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.