Come Near At Your Peril - Dual-Sporting "The Rock"

I think I may have spotted you on your way through.

Hah! A similar thing happened to Rich earlier in the trip while talking to the bank teller with the impressive -- um -- impressive personalities in Port Saunders. As he was exchanging currency, the screw dropped out of his lens and rolled off who knows where. The Suave Swede didn't miss a beat, and asked for a paperclip to make repairs.

I was just stalling to give you guys more time to enjoy the scenery there.

You're OK in my book, Rich. I don't care what your friends say about you.

We're up before sunrise. Today's mission is to make Port Aux Basques, as we're scheduled to be on the ferry the next morning. We're planning to camp close to PAB, as our record of getting on the road before ten isn't stellar, and we have to be in the loading line at 9:45 AM.

Coffee and freeze-dried eggs later, along with some fresh bread and butter purchased in Buchans, we're ready to roll. The bread and butter is a simple treat. The freeze-dried menu is wearing, although it's saved us a great deal of time and money. As I can't carry the remaining two ounces of butter, I donate it to the local critters. Hopefully, it will help them make it through the winter. I've brought a coffee press and real ground coffee. The coffee press was a gift from inmate Barbsironbutt, and is one of my treasured pieces of kit. On a trip like this, little treats along the way make the good times better and the bad days tolerable.

Back down through the washouts, and we're once again on Red Indian Lake Road. We're wistful about leaving this area, though. It seems that there are hundreds of more miles to be discovered, and from the looks of things, the locals could tell us a lot about where to go. Next time through.

We wind off down Red Indian Lake. It's dusty, and Anton has graciously allowed me to lead. The dust is pretty bad. Oftentimes, he's a mile behind to avoid choking to death. Even so, his face looks racoonish from the grime and sweat.

As we parallel Lloyds River, the road drops its expressway character and becomes narrower and more interesting to ride. I look at the river, and wish for my favorite five-weight trout rod and a book of flies. I could spend a couple of days casting over these waters and be happy. There are a number of outfitters with "sports" doing just that. They'll go back telling everyone of their world-class fishing trip, although I'd not trade ours for a moment.

As a trout fisherman, I dream of the native brookies in these waters. There's so much water here that most of the fish have likely never been bothered by a human presence.


Photo by Anton

If you cast to that slick water on the right and let the line drift down, I'd bet something would bump the fly.


Photo by Anton

it's funny how two photographers in the same location will frame almost the same shot. Here's mine of Lloyd's River:



After a bit, the road once again becomes wide and fast. We're railing it as fast as seems prudent, when we see a flashing light ahead. The rule is to pull over for a flashing light, so we do, and dismount. There we see our first police quad. The LEO in the lead of a long line of quads stops for a chat. "Have you seen Dave ________ up the road?" he asks. Sorry, officer, we're not from here. We describe the situation we've viewed as best as we can, and he departs with a friendly wave.

The string of quads continues for about 20 minutes. Anton habitually gets off the bikes and examines them for flaws when stopped. I've learned to deal with it. I first thought he was being critical. He's just checking to see if things are OK, and he has a good eye for mechanical problems.

I hear another loud "Блядь!."

Блядь!

There's green goo splattered all over his radiator and fender. He's picked up something in his front tire, and the sealant is leaking out. I grab a gauge from my tank bag. He's only lost about two pounds of pressure, which has kept him safe and the front on the rim. Anton went through considerable expense and effort fitting the TuBliss system to his Dizzer. Here's the pay-off. It's lucky that he went back for the tool bag the other day. It contained the plugs and plugging tools to make this business work. He tripled the miles that the rest of us did, most of it WFO in punishing conditions. Anton's one of the hardest bastards I know, and I know quite a few of them. He's broken his back, has a serious form of rheumatic arthritis, and can out-ride me any day. His attitude follows that old Irish saying, "We're not here for a long time, but a good time."

The sealant's done it's job but there's something in the tire.

I was bracing myself for someone to jump out of the bathtub while you were videotaping! Great job making me drool over this trip! I likely couldn't do the really technical sections, but even the slab seems well worth it! Thanks for sharing!

Yeah but...you could hang out with me riding the easier stuff. We could follow fish trucks leaking effluent and then tempt fate with the bears. :eek1

I was fixing my carb today and found rocks lodged in several places in my frame. Am I required to send them back or just pay a duty?

Anton flicks out a knife, and digs a sliver of glass from the front meat. The green goo starts to spit out, but he grabs the plugging tool and shoves a sticky rope in. We give it a shot from the CO2 cartridge, and we're ready to roll. The whole process takes seconds. Much more time is involved shoving the tools back into the roll.

You're allowed quite a number of rocks for a week's stay. They're bitchy about soil or potatoes up there, but rocks are no issue. If you're really concerned about it, fax the douanes and they'll send you a form to report them. If you fill it in, you get a free latte at Timmy's and either a glazed sour cream or a French cruller. Well worth the effort. Another inspired social program, I say.

All too soon, we're on the 480 headed west. Don't get me wrong, this is a fine road. If we hadn't been in the backcountry, we'd find it spectacular. We didn't come all this way to ride pavement, however.

I've plotted a little loop that goes through Barachois Pond Provincial Park. At least the map shows that there's a road. It may have once been a road, but not for some time. We get about 1/2 mile in, and decide to turn around. It's wicked. Later, we'll find that Adam went much further in, and "turned around where there was no place to turn around." I'm glad I didn't have to wrestle a KLR around up there.

We stop at an Irving station which has a restaurant for lunch. Anton's been a fan of poutine since I introduced him to the dish last year. I live close enough to Quebec that the heart-clogging concoction is featured on many menus here. He orders the "Hungry Man Poutine."

Sweet Jaysus, you could feed a family of four for a week on that!


Photo by Anton

We manage to contact Adam. He's up on Table Mountain, he says. We plan to meet him. We're not exactly sure where Table Mountain is, however. We look at the map and find a likely looking place near Wreckhouse.

We make a turn onto a likely-looking road, which rapidly deteriorates into a quad trail. It's slow rock crawling, and I'm pretty sure that my DRZ is going to overheat. Mine's a converted E model, which lacks a fan. My tank panniers block some of the cooling air, and I've experienced problems in super-slow situations.

Anton asks a local guy if there's an alternate route. "Sure." he says, "and it's a good road. It's steep." He indicates that we should follow him, as he's headed that way. He'll point out the road for us.

It appears that near Wreckhouse, a "good road" means anything that can be ascended by psychotic carnivorous mountain goats run amok on methamphetamine.

Where's Guymanbro when you need him?

Initially it's not too bad, but soon the world tilts on edge. Very steeply on edge. The photos simply don't do it justice. Erosion has to be a difficulty. Whoever maintains the road has taken the simple expedient of dumping truckloads of broken stone on the roadway. It's hefty broken stone, from softball to volleyball size. There is some sort of communications tower at the top, and a power line serving it, so the road must go there.


Photo by Anton

Anton leads. About half way up, he stops. I think that he wants me to go ahead, as that's the way he films our exploits. I'm wrong. His D606 is digging a trench to China, and he's lost all forward motion. My trials tires are made for this stuff, and I make it another 100 yards before a particularly large slab pops my front wheel up in the air and bikey takes a nap with the slab wedged between the kick stand and the swing arm.

We acknowledge that Adam is far more man than the two of us combined. Anyone who can ride a laden KLR up this has no fear.

As it turns out, Adam is at an entirely different location near Stephenville.

I had wondered whether my road loaded 1150 GSA would climb that hill.
Thank you for confirming my decision to ride past that one in July was correct.
I heard the view was good from up there though.

It is written in the lost Gospel According to St. Gilgamesh the Curler, "When two or three or more are gathered together, and are Canadian, it will be at Tim Horton's."



The fellowship re-assembles in the Tim's near the ferry in Port Aux Basques. We've decided to catch the ferry early, if possible. Our original reservations were for Monday morning, but it appears that there's room for the night crossing. Anton is anxious to get home to his wife, as is Rich. Adam has been barraged with messages from work, where they apparently can't run the operation without him. As I'm the owner of the trailer and van in North Sydney that will bring Anton back to Vermont, we need to travel together. He's still a long way from home. After the night ferry, we'll drive over 14 hours to Vermont. From there, he will drive another 7-10 hours depending on traffic to his home in Brooklyn.

If you need to change ferry reservations, just go to the ticket office in PAB. Anton and I do this, and there are no upcharges for the change. Rich does his by phone, and is dinged $25.

We stop at a souvenir store and get some stickers and gee-gaws. Little did we know that much of the same swag is available at the duty-free on the New Brunswick border for a fraction of the cost. I am particularly pleased with this score, though. My son thinks it's great:



Great touque, eh?

It's kind of sad seeing this sign from the opposite direction:


Photo by Anton

The sun's not set yet, so we decide to take a last little spin up the coast. We have hours before we need to board.

As it says on the cereal box, "Enlarged to show texture."

We decide to run eastward on the 470 towards Margaree to catch the sunset over Port Aux Basques. As usual, the scenery does not disappoint. There is so much to explore on this island, a summer's riding would only scratch the surface. We find the abandoned stretch of roadway northeast of Margaree, are rewarded with sea, sky, and rocks.





Margaree Harbour



All photos by Anton

Entering the Marine Atlantic terminal:


The two young fellows we met in Port Saunders are up ahead.

Adam hucks a wheelie before getting onto the boat. His KLR must be different than mine. . . Anton has it on video.



That's all, folks!

Above photos by Anton

223 miles.

A very wise man I studied under told me that before embarking on any venture, it was important to ask if it was worth doing. In this case, I'd say yes without hesitation. We embarked on a trip that I'd planned to be limited in scope. I find that I enjoy riding much better when I don't have a huge mileage goal to fulfill. In a week, we only hit the high points of about a quarter of this island.

If I return, and I most certainly will try to do so, I'd make the trip even more limited. I'd choose one area, and ride it intensely. The Avalon Peninsula beckons. I could spend a happy week simply exploring the resource roads north of Corner Brook. Newfoundland is a place that deserves close examination, not just a quick ride through.

Newfoundland has great variety for any type of motorcyclist. The area around Gros Morne has to be some of the best road riding I've seen, rivaling the Cabot Trail in many respects. As we passed both entrance and exit from the Cabot Trail, it was obvious that a large majority of bikes ride Cape Breton and go no further north.

The off-road riding was without compare in my experience, both in intensity and variety. I would not plan a trip strictly around the Trailway, although the Gaff Topsails section was certainly a high point of the trip. There is so much more than the railbed.

I was very glad that I'd taken the time to learn the history of the area, and that we were able to talk with Newfoundlanders. In many other places, there's a distinct friction between locals and tourists. No one wants to be seen as "quaint" or a curiosity. Once folks understood we appreciated their way of life and the hardships and rewards of living in a land this remote, they became even more open and friendly. If you know how friendly people from the Atlantic provinces are generally, that's saying a lot.

We particularly appreciated the assistance from the quad riding community. They didn't hesitate to offer advice, occasional rescue, and just "keeping an eye out" for us. On our first day, the fellow who helped Rich out on the Trailway said it correctly: "That's how we do it up here."

Hopefully, Adam will find the time to post some of his pictures, as well as Rich. Anton has many hours of video to sort through. You've not seen the last of us.

Tim, Anton, Adam,
Thanks for a great trip! I really enjoyed your fellowship and learned something from each of you.

I'll search through my pics and post a few. Adam has a stream crossing video that I took and I hope he edits before posting. In raw form, it's about 75% dangling about as I walked back across the stream and 25% skilled crossing. Who knew there was a pause button on that thing?

There is a very nice little restaurant in Margaree. Right at the 'T' which goes down to the wharf.
We noticed that in Margaree every house was in good order, all the homes had a newer model car, no junkers around. So I mentioned this to the waitress and asked where people made their money and the answer was as expected...Alberta money....
A great place to get that last seafood meal on the "Rock"

great report

I took a loaded up KLR across the Topsail area was not the easiest ride but well worth it. The rest of the TRailway I skipped with no regrets...