Bridgetown to Graves Island: 145km (6638km)

A heavy dew set in overnight in Bridgetown and the camp seemed to turn into crystal.

My mind has been in places other than on the road, zipping about between personal and work things to tackle once I reach Halifax, the fate of my “mission”, what my new home will be like in New Jersey, my fantasy campsite on the Atlantic Ocean… I shelved Pip’s adventures in Great Expectations to make room for all this mental bustle.

Heavy dew on the campsite.

The bridge in Bridgetown.

I fought a headwind all morning and found the long flat Annapolis Valley along the Northwest side of Nova Scotia to still be fairly hilly. It was a slow ride and I felt sluggish all morning. Traffic was heavier than yesterday and grew heavier as I approached the Northeast. It took a big, late pizza lunch to get me energized.

Farming country in the Annapolis Valley.

Liability catch-all! Good trail, but didn’t ride it for long.

After lunch, I was relieved to get off this highway and take a right turn to cross the province interior. My speed actually picked up in this section, in spite of the hills, thanks to the absence of headwinds. However, there is not much to say about the interior, other than taking notice of a few interesting buildings. The road runs through scrappy bush without much of a view at any point. The forest was harvested years ago and is young. There was not much traffic. During this stretch my thoughts took over. It is a peculiar thing to realize you’ve been doing hard physical work, climbing big hills, monitoring traffic and zipping down slopes at 45kph with no presence of mind.

Sleepy interior road.

Rural church.

Homestead near New Ross.

Farm near Chester Basin.

Nova Scotians seem to prefer small sedans, bless them. SUVs and pickup trucks are not as common as in other provinces. What’s more, drivers do the right thing when they approach from behind and don’t have enough room to pass: they slow down and wait for the passing lane to open up. This has not happened to me anywhere else in Canada and today I experienced it all day. I pull off the road to let drivers pass when I notice they are stuck behind me. It is more typical for drivers to squeeze past no matter how little breathing room this gives you, some even leaning on the horn as they pass. But not in Nova Scotia. Some drivers even tootle their horn to let you know they’re about to overtake you.

For a few days now, I’ve harboured a fantasy of camping on the Atlantic Ocean this night, August 12th, the last night of my trip and, coincidentally, the peak of the Perseid meteor shower. I wasn’t sure I would make it all the way across the interior by nightfall in light of the hills, but I did. That’s right, the Atlantic Ocean! I am camped at Graves Island Provincial Park, which is everything I hoped tonight’s campsite would be. It’s a short ride off the mainland to the park, where I have a view of the ocean and a clear sky. I set up my tent with the fly covering half of my tent, so that I can look straight up and see the show overhead. I made a luxurious dinner (pasta with fresh vegetables!) and am writing tonight’s journal entry to pass the time before the meteor shower picks up and I get into some serious stargazing.

Neil sent me a text message to report that he is in Truro and expecting to be in Halifax late tomorrow. Although we took quite different routes, it looks like we’ll keep pace until the end. Tomorrow night, celebration.

Sunset over the interior.

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