Biking in Newfoundland

Channel-Port aux Basques, where the ferry arrives in Newfoudland (pronounced noo-fund-LAND, we'll have you know!) was a charming little town. The foliage is quite strange however, with small shrubberies and tundra-like bushes (no trees) set on top of what appears to be an endless marsh. Where it isn't rock, that is.

We were sad to leave this small town after only a night (we arrived at 11:30 pm--at 1.5 hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time, it is North America's latest time zone), but the open road was calling our name. And the open road we got.

Blessed Monotony

We were afforded something now that we had still not achieved the whole trip--the trance-like state of pain-free, worry-free cycling. With the wind at our backs, we cruised right along, matching our distance the first day, but this time without any crippling injuries.

We did, or course, have a few stops on the way, including a lake to bathe ourselves in and do a little laundry. The wind alone would have been enough for quick air drying--indeed, tractor trailers are regularly blown over through this section of highway, we were told by several people (don't worry parents, that's only in the spring and fall). But this did not stop Dominic from a little air drying in his own, energetic way.

And there was the occasional fine-tuning of the bikes.

The afternoon came, and we began the daily routine of finding a place to camp. The night before had been on top of a hill with a radio tower overlooking Port aux Basques. This time we found a lovely spot down the old abandoned highway to set up camp.

And then the sun set. 60 km of injury-free riding. What more could you ask for?