I’ve noticed a significant decline in my ability to remember details over the past few years so I’ve decided to begin writing of my activities on this website as a kind of diary. I apologize in advance for information that you find uninteresting, but I expect it will help my recall in the future.
COUSIN’S SHORE & THE KLR650
The trip starts with an invitation to Amy and Christian’s wedding on the north shore of Prince Edward Island, early August of 2019. Six month before the wedding, with my partner Meg persuading me to get it over with, I take fifteen minutes that I’d have likely spent staring into space to purchase a pair of return tickets to Charlottetown, PEI. From there, no more than a month passes and I’ve decided that the tickets were cheap enough to botch a return flight. Fast-forward to June and I am perusing classifieds, searching for dual-sport motorcycles in the Maritimes. Another month and I’ve requested all of August off, citing overtime hours worked and a busy upcoming winter season for which I’d need all my energy. Nathan and Alex, I apologize for requesting a month off work on such short notice and promise to give you more of a heads-up next time.
And so, I’ve got the time off and a couple of Kawasaki KLR650s are up for sale in Nova Scotia and PEI. It’s the night before we fly out of Nanaimo and I am cramming a sleeping pad, hammock, pocket stove, and favourite wool sweater into a thirty litre dry sack. The matte black Shoei helmet and gloves I’ve been holding onto for six years—more to come on that—make the cut, too. Most of the duffel that’s crossing the country is dedicated to a trip that exists only in my head. Looking back, whenever I’d mention the trip to Meg she’d either force out a word of encouragement or look at me wide-eyed with an uncomfortable smile. “I hope it works out for you,” sounded more like, “I hope your trip doesn’t get too fucked up if and when it ever happens.” But that’s all right, because “If the motorcycle trip doesn’t pan out,” I’d tell myself, “I’ll just sell the bike and fly home, buy a switch rod, and fly fish for pink salmon.”
Meghan and I arrived at the HI Charlottetown hostel roughly 24 hours after departing Nanaimo, BC. It took less than ten minutes for a friendly acquaintance to offer us a ride to the north beaches the following day. We enjoyed a few days of relaxing with friends on the red sands of Cousin’s Shore (a fifteen minute drive west of Cavendish) before I reserved a seat on the City Beach Express to check out a moto. I rode the shuttle from the Cavendish Boardwalk to 7 Mt Edward Road in Charlottetown the morning of August 7th ($17) to check out the only KLR650 for sale on PEI. And so, I am sitting on this shortbus trying to remember what I had read on the KLR650.net forum; old-timers cutting through all the nitpicky bullshit with posts like, “If a KLR sounds good and drives, chances are it’s good,” and “Working on a KLR is easier than working on a lawnmower.” But, you know, the truth is that I was sold—and I don’t mean sold to this motorcycle, I mean sold to any motorcycle that wasn’t a bucket of rust. I was stir-crazy, knew it, and hadn’t flown my shit across the country to fly it back without trying.
The mechanic, seller, and I were standing around the beat up 2007 KLR outside the Kawasaki shop. The mechanic fires it up and it is obnoxiously loud, backfiring with a high-flow, aftermarket exhaust that a previous owner had installed. A well-used Gerber machete is strapped to the right side of the seat and a bunch of stickers are plastered on the rear box and side fairing. It was missing the header heat shield and handguards, the famed doohickey (cam chain tensioner) hadn’t been replaced, nearly all of the body panels were zip-tied on, and there was no indication that it had been well cared for—but it did sound good. I turned to the mechanic, “Do you think it can make it across the country?” He looked a little surprised, turned to the bike and smiled. “I think so,” he looked back at me, “and I am jealous.” His reserved, grumpy demeanour lightened up as he began to explain 4-stroke single maintenance for a couple of minutes. Of course I bought it—paid too much for it, too.
I had to resolve some paperwork before heading back to Cousin’s Shore. I paid for and printed a 30-day binder of insurance from a broker in BC and headed over to Access PEI for a Transit Permit (24-hour temporary registration) before driving northward along the south shore, crossing the Confederation Bridge into New Brunswick, and swinging down to the Access Nova Scotia in Amherst to re-register the vehicle. The KLR offers an upright seating position, making you more sensitive to crosswinds, and all the luggage (tank bag, dry sack, and tail case) further increases its sail area. Driving over the Confederation Bridge was far windier than I remembered; strong northward gusts would suddenly push me 1-1.5 meters towards the edge of my lane. It took roughly fifteen minutes driving at 80 km/h before I’d descend into New Brunswick. The stretch of Highway 2 adjacent to the Beausejour Marsh at the NB-NS border was quite windy as well.
I walked into NS Access with a BC Driver’s License, poorly handwritten bill of sale, binder of insurance, signed-over PEI slip, and a PEI Safety Inspection less than 30 days old. “But you don’t live in Nova Scotia, right?” asked the clerk. “No, I don’t, but I spoke to someone at your call center numerous times and they’ve assured me that—” His manager who’s been listening gets involved, “You need to have a Nova Scotian residence and safety inspection.” Afraid of getting stranded in rural NS with an unregistered beater, I began paraphrasing relevant bits of the Nova Scotian Public Highways Act that I had read the day before. She stiffens, swivels away from me in her black office chair, and picks up the phone. She eyes me over her shoulder as the phone rings. A few minutes pass, the clerk looks up at me apologetically, the manager hangs up and turns towards us, “Alright, well, you don’t need to be Nova Scotian, but you need a Nova Scotian Safety Inspection.” She had developed a power-tripping smirk on her face. Confused, I tell her that Nova Scotia honours up to 30-day old PEI and New Brunswick vehicle inspections. A couple more phone calls later and the clerk, grinning from ear to ear, hands me the 30-day Temporary Permit.
Equipped with the Nova Scotia 30-day registration, I drove back to Cousin’s Shore with the PEI plate still on the bike. After four hours of getting my face buffeted by wind and cruising at 5100 RPM, I was not convinced this trip was going to go well, but I was convinced that it was going to go somewhere interesting. In fact, I had yet to survive Amy and Christian’s wedding ceremony. Fast-forward a half-day (August 10) and I am a groomsman, a half-groomed man wearing a grey Sean John and deodorant. I was tasked with greeting invitees, which was awkward and I struggled to make small-talk, but the hors-d’oeuvres were on point and there was an open bar so it worked out in my favour. Dinner began after the ceremony and all went smoothly until the last course. You see, I hadn’t planned on crying into a microphone for two hundred guests as they finished their desserts but I guess that’s life. I went on to spend the evening celebrating with a few childhood best friends, making me one of the happiest people within one or two hundred kilometers of the Anne of Green Gables Museum.
Meghan wished me luck and boarded the return flight to Nanaimo the following morning (August 11) and I’d stay for an additional night at the request of the newlyweds. Following a greasy breakfast and an afternoon of recovery on the beach, we had an awesome seafood dinner with Christian’s family at New Glasgow Lobster Suppers (highly recommended) before quickly retiring for the night—or so I thought. Mark, a good friend of Chris’, had discovered a telescope in Amy’s cottage and wouldn’t be dissuaded from at least trying for a close-up of the moon. Despite it being an old scope we eventually got the moon’s craters in focus—it was stunning. I show Mark and he cannot contain his excitement. He beings to jump around with a large smile on his face. Then we try for Jupiter and its moons. To my surprise, and twenty minutes later, we center Jupiter in the field of view—there are at least four bright and distinct circular shapes surrounding the planet. We try for Saturn and again, after about twenty minutes, center the planet in the viewfinder. Straining one’s eye you could see a faint outline of its ring. It sure makes you feel small.
Not wanting to overstay my welcome and with an urge to hit the road, I pack my dry sack while the others are still sleeping the next morning. Amy, who’s been sleeping on the futon by the front door catches me sneaking out to pack the bike. We have coffees and a small breakfast while others begin to wake up. A few goodbyes and an a properly tied fisherman’s knot later, Amy and Chris see me off at roughly 9 AM. The knobby rear tire throws sand as I throttle it down Cousin’s Shore Road, heading for Halifax, NS.
PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND TO ITALY CROSS, NOVA SCOTIA (August 12 1; 0-512 KM)
I took 100-series highways south towards Kensington before joining Highway 2 through New Annan, south on Read Dr., and along the south shore to the bridge—the ride was casual and scenic, as one might expect. The bridge crossing went well and I stuck to back roads as I worked my way southward from Amherst, through the small towns of Nova Scotia. I’d eventually rejoin Highway 2 and the 318 towards Cole Harbour where I’d pick up riding pants and a jacket ($100). The number of lakes surrounding the greater Halifax area is astounding and the roads twisted through lakeside forest and rock escarpments. I arrived at the seller’s house roughly six hours after leaving Amy’s cottage and must have been pretty excited to try on the riding clothes because I’d later realize that I’d forgotten my favourite pair of pants and leather belt on seller’s porch while driving through Bridgewater. I was now roughly 140 km WSW, 2 hours away, and not returning to Halifax. (I hope you’re enjoying those pants as much as I did, Matt.) Highways 333, 329, and 3 make for a scenic westward ride through oceanside towns. Note: check out the Cabot Trail if you’re new to touring in the Maritimes. I’d arrive to my aunt and uncle’s lakeside home in Italy Crossing at about 6 PM—just in time to interrupt their dinner party with a backfiring thumper. I hadn’t seen them since my father’s death ten years prior, but everything fell into place and they were welcoming as ever.
ITALY CROSS TO RIVIERE-DU-LOUP (August 13-14; KM)
I wake up in a comfortable queen-sized bed, light pouring through the northwest-facing window. Uncle Doug, Aunt Emily, and I have a small breakfast. Emily wonders what we’ll get up to today, but then she knows, “How about you teach Phil how to use the Kubota?” Doug and I spend a few hours landscaping.
[TO BE FINISHED]