Ingonish Beach, to Mabou, Cape Breton, NS, via Meat Cove (Thursday, August 12, 2010)

Day Twenty - 160 miles

I keep heading north and east today, knowing that it will be my last morning heading into the sun.

The views are getting more and more spectacular as we get up the coast. Fishing villages. Cliffs. Lighthouses. A thousand postcards. I'm stopping the bike literally every minute or so. Sometimes every thirty seconds. Part of me is thinking, "How long will all these take to upload at the next crumby motel?" But we mustn't think of such things!

A few other bikers on the road here. This is truly a pleasure to ride on. Most of the other bikers are riding Harley's and are from Québec. The bikers from Québec also wear these funny looking helmets that kind of look like World War One helmets the British Tommy would wear. one of those things you notice!

I get to the far north-east of the island, where the road starts heading north and gradually west. I am driving counter-clockwise. Most bikers do it this way, and most cars do it clockwise. I decide to detour, literally "off the beaten track" to the creepy-sounding "Meat Cove."

I reach the little town of Capstick, where the road ends. There's a ominous sign that says Meat Cove 8km, with a dirt road sign above it. My bike is designed for this, and the Dunlops I'm using are a good "crossover" tire - the guy I bought the bike from used it off-road. However, that was him, an experienced off-roader. This is me, and I would really HATE to drop my bike, especially with the cases on the side. I continue down the dirt road.

The going is not too bad. I see another biker with a funny helmet coming out a little way in - I don't know how far he got. As I get further in, the road worsens and gets a lot steeper. i never come close to losing it, and I'm standing up on the pegs a lot, but it's tiring and I'm a bit freaked out.

I make it to Meat Cove. I was expecting to see a slaughtered whale on the beach, or something, but it's actually a slight anti-climax. There's a few buildings here and there, and the odd 4 x 4, but that's about it. The view is still pretty good, but not as good as Capstick back on the paved road. However, astonishingly, I see the little cafe here has wifi!

I order a "Fisherman's Platter" (did I mention the seafood here is AMAZING?), and check my email for any work-related issues. A couple of items, but we're mostly in the clear. I haven't had a phone signal since yesterday evening, and it's getting on for 2PM Atlantic Time. That makes it 10AM back in San Francisco. It's about the time people start freaking out, if they've had an early morning problem, and haven't heard back. Much and all as it's great to be able to take off like this for a few weeks, it does suck to never be able to TRULY switch off. I feel like a dog that always sleeps with one ear slightly cocked. But I digress...

I finish my lunch, and realize that I have no money! And they don't take credit here in Meat Cove. "I guess you're doing dishes," the lady tells me. She offers for me to pay at the "Co-Op" back on the main road, but as we begin to work out the gritty details, I remember that I have an emergency stash of U.S. currency. She says she'll take it. I give her a good tip, and add on another fiver for her trouble. She is grateful, as am I.

I head back out the horrible dirt road, and I am relieved when I finally hit asphalt again. Ah! Now I know why Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman were smiling so much on "Long Way Round" when they would finally hit tarmac!

Back on the Cabot Trail, the road climbs now, as we head up into the Highlands. There are fantastic views and vistas here. I pull over at one of the turn-offs, and a few other bikers are there. They are from Prince Edward Island, and are pretty astonished to hear that I've driven from California. Another guy pulls up on a "Boss Hoss" - a crazy-looking motorcycle manufactured in Dyersburg, Tennessee. I had never heard of them before. This thing was a V8! Probably, I don't know, 2 liter, or something ridiculous. Cool looking though!

As we got to the western (Gulf of St. Lawrence - my God, am I really this far east?!!) side of the island, the highlands gave way to cliffs. as we drove along the road here, it became truly breathtaking. I would say the best description would be a croos between California Highway 1, and the West of Ireland, perhaps with a bit of the Ring of Kerry thrown in.

There were also lots of Cape Breton flags being flown, and less Nova Scotian ones, although sometimes you'd see both, and occasionally all three - with the Canadian thrown in as well.

As we drove down the coast - I was actually heading West! - we entered the "Acadian" region. Here the Cape Breton flags on peoples homes gave way to the Acadian flag, which is basically the French flag with a little gold star on it also. This area, as well as the parts in Quebec, and also in Maine in the current United States, is where Cajuns of Louisiana originally were exiled from. The history is fascinating, and sad.

I was going to spend the night in Inverness, but after consulting with a woman and her daughter - they actually looked like sisters - I decided upon the town of Mabou. They told me there was a good pub there called The Red Shoe. I was sold! Were were now on the "Ceilidh Trail," which made me smile and think of my friend Becky.

I figured I wouldn't be camping again for a bit after this, so I headed for the Ceilidh Cottages Campground. I hit it off fairly well with 'Cara' at the office. Cara works two jobs, and I got the impression, seems to burn the candle a little at both ends! She doesn't look any the worse for it though. It was almost 8:30PM, and Cara assured me that the Red Shoe stopped serving food at 9:30PM sharp, so I made hasty camp and said I'd meet her there later.

The Red Shoe was PACKED. "Jammers," as we'd say in Dublin. I had to do the Single Guy Trying To Not Look Too Alone Routine for a few minutes while I found my "spot." A table (for 5 or 6) opened up outside, so after getting a drink and ordering my food, I sat out there and fiddled with my iPhone (which had no signal) and pretended to not look out of place.

After about five minutes, a bunch of girls decided to sit down at my table. They kind of asked first, and I kind of offered too, and before I knew it we were all chatting away. There was Shelley and Shirley, and Tanya and Angie. The latter two were sisters, and they were cousins of Shirley. It was also Shelley's birthday. They were also from Inverness, so ironically, if I had stayed there, we wouldn't have met.

Anyway, they made me feel totally welcome and at home. They went inside after a while when the band came on, but came over to me again later inside. I learned a few Cape Breton tunes, as well as a few Nova Scotian ones! The band was sort of trad, with a lot of Irish numbers thrown in too. They did a great rendition of " The Ballad Of St Anne's Reel," a song about Prince Edward Island that I last heard performed live by the late and great Ronnie Drew. I told the band that, and they asked me, "How did we measure up?" "Top drawer," I told them, and all were pleased.

We rolled out of there at closing. I eventually found my way back to my dew-dripping tent, but life was good.

Whatever happened to Cara...?