East Coast Tour, 2017, part 6, Fundy Shore

East Coast Tour, 2017, Part 6
Moncton to Bangor

What a glorious morning; 20C and nothing but sunshine at 8am on July 31. The forecast for today was a high of 26C and not a chance of rain. Life on the road doesn’t get much better than this.
Over breakfast at the A&W just down the road from the Sheraton, we discussed todays plan. Well actually, I told Roz what my plan was and she said, ‘Whatever’. I had booked us back into the Best Western in Bangor, Me for tonight. If we rode straight there, its only about 425 kms, allowing us about 175 kms of wandering to keep under my promised max each day of 600 kms. We had talked to fellow bikers at the bar last evening who were headed to Hopewell Rocks this am. Sounds like a destination.

We crossed the River via the Findlay Causeway and turned right onto hwy 114. Hillsborough Road follows the meandering river all the way to Hopewell Cape, passing thru many small villages. We pulled into the parking lot at Hopewell Rocks Park and were amazed at the number of cars and vastness of the parking lots. It was 10am on a Monday morning and there was a lineup of about 50 people to get thru the pedestrian gates. I managed to find a spot to squeeze the 2 bikes into about 100 yards from the entrance, left Roz there and went over to inquire about fees, walking distance, etc. At the booth a very friendly young lady explained that there was a shuttle to take us down to the lower level but of course it did not go out onto the beach area. The cost of admission was $15 per person and because Roz is a senior with a disability the shuttle was free. She did admit that the view of the famed Rocks was somewhat limited from the parking lot at the base of the cliff and that walking on the rocky beach might not be comfortable. Roz was not prepared to submit herself to the discomfort of a rocky walk and did not think it was worth the $15 to get a distant view of some crumbling old rocks. So, off down the road we went.

Not far down hwy 114 we came across a stretch of roadway near Hopewell Hill, with an incredible view of the Bay of Fundy and one of those iconic white churches. I had to stop and try to take in the spectacle. Amazing, and the view was free. Just a few miles further down the road we stopped at an old covered bridge that was protecting a roadway to nowhere. The newer road had bypassed the old bridge but the old covered bridge had been preserved. At the corner of rte 915 and hwy 114 sits the tiny hamlet of Riverside-Albert and at the edge of a large dirt parking area is a big billboard showing a very faded map of the area. Rte 915, stretching off to the left, was not well paved and in fact the centre-line was about as faded as the map on that billboard; but it appeared to head down toward the Bay. Roz was dubious, but I insisted that this was an adventure just waiting to be experienced, so off we went.

Rte 915 was all it promised; meandering, narrow and full of pot-holes. About 5 miles down the road was a sign pointing to a sideroad on the left; ‘Cape Enrage, 12kms’. I stopped and looked at Roz. How can you pass on an invitation like this. And that name ‘Cape Enrage’, now that’s intriguing. The narrow road immediately took a dive down into a valley, across a marsh area and then up an escarpment; thru a pine forest then down into another marshy valley. As the road turned at the head of the marsh we saw the most amazing little beach where a few cars had pulled over. The road was built onto the rocky berm separating the beach from the marsh and the beach was protected on both sides by cliffs of stratified rocks. Over the years the severe weather had obviously broken pieces of the strata off, littering the beach. Passersby had taken the task of erecting those flat rocks into hundreds of Inuksuk statues. The entire beach was a seashore village populated with various sizes of rock people. Amazing. How Canadian.

Just past the beach the roadway rose again over the cliff in two very sharp switchbacks then around a curve and directly into Cape Enrage Park. The park is stuck at the end of the northernmost spur in the Bay of Fundy and consisted of a lighthouse, small museum, a gravel parking lot and several hiking trails and boardwalks. A $5 fee was collected at the gate and we were directed to the handicap parking next to the museum. The café was closed but the gift shop sold softdrinks, etc. I walked out along the boardwalk, down one of the hiking trails, around the lighthouse and up the tower to the platform for the non-operational zip line. It is a fascinating place. One can only imagine the isolation of the lonely keeper and his family when this place was manned and the only access would have been up from the Bay.

We returned back out that twisty road and left onto rte 915. Just a few miles down the road we returned to hwy 114 and the village of Alma. Alma is one of those quaint little fishing villages that now derive most of its income from tourism. There are several motels, shops and cafes to wander thru and explore. And the Fundy National Park is just across the bridge with its hiking trails, campgrounds and golf course. We chose the Alma Boathouse restaurant for lunch simply because there was a parking spot right at the front door. Roz ordered the lunch special, fish and chips and I chose a bowl of fish chowder. Both were excellent. Roz sat to enjoy an extra cup of coffee and a chat with the very friendly waitress as I went for a stroll around town. At the Alpine Motel I stopped and talked with several bikers enjoying a cold one at the picnic area overlooking the harbor. They were from Quebec City and this was their first trip down this way. As I walked over toward the docks I noticed that there was no water in the harbor. A boat was sitting on the muddy seashore and a man on a ladder was attending to repairs. I quess this kind of thing must be fairly common during low tide, but as a landlubber, it sure looks strange to me. As I walked back along the sidewalk to where the bikes were parked I spotted 2 teenagers with their guitars in front of the pizza shop. They were very good and truly seemed to be enjoying themselves belting out local and popular east coast songs. I emptied the change from my pocket into the open guitar case as I skipped past.

We hopped back on the bikes and headed west on hwy 114 again and thru the Fundy National Park. Just past the park I spotted a sign for McCabe’s Ice Cream. It was about 27C and sunny and I just could not drive past. Mr McCabe greeted us in the small, rickety, old building that he called his ‘ice cream factory’. He explained why McCabe’s is the best ice cream ever made. He told a great story, but its still just ice cream. It was good, but I found the flavor a little lacking. But i guess on a hot day like this, any ice cream is good ice cream even if it was over priced. It was almost 3pm when we hit hwy 1 and we still had about 350 kms to travel today, so I decided that we should just hop on the hwy and head off to Bangor even though there are many great looking roads in the area that were begging me to explore. The ride back to Bangor was boring, and we had travelled this route in the other direction last week. We made one quick stop at the Irving for gas before turning onto Hwy 9 and west to Bangor.

We arrived at the Best Western, WhiteHouse inn just before 8pm and because it was a Monday, the bar in the basement was open. We were hot and thirsty and decided to take advantage of the free beverage that came with our room before deciding where to go for dinner. There were only about 6 people in the bar area which featured an old wooden bar that ran about 25 feet along one wall with perhaps a dozen stools. We plopped down at the two seats on the end of the bar and put our coupons on display. Karen, the bartender explained that the coupons were good for one small glass of local beer each, 3 to choose from. I took the IPA and Roz the lager. Both were excellent, but too small, we finished them and ordered large refills. Karen introduced us to the lady sitting a couple of seats away. She was a regular and came here every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for dinner. The bar did not actually have dinner, but Karen made her own dinner at home before coming to work and 3 days a week brought extra to share with Laura. Laura was a widowed, retired school teacher and had taught Karen and her kids. This was Karen’s way of returning the favour and maintaining Laura’s sense of community. We struck up a lively conversation with Laura about Bangor, Maine, local and national politics, etc. It was obvious that even though Laura had voted Republican most of her life, she did not care for Mr Trump. Karen asked that we keep our voices down, the patrons at the other end of the bar we red-neck Republicans well into their evening of drinks. Then Karen advised that even though the bar does not offer a menu, she could order from Dysart’s Truck stop next door and they would deliver, or she could toss a frozen pizza into the oven if we preferred. We opted for the pizza, we had experienced the truck stop food on our previous visit. Just as we were finishing the pizza and our beer we were joined by Doug, a truck driver who gets up this way a couple of times a week and stops over for a beer and a chat with Laura and Karen whenever he can. Karen said he was a Democrat, so it was ok for him to join us. Laughs all around. We ordered another beer each, stayed for about another half hour before heading up to our room.

Another great day; about 600 kms, wonderful roads, great vistas and fascinating people. I do love this life.