I bid farewell to Halifax, and I was on the road, heading east again.
The weather was looking dodgy, so I suited up early, and it paid off. It got a bit colder, so having the rain gear on didn't matter too much. It looked like it was going to get really nasty, but never did.
I crossed the Canso Causeway onto Cape Breton Island in the afternoon, the weather was clearing up, and I began to see the signs for the Newfoundland Ferry. Would I go on it? I had sort of already made my decision. Much as I would love to, and I really would...I have business to run, my parents are coming to visit in September...I just don't have the time. The further east I go, people say, "Oh! You just HAVE TO go here!" At that rate, you would never stop. Actually, you would have to stop at Newfoundland, as there is nowhere else to go. Ultimately though, the sign came for Cabot Trail or Newfoundland Ferry, and I chose the Cabot Trail. I would head as far east as I could on Cape Breton Island, and then I would turn and head west.
I am sad in one way, but also a little relieved. I am a little homesick, and also very consious of the fact that I can't really get back quickly, even if I wanted to. I have to go a day at a time. I suppose I could fly back in an emergency, but where would I leave my stuff? My bike? What would I take with me? When would I come back to pick everything up, and the bike? What about my cat, Lily? I miss Lily-Willy! I miss my friends. I'll miss Brian Black when I get back. I need to get back. These kind of strange thoughts, and other anxieties, race through your mind when you are, as my father would so eloquently put it, in the arsehole of nowhere.
That would be an unfair description of Cape Breton though. It is a truly beautiful place. The land looks ancient. Unspoiled. Touched by man, but in a caring way, a loving way. The people who live here are connected to the place. They are lovely people too. The people of Nova Scotia are very friendly. Cape Bretoners, are even more so. As I head up along the shores of the tranquil Bras d'Or, the "Inland Sea" of Cape Breton Island, it is almost like I was driving along the shores of Loch Ness. This LOOKS like Scotland, and Ireland a bit too. The place names are in Scots Gaelic too. I notice their "Ciad Mile Failte" looks a bit different than in Irish, but I get the drift.
I make camp for the night up on the suitably named Ingonish Beach. The stars are out in all their magnificance, the Milky Way, our galaxy, like a hazy bright band across the sky. Is Brian up there somewhere? Where does our consciousness go? Does a new consciousness start somewhere else? Perhaps we will never know. Or perhaps we will, but will never be aware of past consciousness? I think it's time for bed...switch off the mind....
Onwards!
Day Nineteen - 274 miles
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