Day 6: Friday September 13th ~ Dingwall to Ingonish

Today was a shortish ride of 35 miles around the northwest tip of Cape Breton. We elected to take the "Old Cabot Trail" along the edge of Aspy Bay, past White Point, then on to aptly named Smelt Harbour and finally to a rendevous with Vanna in Neils Harbour, where there is a large fish cannery. The early going was steep, but after the experience of Kings Mountain, anything shy of Everest would seem manageable.

We cranked out the miles pretty heartily, for Tim and Peter had a tee time in the afternoon at the world ranked Highland Links in Ingonish. No time for lollygagging and sight-seeing.

We found Neil's Harbor to be a working, yet quaint fishing village. Stopping for a snack and a drink, we got ready to climb our final mountain.

The day continued gray and the cloud cover low, but the rain held off. Having rounded the end of the island and now heading west instead of east, we battled a strong headwind. We had one more mountain to climb - Cape Smokey. Humming the old camp favorite "On top of old Smokey......." we powered up and crept gently down. The fact that the bottom of Smokey is called Wreck Cove was a reminder of what can happen on a downhill.

The lobster cannery at Neils Harbour

Tim pauses at the top of old Smokey

Curt is all smiles having descended Cape Smokey. Wreck Cove in background.

We reached  The Keltic Lodge, our destination in Ingonish, about lunch time. Curt and Richard had proceeded us in Vanna and had a picnic lunch laid out for us under an apple tree. We had time for a leisurley lunch and began to soak in the ambience of the marvelous spot called Keltic Lodge. The Keltic Lodge has a Cleveland area connection, as the original lodge was the summer home of Akron Rubber Baron Henry Corson. He fell in love with Ingonish and the dramatic peninsula on its western shore while yachting with friend Alexander Graham Bell. So he and his wife  bought the Middlehead  peninsula and built a summer home there, accesible only by boat.  In 1936, the land was expropriated by the Nova Scotia government from the Corsons. The Middlehead Peninsula was highly desired after the federal government created theCape Breton Highlands National Park. The Keltic Lodge was in operation for two seasons, but because of wartime shortages and overseas fighting, the government closed the hotel in 1942. In 1946, after the end of the war, the hotel reopened.

Part of the Keltic Lodge's storied history is that of its golf course, Highland Links. It is rated in the top 100 in the world and in playing it, we saw why. Opened in 1941 by famed Candian golf architect Stanley Thompsom, it appears as if no earth at all was moved to create the course. The result is a narrow, forest lined roller coaster of a track, with numerous blind shots and few even lies. But it runs through dramatic landscapes and charms even while it bedevils you.

 From the brochure:

Many have referred to Highlands Links as Thompson's homage to golf's Scottish roots and St. Andrews in particular. Holes have names like “Heich O' Fash” (which means “Heap of Trouble”) and many of the fairways are remarkably similar to Scottish topography. The seventh hole, Killiecrankie, resembles the long narrow pass of Killiecrankie in the Highlands of Scotland – a wooded gorge that played a significant role in Scotland's history in 1689.

Some of the same tests that have challenged golfers since the 15th century can also be found at Highlands Links. The fifth hole, “Canny Slap,” is similar to the most famous one-shot hole in golf, St. Andrew's eleventh hole, “Eden.” 

Other typical Scottish trademarks include heroic tees with their long forced carries, blind tee and green strokes, rolling fairways, dune-like mounds, pot bunkers, small undulating greens, seascape panoramas and ever-present heather. We had a great time playing it,

We gathered for dinner in the elegant bar of the Lodge, to find that RIchard and Kirt had enjoyed the afternoon by smoking cigars and drinking Canadian whiskey. The latter, of course. purely for "medicinal reasons".  We spent a nice evening with a casual seafood meal while listening to a local singer who sounded much like Gordon Lightfoot.

Day 5 Thursday September 12th ~

Disaster and Disappointment

 

 

Well,  which one of us pictured above  is going to end up in the hospital by the end of the day?

Read on to find out!

All's well that ends well, I suppose, and no lives were lost or even compromised long term. But there was a very scary high speed crash on a treacherous mountain pass, which could have ended in complete disaster. But I get ahead of our  story.........

 

The day started out with low visibility and steady drizzle. To inspire the group, Peter mounted a new flag on the back of his recumbent. This is the flag of Cape Breton Island.

 

Knowing that we would need extra energy for the three steep mountains we were to climb on the route between Cheticamp and Dingwall, Kirt dished up his signature breakfast of "Eggs Kirtland".

The secret ingredient? Mayonnaise.

 

 





Our first climb of the day was French Mountain; it occurred in continuing rain and mist  just after we entered the National Park. It was a steady climb of @ 7% grade. In the rain it was the downhills that were tricky.  Due to a blustery tailwind and mist, I  did not notice until too late that I had registered 48 mph on one of the downhills! A crash at that speed would likely be fatal.

The road to French Mountain



Pausing to catch our breath. Three mountains ahead.

Richard on top of French Mountain

 

Negotiating one of the downhills in wet weather

We left the first summit and  traversed across a most unusual geographical feature known as “The Boar’s Back.” This section of the trail , which runs  from French Mountain (1,493 feet) to MacKenzie Mountain (1,220 feet), travels along the top of a narrow ridge, with near vertical drops of 1,500 feet on one side and 1,100 feet on the other. Below is one of the views from the Boar's Back.

 

On the Boar's Back

 

Tim learns about the glaciers that once filled the valley below.

 

From the top of MacKenzie Mountain the road began a steep descent, in a series of sweeping 180-degree hairpin turns. The view was awesome and quite overwhelming. In front of us stretched the vast expanse of the Gulf of St. Lawrence and the entire west flank of the mountainous northern peninsula.

Richard and Kirt preparing to tackle the hairpin turns of MacKenzie Mountain

 

 

It was on one of the hairpins that disaster struck. Richard, who was third to start down, found his front wheel starting to shimmy uncontrollably. Heading towards a guardrail protecting a precipice of well over 200 feet, he managed to wipe out instead. This may have saved his life, but the cost was steep.  He broke his collarbone, chipped off  a large portion of his elbow, and sustained  road rash covering one side of his body. Kirt, Tim and several passing drivers all stopped to render aid. Nonetheless, due to lack of cell phone coverage and the fact that Vanna was already down the mountain with a picnic lunch at the ready, getting word to Curt and Peter  meant that it was nearly on hour before poor Richard was in Vanna and on a 45 minute run to the hospital.

 

Daunted and subdued,  Kirt, Tim and Peter continued on towards the suddenly inappropriately named village of Pleasant Bay. From there the trail cuts inland and after a few miles climbs again, this time straight up the side of North Mountain (1,460 feet). A sign in the picnic area informed us that this section of highway takes you through the only untouched Acadian hardwood forest still standing in the Maritime provinces. It has never been cut and remains much the same as when John Cabot arrived. We really did not have much energy to savor the pristine trees, due to the uninterrupted 13% grade climb that went on for miles up North Mountain. Here the disappointment set in. None of us can remember the last time we had to dismount and walk up a hill, but all three of us ran out of gas and had to push our bikes. Guess that's why they are called "push bikes" in these parts. Nonetheless, we all got up the mountain on our own steam, if anyone cares. Just not in the saddle.

 

At the summit of North Mountain we paused for  refreshment and contemplated another steep downhill. Suddenly the reward we all usually look forward to - miles of joyous descent- seemed fraught with peril. A crash now and not even Vanna would be available for rescue. We crept downhill accompanied by the smell of burning brake pads, stopping several times to "enjoy the view." Either we are cowards or sensibly careful. You can decide.

 

We ended our day by a pleasant ride through a farming area until we reached Dingwall, a peaceful fishing village on the north coast, if you can believe the locals........

Dingwall Harbour

Kirt finds that the local fish shop is closed for the season.

We rolled through Dingwall proper and found our destination for the night, a lovely group of cottages called the Markland. There we downed a few bottles of the local brew while awaiting the return of Vanna and our wounded warrior.

Richard, bent but not broken. Well, OK, broken but not bent..........

Dinner at the Markland, Dingwall Nova Scotia

 

Day 4: Wednesday September 11th ~ Cheticamp

The predicted rain greeted us as we gathered in the Normaway Inn for another marvelous feast consisting of French toast, eggs a la Normaway, yoghurt, fresh blueberries and rhubarb sauce. The decision before us was whether to wait out the rain for the predicted window of opportunity around mid-day, or go after breakfast to avoid the thunderstorms predicted in mid-afternoon. We decided drizzle was better than lightning, so we got out our rain gear and set off for Cheticamp.

God was with us in a very Irish, perhaps even Scottish, way as the road to Cheticamp was gently rolling and we had a steady tail wind of about 20 miles per hour. So the wind was at our backs and the road that rose up to meet us was only damp as the rain abated. Stopping for more bananas and other biker necessities at one of the few grocery stores in the area, we were off to a good start.

We left the Margaree Valley and headed north up the western coast of Cape Breton. This is a lovely are of dunes and bluffs, which must have been reminiscent of Scotland to the early settlers. Even the distant hills looked as if lochs could be nestled amongst them.

Kirt in front of a faux loch

With the aforementioned tail wind freshening, we set a blistering pace up the coast for Cheticamp. But the photo ops abounded, even though the skies were glowering.

Peter and Tim. Peter is sporting the Nova Scotia flag

 

Our perfect ride was marred about 5 kilometers from Cheticamp, when we encountered road construction. The blacktop had been stripped, leaving a bone jarring washboard surface which is mildly annoying to cars, but is like riding a bucking bronco on a bike. We certainly had ample time being tossed around on this stretch to wonder why the Canadians didn't repave in smaller sections. Must have had a three day rental on the road stripping machine.

The vistas on the west coast are glorious. Moorland running into the sea, low craggy mountains in the distance. Cheticamp was a French fishing village long before the English took over and it is proud of its "Acadian" heritage. The primary language in this area is French.

The view from our lodging ~ the Pilot Whale Chalets

Our accommodations were fully equipped Chalets on a headland overlooking the St. Lawrence. We had been told that every Wednesday a fisherman appeared in town with fresh caught fish, so Curt ventured out, returning  with a mess of Halibut and instructions on how the locals prepare it: fried in an egg/flour/butter batter. To hell with worries about cholesterol and calories, we are biking the Cabot Trail and for a week at least, can convince ourselves that we deserve all the rich food and drink available. When the Kurts joined forces to fry it up, it slid down our gullets like greased lightning, and tasted like ambrosia. Never has a piece of fish received such accolades! We even prepared salad and fresh broccoli to make the meal a little more balanced.

The Plot Whale Chalets

 

Our gastronomic and calorie laden delights were not over. For breakfast, Kirt promised us his someday to be famous "Eggs Kirtland" , scrambled eggs made with mayonnaise, cheddar cheese and in our case onions. We had sides of fried ham and toasted bread from a local bakery. These also slid down our gullets like a greased pig. The fuel will be needed for the day ahead -  the road to Dingwall. Three hulking  mountains with average grades of 13% await us!

 

 

About to dig into Eggs Kirtland





 

Day 3 Tuesday September 10th ~ Margaree Valley & Golf

Today dawned spectacularly beautiful. A picture is worth a thousand words:

Curt has been hoping to see a moose. No luck so far, but some of the other wildlife is impressive!

 Bald Eagle Counting Crows

After a delicious breakfast of pancakes and bacon, marinated in Cape Breton Maple Syrup, we got ready to depart for the Margaree Valley and the Normaway Inn. It is a relatively short ride of 33 miles, but as Curt, Tim and Peter had a tee time in the afternoon, the trick was to do it by lunch.  We were pumped, but our pump was not. Belive it or not, we were delayed half an hour trying to get our pump to work. Finally we dug out Kirt's pump and off we went.

Pumped to ride flat out.

Ah, if only the world famous Cabot Trail was a bike path! What bliss that would be. There is a down side to being the only through road in all of Cape Breton. EVERY vehicle: large, small, powered or pedalled is on this trail. While a tad less busy than  the LA Freeway in rush hour, the speed of the powered vehicles adds a certain thrill factor as you are  blown about in the backwash. It is a pretty good road, reallly, but you'd better be wearing a rear view mirror and monitoring constantly.

The crew about to enter the Margaree Valley

After the first twelve miles of heavy traffic, we met up with Curt and Vanna at a Tourist Trap called the Red Barn. Now don't be fooled - we LOVE Tourist Traps. They have bathrooms. And they have bumper stickers for the back of the trailer. And they even had a moose for Curt, sort of.

We are beginning to encounter all things Cape Breton. Flags, Koozies, mugs, the usual schlock. I bought a Cape Breton Flag like the one pictured above to fly from my bicycle. The locals call themselves "Capers". (Hence the green flag? Who knows.) Capers are proud of their isolated heritage, yet aware that many consider them a bit backward. A local  Caper told us this joke :

"A young Caper lad ventured for the first  time to Toronto. Arriving in the big city, a woman of the night approached him saying: "Hey Stranger, how'd you like to sleep with me for $100?" The Caper replied,  "Well, OK. I'm really not very tired, but I sure could use the $100."

Pushing hard, we indeed reached  the Normaway Inn by lunch. The Inn's original purpose was as a retirement home for missionaries. There is a a large main house with sleeping rooms upstairs, a huge dining room and a comodious library where everyone gathers after dinner to hear local musicians play fiddle music. We never discovered what happened to the missionaries, but along the way a dozen cute little cabins were constructed and the home was converted to an Inn. 

We really liked evedrything about the Normaway Inn. The staff was welcoming and  cheerful, The cabins were panelled in pine and had Vermont Castings wood stoves for heat. The food was outstanding and the fiddle music was professional quality. Richard and Kirt also enjoyed sampling  Scotch from the local distillery, Glenora. 

Meanwhile, Peter, TIma nd Curt had motored down the coast to Inverness to play Cabot Links, a course less than two years old, but already ranked in the world's top 100. It is a true links style, running along the Atlantic with nothing but heather, thin, tight turf and greens so hard that you can't hold them.  You must land your approach in front of the green and let it run up. A brisk two club  wind blowing  along the beach completed the links experience

 1st Tee of Cabot Links, Inverness Nova Scotia

 We both parred the first hole. Our elation soon ended as we turned into the wind for the number one handicap, par five second hole

 The Harbour Hole is one of the most unique we have ever  encountered

 The smile is because of the thrill of playing the course, not for the score!