PEI n Isle de Madeleine 2009

Charlottetown Harbour

My friend, Wilma, planned to drive to the Women's Institute Conference in Charlottetown this June of 2009 and so I offered to go along, splitting gas and lodging, and taking my bike so that while she is at the conference, I can bike the Confederation Trail again.
I also want to go to the Magdalene Islands, and she asks me to wait until the conference is over so that she can also come along.
We start our trip on June 13th, a Saturday, in Wilma's car, and another W.I. member, Jean, comes with us. We will share driving time.
Just past Montreal, a part of the car muffler burns a hole through the pipe right under where we sit, and we now have to shout to each other. It must look a riot, 3 old ladies in a roaring old car.
In Quebec, we stop at a corner gas station in the woods where an old man wearing only grey socks on his feet crosses the stony ground to pump gas for us. He speaks French, but Wilma knows a few words and tries to tell him something. He doesn't respond, and finally she says in English 'I wonder if he knows what I'm saying?' He has sparkles in his eyes, and quietly says 'Yes' and I burst out laughing immediately, and then so does he. He explains that his feet sweat so badly he gave up on shoes.
We get as far as St. Antoine, near Riviere de Loup, and share a motel that night.
It has only 2 beds so I agree to use my mat and sleeping bag and sleep on the floor, but Jean asks them how much for a 2nd room, and they drop $20 off the cost of both rooms. We split it 3 ways and now have 3 beds. I bring the bike in, of course.
We make great time next day until almost to Moncton, where I accidentally fill the gas tank with diesel fuel.
Wilma makes plans to write to Casey Irving when she gets home, although I find out at Crystal Beach that he has since passed on.
We drive towards Moncton, and the car goes slower and slower on the expressway so I drive along the side of the road at 40. We turn in at the 1st intersection, and pull into a trucking place. The car dies. Jean calls CAA. When he arrives, the fellow can't take us in the towtruck but agrees to wait until a cab arrives, and we follow him to a Cdn. Tire.
It's 6 pm Sunday, and they're closed but the repair manager has just left and we see him walking back from his car towards us across the parking lot. He offers to open the garage to put the car in. He has a mechanical pusher but when he brings it out, it hasn't been recharged and it refuses to work. He and I push the car in and I almost get squeezed to death between the wall and car door and jump back just in time. The ladies have had the cab take them to a motel nearby.
The manager lets me put the bike in there, too, and then drives me to the motel.
The room has only 2 beds, so I sleep on the floor. So comfortable, surprisingly.
Next day, we are advised that all the extensive repair work will take until 5 or 5:30 pm, including the muffler part.
We must vacate the room by noon but the motel employees agree to let us sit outside on the lawnchairs and to use the coffeeroom. There's a Smitty's across the road but what a fast and dangerous 4-lane street it is!
My dad was called Smitty most of his life so it's appropriate, and supper Sunday night was good.
We head to PEI at 6pm with an ice cream cone in our hands.
The bridge itself is a great experience, imagine - 16 km. In my Vanagon I could see over the sides back in 2003, but we can't in Wilma's car.
The conference is at PEI Univ. so I procure a room there for the next 2 nts. It costs $144.00 - that's painful.
I'm invited to go on the double-decker bus tour of Charlottetown next day and I take this pic of Wilma and Jean with the buses behind them. The other pic is a sculpture on an inside wall of St. Dunstan's Cathedral. A very dear friend from my teen years went to St. Dunstan's University, delivering milk to the homes in my then Summerside Slemon Park area, to pay his way. I can, of course, appreciate his endeavour. He is now working with others on the Human Rights policy for PEI. I'm proud to have known him. Being a nature photographer for the most part, I don't take any other pics of Charlottetown.
We go downtown afterward to have supper at an outdoor patio restaurant in this warm sunny weather which I understand this is a bit unusual for PEI's springtime.










We all go out for breakfast next morning (they're early risers anyway) and then I leave on my bike by 8.
The secondary trail up to the Confederation Trl. is 10 km. and runs along side the university for the first bit. Very convenient.
It feels great to be on the bike in the relative quiet of the trail again. The trail has pea gravel and is quite easy to do. In 2003, there were Golden-winged Flickers flying up in front of me every 2 km for the entire 275 km. but this time I see none. Buttercups are in bloom, lovely Lupins everywhere, and the farmers are busy putting in their crops, probably mostly potatoes for McCains.

I'm in the highlands around Hunter River, and although the grade is only 4%, it goes up and up for miles and miles. My odomer reads in miles.

I start to run into trouble about 15 km. from the start, in that my legs are jelly, and will not do more than 2 km. at a time, which is the spacing of the rest benches. I'm really worried but will not go back. I have to stop and rest; stop and rest, continually.

At noon I open one of the box soups, squash, with scizzors and drink it from the box unheated. I have three left and they surely do make the bike too heavy. The new tires are way too heavy, too. They are made specially for trail riding but I made a mistake buying those. I have only 2 panniers instead of the four I took last year doing the prairies, but I still have far too much weight.
The only motorized vehicles allowed on the trail are those of the trail work crew, and when they hear or see you coming along, they stop what they're doing, stand to the side, and greet you. I was so long taking the picture that they went back to work but it gave me another needed break.

It takes me until 2 pm to finally get 2nd wind, after putting the blankey down at the side of the trail around 1pm and falling asleep for awhile in the bright sunshine. Still, by the time I reach Kensington at 8 pm, I have gone only 60 or 70 km. (I seem to remember 44 miles) The beautiful old stone railway station beside the trail (train tracks of yore) now has a pub in it, and I go for a beer as the burning of an oncoming bladder infection is apparent. One beer, whether real or point 5, will cure that within hours. However, I am so hot that I can only pour dribs into my glass to drink as I have to roll the cold bottle around my face trying to cool down. The dinner is simply delicious, PEI mussels and sweet potato fries, n beer. The waitress calls Crystal Beach to see if they're open, and the owner, Matthew, tells her to tell me to set my tent up anywhere and pay tomorrow. The trail slopes a bit downward towards Summerside but I have to go only about 6 km. I set up on the shoreline thinking the wind will abate in the evening. It doesn't, and whips the tent tarp noisily all night. Doesn't matter. I am back at Malapeque Bay and loving it.
Next morning, I get to find that someone has left a bag of garbage beside my picnic table - it has beer cans and beer bottles in it. Is that a message?
A man, Don Crossman, and his Shitsu, Marty, come over and Don says 'Would you like a cup of coffee? I saw you ride in last night. My motorhome is right over there.'
Don has his trailer set back a bit from the open beach, along with many others, back out of the strong Island winds. I say I'd love a cup of hot water; that I have green tea and honey with me.
We sit outside his motorhome for a couple of hours chatting, and he invites me to the nightly campfire of his friends just a few sites away.
As small as Marty is, he has been trained by a friend of Don's to be a service dog. If Don were to fall, have a heart attack or something similar, Marty will bark and bark until someone comes to the rescue. If Don puts Marty in his service vest, he can take him into stores and restaurants.
When I tell Don that I drink my soup unwarmed straight from the box, he hands me a few black plastic bags and suggests I wrap the box in them. The sun will heat up the soups that way. Excellent idea, Don! That's the principal behind how the portable camper-showers work, too. Good thinking.
When I get on my bike to tour the resort, I realize just what pain my legs are in. Still, I scout for a more protected campsite, load and move my stuff, and go pay for 2 days as I feel I need and want to stay here rather than riding the trails. Then I get some lunch together.
I read 'Tamarind Mem' which I brought along in soft cover so as not to add much weight, and then I ride down to Malapeque Bay and wade out and out and out, and am still in shallow water. I haven't been in the bay since 1958.

I'd like to swim but there are too many jelly fish. When I stand still, I notice that although they move very slowly, they are indeed swaying their tentacles and moving towards my legs. A camper told me that only the clear-coloured ones are jelly fish but that the others are suckers. They certainly look like jelly fish to me, and that's what we called them when I lived here and swam here in the 50's. They are a red and purple mix on top. I found a very interesting oyster shell, among other shells, and take them back to my campsite to take home for Mr. T. Later, when the campsite developes a rotten odour, I realize that I'll have to dry them thoroughly before packing them again.
An afternoon shower at the camp washrooms refreshes me before supper. As I'm leaving, a slight movement catches my eye, and I notice a Cecropia moth on the cement just by the door and pick it up. It's simply beautiful with its orange legs, taupe, orange and grey colouring, and bright yellow feelers shaped like feathers.
I put it in my bear spray holder, and carry it back to my site. Then I get it out and walk up the lane until I find a safe place to deposit it, and take some pictures. If the feelers/antanae look like a feather, then it's a moth; if it looks like a rod with a ball on top, then it's a butterfly.









Matthew lets me call my friend, Hilda, and we set up a visit for next day. Hilda and I went to Summerside High in the 1950's, and both of us were friends, living on the air base.
Actually, we were a group of four friends in our early teens. Sandie, Sunda, Hilda and myself called ourselves the Dizzy Dames, and chose silly nicknames for each other.
Before I left ON, I went into Rogers and bought a new cell phone which worked to call her a couple of days ago to say I was ready to get on the bike in Charlottetown, but every other call since then has come up with a busy signal. I had no phone protection at all for the duration of my ride which is another reason I'm reluctant to ride any further.
I ride into Kensington that evening for supper at a good restaurant called 'Coles'. My maternal grandfather was a Cole, and a Mason, and as I expected the restaurant is full because the food is very good.
When I get back, it's dusk, and I go down to the shore to sit on the boulders that have been dumped along the entire shoreline to help preserve it. I'm in a total reverie, thinking of the kids I miss from my youth (1954-1959), when 3 children run along the rocks further out, and I take a photo of one of them as a silouette.

Then it's over to the campfire at Joan and Velda's 2 trailers, which are side by side.
Joan also has a dear little Shitsu, and he and Marty have a little argument.
A fire is built in an iron container, everybody chats and jokes, and then treats are brought out for all to enjoy.










The next morning, I have to call Hilda and tell her I cannot ride into Summerside today to spend time with her because my legs hurt too much, and immediately she says she'll drive out to get me.
She takes me to Chelton Beach from where you can see the Confederation Bridge.
It was a farmers field when we were kids where the Air Force picnics were held, and where our parents always took us in summer. Hilda reminds me that the farmer or one of his children would be there to collect 10 cents per car that parked in his field. There's a steep embankment down to the beach, but since it is now a provincial park, there are stairways down, and probably costs a lot more than 10 cents to park there.
Hilda treats me to a home cooked meal of BBQ'd shrimp, and gets out her album from our youth. I'd forgotten how good-looking we all were, esp. the boys!
It was the most pleasant evening. Her gardens are beautiful, and we sit outside with a glass of wine. Sweet!

I enjoy the park so much that I stay there for the rest of my vacation, and don't even head back on the trail, but, instead, arrange for a taxi to come pick me up at 7 am on Sunday morning to drive me to Charlottetown. Don kindly agrees to keep my bike for me - big bonus and many thanks to you, Don. I also pay Matthew for one of his cottages for Tuesday night when Wilma and I will be back from the Magdalenes.
The taxi driver is great, also formerly Air Force stock, and we chat the whole way.
At the PEI university, Wilma and I pack up and go for breakfast meeting a woman there who is also going to go to the Magdalenes who remembered Wilma being at the conference, as was she. We meet her later on the ferry.
The boat is like a small cruise ship, has a French movie playing, a souvenier shoppe, a cafe, and a good restaurant where we go for a lobster supper of the finest lobster maybe in the world - that of the Magdalenes is said to be the best. The dining room was excellent quality. The woman we met earlier comes in during the middle of the meal and sits at our table. The waiter says it's too late for her to order as they stop serving at 6 as the ship docks in an hour. She asks for the body of the lobster as we don't eat that part, but the waiter walks away with mine. It's a slightly comical situation and also a bit unsettling have a stranger drop down on us like this. She is well travelled, though, and tells some stories.


We find a very good, friendly motel where the owners do their best with English. The woman was a ballet dancer when younger. There's a continental breakfast.
It's raining and misty next morning but we set out going to the southern end first, and coming back to the village for lunch, and then setting out for the northern end during the afternoon. I picked up tuna rolls in a sushi shop for supper. There are causeways many km. with paved roads running between the main islands.






There is a valiant little fishing boat out beyond this very creative sign for a gift gallery. The wind is blowing so hard that it knocks me backwards time and again as I try to take pictures most of the day. The rain drives into my face and my hands get really cold. I'm so glad that I'm not over here on my own camping out.





The fishing boats are in a harbour at the one of the north end islands.
The Great Blue Heron is fishing just over one of the long causeways.
This lovely unprotected bay has lobster traps lying ready and waiting to be used but because the price of lobsters is down so much for the fishermen, few are going out right now, and this grand old lady is also waiting on a hill above.
Dames Rockets are growing in a grand patch along the road, just as they do in most of the provinces. Originally, they came over with the first settlers from the 'Old World'.

The Magdalenes abound with scenes as dramatically and wildly beautiful as this one.



Leaving the Islands on Tuesday, we watch from the cafeteria at 8am as the huge door of the ferry comes down and we swing out into the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The last thing we see is the domed hill in the main town with its wooden walkway up to the top. It was way too cold, windy and rainy to give it a try during our stay. In 5 hours we will be back in Souris, PEI and I will take Wilma east a bit to see The Singing Sands. They get their name from the sound the sand makes when its very dry as you walk on it. From there we head back, by-passing Charlottetown to have a lobster supper and then to the cottage for the night. Don's friends welcome Wilma around the fire and it's warm laughter and fun for awhile before bedtime. Matthew has forgotten to leave the two bedroom cottage unlocked but the one bedroom one is. Don decides that he will call Matthew and ask him to come down and he does. Then he and I move our stuff over to the 2 bedroom so Wilma can sit by the fire, and I miss her clothes bag hanging in the closet and lock the door when I leave. Now we will have to wait for 10 am until Matthew comes back to the trailer park tomorrow. Roy helps me get the bike rack put back onto Wilma's car securely. My hands just weren't strong enough to get it all tight. Thanks to you for that and all of you for your wonderful friendship.





My friend back home now refers to me as Calamity Jane. Any of you remember her story? A movie was made, also, you may have seen that. No? Then you're too young.
Anyway, since we have to wait for Matthew to give us the key to the one-bedroom, we go into Kensington for breakfast. First, though, I drive along the shore and take these two pictures of a heron in the morning mist.


We have to cross the Confederation Bridge in fog and drive slower than normal. It's eerie.
We make a short side trip into Grand Falls and I snap this interesting bike stand, as well as the falls.


That's all Folks, for now. You can see why planning bike trips is the most exciting activity in the world, even if you don't actually end up doing much cycling.
Happy Trails to You. K

We make good time for most of the day but supper near the NB/Quebec border finds Wilma being served and finishing her's before they advise me they can't fill my order. I ask for the manager, finally get served my original order, and am given it free but we have been held up for an extra hour or more. It is a nice outdoor patio.
We reach St. Antoine at dusk, and moths are flying all around the motel. There are several different kinds, and the young man, Tommy, running it comes out to catch some. That just means he lets them crawl up his hands, then he puts them near one another so I can take pictures. They are spent, and have lost their energy, probably mating and/or laying their eggs. They're lovely to look at. The one with the spots is a Polyphemus. We are out there for an hour at least, and Wilma is sleeping when I get back into the room. Serendipity. It was an exhilerating experience.