My wife has said that, on rough days during the school year, this was the segment of the trip she had most been looking forward to. She often thought of being at this pretty little house with not a
whole lot to do, sitting on the porch overlooking the Bay of Fundy, maybe just
reading a book and/or listening to some soft music.
Everything has gone according to plan except
for one thing – it’s day #4 here, and we haven’t been able to see across the bay
since the afternoon we arrived. It seems all of Nova Scotia has been stuck in
this rut of warm, moist air moving up from the southeast over the cool water –
a perfect recipe for fog! We’ve had some days of beautiful, sunny weather up
here on the ridge above the bay, but
down below it is just a gray sheet as far as the eye CAN’T see!
We had some hope this morning when we could
see a couple buoys way out in the water, and we were sitting out on the
porch watching some hummingbirds buzz in and out of this patch of purple
flowers in the field across the street. Alas, in a about 30 minutes the buoys
were completely enveloped in low clouds.
A few friendly neighbors walked by to say
hello and ask, after seeing our PA license plate, exactly where we were from. I
think they felt it was their responsibility to tell us the weather pattern was
unusual, and that eventually the bay would be in regular view!
We drove into the town of Wolfville, where
we were disappointed to find out the town had not been once overrun by wolves
but had been named after someone with the last name “Wolf” - darn it! The
weather there in the valley was clear of course, and we did catch sight of the
Minas Basin, which empties into the Bay of Fundy.
The Minus Basin land was once called Acadia
by French settlers in the early 17th century, and the people became known as
Acadians. France and England were constantly at war during this period, and
tensions became especially high when the Treaty of Utrecht established British Nova Scotia. Acadians would not
take an oath of loyalty demanded by lieutenant governor Charles Lawrence, and
the deportation/expulsion began.
About 14,000 Acadians were forced out of the
area – villages were burned, and people were boarded onto boats. Many of the
people headed to Louisiana, where their name was Anglicized to “Cajun”. There
were a number of people who chose to hide in Nova Scotia, and in later years
many of the deported people returned. Today, most of the French people in
Canada’s Atlantic provinces are descendants of the expelled Acadians.
Dikes that were constructed in the port of
Wolfville by Acadians during the early 1600s still mark the landscape. Walking
trails that run along the tops of the dikes feature many informative signs
which explain the history of the region and show the changes to the local
geography brought about by erosion during the extreme tides.
One sign displayed the topography around
Cape Split, which lies at a point north of Wolfville where the Minas Channel
narrows to meet Minas Basin. I learned that during the periods of maximum flow,
about a cubic mile of water per hour is moving past the cape. That is more
water than all of the fresh water rivers and streams in the world combined!
Since
Wolfville was home to Acadia University, we assumed there would be a laundromat
or two in the vicinity, so we took the opportunity to do some wash. We also
stopped at the library, which is housed in a former Dominion Atlantic Railway station, to catch up on email and highlights of the last couple days of the Tour de
France.
I hate Team Sky and the way their scientific
method of cycling has ruined competitive racing, but I have always had a warm
spot in my heart for Welshman Geraint Thomas. During interviews and cycling features I’ve
seen, he always seemed to be a great guy, and I’m glad he has had a chance to
shine after years of quietly taking a back seat to other teammates. I
absolutely loved visiting Thomas’ home country a few years ago, and I hope his
Tour victory brings a lot of pride and excitement to the people of Wales! Now if he would only switch teams (fat chance).
Wouldn’t you know it, after a restless night
of sleep during some cracking thunderstorms that seemed to echo endlessly
across the Minas Channel, we have had a couple days that you could see
completely clearly across the 30-mile distance to New Brunswick! The Isle Haute and Cape Chignecto could easily be
spotted from the porch of our house, and when we walked on the beach, we could
see Cape d’Or and even spy Cape Split far up the channel.
Sue led me
down the rocky shoreline to see some interesting formations she witnessed
during a low-tide hike she took the other day. It was incredible to think most
of these areas were far below the water when the Bay of Fundy tide was at its highest
level.
On
Monday we took a bike ride out to Halls Harbour, and I thought I had planned
our route fairly well to limit the number of leg-breaking hills along the way.
Man was I wrong! I think that when I was looking at the comparative climbs of
600-700 feet, the 80- or 90-foot climbs didn’t look so bad. The problem was the
short distance in which you were covering those heights. Some of the unpaved
roads were impossible to ride up, especially after the recent rain deposited
sand and dirt within the rocks and gravel that was already quite thick.
There were a couple sections where we decided
to walk, because our front wheels were sinking while the back wheels were spinning out
on the loose debris. Sue took a picture down one particular slope that was just
ridiculous, but it didn’t really do the terrain justice – you simply had to be
there to get the complete perspective.
Another problem was that not all the roads
were marked by street signs. Some intersections had directions to towns along
the way, but we weren’t looking to ride all the way down to the waterline, and
most of the towns aren’t connected by streets that run along the shore anyway.
I talked to a few locals along our route to confirm we were headed the correct
way, and they often tried to point me towards something scenic, but our
enthusiasm was dwindling.
We were happy to reach Halls Harbour but
discouraged by yet another nasty hill that we had to “look forward to” on the
way out. The town has that wonderful picturesque fishing village look, and we
were there to witness some of the local watermen loading up their boat with
lobster pots and other gear then head out of the marina.
There was a substantial stone jetty protecting
the marina, with a large seafood restaurant and a cluster of pretty homes facing
the Minas Channel. With such clear weather (finally), we could easily see
across to Spencer Island, which from our house would be obscured by Cape d’Or,
and we could even spy the broken cliff that gives Cape Split its name.
The return ride provided some more
adventure, as there was no way we were going to head back the same route on
which we reached Halls Harbour! We decided to ride all the way up the ridge
above the channel and attempt to find a crossing road on the plateau. Little
did we know that there were no connections up on that part of the ridge, and we
ended up riding down the other side into the valley on another steep, rocky and
partially washed-out road. It felt like we had a vice grip on the brakes all
the way down, more sliding than coasting.
When we finally linked up with the familiar
Route 221, which runs parallel to the ridge to meet Route 360 to Harbourville,
I began planning ahead in my mind. I figured on leaving Sue to rest at the base
of the ridge and riding back by myself to get the “rescue van”. I didn’t really
like the idea of climbing over the ridge, but I had a decent amount in reserve
while riding at Sue’s pace. Not to demean her in any way, because she toughed-out
this gnarly ride really well, but she simply doesn’t put in the miles that I do,
which involve continuous climbing/recovery along the way. She was fairly
wasted, and those dirt/stone roads kick the crap out of anyone after a while!
Again, some roads look so much easier in a
car. On the bike, Route 360 looked and
felt like the Mur de Huy - this road climbs 500 feet in under a
mile and a half! I got around the impossibly steep switchback about halfway
up (photo below), then just ran out of gears. My legs felt like they might have been able do
it, but not with the more limited range of the 1x10 setup on my ‘cross bike.
It’s really discouraging to have to walk up a paved road.
The back side of the ridge made up for any
disappointment. I had decided to cut across Brow Mountain Road to approach our
house from the west, in order to avoid the brutal climb out of Harbourville’s
marina and was left with a 3 ½-mile run home, almost completely downhill! A
gusty wind had kicked up during the afternoon, forming whitecaps out on the
distant bay, and I probably would have liked it to be a bit calmer for
safety-sake during my descent. However, the coolness in the air coming off the
bay felt fantastic, after the effort I had put out on my way up the ridge.
I really appreciated that the road had a
good asphalt surface and that it was fairly straight. There is nothing like
putting it in the biggest gear and letting ‘er rip! I had to slow down
considerably on the very steep drop and curve near the beach access point,
particularly because of the debris that the rain had washed into the turn, but
I still had a good amount of speed going so that a brief out-of-the-saddle sprint
was the only thing needed for the short climb up to our house.
Sue had managed to ride out to meet me at
the base of that nasty switchback, and I was shaking my head at her for going
farther than I expected, while she was shaking her head at the prospect of me even getting
up part of that hill. We decided a drive into nearby Aylesford for some ice
cream was definitely in order.
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