It is widely known that I have an attraction to northeast Canada. My three primary reasons to go there are: the favorable exchange rate for the US dollar, the great scenery, and the wonderful people. Unfortunately, the US dollar has steadily lost footing against the Loon over the last two years. Thus, I was already leaving for the journey with one strike against me. The effect was compounded by the price of Canadian gasoline hovering around $4.00 USD per gallon.

In June, the Canadian Maritimes are not always “merry times” weather-wise. The tradeoff for the dreary weather is the ideal motorcycling temperatures this time of year there. However, the six days of rain had essentially robbed me of 46% of my trip. Strike two. Despite the weak dollar and worse weather, every person I met along the way was fantastic. This made the trek enjoyable and memorable, and provided me with the energy to keep slogging along from town to town through the depressing rain.

As usual, I’m a bit of a scatterbrain before a long motorcycle trip. I decided to use the smaller Pelican 1520 cases for this trip over the 1550s that I took to Labrador. Because I was traveling solo, I packed more food that usual, and my first-aid kit and spare parts case were more comprehensive. This left me with less room for my other items and it took me a while to get my ‘system’ developed for this trip. Rather than randomly tossing everything onto the bike and dealing with organizing it on the road, I decided to leave a day and a half (instead of my usual three hours) late in order to have all my gear in good order. I still managed to have my mess kit, mini lantern and hobo knife escape from the packing process, but these were inconsequential items.

I left on June 7 at 1:00PM. The weather was sunny and around 80F. Within the first 30 miles, it had turned dark, and 20 miles after that it had begun to rain and the temperature dropped at least 15 degrees. I was a bit groggy from over sleeping and this change in weather made it worse, thus slowing my progress. I found myself stopping at a gas station every 90 miles or so for a coffee to fight off my acute narcolepsy, and I’d buy fuel while I was there.

Although I wasn’t making good time, I did manage to stay alert enough to press on steady like The Tortoise and drive straight through the night. After several hundred miles of steady rain, I discovered that my First Gear HT Overpants weren’t as waterproof as I originally thought. Sure, they were fine for my 35-mile commute in thunderstorms, but prolonged exposure to the elements revealed their ultimate transparency to water. My Olympia jacket did much better and the waterproof, breathable membrane hadn’t let in a single drop. Surprisingly, what I thought would surely leak, the waterproof zippers on the vents, held out every bit of moisture. But, after the 600 + mile ride on the first day, I found a moist yoke of fabric around my neck to the top 6 inches of my chest. This led to what I call, “wet dog syndrome,” the kind of chill that sends an occasional shivering pulse from your neck to your tailbone. I think the chin curtain of my Schuberth Concept helmet may have actually contributed to the funneling of droplets into the jacket’s collar. If anything was left dry after the ride, it was my feet, which were kept mercifully happy by my Oxtar Infinity GoreTex boots.

At 5:00AM the morning after my departure from home, I arrived at the LL Bean flagship store in Freeport, ME. Fully aware that they’re open 24/7, I made this my target destination for my first day of riding. After I bought a pair of olive denim jeans from the sale rack, I discreetly crawled into a demonstrator tent in the parking lot for some sleep in my damp gear. I slept soundly for about two hours, but awoke shivering, so I went back in the store to dry off everything. I undressed in the men’s restroom and proceeded to use the electric hand dryer to restore all of my clothes. I must have pressed the button 1,000 times. Afterwards, I crawled into a demonstrator tent in the camping department of the store. This one was luxurious compared to the leaky, storm-tossed tent in the parking lot. It was huge and had a double-layer inflatable mattress and sleeping bag inside. I immediately got comfortable and tested the waters by feigning sleep. The staff was aware of my situation, so they didn’t seem to care that I was napping there, so I allowed myself slip into a deep sleep. Two hours later, I awoke to the voices of customers saying, “Hey, check this guy out!” I was well rested, and after looking at my watch, I realized it was time to haul out of there because I didn’t want to miss the 16:00 ferry (“The Cat”) out of Bar Harbor to Yarmouth, NS.

I was told the drive from Freeport to Bar Harbor would be about 3 hours, no matter which of three popular routes I took. It was approaching noon, but even with my one hour buffer, I certainly didn’t want to risk being late. Missing the 16:00 ferry on a Thursday meant having to ride around the Bay of Fundy because The Cat would be running from Portland for the next two or three days. So, I rode like the wind, or as much as my loaded bike’s brick-like aerodynamics would allow.

With only one short fuel stop as a distraction, I arrived at 3:00PM at the ferry dock and promptly lined up for my boarding pass. Shortly after parking in the staging area, a BMW 1150GS rider pulled up and parked behind my bike. Tom and Bridget were from the UK and were riding two-up on their eastern US tour. They were on their way to Halifax to ship themselves back to England and the bike to Ireland for a later tour there. They were nice folks and during the ferry transit, we chatted over coffee for an hour before taking naps for the remainder of the three hour passage.

We said our goodbyes and disembarked the boat in Yarmouth a little after 7:00PM. Clearing customs was painless, although it was the first time in hundreds of crossings to Canada that I had to display more than just my driver’s license. My first task was to go to the welcome center just a block away from the dock. There, I received fresh maps and a helpful tip on a youth hostel. Because I have quality camp gear, I’m usually reluctant to pay for indoor lodging. One of my goals of motorcycle adventure touring is to keep it on the cheap. Tonight was one instance where I welcomed the opportunity to dry out some items indoors because I had neglected to use the raincover on my Wolfman Explorer tank bag. I forgot the name of the hostel, but I recall it was on the corner of Trinity St. There was one bunk left in a 4-bunk dorm room for $24.00. Not happening. The only other space available was the largest room in the house, with a double bed for $48.00. By this time, it was around 9:30PM, and after some negotiation, we settled on $35.00 for the night with free internet. The large room allowed me to really spread out and get everything bone dry. There where two large, clean bathrooms with good showers, and the place had a quant atmosphere. The next morning, I made coffee and had an 8 oz. canned ham for breakfast in the little dedicated eat-in kitchen. After my shower, I had a short chat with a hiker gal from New Zealand, who helped me carry gear to my bike. By 11:00AM, I was refreshed, packed and on the road.

Once I get more than 10 miles from the US border, my cell phone becomes useless. I discovered this on my previous trip to Labrador. Before progressing any deeper into the country, I went to the mall to check out my options on a Canadian prepaid cell phone. They all kinda suck, but the Virgin Wireless seemed to suck the least, so I went with a $60 phone, which came with $10 of talk time, and I eventually purchased another $25 card, which more than lasted the trip. The service worked great, but the part that sucked was the additional long distance land line fee of 25 cents per minute for any call outside your local area. I really only got this phone for short calls anyway, and it was still cheaper than a pay phone or collect calling. Its convenience was unparalleled and the phone functioned everywhere there was cell service. Upon picking up the phone, I went to the library and got on the internet to activate it and to check my email.

When I departed Yarmouth, I had a short, 2-hour gap of sunshine, so I initially made the ride to Halifax on twisty backroads and some “multiuse trails”. On one of these trails, I startled three helmetless kids piled high atop an ATV. As the weather began to close in again, I got serious and hopped on the main highway. In Port Mouton, I stopped at a diner called The Seascape Restaurant. They advertised that they had terrific fish & chips. While it was indeed excellent and at a good price, I'll later find out that it's not even close to being the best. As I neared my destination for the night, I received the non-stop pelting of large raindrops. The only benefit was that it helped to wash the dried bug juice from my visor. In the short distances where the rain subsided, I experienced 200-foot (or less) visibility fog. I safely arrived on the edge of Halifax around 9:00PM and my first stop was for fuel, a whiz, and a phone call to a KLR650 Yahoo group member who lives across the bay in Dartmouth. The guy on the other end of the phone was Joe T. We were trying to get a plan together for a possible meet and maybe even a trail ride for the next day. For tonight, he gave me some advice on the local bar scene and directions to the downtown area.

When I was done conducting all of my business at the Esso station, I noticed that my bike was becoming a bit of a curiosity. First, this guy who smelled like he went swimming in a dumpster full of trash and bourbon, walked up to me and asked me where I’m from and where I’m going. He then instantly transformed himself into a walking tourism kiosk, telling me of great trails, free places to camp, what bars to go to, and which ones to avoid. The weird thing was that as buzzed as he obviously was, he was strangely coherent and all of his advice and stories seemed to add up. He told me that he used to be a successful engineer, but he went a little crazy and left the rat race. Now he picks bottles and cans for a living, and he lives under a tarp in the woods just outside of town for the summer. Sure, he might be some Howard Hughes type, but I think more than likely he banged the boss’s wife or something and got canned. At any rate, he was a friendly and interesting fellow. After the Bag Man strolled off, the son of the gas station owner pulled up in his car to check on the operations there. He was interested in my bike and began to tell me of his ATV trips on the remote blocks of land that his dad owns in this and other provinces. He also gave me the most tangible directions to downtown.

The downtown bar scene was only a 5 minute ride away. My friend, Garrett from back home, told me that he hangs out at the Granite Brewery when he’s up there, so that’s where I went first. As I arrived at the bar rows of Barrington and Argyle Streets, I was stunned to see how many homeless people there were living in doorways of businesses that were closed for the night. More alarmingly, my bike seemed to be a magnet for them. Some approached me with crazy rants; others asked me for money and still others gave me strange looks as if they coveted the things on my bike. I began to be concerned for my bike’s security, and I remounted it and circled the blocks a few times until an ideal, visible parking space opened up in front of the brew pub. I walked in at 11:00PM and just missed the live music. I ordered the in-house red, and a couple folks struck up a conversation with me. Eventually, a group of 7 people invited me to sit at their cluster of tables. The beer is expensive there and most of them ran out of money around 2:00AM, so we disbanded.

My next stop was The Palace dance club, three blocks up the hill. Not sure how long I’d want to stay, I tried to dodge the $5.00 cover with no luck. The appeal of the college-age hotties on the back porch was all it took for me to return to the door and cough up a Loonie and a pair of Twonies. Shortly after entry, I ran into a few girls who thought my cycle gear was cool. They passed around my helmet, donned it and took pictures with me. We danced to the live sound of a great 80’s cover band until the place closed at 3:30AM and went our separate ways. At this point, I had the munchies and headed over to a part of town called Pizza Corner, which has competing pizza/sub/donair shops all clumped together at the same intersection. I got a tasty, overstuffed donair with the works for $5.00. A donair is similar to a gyro, and definitely satisfies my booze-induced hunger.

When my watch clicked 4:00AM, I wasn’t quite ready for sleep, so I got a tip on an after hours club on Spring Garden St. Here, I managed to sidestep the $12.00 cover by saying I was part of the travel media and asking if they’d let me in as a courtesy. It was a dingy basement pad that had a free coat check, great light show and intense music. They couldn’t serve alcohol this late at night, but there was enough ecstasy to go around for everyone. I didn’t partake in that activity; I just enjoyed the sights and sounds while chatting with the coat check babe. When 6:30AM came, I was ready for some sleep. As I left, people were still headed into the place.

I hopped on my bike and took a short ride to find a discreet location to grab a few hours of sleep. An in-town location always has to meet a few criteria. First, it needs to be out of the way so the Man won’t come and poke me with his night stick and tell me to move along. Next, I need to remain close to my bike for its security. Lastly, and probably most importantly, it needs to be close to a public crapper. During this process, I had a 20-minute distraction at the Nova Scotia Casino. After three bets and losing $10.00 at the roulette table, I got back on task. By 7:00AM, I found a loading dock at a defunct business next door to a Tim Hortons on the far end of Barrington St. The loading dock was piled with crates and provided a shield from view. My bike slid nicely between the dock and a brick wall, which was overgrown with tall weeds. I unrolled my tent’s footprint for use as a mat, reclined in full gear and quickly nodded off to sleep in the steady wind and rain.

Two hours later, I was rudely awakened by the sound of air brakes. A garbage truck had parked behind the loading dock and the workers were going to Tim Hortons for a break. I was a little cold, so that was my cue to follow them inside the donut shop.

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