trailing

lunch stop

Well, the less said about the ferry the better.  At one point the captain announced they were changing direction and that passengers may prefer not to walk around the ship.  But by this point anyone with any sense was lying down with their eyes closed.  Mark, the benevolent Irishman, had a cabin with three spare bunks.  It looked kind of claustrophobic to me so I lay down on the floor in a lounge whilst the others squeezed in. There's nothing quite like the sight of dry land after a ropey night on a boat.  North Sydney looked positively welcoming.

clearly there are no hungry bears in these parts

Looks can be deceiving.  We have to wait for the Tourist Office to open - ostensibly to get information, but also to get water and use the facilities.  Garry and Corinna wait with us and we take it in turns to get changed around the back of the building.  (This isn't odd behaviour is it?   Writing this a year later in England I wonder at how easily we can recalibrate our 'normality' gauge.)  The Kiwis are planning to head around the Cape Breton coastline but we think we'll just pootle on southwards directly towards Halifax, so we split up.  However, after restocking at the shops, we start considering the Cabot Trail around the cape.  It sounds tempting. Okay, we'll give it a go.

chain-ferry

 

a nice spot to watch a full moon rise

The trail begins with a chain-ferry across a very short gap taking us onto a long causeway and saving us from cycling around a long sea loch.  We camp at the base of the causeway in a tiny nook between pebble beach and road and then the next day follow the coastal road through a scattering of arts and craft shops before climbing a steep vertiginous section onto some clifftops.  A long descent through woods and around a couple of pretty bays brings us to the visitor centre for the National Park at Ingonish Beach.  Tourists are coming in to book camping spaces and we are doing our laundry.  Then we see that the forecast is for a storm to pass through the next day so we slope off to find a place to camp where we can sit out the bad weather.  There's nothing quite like a tent day to catch up on your reading, sudokus and crosswords.

helpful road sign

After the storm comes sunshine, rocky rugged coastlines and gentle roads until we round the top of the Cape and head north westwards.  We notice the signs and place names in Gaelic and enjoy the stunning views along the coast.  So this is what all the fuss is about, eh?  






 
There are lots of folk driving the trail and quite a few Harley Davidsons - reminding us of the roads in Quebec.  In one village we pass through there are showers at a tiny sports centre for tourists to use.  So we use them.  There are plenty of picnic spots and parks too.  In the late afternoon we stop at a shop for food.  There's nothing useful but there is a freezer full of ice cream.  We've been feeling the sun so we indulge in a litre tub and take it out to the deck in front of the shop, dig out our spoons, and eat the whole lot straight from the tub.  

sunny breakfast spot before the climb

Our road has turned south westwards and begins ascending to a pass the next morning.  It's a toughie.  Granny gear.  A bit of pushing.  Then back to the granny gear.  Finally the top.  Then a huge descent.  A scary fast descent down long straight stretches.  Some twists and turns and we are spat out at the sea.

And then straight back up again, climbing up to a viewpoint and then pressing onwards to another long flat pass.  The road has turned to mush - the tarmac has been stripped back and now it's raining.  We continue back out along the coast, the road keeping high up above the sea.

 

It's a dramatic ride in the rain and we're happy when it stops and we can start to dry out.  We end the day getting cleaned up at another visitor centre before heading on to Cheticamp.  Unable to find a wild camp spot we finally settle for a gap in trees about three feet from the road.  In the dark no-one can see us.  In the morning we give a dog-walker the fright of his life.

we learn later that Cheticamp means 'not a good place to camp'

  Cheticamp is a francophone settlement with cheerful women in the visitor centre.  We spend a bit of time with them and learn that the French who settled here mainly came from Louisiana - that was the place where many French went after the British insisted on a loyalty pledge to the king (this was before the American War of Independence).  Many French refused and were deported but some returned later.  It's here we meet three Englishmen who've cycled across Canada - going in the opposite direction - we stop, chat, exchange stories, say goodbye.  Oh well.





When we reach Inverness along a small coastal road (labelled the Ceilidh Trail for tourism purposes) we are interested to discover a rail-trail that would take us all the way to the causeway at the bottom of Cape Breton Island.  A local spots us with our loaded bikes and tells us where we can get onto it.  The advantages of the rail-trail are principally that there's no other traffic and the route is generally flat and wild camping spots are easier to find.  What's not to like?  If you get bored you can always listen to music.  And so we take it.

The trail leads through a lot of forest and across boggy swamps, across bridges and through cuttings, and occasionally a village.  At dusk we are heading down a very long straight stretch through woods when in the distance we see two large dogs cross the track.  Thinking about it later, these weren't anyone's pets.  But they looked too large to be coyotes.  Were these the coydogs we'd read about??  Gayle laughs off my hypothesis.  That night, with a storm threatening, we seek refuge from a strong wind behind a liquor store in a village.  The store is closed but the security light above our tent stays on all night long - like a full moon that doesn't move.

As with all rail-trails, after a day we are thoroughly bored and want to get back to a road with hills and views.  But the ride to Port Hastings finally pops us out on the coast for the final stretch.  Once again we can see the sky, feel the wind, and get a sense of where we are heading after the sensory-deprivation of riding too long in a tunnel of trees.  Port Hastings is the gateway to Cape Breton Island and is thus blessed with a visitor centre.  It's an obligatory stop.