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.