So in deciding what to do about Hurricane Dorian and having read about the ferry delays to Newfoundland, not to mention the torrential rain they're expecting in Nova Scotia, I decided to use those things as an excuse to explore a bit of New Brunswick and headed north from St. George and away from the coast. It was bit frustrating to have ridden all the way to Nova Scotia and have a freak hurricane arrive a day later. But then again, that’s what makes life an adventure right?
I set my sights on Edmunston, NB as the rain forecast showed it to be on the outskirts of the heaviest projected rain. In most cases, my motorcycle has to endure the elements outside each day and night, and not knowing how bad the winds and rain might be, I didn’t want to have it sitting in tropical storm winds and rain for a couple of days. My alternative was to try and find a large hotel in a city with underground parking, but the idea of being stuck there without power for a couple of days didn’t appeal to me.
Another spectacularly beautiful crisp and clear day found me on roads and highways with almost no cars for long periods of time. One thing I can say, is that New Brunswick does not lack for forest land. I rode for hours through tree lined roads so thick you couldn't see into the vegetation. Very rarely would I see a house or habitation and the little villages were few and far between, as were gas stations. I had half a tank of gas in the big GSA which would've gotten me anywhere I needed to go, but I try to top off out of habit.
Other motorcycles are few and far between here and I've yet to see another adventure bike. Mostly they seem to be Harleys owned by locals but today I saw a couple of other bikes going the opposite direction on one of the main highways. I've also noticed since I've been in Maine and Canada that maybe 1 in 10 riders will wave, pretty much the reverse of other places.
I stopped briefly in one little community to fiddle with the GPS, and a lone car pulled up to park next to me. The driver, a lady, walked up and smiled and said "I bet you don't even know what day of the week it is..." I chuckled because I didn't and told her so. She laughed out loud then slapped me on the back and went into the little store. On the way out she came back over and said "Oh by the way it's Friday!" with a laugh and a wave.
Though I've only been in Canada a short time, I've really enjoyed the friendliness of most of the people I've met and get into conversations at almost any stop.
Aside from wanting to fill up with gas, I needed to get some Canadian pesos at an ATM. The map showed that I was not too far from the city of Fredericton. Since I was having no luck finding fuel or an ATM, visiting the large town seemed like the best solution.
Fredericton provided both, along with getting stuck in a morass of stop and go traffic. I like to tool through the downtown sections of a lot of these towns, but this town was packed with traffic, made worse by road construction. By the time I found an ATM, had ridden through downtown and gotten gas, I felt like I had been spanked.
I continued riding north and checking out towns, as well as the changing landscape, until I reached Edmunston and decided to grab a coffee and Google a hotel. I spotted a McDonald's and when I walked up to the counter, the girl spoke to me in French at a blistering speed. Being the experienced world traveler that I am, I panicked and responded in the awful Spanish I had learned for South America.
She had mercy on me and spoke to me in English, but I realized that Toto and I were no longer in Texas. I squeezed out a "merci", trying to make it sound French but sounding instead of like a terrible impersonation of Peter Sellers’ Inspector Clouseau character. I figured I had traveled far enough from the projected rainy coast at this point and found a small hotel for the night.
The following day was as projected, overcast and rainy, but thankfully not heavy tropical storm rains. I spent the day alternating between the small dark hotel room and standing out on the porch watching the rains.
It was a tit bit nipply the next morning when I headed out on the bike after my coffee at the nearby Tim Horton's. The area had only gotten a dusting of rain the previous day, missing the wide bands of wind and rain from Dorian. Further south, Nova Scotia had some major power outages affecting almost 500,000 people and southern New Brunswick was not much better according to the outage maps. I decided rather than go south to the affected area, I’d head east for the New Brunswick coast where the hurricane had not impacted the area as badly.
The French couple who ran the motel I’d stayed in said they felt sorry for me having to ride in cold weather, but it was in the low to mid 40s which isn't too bad… at least for a while.
As I motored east, it was apparent the rain was only a bit ahead of me since the roads were still wet in most areas. The temperatures seemed to hover between 46 and 50, with the dampness and constant 70 mph speeds slowly bringing a bit of chill as I cruised through the endless forest land. The road rose and fell some, climbing slightly higher and giving some vistas across the landscape. Here and there along the way, fall colors were beginning to appear, a random group of red leaves occasionally and a slight yellowing of much of the greenery. The skies remained dark and grey, with a lot of dark cloud features. Strong gusts of wind pushed the bike randomly while the trees and roadside grasses seemed to remain in a constant state of gentle chaos. The remains of hurricane Dorian were rumbling along in front of me just a few hours ahead, leaving a trail of tossing wind and boiling clouds.
Three hours on the bike seemed to pass more quickly than usual, but by the time I rolled into Bathurst I was ready for a bit of warmth. Bathurst sits right on the coast, and the winds there were even stronger. I spotted a Tim Horton's and pulled in, going inside to warm up with a cup of hot coffee. For those unfamiliar with the chain, it would be the love child of Dunkin' Donuts and McDonald's. Coffee and breakfast sandwiches, as well as a case of pastries and donuts. A couple of the French gentleman having coffee were curious about the motorcycle and where I was from, chatting with me in English a bit before wishing me well. As has been the case since my arrival, everywhere I go, whether English or French-speaking, the people have been extremely friendly.
My goal for the day was the town of Caraquet since it sat on smaller roads out on the peninsula, and was on the way to the Miscou Island Lighthouse. The local road following the coastline towards the town was enjoyable. The wind off the white-capped bay kept the bike busy. I enjoyed seeing the old structures along the roadside and I truly enjoyed the feeling that I was in a different place. In one stretch of the road next to the water, there were some areas of debris and gravel, which appeared to have come over the granite rock sea wall at some point during the storm, but it was relatively minor.
The winds remained high, and the water along the shoreline was a muddy red. Here and there along the roadway, along with old large barns and other structures, were little white churches that matched the little white frame houses dotting the roadside.
I arrived in the town of Caraquet, called the “capital” of the Acadian French region, after riding some of the smaller roads to other villages. One has no doubt that you are in the French part of Canada, and I'm certainly glad that they are nice about speaking English. I found it interesting to be in the center of the Acadian French area, because my family roots are French from southern Louisiana... However my family came directly from France rather than from the Acadian region, so I cannot claim “Cajun” roots despite all my relatives living in the Cajun region and sounding exactly like them For those unfamiliar, after the French Indian war, the British expelled most of the French from New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, and Nova Scotia which was known as Acadia. A large group went to Louisiana and became known as "Cajuns", a morphing of the word “Acadians”, while others were sent to differing areas in the world. Some of the French escaped north and settled in the area around Caraquet, where the British left them alone for the most part. Thus, the area around Caraquet becoming known as the center of the Acadians.
The pride here is tangible, with the Acadian flag ubiquitous in the area.
It was a good day and I was happy to be on the coastline. Tomorrow’s plans are for going out to the Miscou lighthouse and then probably heading south towards Nova Scotia.