Leg 3 - Grand Digue to Bathurst (all in New Brunswick)
Approx. 180 miles

This is to be the "nostalgia" leg of the "BIG RIDE." I'm in my home turf, in New Brunswick, where I grew up, went to university, and of course, rode my first motorcycles. I have so many memories of this stretch of roadway, I wonder what it's going to be like riding it all these years later.

How many times in my youth did I do this North/South route - hitchhiking, walking, driving, on a motorcycle? These memories come flooding back in a cascade of nostalgia.Â

How about the time I got a ride hitchhiking in a crowded car, and smoked so many joints with the happy travelers, that by the time they dropped me off in Bouctouche, my left leg had gone to sleep (unbeknownst to me). When I stepped out of the car with my merry little buzz, and my numb leg, I fell flat on my face. My compatriats howled with laughter, of course, in their smoke induced haze - thinking this was a great performance on my part. Â

Or the time when I was 16 or so when I got a ride with the cutie in the MG convertible. She kept glancing at me sideways as we drove along and seemed to accidently brush my leg with her hand when shifting gears. She must have realized I was too young to make a move on, or I wasn't her type - whatever, she pulled over in the middle of nowhere and gave me the boot. Hey, what did I do?

Or the time..... never mind, there's a million of them. Let's get back to the present. Â

But mixed in with all those great memories today is something else. A sense of sadness and disappointment.  This part of the world is looking more run down and shabby than I remember it - and it was never a very prosperous area relative to the rest of the country, no doubt about that. Things look depressed. Cars are kind of junky and seem to be riding low on their springs as if burdened by the weight of it all. People are moving slower and seem to spend more time looking down than up. They look like they've given in to the sense of malaise that seems to hang in the air.Â

And the roads!!!! Wow! I take the old highway 134 (the one with so many memories for me) heading North. This road was replaced as the main highway by the 11, way back when, but the 134 is the one I want to ride.  So many places to revisit - Cogagne, Bouctouche, Sainte Anne, Rexton, Richibucto. But am I in for a surprise.... these roads are really, really rough.Â

After a few bone-jaring miles, I curse the provincial government for not having the money or the right priorities. Holy shit - this is the worst paved road I have ever been on. Huge dips, rises, broken pavement poorly repaired. This is not what I expected from my coastal nostalgia ride. It doesn't get better, but I resign myself to riding slowly, weaving all over the road, and figuring at least it can't get any worse.Â

It is as if the provincial government has just given up on the area. The road signs are few and far between. The road conditions are horrible. It looks like there hasn't been any investment in infrastructure in decades (with a few exceptions here and there). Â

This area used to be popular with tourists, but I can't imagine it now. Other areas within driving distance have whale watching tours, kayaking, white water rafting, and all kinds of things to attract and thrill tourists. But this section of coast looks like the place that opportunity passed by. Â

And it's not like there's nothing to see. There are miles of sandy beaches, great marshes to watch herons, eagles, and other wildlife, sand dunes, offshore islands, etc.  But there's virtually nobody around.






I guess the old adage is true: "you can't go back."Â Today's reality is never the same as the memories of youth.

I take the old Route 475 for a few miles, to get closer to the coastline, and the road isn't any better.  Then try Route 505 out to the peninsula and through Cap Lumiere (remember our visit to that beach, Claire? - heh, heh!)

Get a respite when I decide to cut off on the 117 through Kouchibouguac National Park.  The road is in decent shape, although my view is mostly of trees instead of the ocean.Â

Then the clouds that have been threatening all afternoon decide to open up. I zip into a sawmill (nobody around, it's Sunday) and take refuge under some kind of huge metal overhang among a bunch of trucks and equipment. This is my first time getting wet on the trip so far, though it won't be the last.  Get impatient trying to wait out the passing showers, climb into my rainsuit and get back in the saddle. By the time I reach Escouminac on the south shore of Miramichi Bay, the sun has returned (sort of), the roads are drying up, and I stop to compensate myself for my troubles with an ice cream cone. Things are still looking pretty bleak, economically - the little country store is for sale, as is the house across the street, and various vehicles parked along the road for sale signs.  I feel lucky, but a little guilty to have escaped this area and now live in Southern California, which is an unimaginably rich and faraway place, by local standards. Â

Stop in to a cousin's place (Debbie Hicks-Sisk) in Pointe Gardiner on Highway 117 just in time for barbequed salmon (freshly caught a couple of days previously by her son, Brody and husband, Dave). Enjoy the hospitality and a walk on the beach at their beautiful place on the beach. Thanks for the meal and the time to stretch my legs, guys. Dave just sold his bike, after a bad scare with a reckless car driver on the highway, but he's studying my bike and looking v-e-e-e-r-r-r-y interested in it. I'll bet he doesn't make it through the summer without buying another one. Go for it Dave, but ride safe!

Debbie - if he goes out and spends $25K on a new Harley, it's all my fault.Â

Only an hour of daylight left, and I have 70+ miles to my destination in my hometown of Bathurst, so time to go. As I cross the Miramichi River over the lofty bridge, I see a huge mass of black storm clouds way off in the distance, off to the Northwest.  Hmmmm.... they are probably moving toward Bathurst. Wonder if I can get there first?Â

I crank the throttle, knowing this is a dangerous thing to do. People get killed on new Brunswick roads all the time in collisions moose, and I'm really vulnerable on a bike, and with the approaching dusk. I keep one eye on the dark, cloudy horizon and the other one peeled for murderous moose.

I almost make it.  Just when I see the sign "Welcome to Bathurst," the skies open up on me. I pull over in a downpout and struggle into my rainsuit. Ride the last few miles slowly, with little visibility, and still warily watching for kamikaze moose. Â



Visit a cool place the next morning - just a few miles East of Bathurst on the Bay of Chaleur, on Route 11 in the village of Pokeshaw.Â

A veteran biker, Rejean Gosselin, originally from Sherbrooke, Quebec, with thousands of miles and years of riding under his belt, has taken on the personal mission of creating his little version of a Shangri La for traveling motorcyclists.  Check out his place- "Le Navigateur" perched on the cliffs above the Bay of Chaleur.  He took a 150 year old farmhouse and has transformed it into a Cafe-Bistro. The beer is cold, the coffee's hot, and the atmosphere eclectic and cozy. Â






The amenities also include camping sites out back, and a unique approach to a B&B. Rejean has taken some old fishing boats here and there on the lawns and tuned them into guest cabins.  Ditto for a bunch of old VW Westfalia campers scattered around.  Rejean parks his bike out front, as a clear signal this is a biker-friendly place.    And he's got plenty of stories about his travels across the roads of North America, on 2 wheels and 4.Â




Well done, Rejean!  Put Le Navigateur on your list of "must stops" anytime you are in this part of the world.   Â
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I stop just up the coastal road from Rejean's place to look out at the Bay and think about "The Ride."

I realized I am at the furthest point away from home on the entire trip, probably further away from home and family than I'll ever be again on a motorcycle. I feel homesick, like a small speck on a big planet, and wonder if I'm up to handling the several thousand miles I need to ride before seeing "home-sweet-home" again.

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Tomorrow's another day.....  the open road calls out to me, once again.Â