Yarmouth, Nova Scotia
As might be expected, I was overjoyed when Peggy offered
me a place to crash, but, like most good things, it didn’t
come cheap. The girls couldn’t add me to their small car, which
already had to carry the girl’s bikes, so I had to bike back to their
place. It was down the mountain and back over the twenty hills I had
already traversed. I had to bike all the way back to the little town
of Southwest. Upon arrival, I was greeted warmly, though. At first, I
thought it was because I was carrying a six-pack of beer, but I soon
found out that Peggy didn’t drink. Poor me, I had to drink it all.
I was up at 4 a.m. I had to bike twenty miles to get to where I had
planned to catch the ferry for Nova Scotia. It was pouring rain
outside. Peggy offered to drive me into Bar Harbor. I agreed, but
nothing could have dampened my spirits on that morning!
All day long I felt like I was pushing my luck. It was fog and rain
the whole ferry ride over to Nova Scotia, but when I arrived, the sun
slipped out of the clouds. It felt great, and on top of that, I had
achieved my goal, which was to bicycle the entire Atlantic coastline.
In Yarmouth, where the ferry docked, I found an old sea captain’s
city. I half expected to see bandanaed pirates brandishing swords, or
swashbuckling seafarers with shouldered duffle bags. If I would have
had the time to belly up to one of the bars, I probably wouldn’t have
been disappointed; instead, I had to prepare for rain. From Yarmouth I
could go east, up the Arcadian side of the island, or west, and bike
along the Bay of Fundy, either way I had to expect rain. I chose to
stay on the Atlantic side. Nova Scotia had five distinct ethnic
regions. I hoped I would get to experience most of them.