Home James!

The grumpiness from waking up in a pool of water hadn't quite worn off when we embarked on our last day of riding, oatmeal and hot cocoa notwithstanding. We were in need of some pick-me-up, which for us, usually came in the form of food. Unfortunately, towns are not too plentiful in Nova Scotia, and we have no way of knowing whether the dots that litter our map are actual towns, or just a handful of houses. We have learned not to bank on there being food available in any given town we stop in. This particular day, we were close to a town called Eskasoni, which, strangely enough, had a brown dot representing it. Dominic joked that it meant there must be brown people there, which we all dismissed, till we read the key: "Brown dot indicates indigenous population." Wow... Speechless.

Anywho, Eskasoni turned out to have the answer to all our problems—the first general store we came across had ice cream! We sat down for ice cream cones and chatted with a talkative worker there, a young Mi'kmaq woman about our age. We didn't get around to asking much about the education system (she was busy telling us about her weekend camping trip that had ended in drama), but she did mention that she speaks Mi'kmaq. Cool that (at least some of) the younger generation still knows it.

Fueled by our ice cream, we flew through the kilometers, making it back to Iona, where our knees and bikes had brought us down the first days of the trip. Passing through brought some nostalgic feelings (the Ceilidh and our monkey wrench breakfast took place here), but it brought us something else: victory! Sweet sweet victory, even if only of the symbolic sort. We challenged the hills to give us our best shot as we rode up them, and wooped and hollered as we flew down them. They weren't so tough now that we didn't have to push our bikes.

As we continued on our way, we were reminded of other aspects of the first day. It turns out that day had been problematic for larger reasons than just our bum knees—we struggled to find a pace that was suitable for everyone, we battled with the rain and coldness, and we generally lacked cohesion as a team. At one point, Nick and Gretta failed to communicate properly with Dominic, and, after falling behind, he almost missed an important turn. Now, on the last day of the trip, we returned to this very spot. As we approached, we spoke candidly about what had been going through our minds that day, and we realized how far we'd come.

We were a team now. A cohesive, streamlined unit, with a sophisticated system of visual and verbal cues. Instead of leaving each other behind, we now rode in tight formation. If one of us was feeling bad, we all toned down the pace. If one of us felt particularly strong, he or she would pull and the others would draft. In cross winds, we employed what we called "bird formation" (better known as echelon form), where the riders in back followed at an angle, drafting to "apparent" wind, and swooping around to the other side if the wind or our direction changed. Indeed, we even felt like a flock of birds sometimes, in that our extra sensory perception was tuned in. The number of times one of us would say something out loud at the exact instant one or both of the others were thinking it was too high to discount. (This happened before for Nick and Dominic on their bike trip.)

Yes we were a team now. 900 miles later. No accidents.

We celebrated at this spot with blueberry fruit cakes.


We rode on. Mostly smooth riding, though Gretta had issues with some cramps. She of course, valiantly fought through them, as she had done many times before on the trip.

In order to entertain ourselves while riding on our trip, we had made up a game of picking a spot on the road in the distance and all taking bets on how far away it was. On this final day, we took it a step further and took bets on what our final mileage ("kilometage" actually) would be at the end of the day.

We flew up and down the gentle hills of the Trans Canada Highway, this last section of which, right before Glendale, had recently been resurfaced.

We blazed past Dominic's guess of 102 kilometers, in so doing breaking the metric century day barrier.

It was down to Nick (106 km) and Gretta (109 km).

As we turned onto the road to Frank and Dolores's, we passed the 106 mark, but Nick could still win if it was less than halfway between his guess and Gretta's (107.5). Just a hundred meters or so away from Frank and Dolores's house, we passed that mark, and finished up at 107.7. Gretta the victor.

Anyone who has the warmth and hospitality of Frank and Dolores to come home to is a winner though, a thought that had been exciting us for several days now. It was a warm homecoming, full of food and celebration.

We went berry picking, this time for blackberries, and came home with literally pounds of them. We had also spotted an apple tree on the road, so Nick and Dominic rode down, filled a crate well above the brim and carried it home on their bikes, each taking a side with one hand and steering their bikes with the other. They are proud to report that not one soldier was lost, and they enjoyed getting soaking wet in the rain for the first time because they knew they had extra clothes and a dryer at their disposal.

And what was all of this fruit for, you are wondering? Here are two of the four answers to that question.

No pizzas and storebought pie for this pieful homecoming. Just the delicious fruit of our labor. The way we had it, there was really no incentive to leave, a recognition expressed by Gretta when Dolores asked her what her plans were now that the trip was over. Without hesitating, she replied "Move in with you. Look for part-time work." We're not sure she was kidding...

There were some mixed emotions about leaving, to say the least. But we eventually resolved that we had better get back to Boston, where Nick had a flight to catch. Fortunately, we had left the car with a fair amount of fuel, and we outdid ourselves in the apple/blackberry pie venture. It was a pieful send-off too.

As we put the finishing touches on the packing job, Nova Scotia made an attempt at reconciliation. It brought the sun out just long enough to snap a picture with Frank and Dolores.


Not quite enough to keep us there. Off we drove in the greasemobile, powered by Canada's fast food. The kilometers flew by at appalling speeds as we embarked on many more adventures including, but not limited to: the purchasing of a two-person 6-foot crosscut saw for felling trees (Dominic intends to use this), a tour of a chocolate factory, cheese factory, a close encounter with U.S. Customs and Border Protection on the northern border, and a wild goose chase for a blueberry winery in northern Maine. But that is for another time and, sadly, another blog.

We hope you all enjoyed this last post, and please check out the slideshow below by clicking on it. So long!!!