Almost Perfect Day

Before I wax on about this beautiful day in l'Acadie I have to espouse a truth that was re-enforced while riding into Bathurst on the 134 so Joe could catch a train to Moncton to see his cousin.

"Big town, small town; rush hour drivers are ASSHOLES!"

Take that bit of wisdom and square it if that driver is in a pickup truck.

Having survived the mirrors whistling by our heads, Joe was off on his train and I searched around the vacant stores on the main street for a place for breakfast.

Losing heart, I turned right onto King Avenue where I spotted "Au café gourmet". Not expecting much, I was pleasantly surprised to find they served cappuccino and they even had fish cakes on the menu. Tasty they were but, obviously, not exactly as my mother use to make them; those little, heavenly circles of potato, fish and onion.

If you are ever in Bathurst (but why would you?!?) this café would be a good spot for a bite. 

Leaving Bathurst, I pick up the NB trail that goes through the woods beside the shore road for a few kilometers to give me a break from vehicles. It is a bit mucky after the rain of the last three days but quite pleasant.

I come off the trail and pick up the shore road that will run into Route 11 South and a perfect riding day. Sun, but not too hot, a tail wind (thank you once again Aeolus), gently rolling roads and some gorgeous vistas.

Before I know it, I am entering Grande-Anse, which advertises as having North America's only "Pope's Museum".

Strangely, I am not tempted by this bit of "Rural Roma" but further on I am being tempted by the giant sculpture of a box of fries that is directing me down to the harbour.

I am certainly glad I decided to stop, not only for the delicious fried scallops but also for the view.

On an earlier day I would have eschewed this little detour down a small hill because of the ride back up to the road but the long days are left behind in Quebec and the kilometers have been fairly riding themselves these last two days. I would like to spend the rest of the afternoon walking this long stretch of beach but I want to take in the "Village Historique Acadien" before getting to my Bnb at Caraquet.

Since the other side of Bathurst there have been so many Acadian flags, telephone poles painted as flags, homes painted as flags, mailboxes as Acadian flags; after a while it becomes just too kitsch. An attempt to fabricate a culture that reminds me of the use of the Confederate flag in the American South where a good portion of the population thinks the Civil War is still on.

And I'm half Acadian!

Still, I stop at the historic village. They even let me leave my bike by the Security shack while I visit. I was here twenty years ago with the boys and I had a memory of swatting mosquitoes so I take a moment to grab my bug juice out of my bag. 

Good move! 

The site is on a beautiful wooded lot but the best part of the visit is interacting with the costumed interpreters throughout the buildings.

I was here twenty years ago but since then they have added a section representing the 20th century era such as the hotel and gas station above. You can stay in the hotel but, as with most touristy things in the Maritimes, only in July and August.

Some of these homes remind me of my great grandmother's home in Summerside with the big black wood stove in the kitchen.

It is just a short six kilometers down the road to my bed for the night. I arrive as my host is pulling a boiled lobster out of a backyard pot. He holds it up to me with pride saying it is fresh out of the water and into the pot.

I tell him that, unfortunately, lobster is not my thing but I can picture my parents leaping onto the still steaming crustacean with abandon and I know I am not far from the Island now.