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.