When I would glance up at the road ahead through the wind and the rain, a crow would be on the side of the road eyeing me with a black, vacant eye to gauge whether I was close to collapsing so he could call his fellow dark marauders to feast.
"I'm not dead yet, Fucker!"
Today, Aeolus has seen fit to bestow his favour upon me by bringing a breezy, though still wet, northwest wind that fairly pushes me along the 134 road towards Bathurst.
Still, there are signs that the God's favour could easily turn. On a hill just outside of Dalhousie I pass Sisyphus pushing a laden wheelbarrow up the hill. His face is streaked with crevices from an eternity of salt-tinged air carving into his face on this lonely incline.
"I think you'll make it this time, old man!"
But, as I crest the top of the hill, I don't look back. Perhaps for fear of seeing his wheelbarrow go rolling down the hill. Perhaps because I am worried that he is not really there and I am dreaming this magical wind only to wake up still in Campbellton and having to face another day of headwinds.
To see if I am truly awake, I tempt fate, stop and take a picture of the Quebec hills across Chaleur Bay.
The hills are idyllic, but real enough, so I carry on the 134 with very little traffic to worry about on this Father's Day Sunday morning.
Acadian flags are ever present and, past Belledune, even the telephone poles are painted with Acadian flags.
Aeolus stays with me all the way but the great god of vehicles decides to pay a visit as I hit Petit Rocher so I know I have definitely not been dreaming as the day ends with a traffic nightmare into Bathurst.
Still, the first four hours was some of the nicest riding of the trip.
The next six days will be a shoreline ride along the Acadian Peninsula and down the coast to the Confederation bridge and PEI!
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