could do was laugh, and immediately, with absolutely no hesitation, respond. "Nope".

Goddess, I love bicycles. I love bike touring. I love the way it makes me feel so hungry. I love the way I feel empowered. I get a kick out of people calling me crazy. I love how strong my body feels as I pitch my tent in another beautiful spot at the end of a long day in the saddle. I love how people talk to me; maybe because I am by myself, maybe because I am exposed, in the elements, in my environment, not enclosed in a metal box of a car, maybe because I look bit cookey will a huge bike booty, peddling my way up mountains. But it is definitely a venue for conversation, words seem to flow easier between myself and friendly locals when I'm on a bike.

I met a young glass artist on the cabot trail, he was in a studio demonstrating his craft. I asked him how he got into this unique, niche craft that he now does full time. Without telling me the story, he just shrugged and said "I just sorta fell into it". I thought to myself, how the heck do you just fall into such a unique and beautiful craft that requires much practice, training and fluidity of movement? I questioned to myself, why the heck haven't I just 'fallen into something' like that? But as he cheered me on as I cycled away from his studio, I realized quite clearly, that perhaps cycle touring is what I have easily, strangely 'fallen into'.

Ah, the bicycle.

Okay so highlights. Again, since I am such an infrequent blogger, I will tell you, that since the solstice, I have had some epic, beautiful, tasty, warm, times.

Let's start with the warm and she-she south shore - after leaving Windhorse Farm (which was composed of beautiful people, beautiful lands, and potentially my best tent sleep of the whole 2 month journey, and they have a beautiful subtext of: sustainability through diversity, and prove to really be trying for that with success), I rode through Bridgewater, and all along the ocean weaving in and out of bays and beaches, smelling the wafts of deep fried fish and chips, kelp and salt spray along my ride, all the way up to Black Point, about 60km outside of Halifax.

I walked along beautiful beaches, stopped in cute, quaint seaside sailing villages, ate delicious veggie burgers at my hosts' place, and was loving the warm sunshine and coastal scenery. The following ride, into Halifax via Peggy's Cove, was easily as beautiful, though, a bit windy and wild as the mixed conifer forests, frosted with purple pink and white lupins, turned into the 'coastal barrens' ecotone that surrounds the famous Peggy's Cove.

And then, like that I was in Halifax! Couldn't believe it really. I spent a few nights in Halifax, spending more time with my buzzing bee friend Laurel, and her good friend (and now mine too!) Sydney. We did a pretty great job of eating our way through Halifax, and exploring a few of the parks and bumping into the freshest of fresh Otesha Olumni at the Farmers Market (who I had just trained at the beginning of May, was such a pleasure to meet them all again, post tour! Read their final blog post here.)

From there, the adventure continued, onward to the island area of Nova Scotia - all the way up to Cape Breton Island.

For a bit of historical understanding of Cape Breton's seeming interest from my end: on possibly my favourite family trip ever embarked on was when I was maybe 12 years old, and my family, zoomed along from Ontario to the east coast of Canada, and camped and cruised for a few weeks in NB, PEI and NS. That was many years ago, yes, but I distinctly remember my father and I being in awe with the cycle tourists on Cape Breton island, loaded up with their camping gear in panniers, and tackling the mountains that are a part of Cape Breton Highlands National Park. I remember returning to Kitchener Ontario, and inviting one of my best friends to "someday ride our bikes around Cape Breton". I've always remembered that Cape Breton childhood pipe dream - and can't believe that I now am so passionate about the bicycle as a mode of adventure at this point in my 'adult' life, that I was able to make that little dream come true!

So, of course, I couldn't be in Nova Scotia on bicycle without visiting Cape Breton, and circumnavigating the famous Cabot Trail.

Starting in Baddeck, a cute lakeside community, I cycled clockwise, first through the beautiful Margaree Valley. I stayed with a local in Cheticamp, a talkative, adventurous, anto-corporation, down to earth man who warmly welcomed me into his cozy home for a night, and gave me lots of local knowledge about which springs I should fill my water bottles up at, which hikes were worth pursuing, and where I could find some great gaelic music to consume. The mountains came fast and hard, but calmly; I slowly plugged away for sometimes hours at climbing over the mountains of Cape Breton. Walls of green craggy mountains gave way to shorter trees, and bog ecology when I reached the tops of French and North Mountains, where the temperature was cooler, no towns were located, but the silence and solitude were so fulfilling....

Stopping plenty along side the few other tourists to snap photos of the gorgeous look off points, I was reminded of my time climbing mountains on bicycle in Tasmania, and my recent winter road trip along the ocean route in California on the Big Sur coast.

Cape Breton felt like a wild, sparsely populated, piece of stunning energetically charged landscape. The people seemed nostalgic for the good old days when the fish were plentiful; and they were loyal and traditional in their music and Gaelic culture.

After having been told by multiple people of Polletts Cove, a once inhabited cove, only accessible by the 10km hiking trail, or by boat, it became a location of desire for me - a quiet one, away from the more frequented places along the Cabot Trail. Though I didn't have the proper hiking pack, I was going to make the 3 hour hike work, so that I could spend at least one night at what sounded like a piece of the Cape Breton wild-scape.

It was an epically physical day. I climbed French mountain on bicycle, up 500 or so meters from sea level at a 13% incline. I rode many more hills and kilometres past Pleasant Bay, in the North West of Cape Breton, and multiple km's more down a dead end dirt road. I made it to the end and packed my little backpack full with my camp stove, some food, and slung a dry sack with my tent and sleeping bag under my arm, and set of on the somewhat visible, but definitely overgrown hiking trail, after tucking dear Poppy away in the forest and locking her and my panniers to a tree.

What a hike it was. Up and over 2 mountains, down into a couple valleys, and traipsing very close to the edge of steep, narrow cliff faces that plunged to the ocean below, the 3 hour hike had me sweating up a storm in the dry Cape Breton heat, and anxious for an ocean swim, and to cook up a big meal to re-plenish the thousands of calories that I was certain I had expended over the course of the day.

And finally, in my exhausted state, I unexpectedly emerged from the forest...to the most beautiful sweeping landscape ahead of me:

A bright green, lush, steep, grassy, plateau...with a bunch of wild (!!) horses nearby to greet me. Ahead of me the landscape dipped down to a small river valley, which was braided with rocky shoals, some grassy, as the river made its way to it's spilling spot, the Gulf of St. Lawrence. I could see far off spots of colour, a few tents camped in the river valley. Grassy plateaus, with red soiled cliffs surrounded the cove, and as I glanced north, along the Gulf waters, the craggy mountain landscape characteristic of Cape Breton continued onwards, rugged, seemingly untouched...

I descended towards the river ever so slowly - partly because I was exhausted, but mostly because I wanted to drink in every moment of this highly energetic landscape that changed with each step I took.

I decided I would pitch my tent up on the opposite grassy plateau, cook my dinner on the beach, go for a swim, and watch the sun descend and disappear over the gulf waters....as I worked my way across the frigid waters of the river, and crossed over the grassy shoals, I noticed little splashes of colour - purple irises, yellow buttercups, and red red (delicious delicious) wild strawberries (I had the best ever breakfast the next day; hot brown rice cereal infused with the most flavourful, sweet strawberries of life...).

It felt like a bit of paradise, like moment after moment of soul-bliss. I couldn't help but hear the song "Paradise" by Coldplay repeat on loop in my head, as I felt like I was in a place of paradise.

That night, I laid in my tent, in the warm summer night, as the dusk sky slowly darkened and the breeze blew away any chance of mosquitos, the wild horses and cows retreated toward the forest for the night, I journaled these words...

"At this moment, my soul is so safe, I am in peace itself".

Ohhh....
___________

Onwards I continued along the Cabot Trail, taking in some other absolutely beautiful camping spots, talking in depth in a slow and lazy way to a local fisherman in the small traditional fishing village of Bay St. Lawrence, the most northern community of Cape Breton, and meeting many more locals and travellers alike who were drawn to this part f Nova Scotia for some of the same reasons as I. I rode over another couple mountains, swam at some stunning Atlantic ocean beaches (really fresh and crisp! But I was cycling in 30+ degree heat, so the swims in COLD water was well appreciated). I took in some super duper fun Gaelic Ceilidh music, that had my feel and hands tapping, my body inevitably succumbing to the desire to jiggle and jive to the fiddle and bagpipe dominated music. I met some amazingly kind and open people too - including one man who caught up to me on the bike, and conversed with me consistency for what may have been hours, as we climbed the hills on the east side of Cape Breton. I later met up with him and his wife, and with the approaching remanants of Hurricane Arthur, they tok me home to their space in Sydney NS, so I'd be safe from the winds and rain on my last evening on Cape Breton Island. The following morning, I began my journey home towards Ontario.

And now, my adventures continue in this here province of Ontario! More to come of this journey that is summer, a time when my soul bubbles with comfort, glee and appreciation for that magical ball of fire that hangs so high in the sky...

I've included some photos from this journey on bicycle in the Maritimes below.

So it goes, and never ends.