So Many Roads Travelled

I imagine that all of you know Robert Frost’s poem, “The Road Not Taken,” and its most famous lines: “I took the [road] less travelled by,/And that has made all the difference.” Those lines echoed over and over in my mind yesterday, as I took quite a few less travelled roads from Wolfville to Halifax.

My ride started out conventionally enough as I cycled up the south mountain, which, despite being a challenging way to start the day, was well worth the views of Wolfville and Grand Pre below me.

I then descended into the valley and rode along Bog Road. Though it might sound unappealing, it had been recently paved and wound its way through beautiful wetlands. Soon enough, I was crossing the Avon River, and riding into Windsor.

My route was a little circuitous, all but avoiding Highway 1, which would have been a much more direct route, but it was a sunny morning, and there was no urgency to get to Lisa’s as she was working from home, so I was content to take the quieter roads.

After riding through small towns like Hartville and Ellerhouse,  I got onto the 101 service road which was gravel, but well maintained gravel, so I could manage the steep climbs and descents without too much difficulty.

From the service road, the route took me onto an unnamed gravel road away from the highway and into the forest. No problem. Probably just a short cut through to the next main gravel road. Um no. Not  a short cut through, and though there were signs of tire tracks, perhaps from an atv, there sure weren’t any signs of bikes. I got to the first steep pitch, and the gravel was so chunky and dense that there was no way I could ride up it, so I climbed off and pushed the bike upwards. That would be the first of many episodes of hiking my bike.

The road, and I am using that term loosely, then wound deeper into the forest where it deteriorated into a maze of rocks and roots and deep swampy puddles, around which I carefully walked the bike.

At this point I wasn’t feeling panicky, but I was starting to wonder what I had gotten myself into. I still had lots of water, and an oatcake or two, but I started to envision myself arriving at Lisa’s at sundown, covered in muck and deeply disgruntled.

I cursed myself for not having checked the map more closely. I had seen that I would be on minor roads, winding around the lakes in the middle of the province, but I hadn’t imagined they might be poorly maintained atv roads, or, worse, not maintained at all.

At this point I reminded myself not to waste emotional energy perseverating on what I should or should not have done, and thought of Frost’s poem “A Servant to Servants,” in which he suggests that “the best way out is always through.” Onward I went.

Coming out of the rocky and rooty swamp, the road improved slightly, as did my determination to stay on the bike, even on the rocky climbs and descents, and through the vast puddles.  I gave myself a few good soakers, but that was preferable to spending the rest of the day in the forest.

I turned onto Hiking Trail Road, which ran for kilometres along Rafter Lake and Sandy Lake, and as the quality of the road improved, so did my pace and thus my mental state. I now felt like I was riding on the mountain roads in Cape Breton; this was doable.

Finally, my route took me to the St. Margaret’s Bay Rail Trail, and after riding less than a kilometre, I saw a rooftop, which turned out to be The Train Station Bike and Bean cafe. With my last oatcake long gone, and my water bottles almost empty, this was truly an oasis. I parked my bike with as much restraint as I could muster, and then headed for the takeout window where another cyclist was just picking up his order. When I tried to explain the route I had just taken, he looked completely bemused. Fair enough. As we wished each other well, I took my iced latte and carrot cake back to my mud-splattered bike, where I promptly devoured both.

With water bottles replenished, and now sporting a moustache of cream cheese icing, I got back on the bike, more appreciative than ever of the domestic nature of a rail trail. There was helpful signage; there were fellow riders; there were highways nearby should I wish to change my route.

Lisa had texted offering to pick me up at the cafe, but I felt fine if somewhat grubby, and besides, I was not about to end my trip by accepting a ride. Imagine!

The remainder of the ride was quite enjoyable, especially in comparison with the wild adventure of the morning, and within an hour I was at the Halifax rotary, a place of organized chaos, or so it seemed, and then I was flying out the first exit to Purcell’s Cove road, which took me to Lisa’s home in Ferguson Cove.

I arrived feeling weary but recovered from the stress of the morning, and we have not stopped talking since. Thus the delay in writing the blog. We stayed up late sharing a bottle of wine, and then headed for Crystal Crescent Beach this morning.  What a perfect spot with its beautiful shoreline, stunning rock formations, and lovely trails weaving through the forest.

I couldn’t ask for a better recovery day, even finding time to wash my poor bike.

Tomorrow, I’ll make the short ride into Halifax to spend the weekend with Janine and Andrew; what a perfect way to end this trip of so many roads travelled.