In Search Of

Well, dear reader, I made a valiant effort to find charming aspects of NB today, but I have to say, I was hard pressed.

I started out at 5:45, and wanted to take a shot of the river, but the factories along the water were already pumping out steam (I hope it was steam), making it look more like an industrial wasteland than an early morning pastoral scene.

Heading out of the city, there was a lovely fog hovering above the fields, but the rusted railway tracks were a bit of an eyesore, so that wasn’t an ideal shot either.

The best I could do was a photo of lovely horses, but even then the star of the show was only interested in munching on the prickly-looking bush.

I couldn’t find a store open at that hour, but I did see two car washes already operating. I have noticed that in both Quebec and NB they do love their cars. I have gone through small towns with a garage on every corner, and yet no stores. In Aroostook, there were several mechanics, with dilapidated automobiles strewn in their yards, yet not a store in sight. Oh wait, there was the sign for the old White Rose; it was still there, though the store was long gone.

In my effort to find charming elements of the province, I saw the following: an inordinate number of lumber mills, pickup trucks, motor bikes (one of which roared past me on the shoulder), and Catholic churches. I stopped at the Catholic church in Saint Leonard to take off my vest, only to feel a distinct plop on my shoulder. No, I had not been touched by the lord, but rather by the excrement of a Catholic crow sitting smugly above me on the wire. I think you will agree that is an utterly  charmless act of aggression.

I will say that my ride from Edmunston to Grand Falls was very peaceful. I stopped in GF to get some breakfast, and my choices were Tim’s or KFC. Pretty easy choice. I asked for the BELT without the bacon, and was offered sausage instead. So much to explain. Still I got out of there with my ELT nicely wrapped, and stored it in my pack until I could navigate out of town.

From Grand Falls, I took the 130 along the Saint John river, and that was a beautiful stretch. I kept meaning to take more photos, but with the temperature rising, I just stayed focus on putting in the miles.

I stopped briefly in Perth-Andover at Nissen’s Market, right along the river, and it was quite lovely, dare I say charming; I got an amazing date square that had just the right amount of saltiness to it.

I stopped one more time in Florenceville-Bristol-Bristol, aka the French fry capital of the world. Imagine growing up with that legacy? Well of course it is McCain’s that put them in the map, but here’s something I did not know and which I find slightly horrifying: McCain’s also produces fertilizer. Weird, right?

As tempting as it was to stay and bask in French fry Mecca, after finding a school with park behind it, where I was able to wash my face and reapply sunscreen, I made my final push for Woodstock. NB is not big on mileage signs. In fact I saw none. Oh sure, they will put up a sign with a directional arrow, telling you Woodstock is this way or that way, but they’re not about to tell you how far away Woodstock is.

With the wind picking up, and the pavement falling apart, the final 20 kilometres stretched on interminably, yet I finally reached my turn off. Of course it was uphill to the hotel. With cars pressing to get past me, I just held my line.

Once I reached the main drag with auto dealers, grocery stores and fast food chains, I got up on the sidewalk qas some NBers really drive like lunatics, in cars that are a long way from being road worthy.

As I crossed at the lights, a driver rolled toward me while simultaneously giving me a thumbs up. I couldn’t help myself; I shouted, stop moving; just stop rolling toward me. Hey looked a little crestfallen, but I just kept going. The hotel was in sight.

The young man in reception could not have been kinder. He took his job seriously,and he made quick work of checking me in, no doubt as he could see the sweat trickling down my red ball of a face.

Once I showered, I regained my equilibrium, and went in search of groceries. First stop was the liquor store to pick up an NB cider, and then onto Sobey’s. Well the IGA dream is certainly over. I settled for a very plebeian salad, augmenting with an avocado and cheese.

And here I am completely sun-baked, ready to say bonne nuit. Tomorrow I have a 200 km ride to Saint John; that’s 200 km in which to find the beauty and charm of this province. Plenty of time, right?