Click the SHOW link at left for slides with descriptions.
And be sure to read the text below for some extra comments from the trip, and afterthoughts!
We flew to Dulles on Saturday. It was too late to pick up the bike at the dealer and the shop would not be open again until Tuesday morning. We spent the next two days visiting with Steve and Diane and their family. And we were all loaded to go on Tuesday morning.
We left Tuesday morning as soon as the motorcycle dealer who prepped the bike opened. There was some confusion over a top case I ordered, so we were delayed a bit, and left with a duffel bag strapped to the back instead of the hard case I had planned on. Oh well, thats motorcycling for you, always dealing with "the exigencies of the circumstances" as Rhoadie would say!
No shots of the first couple of days as we were just hitting the interstates to get to the ferry. But you can map our basic first two days by following I95 from the D.C. area to Portland, Maine.
We hit horrible traffic through Manhattan as we had to nick the edge of it to get past. The Threat level had pushed all commercial traffic out of the tunnels into Manhattan, and we found them! An unbelievable line of traffic from the bridge onto Manhattan Island and all the way across town. It didn't let up until we were almost into Connecticut.
And the worst problem the first few days was the heat. And, as the old clishe goes, "It's not the heat, it's the humidity!" Boy was that true.
But we survived and managed to enjoying the trip in spite of feeling like we were in a sauna.
The evening of day two saw us board the first of many ferries. In Portland, Maine, we rode aboard late in the afternoon. We had a cabin reserved, and the night passage to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, saved us a hotel (though it cost much more) and allowed us to have time to cover the South end of Nova Scotia, instead of driving North and hitting it half way up.
We left the ferry early in the morning in Yarmouth and headed Southeast on Highway 3. We wanted to drive around the coastline, but after a couple of hours it became obvious that we would be too slow getting to the North end of Nova Scotia for the ferry if we kept it up.
So we hit Highway 103, basically the modernized, straightened main road version of Highway 3, North on into Halifax. After a grueling drive in, around, and finally through, Halifax, we were back on the coast and stayed with Highway 7 for the rest of the day. It followed the coast most of the way up and then it deviated inland to cross back to the North coast, where we ended the day at Antigonish.
We went shopping for some small items in Antigonish and ended up buying a jean jacket for $24 (and that's CANADIAN dollars) to wear in the heat. The combination of heat and humidity (YES, say it with me, "It's not the heat, ... ") had become too much for me, and I decided I would prefer a less protective jean jacket to living in a sauna in my leather coat.
Friday was a short ride up first highway 104 then highway 105 to North Sydney and our next ferry. I had wanted to make the Cape Breton Highlands loop (the Cabot Trail) but decided it would take too long, because we were required to check in quite a bit earlier than the departure time of the ferry. So we just buzzed to the terminal and then waited around until boarding time.
We didn't let the Friday the 13th thing bother us, even when we found there were 13 motorcycles boarding the ferry that afternoon.
It had been a miserable night on the ferry. To start we had only berths on this crossing, which are basic bunks in a dorm type area. But to make it MORE fun, the air conditioning had broken down in the section of berths where we had been placed and so they were at sauna status when we tried to go down to them and sleep. I ended up going back to the lounge area and after a couple of hours had found a comfy spot on the floor. Of course, just as I got to sleep I was awakened by the staff who were starting to prepare for the morning to be told I couldn't sleep on the floor. After being told that the berths were not yet fixed, and probably wouldn't be, I headed down anyway. I was hoping they might have cooled down just due to the cooling effect of the night air. While they were not cool, they were NOT at full on sauna heat either. SO I went to sleep after a half hour or so of trying to get comfy. We were then awakened at an hour before the landing in Argentia, Newfoundland, to prepare for our deboarding. I figured I had a good two hours sleep and a couple of short naps to boot. When I compared this to the trip to Mexico where we were on a ferry for 18 hours with NO sleep, this was going to just enough to make the day bearable.
We headed out on highway 100 North to the main highway. I had hoped to stop at the Castle Hill National Historic Site, which is very close to the ferry, but somehow I missed it. I don't know if it was poorly marked or if I was just too sleep deprived to spot it. But soon I was on highway 1 and decided it wasn't worth going back for.
We stayed on 1 to the edge of town where highway 2 split off toward the historic district of St. John's. We were looking for a hotel. We had no reservations for hotels on this trip, and so we were just window shopping at this point. We spotted a little place called The Captain's Quarters Hotel. An old victorian house converted to a small hotel with a pub. I had seen it online but it was one of those places I would want to see first. We checked it out and decided it would be good, and it was right in the old part of town.
They let us check in early, so we stashed the bags, had some breakfast, and headed out on a day trip. We went East on Blackhead Road, out of town to Cape Spear, that's as far East as one can get on this continent. We weren't sure about some of the town names around the area. After having read about the town of Dildo and then passing Blackhead, we continued down highway 11 through Petty Harbour (which figured prominently in the book "Cod" which I had read prior to our arrival on Newfoundland on advice of two coworkers). Further on we went through Ferryland (where no ferry lands!). We were then on to highway 10 which loops the south coast of the Avalon Peninsula, turning into highway 90 on the West side. This is what is called "the Irish Loop", and some of the accents were notably Irish.
We thought we would get to see the bird sanctuary on this trip. We had seen a sign at the start of the loop that advertised it as being on the route. It is "the Cape St. Mary's Ecological Reserve" and so when we got to St. Mary's we stopped to ask a local where it was. This would be the guy with the Amphicar in the slides. Rita thought he was teasing when he stated it was several hours away on the next peninsula over. Turns out he wasn't kidding. It was back on the same peninsula where we had landed, and was too far off our course to make it today. We headed on back to St. Johns, passing the cut off that would lead to the sanctuary. I had hopes to do that peninsula on our way to Fortune two days later, and find the Castle Hill site at the same time.
Sunday was a day of rest. Not out of religious observance, as we might have risked the wrath of God if we claimed the rest in his name, when in reality I just need a day off the bike for my buns. We also swore we would not wait until the end of the trip and then have to look for souvenirs at some odd place.
We found a few nice things, including a nice carved whale (carved into the side of an antler), some music by a local band (which we always try to do on our trips) and some T shirts for the grandboys. We also ran up to the Signal Hill Historic Site. We found the Parks Canada workers had a picket line at the bottom of the hill.
Being in a Union ourselves, I at first felt this might be a problem. But the man we talked to told us they weren't asking people not to go up, just sharing information. The workers at the site would be Students who always help out in the summer, not substitutes. I was glad as this meant I did not have to feel too guilty for going up. Because I really wanted to see this site, as well as the fact that this was the best view point in the city, I probably would have gone up no matter what the union position had been. So his blessing merely salved my guilty conscious.
It was very windy at the top, and after a bit of wind on the ride the day before, I was starting to catch on to the fact of life up here... it get's real windy, and there is not much telling which way it will blow next!
We were heading for Fortune and the ferry to St. Pierre, a department of France that lies just off the Southwest tip of the Burin Peninsula. As the area is all small towns we did call ahead and make a reservation for a hotel in Grand Bank, about 6 kilometers from Fortune. There was one hotel listed in Fortune, that did not sound very appealing, and two in Grand Bank, neither of which rang any bells for us. But the nearest town with more was nearly an hour away. We did not want to get up the next morning and then have an hours ride to get to the ferry. So we had picked the one that sounded the best of the two in Grand Bank and made reservations for two nights. I figured if it sucked too bad I would get there early enough to correct the mistake.
I had calculated the milage around the loop that would take us back to the Castle Hill site and the bird sanctuary and decided it would leave us arriving too late. So that plan (just an idea, really) was dropped. Instead we went directly via highway 1 to the Burin Peninsula. We turned South on highway 210, the only road onto the peninsula, and when we reached the split at Marystown we went left onto 220 and made the loop clockwise around the tip of the peninsula, coming into Fortune from the South. This allowed us to get the information on, and make reservations for, the ferry the next day. Then we headed on up to Grand Bank to Granny's Hotel.
Granny's turned out to be OK. Though this was the first time on the trip that I got a bad vibe from a hotel manager on the trip. The initial skepticism seemed to go away after some conversation with Rita, and I think in the end we converted one more place from the "Oh No. It's dirty bikers!" camp to the ranks of the "Oh, here comes one of those rich motorcyclist." camp.
They turned out to be very nice. And though the food at the restaurant was not that good, neither was most of the food in Canada. We had every kind of cod possible on the trip, and a couple of the meals in St. Johns had been very good. So once we left St. Johns and got back to the smaller towns, I think my expectations were a bit too high.
Tuesday morning we headed back to Fortune for the ferry. It was starting to sprinkle, but as it was only a few minutes ride away we left the rain gear at the hotel. Probably not the wisest decision. Even off the bike we could have used at least the rain coats. It rained fairly heavily all day.
We could not take the bike to St. Pierre, so we just rode the ferry over, then took a bus tour of the city, and then ferried back that afternoon. It was interesting. I had read about how France had held onto this bit of territory (and it is just a bit) out of a desire to retain fishing rights. And I had read how the fishing had been shut down due to over fishing. So I wondered if the French would still be as eager to hang on to these islands. They have been disputed for centuries.
I also wondered how the French had kept these islanders from moving for independence for all these years.
The tour diver answered most of my questions. As for keeping the people French, it turns out that 70 per cent of the work on the islands is government positions. And those who fill the positions serve 10 year postings and then, usually, return home to france. I think this probably helps prevent residents from thinking of themselves as something other than French.
The government also pays for the college educations of the islanders, in France. Including all expenses and flights to and from France. I am sure this helps steer them toward France and away from places closer, like Quebec.
I am still not sure why they want to hang on, with fishing gone, and few predicting a comeback. Perhaps pride, or perhaps they know something about fishing that no one else does. But, whatever their reasons, there is still a little bit of France just a few miles off the Canadian shores.
We headed out early hoping to make it all the way to Deer Lake, the turn off for the Northern Peninsula and the Gros Morne, L'Anse Aux Meadows, and the ferry to Labrador. I knew it would be a hard day to make it all the way unless we had some luck with the weather. But I knew it would leave us in a much better position for the ride North the next day if we did make it. However, We were being squeezed between two weather fronts. From the South, the wet remains from Charlie were closing in. And another mass of wet (and cold) air was headed East from the plains and was nearing Newfoundland and Labrador. It was not looking good.
We left under clouds with wet pavement from the night before, back out highway 210. We were in full rain gear, and I always find that helps ward of the weather. But it wasn't stopping the wind. We had hit a bit on the Irish Loop, but this was some serious wind. Kansas style, high velocity wind, and gusty to boot. And prone to switch directions as we rode through the rolling hills and in and out of the protective forest.
My hopes for better conditions once we turned West on highway 1 were NOT fulfilled right away. The wind came and went, and every time it seemed we were in front of the wind, the rain started to threaten us with sprinkles. I had just about decided to make it a short day when we finally got out past the front and the winds diminished and the sun started to peak out. So we went for it, and made it in that evening.
Not a pleasant ride, but still the scenery was great and I felt good to have made it to a point where the next days ride would begin on one of the most beautiful stretches of road on the island. And off of the main road, back to the smaller, less congested roads that we enjoy.
We headed up highway 430 through Gros Morne National Park. 806 meters (around 2400 feet) isn't much of a mountain compared to the Rockies, but compared to the rest of Newfoundland this is a major range. And it has some inlets that would be called fjords elsewhere. Speaking of calling things different names, most of the bodies of water are named "ponds" up here. My best guess is that anything with no major river running in or out is called a pond, even if it is miles and miles across.
We stayed on 430, the only highway that goes North up the peninsula, all the way to the turn off on highway 436 to L'Anse Aux Meadows. We passed the ferry to Labrador at St. Barbe (how many saints do you need?) as I was not sure of the ferry schedule. After the turn off we stopped for a break at a small restaurant in the town of Griquet. If you could call it a town. Another small village.
In Griquet we had our first piece of Bakeapple Pie. Baked Apple Pie? NO! Bakeapple pie. Apparently Bakeapple is a berry native to Newfoundland. Sort of like a Blackberry, in that it has a small cluster of round nodes growing together as one berry. Bakeapple is smaller than a Blackberry, with fewer nodes and a rounder appearance, and they are orange in color. They are yummy! They use them for pie, and to make "Dark Tickle" a kind of jam or jelly.
L'Anse Aux Meadows is the archeological site where artifacts were recovered proving the Vikings had settlements on this continent, long before it was "discovered" by Europeans. There wasn't a lot to see there. There was a small replica of the site, complete with re-enactors and demonstrations of how the Vikings would have lived. But for me it was the desire to be on the spot and just take in the vibes. I had heard from my Norwegian friends, back in Stavanger when I was in the eighth grade, of how Americans were behind on the accuracy of their history lessons. Back in 1968 I had never heard of the claim of Vikings discovering this continent. Now I was able to stand at the site that had proven what had been know to the descendants of the Vikings for hundreds of years.
From there we had to decide on heading back to the ferry, or spending the night at St. Anthony (more saints). We were hoping to find a hotel with a laundry as we had not the night before, and we were needing to wash some of our things. We found that the hotel in St. Anthony had a laundry so we spent the night there, even though it was still pretty early in the afternoon. We were able to get our laundry done, find the ferry schedule for the next day, and get a good rest before the next days ride. Had I known what the next day would entail, I might have tried to get even more rest.
We left in the morning back the way we came on highway 430. But, as we had determined through talking to the people at the hotel that the road looping South through the marshes was not only good, but better that 430 had been, we turned left onto 432. This road was a bit longer, but a nicer ride. We were suited up again, and the sky was cloudy, and we were getting the occasional sprinkles. The bright side of this was we spotted a Moose on the roadside, where we hadn't seen any so far. There are lots of them on the island, but as they are nocturnal we hadn't spotted any yet. We knew they were there though, they even have a scoreboard in Gros Morne Park: "Moose/Vehicle accidents this year: Moose 23, Caribou 2".
We made the ferry, and were informed that without reservations we couldn't buy round trip tickets, but we "shouldn't have any problem" getting on the ferry back, later that day. About half way across the Strait of Belle Isle (on the Gulf of St. Lawrence) it started to RAIN. Big time. So we knew what we were in for.
We left the ferry in Blanc Sablon, Quebec. We were in Quebec about 5 minutes. The border to Labrador is just a few kilometers down highway 510 as we headed East for Red Bay. The road was in a state of repair I like to call @#&%ed up! And riding it in the rain, real rain, was tricky. Between the ferry and Red bay there were three bridges that I might not have paid much attention to in clear weather. They were decked with wooden planks. And besides the missing chunks of wood, the rest of the deck was as slick as monkey snot! I just slowed down, tried to pick a line that did not require swerving around holes, and kept it straight and even. Still, it made me real nervous.
The scenery was awesome. Even in the rain. I can't say which I found more spectacular, the coastal sections or the deviation inland between Pinware and Red Bay along the Pinware River. I think in good weather the river would have taken it hands down, but in the pouring rain the curves were too taxing to allow me to fully take it in.
There is another historic site at Red bay. This was originally a Basque whaling village. And this, too, would be pre European "discovery" of the "New World". The Basque liked to keep their rich fishing grounds to themselves. So rather than "I claim these lands for the Basque people.", it was "New World? What New World?". At this site we opted to skip the museum and honor the strike. The fact that rain was coming down in buckets and I wanted to be one of the first in line for the ferry back made this an easy call. So a quick Bakeapple break and we backtracked to Blanc Sablon.
She was right, no problem getting on board to return. Except at this point the bike was getting worse fast. It had been having trouble starting. Once running it was fine. I thought it was the carbs, as you could NOT use the choke and it appeared to be using more fuel, as if it was running rich.
On the Newfoundland side, we debated stopping at the hotel right there. But I wanted to make it down to Port au Choix (pronounced Swah), as I had seen that there were two nice hotels there. It was just about 80 kilometers (around 50 miles) and we still had some daylight left. I wanted to get as far as I could as we were already in rain gear, and it would leave us close enough to the ferry back to Nova Scotia to make it an easy ride the next day.
Well, nice plan. Fat chance. The heavy rains we had all day were NOTHING compared to what we hit on the way back down highway 430. They had predicted scattered showers, this was continuous bath. Water was standing many inches deep on the road, and viability was truly limited. I found a truck driving close to what I would have wanted to go and stayed back behind him to use his tail lights. But this was so much slower than dry weather that it got dark well before we made Port au Choix. And the bike was getting worse. Now it was cutting out.
We kept plugging away. We finally hit the cutoff into town and we were happy to still be moving, but I did not think the bike would make it. Then I got two cars on my behind who wouldn't pass. I had too much rain on my glasses to see with their lights glaring on me. I finally pulled all the way off and stopped to get them to pass. And when I tried to go again, the bike did not want to go. It would rev fine, but under load it would try to die.
I kept babying it along, rev it up, start up, pull in the clutch when it started to die, then repeat. I pulled my glasses off so I could see the road. It was pitch black and under water. I could see the road with my glasses off, but I couldn't read any signs. Rita still had her shades on and was holding my glasses in her hands. Hard for her to read the signs either. Then, suddenly we were in town and Rita said she thought the place ahead was a hotel.
We rolled up to the front door and climbed off. It was one of the two hotels I had read about. And it had everything we needed, including a restaurant. We made it. I was quite literally beat, and I did not know what I would do about the bike. But I was just thrilled to be in for the night, safe.
The next morning the sun came out. I hated the idea of wasting sunshine, particularly with more rain predicted for the next few days. But I knew something had to be done about the bike. We decided we needed a day off, and I decided to call the dealer who worked on the bike and see what we could figure out. And if I had to work on the bike, sunshine and a nice flat motel lot beat the side of the road in the rain.
After trying everything on the carbs that the mechanics suggested, to no avail, they decided I should check the clearance of the valves. These old boxers are notorious for the exhaust valves tightening up when hot. As I knew we got cooked coming through New York City, it clicked. I just hadn't thought of how that could make a bike have these symptoms. But if they are tight enough to prevent the full clearing of the combustion chamber, this is what happens.
While working on the bike, the owner of the hotel came by in his truck and visited. I was expecting warnings about not messing up the lot, what we got was an offer to empty our old oil for us, and any other help he could lend. Nice people up here.
Valves adjusted. Oil changed. Bike started right up, with choke! Of course to me it sounded wrong, as I used the factory numbers to set them, and I had always set them slightly tighter, as my previous dealer believed, tighter and more frequent adjustment was better than loose and a lot of clacking and clanking of the push rods.
But it was running, and we were enjoying a day, more or less off. At least off the bike. So we ran out to the historic site. This was the spot where they unearthed remains and artifacts from aboriginal peoples from thousands of years earlier, and from 4 distinct periods. The oldest dating back to somewhere between 4400 and 3300 years ago. We just took in the beautiful views and contemplated how brief the existence of our own culture actually has been.
We headed out on 430 South down to highway 1 and the trip to Port aux Basques where we would catch the ferry back to North Sydney, Nova Scotia. The crossing from Port aux Basques is about 5 hours, and while I did not want to hurry trying to get back on the boat by the afternoon, I had that hope in the back of my head. This time weather was cooperative, and we rolled into the ferry terminal just in time to pull to a stop in line as they started boarding. The only down side was we were on reserve, and had been for about 15 miles, giving us little lee way on the other side. And as this boat left at 5 in the afternoon, it would be late night when we arrived in North Sydney. We weren't sure where we would find a gas station, or a motel.
This gamble paid off, as from the staff we were able to determine there was a gas station in the downtown area of North Sydney that would still be open. And there was a motel very close to the dock, if they had room available. I was pleased that they did, as I did not want to ride any more that night.
The reason I wanted to make it across to North Sydney so badly, was that it would give us time the next day to ride the Cabot Trail that we had missed on the way up, and still make it either to, or close to, Prince Edward Island by nightfall.
So we left the hotel, fueled up, and headed down highway 105 looking for the cut off to highway 19, which would take us to the Cape Breton Highlands National Park. This was the Cabot Trail I had heard so much about. And true to the stories, it is a do not miss bit of scenery. The road conditions, however, were abominable. The worst thing about them was that they had cracks in the pavement that were parallel to the fog line in almost every curve. And the place where the surface broke was consistently in a spot where one had to choose between either riding outside it, very close to the edge of the road, or inside of it, very close to the center line and oncoming traffic. This made it a very taxing ride, at a much slower rate of speed than the road would have otherwise called for.
We took a short break around Ingonish to ride up the chair lift and take in the view. To anyone taking this road, I would advise the trip up for the view was well worth it. But with the slow go roads and a couple of stops, it was late in the afternoon by the time we made it back to highway 105. Cape Breton is an island, divided by a very narrow canal of water from the rest of Nova Scotia. We rejoined the main road just at the point where it crossed the waterway and turned into highway 104 back on the mainland of Nova Scotia.
We made it to the ferry to Prince Edward Island at Caribou late in the afternoon. Again, my timing was lousy on the fuel situation. We were about to hit reserve. But, from the map, I felt it would be no problem, as there appeared to be a lot of towns on the other side, and how could there NOT be a gas station and hotel near the ferry landing?
Good logic but big WRONG! Nothing on the other side but blackness. So we head off down highway 1 toward Charlotte looking for a place to fuel or a place to stop. We finally came across a hotel many miles past reserve, but it was a small place and appeared to be closed. We pushed on. I was to the point where I could feel the surge of the engine sucking air when we spotted the lights of a Petrol Canada station. When the attendant came out he informed us he would have been closed in a few more minutes. But maybe we would have made it the 6 miles or so to the next station that would have been open. A close call.
So, on into town, now just a dozen or so miles. We pulled into the first motel that appeared to be open. Here is the second place I got that vibe. The woman at the counter asked what I needed and I asked if they had a room left for the night (this was a BIG hotel) she looked at me and gave me an odd look, then looked up something on the computer. She looked at the screen and then me, and then said, "NO, nothing left!". Maybe it was just me, but I felt a weird vibe and I found it ODD she would have rented the last room in the place and not have been aware of it, as most places put out a sign when it happens.
We got back on the bike and headed on in to the heart of town. There we spotted a nice hotel and though it was of the category I would normally find more money than they are worth, I figured beggars can't be choosers, so I went in to check it out. Total opposite reaction. The desk clerk was a really nice man, who determined he only had suites left, but gave us the regular room price. It was still a higher price than I would have liked, but after another long day, the jacuzzi was a welcome extra.
We wanted to get back into the States with time to ride through the Adirondacks. So we planned to slip across New Brunswick and into Maine as quickly as possible. We left early and headed on up Highway 1 to hit highway 16 that took us across the bridge into New Brunswick. The bridge was a toll bridge. But they had not charged us to board the ferry onto the island. The woman at the ferry told me they would collect on the other side. Apparently they just make you pay to leave the island.
The bridge was about 8 miles long. And while the rain was leaving us alone, it was fairly cool and very windy again. After we got onto New Brunswick we hit highway 15 to Moncton, and then highway 2 on across to Fredericton. We then turned South on highway 3 and then highway 4 to the border into the U.S. at Vanceboro, Maine.
This is where things always go wrong. I had hoped to avoid a repeat of coming back from Mexico on the bike. On that trip we had nothing to declare and so they wanted to pull EVERYTHING out and look. With the way you pack on a motorcycle this is referred to as a "Big pain in the %@&!". This time we had a few small items, so I was hoping for a simple chat and a "Go ahead." from the officials.
Everything was looking good until I mentioned that carving I bought in St. Johns. I could see it in the expression on their faces. I had said the wrong thing. Well, fortunately, the item in question is packed in the top most bag that is strapped on behind Rita. Fortunately, the woman from the Food and Game Department was there. This is indeed good fortune, as she is only there a couple of days a week, for a couple of hours each time. And if she hadn't been there, they would have kept it. But she wasn't sure herself and called her office. They weren't sure. But as it was in a box from Newfoundland, they gave us the benefit of the doubt. Had it been from New Brunswick, it would have been confiscated. In New Brunswick, even "finished products" like a carving have to have a certificate of export or they do not get into the U.S. of A.
So, after a good scare, and a twenty minute delay, they let us continue. And with all our possessions. I was thrilled and relieved. Rita was a bit shocked and upset. She understood what they were doing, but the idea that they would HAVE to do it because of poaching and trafficking in animal parts was hard for her to imagine.
We continued on highway 6 West until we hit I 95 South into Bangor for the night. Took a while to find a motel. Apparently they don't put the ads up for which motel is located at which exit. But after a while and having to resort to a man's worst nightmare (asking for directions) we found a place for the night.
From Bangor we hit highway 2 West across Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont. For me id digressed as we went West. Maine was good, New hampshire was slower and worse traffic, and Vermont was horribly slow. With people traveling 40 on highways with a 50 MPH speed limit. I should have bailed onto I 89 at Montpelier, as it was right on top of the highway we were on, but we were crawling.
We finally made it to Burlington, on Lake Champlian. Had I not been so ticked at Vermont we might have stopped for the night. But we crossed the lake on the ferry and headed on South on highway 9N (don't ask me why 9 "N" would go South) then onto highway 86 into Lake Placid for the night.
This part of the ride made up for all the sucky miles in Vermont. And when we stopped in a nice resort, I was expecting to pay too much again. But apparently, tourism is down and so were prices. It was a really nice room and it was a bargain to boot.
From Lake Placid we took 86 on to Sarenac Lake, then highway 3 to highway 30 South to Blue Mountain Lake. There we hit highway 28 South which was joined by highway 12 at Alder Creek on into Utica and out of the park. This entire run was incredible. A true motorcycle road!
We then stuck with 12 on South to Binghamton where we jumped on I 81 headed for Pennsylvania. Did I mention I hate Interstate riding? Lots of trucks on this strip, and real traffic through Scranton. By Wilkes-Barre we were deciding on an early quit or heading on. So I ask if the motel where we had pulled off for gas had a laundry. They did and we stayed. We were trying to sneak on in without having to unpack everything, so we wanted to wash the easy to get to stuff instead. I was getting worn out, and having to stop early was not something I didn't want to do. Besides, I knew there was no way I was willing to stay on the Interstate and try to get into D.C. by evening.
Last day! Yeah!
I dropped my plans to stay on I81 to Harrisburg. Since we had not made it in last night, we had all day today. I didn't want to deal with more interstate. So we jumped on highway 11 and headed Southwest. The first 30 miles or so were great. Then it turned into one long strip mall. For miles. What, on the map, looks like several towns, several miles apart (Berwick, Bloomsburg, Danville) was 30 miles of traffic on a road with a turning lane but no passing, posted 35 and 40 MPH. Not fun at all.
After the highway merged with highway 15 and it became a 4 lane road. It was not too bad. We stuck with 15 through Harrisburg, around Gettysburg on into Maryland. On through Frederick and finally at Leesburg, Virginia we turned onto Highway 267 and headed East into Dunn Loring.
Or so I thought. I got into a wrong lane at the toll booth and was dumped on the Dulles Airport exit. This would have been OK except I was headed the wrong way and it was cooking hot and rush hour traffic. But an extra 30 minutes or so of winding around watching the GPS to see if I could spot a highway I was familiar with and we were back on highway 7, the Leesburg Pike. I had hoped to stay off this road. That was the reason for passing it and taking 267 back in Leesburg. But I knew the road, and I knew how to get to Steve's place in Dunn Loring from where we were.
We unloaded the bike, and prepped it for storage. We had to be ready to fly out Saturday afternoon.
We flew home and got in late Saturday evening. Mary brought Vincent had picked up Angela and Hugh on the way up. So we were picked up at the airport by a welcoming party. The girls spent Sunday with us and so we ended the vacation with a nice visit with them as well. Monday it was back to work for the lot of us.
That's it! We went 18 days on the motorcycle portion of the trip, with just 3 days off. We covered about 6 or 7 miles short of 4,500 miles, not counting the nautical miles of the ferry rides.
Did I mention we are exhausted? Exhilarated, but exhausted. It was a blast. Thanks for joining us!