Greetings and salutations!

Formalities first of all. I have returned safely to Toronto and for the most part, I'm happy to be here.

My last weekend on Cape Breton Island was wonderful! A rainy Friday afternoon cleared into a beautiful evening. At the recommendation of a Little Narrows resident, I stowed my bike and travelled 2km on foot to the end of a peninsula where I made my camp for the night. The point had a 270 degree view of Bras d'Or and once the sky grew dark, a picture-worthy sight of the happily illuminated Baddeck shone from some 2km away. I hosted my second rocky beach campfire and marvelled at the ocean of stars twinkling overhead. The night was silent, allowing the occasional distant echo of a 18 wheeler engine-braking along the Trans Canada.

Regrettably, between Saturday and Sunday, I was unable to return to the coast for one a final glimpse of the Atlantic. Nonetheless, I made the most out of the two outrageously sunny days by exploring the inner hidings of Bras d'Or Lakes. Unjustly, these routes were more scarcely travelled than the more popular coastal routes on the island. I stopped numerous times just to stand by and absorb my surroundings. The seemingly endless, winding roads made for an exciting ride and the curious absence of traffic made the days highly enjoyable. Along one such route, I met another cyclist. Andrew, a product of great Britain, was two thirds through a 6 month journey from Los Angeles to Miama (featuring stops in Vancouver, Toronto and St. John's, Newfoundland.) I was amazed at his progress. Perhaps for another year. :)

Awaiting an early Monday flight, I knocked on a stranger's door, seeking permission to camp in his yard. Reminiscent of my arrival night, I soon found myself eating dinner in his kitchen before falling asleep in his guest bed. Eggs and toast fuelled my 3 minute ride to the airport where I irritably spent the next 90 minutes disassembling and packaging my bike for flight. The one-room air terminal was almost laughable in the face of Pearson and yet I had never seen so many families waiting to greet their new arrivals at the gate. Watching the reunions of dozens of loved ones seemed to be a highly appropriate epilogue to a tour of Cape Breton. The love and friendliness I've experienced here is unparallelled in any of my travels past. Certainly, this is what I will remember Cape Breton for.

The other tidbit of knowledge I've gained here is as follows. Of the countless beautiful sights I've seen on this ride, the cream of the crop are always hidden at the end of a long dirt road, miles from the highway. An irritant, maybe, but something to be taken into consideration for any traveller - or anyone, for that matter. Only so much can be seen superficially. To put it eloquently, to get the good stuff, you've got to work for it.

-Dan

Ciad Mille Failte (Gaelic for "a thousand welcomes")

Until recently I had suspected that this bike riding hobby qualified me as being completely crazy. What has changed, you ask? Only that it has been confirmed. Yes, in fact, riding your bicycle hundreds of kilometres uphill in the wind and rain to find yourself smiling at the end of every day does certify insanity!

Onward and... well... some lateral-motion-ward.

I've been officially put in my place. On my way south from the Cape Breton Highlands, I passed a trio of cyclists; two quite young in appearance. I assumed they were campers going for a leisurely ride. 50kms later when I talked to them, I found out that father, son and daughter (12 & 13 respectively) were riding 120km of the Cabot, challenging some of the most difficult terrain. 12 & 13 years old! I give up!

I spent Tuesday night, camped at the bike-fanatic-owned sailboat terminal in Baddeck. I met and ate two meals with a quartet of sailors, returning from a two month journey around Greenland and Labrador. We shared lots of stories and I was granted access to the terminal's showers and bathrooms. It was a much needed treat. A light rain trickled upon my tent, making for a soothing bedtime soundtrack. Mostly dry by the morning, I bid final adieu to the sailors and my new friends from Brooklyn before heading Northeast to Lake Ainslie via Margaree Forks.

I camped for the first time and a campground on Lake Ainslie. Here, I met numerous car campers getting a three day head start on the long weekend. They were rowdy and mildly disturbing, but good company nonetheless. It rained overnight and my tent went away wet. Lake Ainslie proved to be quite beautiful in the rare instances when the sun shone through the cloudy day. It was very much unlike anything I'd seen elsewhere in Cape Breton.

I left Ainslie to head South through Mabou to Port Hood. I stopped in the public library to read awhile. Moments after I arrived, it began to pour rain. My timing proved quite impeccable. The wind grew strong from the northwest. Fortunately, I was heading South. After aborting a campsite search, I ran into Janice. Only 5 months my senior, she was riding solo around the Cabot Trail and back to her home in Halifax. I took up her offer on a cabin for the night and we fought heavy rain and wind in the last stretch until we arrived. The cabin, while not much to the urbanite, was heaven to a pair of tired cyclists. We enjoyed real food, real dishes, real heat, real beds, real showers, real laundry. It was almost... unreal!

Stuffed and rejuvenated, we parted ways this morning. I find myself back in St. Peter's. The day has gone from gloriously sunny to depressingly precipitant at least thrice so far. The weekend forecast is looking up and I'm very excited.

I'm currently waiting out the rain at the public library in Ingonish. The last couple of days have shown me a bit of everything I should expect on such an adventure. I've been to and mostly through Cape Breton Highlands National Park and I've seen many fine offerings along the way.

As I sent my last message, I was joined in the C@P site by two other cyclists from Brooklyn. We shared stories like a group of Cape Bretoners before I headed onward. I was a bit disappointed by the town of Cheticamp; stopping only for a quick break at Tim Horton's. "Toujours frais," read the sign. I rode from there to the National Park visitors centre where I met a cycling trio on their way out. Their tales of hills were unsurprising. It was quite evident that they were glad to be done with it. The route thereafter was guided by the shoreline, obeying the many tall and long hills. I stopped at numerous scenic outlook points and was never disappointed. I was often astonished to look back at the road, asking myself, "did I just ride that?" The road returned to sea level at Cap Rouge, just in time to scale one side of French Mountain. This 455 meter ascent was stretched across 6km of road. It doesn't sound bad, but it's bad. Believe me. Thankfully, what goes up must come down. The descent back to Pleasant Bay was long and speedy. I stopped midway and had some other visitors take my picture (see flickr.)

Pleasant Bay was cool overnight and into the morning. Such made for a hasty departure. Re-entering the park, I stopped at a picnic area to make breakfast. My Brooklyn friends had camped there and were on their way out. After breakfast, I rode a more gruelling 4km uphill to the 457 meter North Mountain, meeting my new friends at the top. We three shared in our recent success and I joined them for the next 30km to Cape North. There, they continued on the Cabot Trail while I took a lengthy detour to visit Bay St. Lawrence and Meat Cove. The ride featured views unlike any I'd seen before, including the Marshy North Harbour Bay and the serene Deadman's Pond. I made my way back across some of the hilliest terrain I've ever ridden in my life to White Point. This was the most stunning place I've seen thus far on my trip. The town is completely and naturally protected from the ocean by a long mossy point which made for a spectacular campsite. The evening was the warmest of the past three and I made company with another solo tourist (driving) from Toronto.

Hello again,

I recently read an article in the Inverness regional newspaper, The Oran, that included a description of the Cape Breton winds. It suggested that said winds are either one of two things, up or coming up. "The Cape Breton winds do not know the meaning of the word down." I laughed when I read it, but it's no longer funny to me. As I head north along the Cabot Trail, I ride in the face of what feels like a hurricane.

Since I last wrote from Arichat, I've been on many fine adventures. On Thursday, I thoroughly explored Isle Madame. I saw numerous coastal fishing villages, quietly nestled in rocky coves. Heeding to the suggestion of a man I met along the way, I endured several kilometres of dirt road to visit a place called Cap La Ronde. The view was truly magnificent; stunning scenic beauty in every direction. I camped at an information centre near the bridge to Isle Madame.

Friday, I headed North again through Louisdale to a lesser travelled road along the shore of Bras D`or Lakes. I stopped at a hardware store to pick up a small bolt for my bike. Not only was I not charged for it, but they gave me an extra bolt,"just in case." To top it off, one of the employees drove home to pick up a bottle of bolt glue which he gave to me at no charge. Bras D'or Lakes is one large body of water with five or six large bays and countless smaller bays therein. I travelled along the western side, regularly stopping to admire some of the many small islands that could be seen from the road. After a bargain of a pastrami sandwich at a deli in Orangedale, I continued to Whycocomagh, my first intersection with my cross-country route. I stayed long enough for some cookies and fresh fruit before heading west to Mabou. With permission, I set up my tent in a retired fisherman's backyard. From 9pm until 1am, I enjoyed a few pints at the Red Shoe Pub (Rankin Family, proprietors) to the soundtrack of loud east-coast pub chatter and lively (live) fiddle music. I was very much reminded of nights at the Rex in Toronto.

A late night made for a late morning, but I was rolling by 10:30. I detoured slightly to see the West Mabou Beach and it was well worth the trip. Merging with the touristy (read: car-laden) Ceilidh trail, I made my way North to Dunvegan, visiting a laundromat in Inverness. The busy road turned east towards Margaree Forks while I took the quieter Coastal road. The path took me through the gorgeous Whale Cove before bringing me to a beach at Margaree Harbour. I stopped for a very refreshing swim. Seeing a coastal bluff from the highway, I ventured down an unmarked dirt road to find what was possibly the finest campsite I've ever visited. I pitched my tent atop the bluff and had a personal driftwood campfire on the rocky beach below. Being 50 feet from and totally exposed to the ocean, it was windy and cold at night. I managed to survive and have since continued along the Cabot Trail.

Next stop, Chéticamp.

Good Morning Everybody,

I find myself at the Community Access Program (C@P) site in Arichat; a town of 300 or so people on Isle Madame. The day, not unlike the first two, started off cool, but has warmed to a comfortable twenty degrees. There are a few clouds in the sky, but they give my pictures a touch of class.

After a rather frightening "missed approach" onboard my Sydney-bound 767, I rode the 10km to the town of Sydney by the light of dusk. Unable to find a suitable place to camp, I knocked on a stranger's door and asked to make camp in his rather large backyard. He insisted that I instead sleep on his guestbed, urging me to experience "Cape Breton hospitality." I slept like a baby and awoke to Ham & Eggs at 5:30am. It made for a good start to a cloudy morning. I rode a tidy 70km through New Waterford, Glace Bay, Mira and Main-a-dieu; taking up tented residence in Louisbourg in mid-afternoon. The scenery was absolutely stellar and I was able to visit the Fortress of Lousibourg; the best maintained historical fort in the entire commonwealth.

That evening in Louisbourg, I happened upon two other bike tourists. The first was my bicycle mechanic from Toronto; the second, his wife (also the curator of another fine Toronto bike shop.) They blessed me with a warm shower in their hotel room. I camped next to the home-run wall of a baseball diamond and battled the mosquitos as I tore down my tent in the morning. I rode with my friends to Albert Bridge at which point, we parted ways.

I pedalled an arguous 120km down a road with the occasional house dotting its otherwise forested shoulders. The route remained mostly inland, but periodically paralled the shores of some beautiful coves. I stopped for lunch and a swim at Framboise Cove and continued on my way. Despite the weariness of my legs (I haven't ridden this far in a year!,) I detoured 5km to explore a place called Michaud Beach. It was worth every extra centimeter. I stayed for my second swim of the day then took on the remaining 15km to St. Peter's. I cooked a bowl of Rigatoni with a can of tuna at my crown-land campsite alongshore St. Peter's Bay. I fell asleep to the somehow soothing sound of crashing waves and didn't stir until the morning.

I'm taking it easy today, exploring Isle Madame. Tomorrow, I should make my way up to Whycocomagh and hopefully I'll have learned to pronounce it correctly by then (Why-cog-ama, I think.) There are lots of C@P sites around Cape Breton so there will be plenty of updates.