Baddeck, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia
2 September 2024
The events in this post took place on August 18, 2024.
None of us slept well. "What do you think about me getting a second room for the trip back? Me and the bikes, and you two each get a bed."
When I first made these reservations, I thought I'd be driving all the way to Cape Breton by myself. Only in March did I manage to find a ride with Martin and Glen. I told them I'd be fine with them sharing my room. Last night, though, was too cramped for all of us.
"I'll pay for it," I add.
So when we stumble down for breakfast, I reserve another room. Getting our bikes and bags back down to Glen's car is a production. Martin is riding his bike around the parking lot while Glen loads his bike on. Mine goes in the middle. Heddy and Ginger, and Jeff and Lonnie, take off long before we do. Again.
We need gas by the time we reach Halifax. We exit the highway at a gas station next to a gigantic supermarket. Might as well buy sandwiches to eat on the road.
This part of Halifax, wherever we are, has a lot of new construction, with apartment buildings springing up everywhere.
Glen and Martin are up front. I've been in the back seat since New Jersey. My hearing aids pick up the sound of the motor and the tires on the highway. I can't make out anything Glen says unless he turns his head and I lean forward. Martin I can sort of lip-read as he recites various facts told to him by "the Google lady" in his phone. We're also using his phone to navigate, and several times we miss turns because we're deep in conversation or he's switched screens.
Now we're on the Trans-Canada highway. It's long, straight, and devoid of roadside attractions. I do spot a bald eagle on a telephone pole though.
I have to pee. Again. There are no service plazas or rest areas here. I don't want to delay us by turning off onto some desolate country road. Instead, I say, "Pull over when it's safe." I get out and climb down the embankment, mooning the southern half of this part of Nova Scotia in the process.
We need gas and a rest stop again as we get closer to Baddeck. We pull into the first gas station we've seen for hours. The sign is in Mi'kmaw. We're in We'kooma'q, a Mi'kmaw territory.
Trilingual!
We arrive at the Telegraph Hotel in Baddeck. The driveway is stones and on a steep hill. Four guides are there to meet us and give us keys to our rooms. Mine is up two flights of stairs. The smallest of the guides, a 20-something sprite named Sarah, insists on carrying my giant bag up to my room while I put my bike-stuff backpack on.
After last night, I wasn't expecting anything nearly as cushy as this room.
One window looks onto the side where our cars are parked. The other faces the road. Across the street is a cafe.
I'm nervous now. Glen and Martin have disappeared into their room. Heddy and Ginger are nowhere in sight. I don't know where Jeff is. I'm going to be Laura the Leech or Laura the Loner. Which is it?
Leech.
I feel like a college freshman among seniors. I feel the way I did when I transferred to Penn as a sophomore: I know who I am and sort of what's going on, but I hardly know anyone.
I text Heddy, and some of us are going to walk around town before we have to be back for a big group dinner.
I take a picture of the stairway on my way out.
We walk towards the water. The first thing we see is a large group of fellow riders seated outdoors at a restaurant, thick bowls of chowder on the picnic bench. These, I'm told, are the Glow Riders, the folks who go out on the towpath at dusk and ride into darkness. I tried that once. Once was enough. We stop to talk to Malcolm, whom I'd only ever corresponded with online, and then we walk on.
The next thing we see is Glen and Martin on their bikes. They've been cruising around town. My bike is still locked on his car rack, Glen tells me.
It sort of looks like Maine, but the rocks are red.
(I didn't know it at the time, but these angular lighthouses are pretty much everywhere on Cape Breton.
We walk back to the road. On the other side is the Alexander Graham Bell estate and museum. In the car, Martin had filled us in, with the help of the Google Lady, on Bell's love of Cape Breton.
The museum is closing in five minutes. We have no interest in going inside anyway. We walk up the driveway, on a hill, to get the view.
We've been told to meet in the hotel parlor before dinner. This is the first time I've seen all 19 of us in one room: me, Heddy, Ginger, Jeff, Lonnie, Glen, Martin, Roger, Tammy, Mike, Linda, Dave G, Dave S, Tommy, Elaine, Frank, Jackie, Malcolm, and Marty.
The guides (there are four: Coady, Tom, Jane, and Sarah) hand us each a folder with a description of each day's ride. The distances and elevations are in kilometers. The profiles look like serrated weapons. There's not a flat section in a single one of them. I'm trying to tamp down my anxiety. It's not working. What does Coady mean by "day bag?" It takes me a few minutes to figure out that my backpack with all my bike stuff in it is my day bag.
They herd us into the dining room. I'd been expecting greasy spoon restaurants and mess halls. We're seated at long, cloth-covered tables with linen napkins. There are appetizers, mains, and desserts. This is how we're going to be fed and housed for five days? It is. Wow.
We're told that we are to leave our suitcases outside of our hotel room doors at a specific time tomorrow morning. Our breakfast will be in the cafe across the street. We will ride at 9:00.
In my room, I set aside tomorrow's bike clothes. I lay a towel on the floor to do PT for my back. I call Jack. I read a few pages from the heavy, hardcover book of Micmac legends I brought with me.
I try to sleep. What if I can't find Glen in the morning because he's already ridden off, and my bike stays locked on his car rack? I've already sent him a text asking him to unlock it before he goes to breakfast. He hasn't anwered. I know he'll see it and do it, but I keep coming back to it. I tell myself that if it's not this, it'll be another thing. It takes me a while to fall asleep and stay there.
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