Bread 'n' Butter

The metallic clatter of the van's rear door rolling upwards awakens me. Thoughts of a few more minutes in bed cross my mind, but realizing the futility of it I sit up and start dressing. I go with last night's decision—normal shorts and a T-shirt, with my Gore-Tex rain suit over top while cycling. Everyone else is stirring too, and by 0530 hrs Jeff has the van packed and moving. All cyclists actually beat Jeff out of camp. Marny and Christine are really apprehensive about cycling in the dark and make sure they precede Jeff "just in case..." Paddy and Albert have opted to stow their bikes right from the start and travel to the dock with Jeff. I pedal down with Patti and Randy. Patti has a headlight that lights up the road's shoulder well, and the Scotch-Brite piping on my Gore-Tex suit "lights me up like a Christmas tree" Jeff notices when the van passes us. Cycling in the dark proves to be no problem; traffic is light, the shoulder wide, and it isn't raining. Before long, everyone is together at the dock's parking lot. The van is very close to the front of the line-up and Jeff has no difficulty getting all the bikes loaded into it. We mill about the terminal for a little bit, get the signal we can board, and onto the Joseph and Clara Smallwood we go.

The Joseph and Clara Smallwood

This ship is huge. Our group becomes separated as we make our way upward from the hold to the passenger area. Reaching Level Seven, Albert and I grab comfortable chairs in a big lounge area. We don't see any of the others so once the ship is underway we wander around a bit. Patti and Randy are down one level, tucked into a quiet corner. Everyone else is also on this deck—some in the main lounge, others near the bar and video theatre. There's a movie just starting on the many TV's placed all over the ship so I return to my nice chair and watch what turns out to be Heidi. Not too bad, but a bit long. It ends about 1030 hrs. Albert and I talk, eat our tuna-and-egg sandwiches that some thoughtful people (Marny and Paddy) made last night for today's lunches, then take a big tour of the ship.

On the outer deck the day is gorgeous. No clouds in sight and warm enough that many people have stripped to the essentials. Several are lying around on the upper deck's benches getting a sun tan. The view off the stern is breathtaking. Watching the wide swath of turbulence created by the propellers travel away from the ship before finally disappearing over the horizon is almost spellbinding.

Returning below decks I hear some fine music being played and follow my ears to the bar and lounge. Here, a group from Newfoundland called Bread 'n' Butter has just begun the first of two sets. They play an assortment of old and not-so-old Newfie songs as well as many traditional Irish folk songs, accompanying themselves with nothing but a squeeze accordion and a guitar, in traditional Newfoundland fashion. I round up Jeff and together we enjoy the music over a couple of Newfoundland's distinctive Black Horse beers. At the set's conclusion we decide to watch the movie "Executive Decision" in the ship's video-movie room. Admission is only $2.00 each.

Patti, Randy, Jeff and I make reservations to attend the first supper seating, scheduled for 1700 hrs in the ship's dining room. The halibut is delicious and not overly expensive. We invite a lady sitting alone to join us, which she does, and we chat with her about our ride. After supper I return to the lounge and partake of Bread 'n' Butter's second set, this time with Randy and Patti. Randy seems to miss much of the humour. Whether he can't hear it well, can't decipher the accent, or just doesn't appreciate the sometimes ribald jokes, I can't decide.

The crossing's fourteen hour trip really seemed to pass quickly. I never felt bored, and was usually well entertained. I love ferry rides anyway but I especially enjoyed this one. Soon the announcement to return to one's vehicles sounded and we made our way below to the big drawgate door at the bow. We walked off, pushing our bikes. Jeff drove off and parked, we gathered around the van and I went searching for Hank at the terminal.

The air was still quite warm, and of course at 2130 hrs it was totally dark, but Newfoundland was being kind to us. No rain. Hank showed up with his daughter, Bride, and her family, staying with them until the minibus drove them into the bowels of the ship. Meanwhile, back at the van, the others were assembling the bikes of those intending to pedal to Hank's home. Paddy and Albert again chose not to cycle. Albert travelled with Hank and Paddy with Jeff.

Finding Hank and preparing the bikes had taken some time. All the ferry traffic was long gone down the highway by the time we departed. Hank led the five of us who were on bicycles out of the parking area and immediately we were rolling along a broad, smooth highway with great wide shoulders. The sky was clear; the moon was full; the night was ours. With Hank's car leading and Jeff's van following, the riding was really exhilarating. Patti's headlight helped but it was actually bright enough to travel with no lights. It was doubtful that the pictures we took in front of the "WELCOME TO NEWFOUNDLAND" sign would turn out, but now was no time to change a nine-province ritual.

The road presented no huge hills. Hank kept us close to his taillights while passing the entrance to the town of Placentia, then a couple more kilometres and we were turning off into his town of Dunnville. A plunge down a short, steep hill and we entered Hank's yard. Rather than a fright-filled trip, our moonlight ride had been most thrilling. Tremendous fun. A suggestion that we chain our bikes where they stood beside the van riled Hank. "In Newfoundland," stated Hank, "there is no need to lock things up! Nothing will get stolen here." So we didn't, and nothing was. Sorry, Hank, if we offended you.

Sharon had obviously been very busy during the past hour or two. Bride and the two grandchildren had just departed but the house already looked spotless. Introductions and a tour of the house and yard pretty much convinced all of us that with so much space available inside, pitching a tent was really unnecessary. Besides, not doing so would save us time getting away in the morning. Sharon allocated everyone a room, with Randy and Patti even getting a real bedroom to themselves. Capping a terrific day with some typical Newfoundland hospitality, Sharon then treated us to a slice of homemade blueberry pie, made from hand-picked berries. What a superb way to end a terrific day! We so much appreciated Hank and Sharon's warm reception and big-hearted generosity. Thanks for inviting us into your home on our way by. For Marny, especially, it was a real blessing, and Jeff got out of a tight spot.

At 2315 hrs we climbed into our sleeping bags for the final time. For a few moments I thought of tomorrow's climb up St. John's Signal Hill, reputedly the Tour's steepest pitch. It wasn't a worry. Sleep, for me, came quickly.

On Top of the World

Denying Hank and Sharon their home's quietude for one more day, we were all up and about by 0600 hrs. We used our own supplies for breakfast but fully enjoyed Sharon's bottomless cups of coffee. With little to pack, everyone but me was out of there and on the road by 0700 hrs, riding into a clear, sunny day. Not getting much chance to chat last night because of the lateness, I hung back and spent some time with Hank and Sharon. Some years earlier Hank and I had worked together for three years in Gander, a Newfoundland town about 400 km north of Dunnville. We hadn't seen each other since 1990. Over another coffee we reminisced a bit, updated a few mutual friends' whereabouts and chuckled over some of our shared experiences. Eventually I had to go. With as much sincerity as I could muster I again thanked them for their hospitality. Around 0800 hrs I started out for St. John's.

Upon rejoining last night's highway it was pure bliss to find that the wide lanes and smooth asphalt continued. Equally pleasing was the huge tailwind. I simply flew along, climbing the hills effortlessly. Within an hour I caught Randy and Patti while they were taking a break at a cafe, and not too much later I blew passed the other four. We would all collect at the designated assembly point just outside St. John's—the Tim Hortons in Mt. Pearl. In the first two hours I travelled over 75 kilometres, with a smile on my face the whole time. Today was a cyclist's dream day—sunshine, tailwinds, good road, and the consummation of a great trip only miles ahead. Pumped full of adrenaline, I just kept pushing. Three years in Gander had taught me what Newfoundland could be like if she wanted to but on this special day the Rock blessed us with kindness.

Our map's route took us away from the main highway at Holyrood to follow the coast for a bit on Highway 60. By doing so we had the opportunity to briefly see and experience small-town Newfoundland. A side benefit was the reduced traffic flow compared to that of entering the city on the major highway.

There were many little villages to negotiate and some steep little hills to climb, but it was mostly a scenic and fun ride. But then I began to feel frustrated, and the feeling kept mounting. Finally I realized why. I was so eager to get to Signal Hill that the 60-plus kilometres along this small road seemed like a nuisance. Mentally I was already in St John's and I was totally impatient to physically get there as well. It was as if I was riding on a treadmill—the harder I worked and the faster I pedalled the longer it seemed to take to get anywhere. Travelling five kilometres seemed like crossing a continent. Never had 25-35 kph seemed so slow. Finally I was in Mount Pearl, and there was Tim's.

While ordering a large coffee and a bagel I innocently asked the two waitresses if they knew how far it might be from the cafe to Signal Hill. They didn't know, but for sure they knew it was a long way. I pointed out that I was riding a bicycle, just in case they hadn't deduced that from my spandex clothing. They repeated that for sure it was a long way to bicycle. When I explained that this was my final day of a bicycle ride begun two months ago in Vancouver and no matter how far it might be it wouldn't seem too far, they blushed with embarrassment over telling me it was sooooo far. Then they broke into giggles, which continued for the next ten minutes. (It was, perhaps, five km.)

Jeff pulled in, and I had another coffee. The waitresses were still giggling. It seemed a long wait until everyone got there but I settled down and my impatience passed. Jeff briefed us on our hotel—where it was and how to get there. He gave quick directions to the base of Signal Hill. Dead easy. We set off. Randy and Patti followed my lead, but mainly we just rode along Topsail Road with our sights set on the large hill dominating the skyline. We rounded a corner. The houses quaint shapes, their distinctive colours and the sudden, steep pitch of the road meant only one thing.

"This is it!" I yelled back to my companions.

Patti sighted a street sign confirming this was Signal Hill Road, and we headed up. Shifting to the lowest gear on my middle chainring I stood up, pedalling furiously. Immediately I knew this gear was too low but I stayed in it over the first steep pitch. Thankfully, the heaven-sent tailwind was still blowing, greatly assisting my efforts in surmounting this mountain. Cresting the first rise I geared up, sat down and spun up to the next steep section. This higher gear choice was better and I powered my way upwards until only the final corner remained. It looked really steep. The wind direction was perfect. With its helping push I flew around and up with ease. I burst onto the summit of Signal Hill.

I made it!

Coast to coast by bicycle!

No granny gears! Rode every inch!

I was euphoric!

Running to the retaining wall I dropped my bike and hollered encouragement to Patti who was flying upward on the road immediately below me. She waved, a big smile on her face, then she, too, exploded onto the parking lot. Randy followed. We three shook hands, patting each other (and ourselves) on the back. Jeff drove in. Then came Marny, then Paddy with Christine steadily overtaking her, and finally Albert. We were all beaming, laughing and handshaking. Christine's parents were there and had watched her climb the hill, sharing in her joy and excitement.

Recording this occasion on film took some time. With spirits higher than this hill we did some sight-seeing, looking downwards across the natural harbour to the city beneath us, and toured the Marconi museum.

Jeff gave us directions to a seaside park where we could dip our wheels in the Atlantic, and we coasted down to it. Broken glass covered the parking lot, forcing us to carry our bikes to the boulders at the water's edge. Then we put our wheels into salt water. Everyone took an individual photo displaying their bicycle wheel in the Atlantic, followed by a second, group photo, with everyone victoriously holding their bicycle overhead.

THE SEVEN FINISHERS

L-R Randy, Don, Christine, Marny, Patti, Albert, Paddy

We chuckled over an anecdote from Jeff. It seems that a couple of Tours earlier, on a totally fog-bound day, the riders had great difficulty locating the seacoast. Eventually they found a little opening where they all dipped their wheels. Only later did they learn they had done so in a freshwater lake within the city.

The seaside park was barely two short blocks from our hotel. We quickly cycled to it. Reading its name as I approached, Journey's End seemed so appropriate.

My cycle odometer showed 7525 kilometres travelled since leaving the Pacific.

The time was approaching 1700 hrs by the time I had all my belongings unloaded into my room. I scurried off to find a bank machine. Stores would be closing soon and I needed money and souvenirs. I found both.

Back at the hotel we received timings and directions for our windup banquet. Preparations for tomorrow's flights kept us all busy while waiting. Our room looked like, no, it was a disaster. Albert's tent hung over the shower-curtain rail; the bathroom door was the best support I could find for mine. Four baskets of clothing and bike apparel completely obliterated our two beds. Jeff's rollaway cot, wedged between them, was a tidy anomaly. Relocating my tent to the elevator lobby was Albert's clever idea and once erected there it dried quickly. By the time we headed out to eat, Albert's bed was clear and his stuff packed into one of the many large boxes that Jeff provided for just this purpose. I was still totally unorganized and my packing efforts were busily getting nowhere.

Reservations were for 1900 hours. We walked down together. A segregated dining area separated us from the other patrons, and we fully appreciated the privacy and quietness. Each of the several meal choices proved to be good, and the service was prompt. Jeff got the formalities underway by reading a well-worded congratulatory telegram from the tour co-ordinator. Bud regretted being unable to attend this year as our few numbers had made the budget very tight. Jeff went on to tell us a bit about his background and why he had chosen this trip for his summer's employment. He then went around the table and had each of us individually relate our reasons for taking the trip, and what we got from it. A fine idea, revealing some interesting insights into ourselves and each other.

Personally, I fulfilled all my hopes and expectations: I experienced a tremen-

dously exciting and fun-filled adventure; I met great people; and I accumulated a wealth of unforgettable memories. Then Jeff presented individual Tour du Canada certificates. These tastefully-done artifacts make a fine memento. An envelope containing tips contributed from each of us was our special thanks to Jeff for his superlative job and for his reliability and conscientiousness.

Hastily arranging a rendezvous at an Irish Pub for later, at the meal's conclusion we scurried in many directions to attend to things unfinished.

Jeff, Albert and I went directly to the pub, found a table close to the stage and settled in. Toasts to all, praise for Jeff, and laughter over some of the incidents kept us occupied. Marny, Paddy and Christine soon joined us. We drank, talked and listened to the band till about 2330 hrs when all but Jeff and I returned to the hotel. So there we were, he and I, having a beer together. Just the two of us, exactly as we had started out in Sicamous, British Columbia. We toasted to that, all too aware that the enjoyment of each other's company and our summer's companionship was about to end. Our final toast was to getting together again somewhere.

The beer was excellent—Guinness always is. The music continued for yet another set. Over the hubbub of noise the lead singer heard me ask for Danny Boy and darned if he didn't sing it. His voice was perfect for the song. He said he seldom sang it, perhaps once in six months, as requests for it were rare. Before Jeff or I even realized it we were among the very few remaining in the room. The establishment had closed, and someone, at some point, had locked the front door. We joined the band members and a few of their friends at the bar. Only then did we learn that the lead singer was also the establishment's proprietor. Asked why we had talked so much during his sets, the saga of our just-completed journey astonished and delighted him. Of course a round on him was in order, and before we left that night he must have shaken my hand five times, proclaiming each time the greatness of my achievement. When thoughts of getting tired, and perhaps of having had enough to drink finally entered our heads it was well after 0330 hrs. Jeff and I walked back to the hotel. Neither of us really noticed or cared about the pouring rain. I pushed a pile of clothes off my bed and fell asleep.

For Some A Beginning—For Some An Ending