We hang onto the Trailway until we arrive at a little village called Doyle's. Doyle's consists of a convenience store and a gas pump, along with a cluster of houses. Rich's rescuer on the quad is at the store. He's a big, friendly guy who rides up this way every day to get an ice-cream cone. The locals are in and out filling up with gas and grabbing snacks. There's none of the reluctance to talk that one finds south of 45 here. I engage in conversation with a fellow in a battered but sound '73 Toyota FJ40 Landcruiser. I had a '76, and we have a lot to talk about. The Landcrusher is a practical rig up here, if you can afford gas for it. While the pavement is very well kept, the secondary roads are a web of potholes and the ever-present loose gravel.
As the secondary roads parallel the rail bed for some miles, we decide to abandon the Trailway. We re-join it before the trestle at Fischells River. Here Anton nearly gets rammed by a lady on a quad. She has a Labrador retriever on the pillion, and is paying more attention to talking to the dog and her riding companion than to the trail ahead. This won't be the first incident of this nature. Although cars and trucks aren't allowed on the rail bed, it's a rule that the locals shrug off. The Trailway provides the only access to many camps and cottages along the way. A few days later, I nearly get wiped by a pick-up coming around a blind corner. In many places, there is no where to go, but luckily I am able to get the bike up onto the right berm. I squeeze by with inches to spare. For those from away, this may be an eye-opener, but there is practically no law-enforcement along this route. We see two instances of LEOs. The first is near St. Barbe. The second was around Red Indian Lake, where a LEO was guiding a long string of quads. They expect you to police yourself and have reasonable sense of manners and good conduct.
Tablelands and Gravel
Trestle Crossing Fischells River
Adam is always willing to walk to get a good photo. At the bed of Fischells River.