Why Nova Scotia?

Why not Nova Scotia might be the better question. It's one of those exotic sounding places that I've never been to and that's reason enough for me. I plan on leaving around the 8th of May and spending several weeks on the ride. Along the way I'll be camping out, visiting unsuspecting friends , and maybe getting to ride along with them for awhile. Let me know if you're up to either!

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Monday, June 8, 2009

Jun 08 – Nova Scotia! Aye Chihuahua….I’m finally here!






















Six o’clock seemed to arrive unusually early this morning but there it was, right on the dot according to the digital clock by the bed. Today would be the big day and I was anxious to get things going so I hopped out of the sack and hit the shower, then bundled into big red and the associated electrical apparatus. Naturally I couldn’t leave this overpriced palace without woofing down my daily quotient of mystery flakes and boiled eggs plus a heartburn-starter bran muffin. Hey, if they’re going to charge exorbitant rates I have to make up for it some way, right?
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The morning was clear and beautiful in Maritime country as I set off for the final leg of my run to Nova Scotia. Last night’s digs at Moncton had placed me within easy striking distance to the border and it wasn’t long before I was there. Crossing into Nova Scotia was nearly anticlimactic but I was happy to have made it, the ride has been fun and it’s not yet half finished. I stopped briefly to do the mandatory self-image at the welcome facility, then dropped off the freeway and began exploring. This seems to drive my GPS nuts whenever I do this and it constantly recalculates new routes to get me back on track. Today I ignored it altogether but occasionally I glanced at it to see how it was doing. It was a busy little toy for the most part. I realize it’s petty of me but it’s my way of getting even for those times it’s led me down dark alleys looking for gas stations.
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One of the first villages I came to turned out to be Springhill, home of the dreaded coal mine shaft #2 that seems to have caused the deaths of hundreds of miners. There’s a memorial to the dead in the center of town with names and disasters dating back to the 1800’s. It seems each time a major disaster occurs they erect a separate stone commemorating the occasion, complete with names of all the miners who died. There are also several stone slabs with individual names and dates that they keep adding to as the need arises. Ugh. Boy am I glad I never had to dig for coal.
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Just down the street a block or so you’ll find the Anne Murray Center, a tribute to her as one of the more famous citizens of Springhill. I cruised through their parking lot but decided to pass it up as the liquor store was within sight and I was still rolling. Inside the liquor store I asked if they happened to carry the illusive tonic water and of course they didn’t but the clerk thought maybe the grocery store next door might have it. Clutching my newly acquired yet tastefully discreet container of spirits I popped into the store and asked the lone check-out gal if they carried any. “What is it again?” she asked. “Tonic water, you know, like quinine water, helps to stave off malaria, yellow fever, that sort of thing.” Shaking her head she said they didn’t have any so I trudged off to peruse the soft drink section, resigning myself to more Gin & Mountain Dew or maybe I’d try root beer this time. And there it was; a whole array of it, right there on the shelf just waiting for someone like myself to come along and discover it. I snagged a bottle and headed back to the check-out stand where herself was picking lint and staring off into empty space. I presented the bottle to her and I swear to God, it took her a long, long moment to understand what she was seeing. “So now you know you have it and next time someone with Malaria or Yellow fever or maybe swine flu comes looking for it you’ll be able to direct them to it, eh?” She smiled sort of sheepishly and I wondered if she wasn’t a member of some anti-drinking group who were doing everything possible to make life difficult for the rest of us? As I was leaving I distinctly heard a very small feminine voice say “Swine flu?”
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Finished with my primary mission I returned to my morning exploration through the countryside. Springhill has the largest cemetery I’ve seen, especially for a town this size. They even have an auxiliary location of several more acres just in case you can’t get into the main place, and they all have headstones, unlike the wimpy little metal or stone plaques we see at home. I sort of like headstones, the little flat plaques seem almost irreverent and I want a really big honking one, say with angels or gargoyles, etc. Maybe I’ll make that part of my will just in case my boys get a severe attack of the cheap when I’m gone. Are you reading this Michael & Brian?
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Moving out of Springhill country I re-entered the world of high speed glassy-eyed cage people, all doing their best to drive faster than the laws of physics and good sense allow. After a few short miles of this I decided enough already and bailed off taking the first exit ramp available. As it turned out it was a stroke of luck, I ended up in the town of Windsor, birthplace of Hockey! Now isn’t that better than home of the world’s largest axe? One of my thoughts for the day was to buy a fistful of postcards, then check into a nice quiet motel and spend the afternoon scribbling short notes to people who care about such things and maybe trying out my new brand of tonic water. My first stop was the Welcome to Winston place, manned by a cute little blonde gal with a disgusting thing bored through one of her nostrils. They had lots of post cards but guess what, no credit card thingy. Sorry Charlie. At least they had a great restroom so I got to rest for awhile.
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Thanking her for the use of their facility I rode on into the main burg and parking the bike, I hoofed it into the Bank of Nova Scotia. You know, when you’re wearing big red and you go waltzing into a bank your average waiting period is probably akin to wearing a ski mask, not very long at all. Especially if it’s a warm day outside, that seems to perk things up a bit. The elderly lady who sprinted over to wait on me seemed at once both gracious and relieved and directed me to their ATM parked outside the main door.
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Armed with cash money I set out to find post cards, the tackier the better. The gal at the welcome center had suggested the pharmacy as being the place most likely to have them and “They even have one of those credit card machines.” Into the store I went, noting that my presence had registered with all three of the clerks on duty. One was with a customer, one was chatting it up with her girlfriend, and one simply disappeared. So be it, it was hot outside and big red was beginning to whine. I’m pretty good at surveying the goods available in small stores and as I was about to leave the chatty lady and her friend approached me and asked if I needed any help. Armed with my request she directed me to the smallest assortment of nondescript postcards I’ve yet to see. I made one of my special nasal snorting sounds that I think is clever as hell, something along the order of a duck with bad tonsils to which she nodded her head in approval and I left, sans postcards. Maybe I’ll just send email cards from one of those outfits that after getting hold of the recipient’s address never lets go of it and likely forwards it on to those creeps who send spam mail forever. Hey, it’s cheaper than postage, eh?
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On the road again I noted it was once again getting late and I hadn’t had any lunch yet. Every time I spotted what looked to be a possible candidate as a place to stop I was reminded of yesterday’s fiasco so I kept looking, hoping to find a McDonalds or similar purveyor of fine cuisine. No luck, so I just kept moving along and before I knew it enough time had passed that I decided to find a camp for the night.
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After several false starts I came across the Sun Valley Motel in Kentville and it was just what I was looking for, older but well kept, nice grounds, and probably less money than Super 8. It turned out to be just right and the people who own and run the place are great. After offloading my gear I rode into town for dinner at the place recommended by my hostess. Just as I was entering the thick of traffic down town the loudest damn air raid siren I’ve heard since the 50’s started up and went non-stop for at least 3 minutes. The locals around me seemed impervious to it but all I could think of was “It’s the big one, the Tsunami’s coming, run for high ground, run, run!” Nada, the folks around here don’t fear Tsunamis, they have Soviet invaders or something similar in mind, maybe people with guns or nets, whatever. Once the din quieted down I parked El Nino and hoofed it the two blocks to Rosey’s place where I topped off my fat tank with pasta primavera and thick Canadian toast saturated with butter. Just what my ticker needs. Eh?
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So that’s it, I’m here in the land of Nova Scotia and resting comfortably indoors, nursing a glass tinkling with ice and other ingredients. Tomorrow will be another dry warm day I think, unless the weather God frowns upon me and given the looks of the darkening skies that’s a possibility. Film at eleven…
Oh, almost forgot, the kitty was in Springfield hanging around on the sidewalk. Whenever a car door opened it did that rub-on-your-leg routine. Odd. Kitty cats are strange critters.

4 comments:

  1. Wow, Nova Scotia already. You definately made up for your rough start. D.S.

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  2. Hi Doug,
    Yep, I be here, no doubt about it. This is a ride you'd enjoy if you haven't already done it.
    Good to hear from you.
    LL

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  3. Way to go. Hope you spend more than a few days.

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  4. Oh! Yay you made it!
    Are you still there? Did you see any Andy Goldsworthy art? I know he did some ice art there once, probably turned back into water a long time ago now though...

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