Caboteers Part Four: Is A Bike Ride Is Not A Bike Ride

Huricane Ernesto churns off the Nova Scotia coast

2 September 2024

The events in this post took place on August 19, 2024

I wake to a dark gray sky and a text from Heddy: "Not looking good."

From my window I can see a river running down the street. 

Are we riding in this? Should I put my bike clothes on? My street clothes? I check the forecast. Showers on and off all day. I put my bike clothes on.

People are already at the cafe, apparently, because Heddy is texting me from there. Most folks aren't riding, she says. This rain is steady and hard. It's more than a shower. I take my bike clothes off and put my street clothes on.

Leaving my suitcase at the door and my backpack inside, I hurry down to the cafe. People are leaving by the time my food arrives. I wolf down the yogurt parfait they've made for all of us, take a few bites of the eggs I've ordered, down a bit of coffee, and scurry back across the street. 

Glen has, indeed, unlocked my bike (quite early this morning, his text shows). I wheel it over to the guides, fetch my backpack from the room, and clamber into one of the two vans that will be driving most of us along the Cabot Trail to an inn in Margaree.

As we mill about, Malcom shows us his homemade bike pack.

There are some folks who are prepared to ride in the rain. I have no rain gear. I do not ride in the rain if I have the choice. I didn't come up here to be miserable, at least not more miserable than my self-inflicted misery has already made me. The hard-core riders are flanked by two of the guides. 

Last night, when people were asking about today's forecast, Codey had said, "We ride in the rain," and followed it up with "It's only going to be a few millimeters." Already, bands of rain have dumped far more than that. There are gaps in the rain that are lulling some folks into thinking it's over. It's not.

We drive in and out of rain, arriving at a metal bridge perpendicular to a dirt road. The riders will come down the paved section in front of us and be faced with three miles of mud and gravel. Some might want to climb into the van.

There's a break in the rain. We get out to explore the bridge and the river below. 

Spiders! Araneus diadematus.

There's a path down to the riverbank.

I take the path.

Jeff returns.

More Araneus diadematus:

The riders come coasting down the hill, wet. Elaine wisely hands her bike to the guides and gets in the van with us, avoiding the muddy fate of the rest of the cyclists. We follow them as they plod along the dirt road, their backs now coated in mud.

We pass them on a long grind of a hill and stop at a church. Elaine gets out.

There are tiny pansies blooming on the lawn.

The roads are still wet.

As we pull out, the heavy rain starts again.

We drive in and out of rain all the way to Margaree Forks. The van pulls into a long, puddle-ridden dirt road. At the end is the Normaway Inn. We're on a working farm. 

We walk through the main lodge to a sitting room in the back. It's all dark wood. There are tables, chairs, and couches, and windows that don't let much light in.

We're given keys to our cabins. There's time for a walk before lunch while we wait for the riders to come in and clean off.

It's raining again. From the driver's seat in the van, Coady hands me an umbrella. I follow Heddy and Ginger along a side dirt road to a cow pasture. I take pictures from under the umbrella as a farm hand, soaking wet, mends the fence and tells us things about the cows.

In another pasture are some horses, who leave when the see us. A donkey follows.

But at least the donkey is curious.

We walk to the end of the dirt road. The main road is empty.

The donkey is back.

We're seated in a large dining hall for a buffet lunch. I look out the window and see a large orbweaver. I need to go check her out. I skip dessert and leave by the front door.

On my way around the front, I find a friendly cat. I text Heddy: "Come out front right now!" Jeff appears at the door. "Tell Heddy to come out here!"

Heddy is out in a flash. "Jeff told me it's feline-related!"

One of the hotel workers comes by and tells us that the cat is named Baby. He was a warehouse kitten, owned by his daughter, who is away. Baby is staying here.

Baby lets me pick him up.

Yes, that's a picture of me, posted here because you can't see all of my face. I still hate my face. I've always hated my face.

Anyway, spiders:

Larinioides sclopetarius

Larinioides sclopetarius

A worker at the front desk clues me into "a big one" that's been hanging out by the back gate. I go out to find her.

Araneus diadematus

Araneus sclopetarius

Back in my cabin, I take pictures. They've given us a lot of room!

There's a sunporch at the main entrance.

I have a fanciful ram above the door.

It's drier now. We're going out for an 11-mile loop ride that was part of the plan all along anyway.

I take some more pictues while we're getting ready.

We weave between puddles on the dirt road out of the Normaway. The route has hills, but there's nothing really strenuous. They're saving that for later.

After the ride, I go back to the cabin to clean up. My cabin comes with my very own spiders, all Araneus diadematus.

Elaine sends me a photo of our cabins because I forgot to take one from afar.

There's some downtime before dinner. I take my laptop with me to the main lodge sitting room. I feel like a freshman again, seeking out social interaction among strangers.

The guides are drinking beers at one table. I set up next to them, half listening, half joining in, as I upload and label photos from the past two days.

Other people trickle in, and soon it's too loud and crowded to be staring into a computer screen. 

There's a planned game of croquet (when Heddy first mentioned it, I thought she'd said "cocaine"). I stay inside, talking with Elaine and Frank. Not much later, people come back inside. It's raining again. I take my computer back to the cabin and join the group for dinner.

There's music in the sitting room after dinner. A local fellow, Celtic and proud of it, plays multiple instruments and sings. Our guide Jane joins him for a couple of songs. Again, I'm annoyed at the focus on White history here without even a glancng mention of the displaced Mi'qmaw. 

It's dark walking back to my cabin. I know mine is in the middle. Did I leave my light on? I walk up and try the door. Frank opens it from inside. I've gone to the wrong cabin. Mine is one over.

Tomorrow we ride from here to Chetiamp. The name Cheticamp makes me anxious. Cheticamp is where we start our two-mountain ride two days from now. At least my legs are still pretty fresh because today's ride was so short. 

I call Jack and read some more Micmac legends before I try to go to sleep. Again, I toss and turn. Two more days of this and it'll all be over. Two more days.