Daily chronicle of my June 2001 Motorcycle ride from Florida to northern Newfoundland and return.

   July 9, 2001.
Just arrived back home from the longest, most grueling ride of my life. Also the most satisfying, encompassing over 6,000 miles in 15 days. I rode to the STAR in State College, PA with John Watts, Bill Royal and Eve Blazur. Pat Stiles joined us at STAR, having flown up.
   John had planned to continue on to Newfoundland with me from there. Unfortunately, fate was to deal John an unexpected hand. His Father and Sister came to STAR from New York to visit. During their second night Mr. Watts had a heart attack and was hospitalized. John elected to stay and drive him home when he was able to travel.
   After breakfast with John, Bill and Eve on Thursday the 28th, I headed north, Bill and Eve south, and John back to the hospital. When I called home a few days later I learned that Mr. Watts had passed away.
   As this is being written John is still in Buffalo taking care of his Father's affairs.

The really good weather we had enjoyed at the STAR for four days continued throughout my first day. Going north into the rolling hills of New York, then east through the orchards of Vermont into New Hampshire for the night. The next day, Saturday 30th, took me up through Maine to the Canadian border at noon, up through New Brunswick, then on to Antigonish, Nova Scotia for a much needed nights sleep. The sunshine had held until Bangor, Maine, then rained pretty steadily the rest of the day. So far, the rolling hills and some mountains had made it a beautiful ride. State road 9 from Bangor to Calais, Maine is beautiful, twisty, and the shortest route.
   The border crossing went smoothly and entering St. Stephen in my rain gear, I stopped just two blocks past the checkpoint for currency exchange. The weather cleared again overnight giving me a good short ride into North Sydney, NS where I would board the ferry for a six hour crossing to Channel Port Aux Basques, Newfoundland. Arriving in North Sydney about 10:30 AM, I found a nice low priced motel a couple of miles from downtown. After unloading most of my gear, my plan was to ride as much of the Cabot trail as possible then return for the night. My ferry reservation, made last January, was for tomorrow, 8:30AM Sunday, July 1st.

   As I left the motel there was a couple of blocks of gravel where the street was being repaired. When I encountered good road surface again the mushy feel of the gravel did not go away. When I checked the front tire was completely flat My first thought was, "It's almost noon on Saturday, how can I get this fixed in time to catch the ferry tomorrow?" Finding no obvious nail in the tire, I finnally determined that the valve stem had ruptured where it goes through the rim. I could wrestle the tire off if necessary and replace the elbow stem with a straight automotive stem.
About this time a nice Harley rider stopped to offer assistance. I thanked him, but there was nothing he could do. I had a can of spare air. After he left, I found that the stem was too bad to possibly hold air long enough to get anywhere. Also, determined that the hole size would not be large enough for an automotive stem. I never tried the can of air.
   Riding back to the motel on the flat I checked the yellow pages. No dealer in North Sydney. The motel manager volunteered to call a friend in Sydney who owned a Harley and general purpose shop. They were just closing for the weekend. The owner however, offered to bring his trailer over, haul me in to Sydney, about 15 miles, and see what he could do.
   While waiting, I removed the front fender. At his shop they pulled the wheel, removed the tire, inspected it for damage, and replaced the elbow type valve stem. The real kicker, after the towing, an hour of overtime work and a pleasant visit, was the surprise charges. Ten bucks for the valve stem and ten for labor, plus tax. At his insistence, just $22.50 Canadian total, which translates to less than $15.00 US. And, I still had time for a pretty good afternoon ride. Talk about elated! And feeling fortunate, not only getting the problem solved, but the fact that it could have blown out on the highway. This PC is six years old, had 83,00 miles showing at the time. I had changed tires no less than five times and NEVER CHANGED THE VALVE STEMS.
   Having prided myself on doing a reasonably good job of routine maintenace over the years, I still cannot believe I let this happen. It was not an accident or error, just plain neglect on my part. The metal stems looked so sturdy and permanent that I just never considered replacing them. Readers take note, this small detail could have been deadly! There is no excuse for it. I was just plain lucky.

   Sunday morning, July 1st, Canada Day, I made the ferry departure as planned. Sailing on the MV Carribou with about the number of cars and trucks you would see on a Walmart parking lot, along with thirteen motorcycles, we steamed northward. Just as we were arriving in Channel Port Aux Basques a large whale, (is there any other size?), was playing along the ferry route, evidently unconcerned with our passing. It is ironic that exactly fifty years ago, Jody and I took this same ferry route with our 1940 Mercury. That day was also a Canadian holiday. The English colony of Newfoundland and Labrador was that very day to become a Province of Canada.

   I had been stationed with the Air Force in Stephenville, NF for a couple of years and now my new bride, Jody, was joining me. We subsequently spent another three years there, our son Jerry was born there. Back then, the ferry carried about eight cars, breaking ice for 12 hours to connect with the narrow gauge steam train that would carry us to Stephenville, and the rest of the cars further north and inland. There were no roads connecting us with anything further than about eight miles from the base, consequently we never saw any other parts of the Island. This trip was going to be mostly a nostalgic one for me, however, the overwhelming beauty of the rugged coastline came as quite a surprise.
   I have seen or ridden most of the east and west coasts of the US, Mexico and some of Europe, but this, especially the Viking trail up the northwest coast, was just plain breathtaking.With the crystal clear dark blue ocean flowing into the Fjords between the mountains and the snow white breakers on the rocky shoreline, it was easy to know how the Viking must have felt exploring these waters. The wind blows constantly across the tundra next to the shore, evidenced by the scrub pine growing at a ninety degree angle to the earth.
   I had spent one night in Stephenville, then rode through heavy, cold rain and strong, gusty winds to St. Anthony at the north end of the road. As miserable as this may sound, the weather actually accentuated the feeling of the rugged and desolate shores. Warm clothing, waterproof footwear and gloves are a definite necessity for this ride. The sun came out just before evening fell, giving me a chance to see and photograph the icebergs in the Fjord just offshore. I had hoped to see some seals, but no luck.
   The next day on the return trip to Stephenville, about 350 miles, the sun was shining, but still windy and cold. I had the opportunity to get some of the pictures that I had missed the day before because of the rain. Most notable, a cow moose, grazing along the highway. On the way up I had encountered a bull moose in the middle of the rather narrow blacktop road. I stopped, we looked at each other for a while. He didn't seem inclined to be intimidated by the bike, so I waited. Sure enough in a couple of minutes a car came along and crowded him off the road, where he stood and watched us both go by. Needless to say, I was glad to see the car since they were pretty scarce that day. The camera was safely tucked away from the rain so I didn't get a picture of him.

   Back in Stephenville on the 3rd I had enough daylight left to explore the town we had lived in. Now a good sized town of 8,000, it had been a small village in the 40's. Ernest Harmon Air Force Base, closed in 1965 had only a few remnants left. One hanger had been a night club, now boarded up. The base headquarters building still being used by a Canadian government agency. The only other actually recognizable landmark being the creek where we used to drive the car out on the gravel bar to wash it in the icy water.
   Wednesday, July 4th, the weather was again beautifully sunny as I rode down to Port Aux Basques. This only took a couple of hours, so I had plenty of time to explore the town, and three other small towns along the coast to the end of the road east of town.
   I boarded the ferry at 4:30PM, the MV Leif Ericson, for the six hour return trip to North Sydney, NS. I did a night ride out of Canada, arriving back in the US just after daylight. The reason for riding at night, which I normally avoid, was the weather. It was a clear night with a full moon.
   The next day was forecast to be stormy with heavy rains. Sure enough, as I approached Bangor, Maine, the rains set in with a fury, following me all the way into Pennsylvania. I stopped overnight in Frackville, Pennsylvania, and Fayetteville, North Carolina.
   The ride back to Florida was mostly uneventful and the weather was nice again for the last two days coming home.

   Overall, a truly great adventure, worth the pain and discomfort inherently involved in a ride of this distance.
   My only regret is that you couldn't make the trip with me John.

Copyright © 2001 by William H. Custer. All rights reserved.