The Lighthouse Tour of Nova Scotia

By Tom Baker

June 24 - July 2, 2005

Carol and I have done several cross-state bike rides:  Alabama, Virginia, South Carolina and three or four BRAGS (Georgia).  This year Carol made the decision for a departure from the status quo.  Several different groups of our bike buds had favorable reports on Nova Scotia, and thus the choice was unanimous.  We would do the Lighthouse Tour, a seven-day ride around the southern portion of Nova Scotia.

Because we had many house renovation projects this spring, Carol did not get in as many miles prior to the event as we had hoped.  She managed a couple of rides each week since the time change but was not intimidated by the lack of saddle time.  I knew this strong-willed biker would be at least mid-pack within the group of 130--the Lighthouse gang.

Since Carol had managed a couple of free airline tickets via MasterCard, much of the expense was compromised.  Still, the tour’s fee of $480 each was more than double what we were accustomed.  Two high-speed ferry rides from Maine to Nova Scotia were the main reason, with the ride from Portland to Yarmouth being an 11-hour overnighter aboard a casino.  Returning, we would take the ferry from Yarmouth to Bar Harbor, a 3-hour ride.  Unfortunately, the ferry company we were to take the overnighter with went “belly-up,” and thus we wound up being shuttled from the Portland airport to a neat college, a half-mile from the ferry at Bar Harbor (Maine).  Both ferry rides--Maine to Nova Scotia and vice versa--were 3 hours each. 

Our initial flight took us from Chattanooga to Atlanta, where we had only an hour layover before flying to Portland.  I got a kick out of seeing the security force frisk Carol; she thought I looked more the suspicious type than her, but I laughed at such a notion.

Sheila, our shuttle driver, awaited our noon arrival in Portland; and before we knew it, we were on the interstate towards Bar Harbor!  Four others on the trip were also picked up--Washington, DC, Iowa, Illinois and Wisconsin were represented, along with Tennessee.  We drove nearly 70 miles before we found a service station where we could get a bite for lunch; we were in a pretty remote area, since all of us were used to seeing a McDonald’s on every block.  We even saw a “MOOSE CROSSING” sign, and though I rubbed my eyes and scanned the road as if it were Wimbledon, nothing showed.  We did see lovely greenery, including blue spruce and firs.  At about 3:45 PM, we rolled into Bar Harbor.  We quickly registered and got the pink armbands in place, then walked the mile to the Acadia Bike Shop.

On the previous day at home, I had called the bike shop in Bar Harbor to see if our bikes had arrived.  They were sent FedEx via River City Bike Shop in Chattanooga ten days prior.  I was sweating this a bit; a bike tour without your bike would be plenty LAME.  The bikes were found; and when I asked when they arrived, I was told, “Yesterday.”  Gulp!

By now it’s 4:30 PM, and I had to put the bikes together, not as easy a task as it may sound.  The bikes were well-preserved and taped up in Styrofoam to negate the gorilla unloaders they naturally would encounter.  By the time both bikes were road-ready, it was past 6:00 PM.  Carol was reluctant to ride with sandals and no helmet, so we walked the horses back to the campsite.  I could hear them balk; they wanted to run, but I knew we would exercise them well over the next seven days.  Next, we leaned them against a tree near our tent site and erected the blue North Face which was to be our Holiday Inn for the next week!  Larry and Bud from Buffalo, NY, had just finished the same chore, and we invited them to join us for dinner.

We walked the same mile again to town, where we tried the local’s clam chowder and lobster roll.  We saw Don, another tourist with our group from California, still wearing his helmet while eating mussels.  Dedication!

DAY 1 - Yarmouth to Belliveau Cove - 50 Miles

Last night all was not well.  We were introduced to Maine’s scourge of mosquitoes and black flies.  What a menace . . . .  We awoke to a beautiful morning--no dew on the tent even!  We quickly broke it down and dumped it on the Ryder Truck, by now at least the second most famous one in the U.S. (in our opinions).

Dressed in bike attire--shorts and jersey--we waited a bit before loading on the ferry, a huge vessel with room for over 800 people and 275 vehicles (bigger than bikes!).  These ferries are capable of 70 mph, but for our trek of 100 miles, would only go about 35 before slowing noticeably near the destination.  It seems that recently a ferry had swamped a small fishing vessel, and sanctions were imposed for speed.  Evidently, gamblers get quite warm, so the AC was set about 65 degrees on the ferry, and we FROZE!  Several of us went out of the cabin part onto the back end of the ferry--open air--and were soon blowing smoke!  We could only take a few minutes, but it was quite a sight to see the wake we were leaving.  This part of the boat was a SMOKER’S PARADISE.  Walking inside the ferry gave me an early warning of what my life will be like not too far away--it was impossible to walk a straight line without lurching, but no one got sea sick!  We had breakfast on board, and thus were stoked for the 50 miles that lay ahead for us . . . .

Getting off the ferry was relatively easy.  We found our bikes below where we had leaned them--against a wall in the hold that contained over 200 cars, cycles and RV’s.  We didn’t need our birth certificates we had scrounged to embark, and went straight to the MONEY EXCHANGE store where $1.00 US brought $1.18 Canadian, not as good a rate for us as in the past.  Within 200 yards, a Boston lady biker from our group was clipped by a car turning in front of her.  She suffered a broken collarbone but continued with the tour, with her pretzeled wheel always reminding us of the pitfalls of biking.

Within a few miles, we had left Yarmouth and its touristy streets behind.  Our adventure loomed ahead, and we were immediately drawn to the contrasts of Chattanooga.  Our route was N-NE along the coast for 50 miles, and we liked being away from the hustle and bustle of the states--interstates, with fast food shops every hundred feet.  We were definitely in a different world, with less restraints and stress.  Today’s ride would be our easiest, with a tailwind the entire way.  It was like riding bikes without chains!  We felt like Discovery riders!  En route, we saw some neat French-speaking Acadian villages and towering church spires.  Flags were often seen, with nearly as many Acadian as national ones (Canada), as well as provincial (Nova Scotia itself). 

Our trip took us to Belliveau Cove, where we camped next to the ocean.  We were served a spaghetti supper and were treated to a neat mini-concert by two men from the area.  Both were Acadian and performed well on about ten different instruments.  They even recruited “help” from the audience, and I was given a set of spoons to ad lib.  I discovered more rhythm than one would expect from an old white guy!  (We both had to run back to the tent for some serious jackets and pants; we learned quickly that the ocean brings much cooler temps!)  Afterwards, we walked to our first lighthouse along a boardwalk and saw--barely--several who were crabbing nearly a quarter mile away.  (This was low tide.) 

DAY 2 - Belliveau Cove to Annapolis Royal - 52 Miles

Day 2 started with us backtracking a mile to a restaurant for breakfast, where we sat with a man from California who looked exactly like Joe DiMaggio, “Mr. Coffee”!  Within six miles we filled our bottles with cool spring water which was funneled to a pipe adjacent our road.  At ten miles we got off the highway onto a dirt road, where in 3/4 mile we were at Gilbert Cove Lighthouse.  Here we took several neat pictures, both of the recently renovated lighthouse, and of an anchor, massive at 10 feet high!

We were soon back on the road, and at 25 miles we stopped at the Cookie Van, our only sag stop of the day.  Cookies and fruit were soon dispatched, and we were halfway to our destination.  It was a warm, sunny day, and I was glad to have sunscreen on!  We rolled into camp--a high school--and set up the tent in the shade alongside the gym, not far from the baggage truck.  Our neighbors for the night were Brian and Marsha from Maine, riding a tandem.  After cleaning up--done quickly with such a small group--the four of us walked the mile to town and enjoyed a cold brew before a seafood feast.  We were in another coastal town, Annapolis Royal, the loveliest city we saw.  The group managed to return by 8:00 PM, just in time for the t-shirt swap!  I dropped my green 3-state shirt into the mix, and Carol her yellow BRAG shirt.  I was able to spot a pretty orange Bangor Maine shirt; Carol picked up a gray Badgers shirt.  However, when we got back to our tent, we found a vivid blue Maine t-shirt with the advice--“You can’t get there from here”--that Marsha left us.  HOW NICE!!!!!! 

DAY 3 - Annapolis Royal to Middleton - 45 Miles

After putting the gear on the truck this morning, I still needed to zero my computer, a new one I picked up shortly before the trip, which gives temperature, altitude and altitude gained in a day, as well as the usual things.  As I struggled to complete the task, I was attacked by many mosquitoes and black flies.  What a way to start the day!  (We made getting bug spray our top morning priority!!)

Skies were dark as we left town, but the Nova Scotians were not timid with their colors!  Here in the states, most houses (and cars) are the drabbest of whites and grays.  The homes of many Nova Scotians were bright--yellow, electric blue, light green, even orange--with many two-tone and three-tone homes!

By three miles, we were staring at a sure’nuff mountain climb, a 6-8% pull of about a mile!  Many walked this stretch, but Carol would rather have her fingernails removed than push!  We earned several long descents over some poor roads, askew with potholes galore.  Along the way, we took several picturesque shots of the countryside and ocean--some real Kodak moments.

The highlight of the day was the rest stop.  For this tour, we only had one per day; this one came at 33 miles and was by an ocean side picnic table.  While we munched cookies and treats, wishing we were dressed warmly but freezing instead, we were fortunate enough to spot four SEALS playing off a small island only 100 yards from us!  As we were leaving, two cyclists approached us, going in the opposite direction.  They had been out a week and had another week remaining in their trip through Canada.  They were fully loaded and looked pretty serious!   

Today’s route was short--only 45 miles today--and we were at the White Cottage Motel in Middleton before long.  The hot field we pitched our tent did not compare to the lush shady area that our newfound friend from Washington, DC, Ray, chose.  He unloaded his gear prior to the downhill, which dumped us onto the hot field.

Again, we walked a mile to supper and ate with the woman who broke her collarbone and her companion.  The restaurant was bustling; they didn’t know the tour was coming there.  What if this were BRAG??  After supper, we were soon in the tent, as mosquitoes were rampant, and there was no place to hide.

DAY 4 - Middleton to Bridgewater - 59 miles

Today we traveled southeast, and the helping wind we had the first day was replaced with--you guessed it--a monster headwind.  When we approached only a mildly angled road--say 3% or less--I told Carol to change to her granny gear (like I had done).  “But the road’s not very steep,” she said.  “Yes, but we’re only going 6 mph”!  Soon both of us were dancing on Granny.

We saw a lot of riders pushing up hills today, as this ride gave us both a lot of respect for the terrain and weather conditions for Nova Scotia.  Before I forget, the prettiest sight abundantly seen each day were the lupins, beautiful pink, purple, white and yellow flowers that grow wild along the countryside.  It’s everywhere and always breathtaking.

We get to Bridgewater, our largest town (but smaller than Fort Oglethorpe), and TENT CITY is along the La Have River.  Carol and I set up housekeeping along the western perimeter, and afterwards, I jumped in the river to cool off.  Not to worry; it felt like I had fallen in a huge SLUSHY, and I soon was back to normal.  It was at this site that we met Yvonne, Debbie and Paul from the Catskill area.  Paul had a Mondonico bike, an Italian racer like one I had a while back.  They were all from New York and lived within five miles of each other, each from different towns.  We went to dinner at an Indian restaurant; and to my surprise, I enjoyed it a bunch!  (We all had seafood!)  It was here that we met Iris, an older biker who had her tent, pedals and seat (she would rent a bike at Yarmouth) “lost” by the airlines.  The tour group let her use Camp Tel, whereby her tent was set up and taken down each day.  (This service cost about $200 for those who subscribed for the week.)  This worked well for her until the last night, when the heavy rains caused many “happy campers” to head indoors.)  Bridgewater was a good site to stay, although some of their excitable youth buzzed the campsite, hollering and horn blowing during the night--always predictable.  Debbie invited us to their party and shared her Amaruella, a fruit-concocted alcoholic beverage that was absolutely the best stuff made!  What a sweet kid, that Debbie!

DAY 5 - Bridgewater to Liverpool - 64 Miles

Our fifth day started under some threatening skies, but nothing serious, just a bit misty at times.  We made Mahone Bay at ten miles, and saw some cute shops, as well as the finest homes seen on tour.  Here we are but 30 miles west of Halifax, but head south towards Lunenburg. 

Six miles from Mahone Bay is Lunenberg, another port city famous for shipbuilding over a century ago.  One large clipper is still used to carry tourists on whale sighting trips, Blue Nose II, and a crew of about ten were cleaning it when we went by.  Lunenburg was a nice waterfront city with many shops begging to be browsed.  Unfortunately, this was a 64-miles day and rain was eminent, so we soon moved on. 

At Rose Bay--or was it East LaHave(?)--we stopped just as the rains began.  While there, a black woman asks us who is from Chattanooga--she had spied our bike tags--and said she was from there, but lived in Philadelphia now.  Some of the billboards had mentioned that the area was famous as a refuge for American slaves around the time of the revolution, so maybe they were touring some of the historical sites.  We skipped several museums, opting to continue towards our destination, lest more severe rains come.  Within another ten miles, we were once again at the LaHave River, this time at the mouth.  It was much wider here, as it soon emptied into the Atlantic.  As we were riding along the river, we noticed a group of bikers cueing up to the end of a cable ferry.  A sign said that the ferry departs on the quarter and three-quarter hour, and we stopped with the others.  Had we not taken the ferry, we could have ridden along the river back to Bridgewater, then crossed at a much narrower spot--adjacent where we camped--and continued on to the other side of the cable ferry, adding about 15 miles to the adventure.  As our plates were full, we waited for the ferry, and were rewarded by talking with an interesting family of bikers, touring from Montreal.  A young man and his girlfriend, along with his mom and dad--45ish--and a preteen son.  The older boy was the spokesman for the group (although they all spoke to us), and he said that the previous year, he and his girlfriend had logged 4000 miles touring, with a trip to Europe tossed in.  We suspected that the group was well entertained, as he even carried a guitar case atop his rear panniers!  They were Acadians--French speaking--and I asked him if they were subject to prejudices from others.  As I suspected, he said yes, although I imagine both sides share the sentiments and jealousies that evidently exist between the two groups.  The cable ferry was in no way similar to the CAT, the high speed vessel we rode to get to Nova Scotia.  This one took about ten minutes to cross the river, slow but sure, carrying 8 cars plus about 15 bikers.  Capacity appeared to be 25 cars.  When we touched land again, the Acadian preteen took off his shirt, and they rode on.  (It was still a bit cool for this landlubber.)  Only three miles later, we were at the door of the LaHave Bakery in West LaHave; East LaHave was across the river.  We had been programmed to check this place out and were not disappointed.  Carol and I had a large piece of pizza and a cookie, but they also had all kinds of breads for sale.  I thought we were in Paris!  Twenty miles later we were ready for the sag stop at Broad Cove, 17 miles from our destination.  Today, we had watermelon!  Soon we were at the school campsite in Liverpool, showered up and on our way back to town for supper.  After a few false reports, we opted for a fine restaurant across the bridge and were joined by Debbie, Paul and Yvonne.  We had been brave and delayed putting up the tents until after supper--it didn’t appear to threaten rain, and was pretty warm when we got off our horses.  Soon we were in la-la land . . . .

DAY 6 - Liverpool to Barrington - 67 Miles - “Cats and Dogs” (nearly) all day!

During the night it rained, but stopped sprinkling when we got up to break camp, thank goodness.  Putting away wet bed items--sleeping bag, clothes, etc.--is a very depressing thing to do.  We hoped for the best for the day’s ride, but, alas, we had already had five good days prior.  The odds were stacked against us . . . .  (In last year’s Lighthouse Tour, people who did it told us it was foggy each day, and they had NO IDEA where they went!)

The route we were on had no breakfast stop.  We could have gone backwards into town, but the idea of backtracking in the rain was demoralizing.  We stopped at a convenience store for coffee and Gatorade, then trudged on.  Most riders--the ones who actually started today (many didn’t)--were in front of us as the water began falling more “abundantly.”  It is quite discouraging to ride in the rain ALONE, and as I stole a peek of my bride, bravely trudging on in this muck, I could not tell if it was rain or tears on her cheeks that I saw.  She was silent but continued to press the pedals.

Before long, we caught up with other riders.  Misery does indeed love company!  Thus fortified, we rode even as the skies were pouring their contents on us, and although we had rain jackets on, neither of us had been keen enough to wear tights or rain pants.  It was quite cold--throughout the day, the two thermometers I had stayed steady--from 62 at the start to 59 when we arrived at Barrington.  CHILL FACTOR is indeed real!  After about four or five miles, we finally came to a gas station where we downed the last of their coffee, along with a Twinkie for breakfast.  In ten minutes we felt almost human again, when in comes three lady tourists, 30-ish, out of the rain.  I almost was feeling guilty for drinking the last of the hot coffee, when one of them--Lenoir from IOWA--asks if they have any ICE.  Instantly I assume she’s joking, but she indeed proceeds to get a BAG and empty the contents into her rack trunk!  It was 9:00 AM, and they were chugging beer for breakfast!

It unnerved us so much that we soon left and really got cold before our body heaters started working again.  In four miles we were at the beach, stopping to walk and take pictures.  The rain was light, but skies foretold the end was not near . . . .

Carol’s spirits were up, but when we came upon one of our SAG vans loading up a “drowned rat” who was throwing in the towel, I feared I may be riding by myself soon.  NOT TO WORRY; she wasn’t tempted and we were “on-on” towards Barrington, rain notwithstanding.

At 26 miles we finally came up on another gas station and were about to refuel the depleted Twinkies, when the attendant told us of a restaurant across the street.  We thanked him and said adieu, the only French word we knew.

Inside the restaurant were no less than 30 wet bikers--nearly a quarter of our entire peleton!  We were fortunate to get a table with Ray and another guy, and our order of breakfast was soon on the table.  Before it came, we squeezed out our socks, an exercise in futility for this day!  Although it was 10:30 AM, the eggs and coffee were great!  We left just after the water was shut off in the restrooms--what luck for bikers!

In ten miles we managed to reach the sag stop and stocked up for the remaining 30 miles of the ride.  Because of the rain--now only a sprinkle or nothing--we bypassed Shelburne, another historic waterfront port.  The only noteworthy items of interest the rest of the way to Barrington were the four porcupines we saw on the highway--all in our native possum pose, d-e-a-d. We all knew not to run over even a deceased porcupine, bikers being such intelligent critters!

As we made our final approach into Barrington, some fog was seen along the bay, while the temperature, 59, was the coolest we’d seen all day.  The clouds were gray, but rain had stopped, and we were eager to set up our tent while it was (somewhat) dry.  Many would opt to sleep indoors on the curling rink; others had checked into motels.  The talk from the sag drivers was that 20 or so had abandoned or not started the ride today, including a couple on a tandem, who called a taxi to take them--and their long horse--back to Liverpool to a motel for the day.  We felt like true pioneers as we set up our tent across from the rink tonight.  (Oh, there also was an ice hockey rink across from the curling rink--two things I had never seen.)

Satisfied that we would be dry in our tent, we showered in the rink and mingled with others as we awaited our supreme group meal--lobster or steak.  Carol and I were entertained by a 30-ish Vermont lady, Paula, who worked for King Arthur.  For those of you who don’t get the connection, it is a flour company.  She actually makes a living going around the country and giving lectures to school kids about how to make bread!  She also told us about how maple syrup was harvested.

Before long, we were lining up for supper.  Only about five people chose steaks; none of the group around us.  While most were ecstatic about lobster, I have probably had my last serving.  The claws were good, though, and some folks were actually eating the entire bodies of the hapless creatures!  Gross!  Ice cream next was a good diversion from all the cracking and spraying we all inflicted on ourselves and neighbors.  The night was yet young . . . .

Next we were treated by a lesson on curling by four guys who professed to play on several leagues, with maybe three games a week!  We all learned a lot, although I wish the rink had been iced so we could have seen it played.  One thing’s for sure--they  were very serious about it!

The rest of the evening we listened to some real entertainment--a band with a crackerjack lady singer, Lynne Crowell.  She sang medlies of Elvis, the Beatles and other rock-n-roll stars, so we were in hog heaven.  She later performed by herself, and we were so enthralled that we bought two of her CD’s.  (They’re great!)

DAY 7 - Barrington to Yarmouth - 54 Miles

This was our last day, and we savored every moment before riding.  We were treated to breakfast at the curling rink, where we were able to put all our gear in duffels, thus avoiding any chance of getting more water into the bags.  Our dirty clothes were entrenched in a huge trash bag, and were getting quite bulky--and rank--by this time.  We dumped the bags--two large duffels and four smaller bags--on the truck, and we were on our way!  We were going to ride to Yarmouth High School, home of the Vikings, and would stay there overnight, taking the ferry to Bar Harbor, Maine, the next morning.  Today we rode north into a bit of wind, reminding us how lucky we were on the first day’s ride.  The rain held back today, and we were once again in Yarmouth by 2:30 PM.  Highlight of the day was a toilet next to someone’s mailbox, with a sign over it saying “Junk Mail.”

We quickly put our tent and other key items--towels, jackets, etc.--on the fence of the soccer field where we would stay, and the wind held them there with no need for pins.  They were soon dry!  We were joined by Bob, whom we had ridden with a few days earlier.   He was from near Albany, New York, and told us about his job at one of the private islands off Georgia.  His duties included guiding hunters and birdwatchers and also cooking and entertaining some pretty important folks, such as President Carter.  He actually obtained the position when his predecessor shotgunned to death a poacher on the island!  Needless to say, our biker friend had no rebellious incidents to report under his charge!

The small port city of Yarmouth had more than its share of fine restaurants, and after getting our granddaughters some neat t-shirts, took a seat on the deck of one, joining the Three Musketeers--Paul, Debbie and Yvonne.  Before dinner was over, ocean breezes began to cause the deck to become vacant--except for us.  It was quite cool, but Debbie let me use her jacket to wrap my legs in for a while.  (The three beer samplers she ordered got her warm enough to withstand the chill.)  We had a good view of the bay, including a nearby island which was filled with seabirds--a perfect picture for National Geographic--and the only thing possibly missing was a whale spouting in the foreground!

Carol and I walked the mile to the campsite with purpose--rain was imminent!  The gym took in many campers, tired of the hassle of erecting tents and then dodging raindrops.  Sleep came soon for the Bakers, but we were awakened off and on during the night by wind and rain.

DAY 8 - Yarmouth to Bar Harbor - 100 Miles

Not to worry; this century was performed by the tireless ferry.  The rains had stopped by morning, but skies still looked threatening.  I took the mattresses and tent inside and folded them up for their last journey.  Some of our compatriots were complaining that during the night, winds played havoc with their Camp Tel tents, allowing puddles inside--not a fun situation.  More bad news followed when a lady triathlete in our group said her new TREK was stolen during the night.  HORRORS!  Most of us simply lean our bikes near our tents; few lock them up.

Breakfast was at no doubt the best morning restaurant in Yarmouth, and we had the most interesting conversation with a local CPA of about 67.  His wife of nearly 50 years is a nurse--(she wasn’t there)--and he had been a teacher before going into accounting.  He helped inform us of the history and everyday life for the Canucks nearly.  We walked back to the school campsite to pick up our steeds, then rolled to Subway (the only fast food chain store I remember seeing in Nova Scotia) for a sandwich to take aboard the ferry.  This time we were prepared--in our bags we carried long pants and a jacket for the three-hour ride.

We all waited at the dock a long time before we were allowed to board.  Carol and I managed to secure a table next to a window, POSH indeed.  This time we were all experienced tourists; most didn’t even giggle when walking zigzag along the inner corridors.  (Maybe we were just too tired.)

By the time we arrived at Bar Harbor, blue skies had replaced the dismal gray of the Canadian shores.  Again we had to wait before leaving the ferry port, and the sun showed no mercy.  We were about 3/4 mile from the college where our gear was sent, and due to the unrelenting traffic on the road, all of us walked the sidewalk back.  When we finally managed to pick our six bags from the others, it was time to box up the bikes for shipment home.  The ride to the bike shop took only a few minutes, but the road was choked with cars.  At the shop, another tour group of cyclists was renting their bikes and getting ready to start their adventure.  Soon I found our two bike boxes, with all the needed Styrofoam padding enclosed.  With the loan of several key wrenches, a box cutter and some tape, I quickly began the process of preparing the bikes for shipment.  It’s not a difficult task, but it does take time.  After this task was complete, Sheila again would be our shuttle to Portland to the Super 8 motel.  There were a few others doing the same thing, but since I had two bikes to break down, the stress level was pretty high.  Everybody was ready to get on the road.

Before long we had them boxed away and ready for the FedEx trip home.  It was nearly 6:00 PM when we all boarded the van--six of us who were flying out of Portland the next day, Sunday.  Three were from Loveland, Colorado, near where I had lived--Colorado Springs--when I was in the Air Force, and we had a nice talk about skiing and other activities in Colorado, a great place to live.  We had our second Subway of the day en route, and by 10:00 PM were checking in to the motel.

First order of business was to take the tent from the sack, and drape it all over the room to dry.  Neither of us watched the late show . . . .

DAY 9 - Portland to Chattanooga

The ninth day was actually the 10^th day we had been on tour, counting the Friday we flew to Portland to start the journey.  The motel attendant had her hands full, shuttling all the bikers--the motel was three miles from the airport, and we all had different departure times.  It didn’t take long for us to fly from Portland to Cincinnati, and then to Chattanooga.  When we were met at the airport by Jenny, Aaron, Emily and Lauren, we had some stories to tell . . . .

Our “vacation” covered 400 miles.

EPILOG

Completing a long trip such as the Lighthouse Tour is similar to completing your first marathon or century.  All the training and preliminary plans for the big event, and poof, when it’s over, it’s O-V-E-R!  Part of us was tired and welcomed the rest, but part of us was sad that it was over--which is why we can’t wait to do another tour next year.  Being in a foreign country was a treat.  We were in love with the area--the quaintness, the (obvious) courage of the people to not only live there in the extreme weather during wintertime, but to make a living also!  We adored their individualistic taste for designing and painting their homes, and the lack of politics dominating life among them left me envious.  Carol and I both thought our conversations with Canadians was a highlight of the trip.  Also, with a small tour of 130, it’s quite easy to get to know many of the characters on the trip, and that’s a huge plus.  There were NO waits for showers or food, which makes for happy campers.  We will never forget the countless lupins we saw.  On our next trip, we need to locate more of the 32 lighthouses en route; we managed to visit only two!  If you’re a biker, put a tour of Nova Scotia in your mind.  Just don’t forget the mosquito spray!!

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