The rain abated during my bivouac in New Richmond, and my tent was thankfully quite dry in the morning.
While I felt alright as I made breakfast and packed up the camp, I soon discovered this was not so on the bike.
The wind had pulled a hard 180° from the previous day and I was now facing a steady 40 - 60 km/hr wall from the west; the direction of my travel. Grinding back to the highway, I realized that my knee was even worse than the day before and that the wind would give me little chance to rest it.
I was however determined to make New Brunswick, only 85 km distant. What else could I do? I gritted my teeth, shifted to an easier gear and turned my pedals.
There were some dicey uphill moments where I feared for the integrity of my knee bits, and times where explosive gusts of wins threatened to toss me into the uncaring path of logging trucks, but I eventually won my way to Campbellton. I even managed to drop another cyclist on a long, gradual climb, despite my handicaps.
Craving poutine and feeling like I had just spent 6 hours in a wind tunnel full of OMT leg kicks, I made my way to a local cafe for a short rest. Having just left Quebec, I was shocked to hear the server's perfect bilingualism. I would continue to do double takes the rest of the evening at the grocery store and campground at the sound of perfect English. I still start every meeting with "Bonjour", and more easily say "merci", than "thanks".
Quebec has left its mark.
With two strong days (105 km to Dalhousie today) behind me, I begin to think of a rest day to let my knees recover and plan my last dwindling days of cycling. I am confronted with a 80 km stretch desolate of campgrounds between Bathurst and Miramichi tomorrow so perhaps tomorrow can be a short ride.
I wake up to a marvelous sunrise, but an hour behind my usual time now that I have moved an hour ahead to Atlantic Time.
As I leave the campground, a man warns me that it will be a hot day at 32° C. I wave him off, saying that it needs to crack 40° before I start worrying.
I set out through Acadia, the former French colony lands that were seized by the British following the Paris Treaty. Acadian pride is strong and most people speak French still, but service is always in English if necessary.
The side highway I follow is unfortunately plagued with perpendicular cracks and speed bump-esque asphalt fill. The poor bicycle takes a bit of a beating bouncing over the bumps. Luckily, traffic is low and I can weave around, hunting the best path over the road.
There are still hills to be sure, but they are fairly low, and the gradient is generally gentle.
I make it into Bathurst by 2 pm and do some quick shopping before drinking two quiet pints at the brewery.
I find a nice enough campgrpund for the night, in a nice wooded area with power and water right next to me. Unfortunately, the winged ants have laid claim to this land and burst out from under my feet in the thousands as I eat dinner. I make them pay for their settlement by killing as many as possible and sealing their major entranceways.
While researching the next day's route, I see that Google Maps really does not want me on Highway 8. I can't find anything that says I am not allowed to cycle it, and the alternative is a 50 km detour so I decide to take my chances.
The next day I enjoy a noteworthy oatmeal, and a new coffee - instant Columbian blend, the best I have tried yet.
The morning is a slow uphill over a low ridge, climbing into the wind at a 1% gradient. Nothing majorly taxing, and it forces me to enjoy the scenery.
As I join the dreaded Highway 8, I find a horrific 3 meter wide, perfectly smooth shoulder and low traffic.
Come on Google Maps...
Eventually though, the shoulder begins degrading and disappearing. While not as bad as sections of the Ontario Trans Canada, I decide to pull out after lunch to do an alternate route.
My detour turns out to be a remote, dirt road. But the dirt seems well packed and low on stones or washboard, and I haven't done anything adventurous for a while so I take a chance.
It's a bit bouncy at times, and I hit a steep hill towards the end, but I pass zero cars in 12 km and enjoy a quiet, slow ride with music on and helmet off, my hair blowing in the breeze.
Once I turn west to Miramichi, the breeze becomes a strong headwind, but I am immunized to such distractions and make it into the grocery store in no time.
Stopping at an Irving gas station outside town to top off on water and some baked goodies, I marvel at the smooth pavement of the Highway 11 shoulder. Some of the best in Canada.
A short trek to the campground, and I prepare a gourmet instant rice with shitake mushroom, tuna, and pine nut hummus.
I plan a side trip to PEI and make arrangements to stay in Halifax two nights.
Before I know it, I'll be dipping the tires in Halifax Harbour and flying home.
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