Reinhabiting Myself

Vacationing in Falmouth, MA the week after my return
Vacationing in Falmouth, MA the week after my return

A month! A month has passed since I finished the trip without any effort on my part. In fact, it is a month already completely against my wishes. For an undertaking so removed from my ordinary life, it feels like the trip should have more of a gravitational pull on the time around it. Time leading up to the beginning of the trip did accelerate¬†as if pulled by the tour before me, I was anxious about being unprepared, but time has continued to fly as though those long, faraway days on the road are of little consequence. They should be harder to move on from. Like water running through my fingers, they’re slipping through my grasp. The trip is fast becoming a collection of memories less felt in the body than conjured in the mind. And still I can’t seem to gather them into a satisfactory whole. What was the meaning of it all?

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90-91: Home! (Yarmouth – Somerville, MA)

Aug 7-8, 2014

The seventh and last ferry brought me back to the US and within a day of home. The ferry between Nova Scotia and Maine restarted this summer after the previous company went bankrupt. It is an important tourist link promising economic revitalization to an otherwise isolated region of southern Nova Scotia. Unfortunately, instead of bringing in hordes of US tourists, it’s primarily being used by Nova Scotians to get to the US to spend their money there. The company probably won’t last beyond this summer. I was thankful to be able to use it as it shortened my return considerably.

I made it home!
I made it home!

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84-89: Fast Forward (St John’s – Yarmouth, NS)

Aug 1-6, 2014

These ferries are no simple rafts. I lost a little control at the buffet and ate myself into pains
These ferries are no simple rafts. I lost a little control at the buffet and ate myself into pains

I’m heading home. What a powerful motivator that can be. Whereas before I had a direction and destinination, it was a little like being suspended in place or cycling into the fog. The scenery changes as one place to the next rolls by but there’s a certain laissez-faire, experience-it-as-it-comes nature to the travel. Now I’m moving. Every kilometre, hour, and day ushers me closer to the end where the cycles stop. I’m getting excited.

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Racing Home

For those of you who follow my progress from time to time, I won’t be blogging this last week. I’ve made it back to the mainland and am now focused in getting to the final ferry at Yarmouth, NS which will take me to Portland, ME.

I will continue to keep the map updated as much a possible.

Until the end,
Jacob

Day 82-83: Resting in St John’s

July 30-31, 2014

Resting in St. John’s, I’ve been trying to process completing this trip across Canada but to no satisfaction. How do you cleanly package a summer of cycling? How to you neatly tie a bow around over 8200km (5100m) on a bike? You know I’ve cycled almost one quarter of the way around the planet or to make it sound more impressive, a dozen round trips to the international space station. Maybe time will reveal what it all amounts to?

I made it to the Atlantic! The ocean seen here from Signal Hill
I made it to the Atlantic! The ocean seen here from Signal Hill

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Day 81: St John’s, St John’s! (Goobies – St John’s)

July 29, 2014

I have made it to St John’s…the high, holy city of St John’s at last! Well there’s nothing particular about the city that should make it the city to end the trip at but that it’s located on the far eastern edges of Canada. I didn’t make it to the habour tonight but to a hotel within the city limits. I’ll do the official at-the-Atlantic picture tomorrow. And go up Signal Hill, which is something that cross country tourers seem to do. Maybe drawn by the view?

Made it to the city limits of St John's
Made it to the city limits of St John’s

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Day 80: In the Land of Seafarers (Gambo – Goobies)

July 28, 2014

Traveling across Newfoundland reminds me a lot of Northern Ontario. Rocks, trees, and hills extend as far the eye can see, which isn’t always very far unless you just climbed the latest hill. The landscape is rugged and sparsely populated. However, this is not Northern Ontario and my impression is skewed by traveling on land among seafarers.

Gambo, NL is a good example of a coastal town that you miss if you stay on the highway
Gambo, NL is a good example of a coastal town that you miss if you stay on the highway

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Day 79: Past the Crossroads of the World (Badger – Gambo)

July 27, 2014

As I’m flying along here, I passed a place of actual significance to aviation. Gander Newfoundland is known as the ‘Crossroads of the World’ because it once served as the waystop for all transatlantic flights. Amelia Earhart also started her transatlantic flight on the island though from Grace Habour, which is closer to St John’s. Before planes could carry enough fuel to make the crossing, this was the closest point to Europe in North America.

Gander, NL began as the most important airport in transatlantic aviation
Gander, NL began as the most important airport in transatlantic aviation

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Day 78: Counting Beans (Red Lake – Badger)

July 26, 2014

Can you guess what this statue is? And no I'm not standing on the wrong side of it. (grebeci)
Can you guess what this statue is? And no I’m not standing on the wrong side of it. (grebeci)

Over the summer my thoughts would occasionally play with the idea of getting to St John’s. It was a fun diversion for the moment. Now I’m obsessed with getting to the end. I’m counting the days until I’ll get there, looking for ways to add a few kilometers to each day and maybe shave a day off the end, and imagining myself there to see¬†if I can feel what it’ll be like. What a joyous occasion it’ll be. There are no shortcuts to St. John’s anymore but I’m mentally axing all the extras to get back to Boston.

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Day 77: Funny People (Stephenville Crossing – Deer Lake)

July 25, 2014

Tired. Just bone tired would sum the day up well, leaving little room for interesting though, much less writing. The drizzle thankfully let up quickly this morning but it remained overcast until I set my tent up for the night. What exhausted me were the friecesome hills that began this morning. Those gentle slopes and rolling hills of yesterday didn’t return until late in the day. Climbing is obiously nothing new but I’m starting to hold my breath for the end, which makes them so troublesome. For the first time I can recall on this trip, setting up the tent and all that follows seemed like such an undesirable chore. As unbelievable as it may seem, those roadside motels beckon like havens of luxury to me at this point. There’s something to be said for pulling back the sheets and sliding in instead of blowing up your bed and awkwardly backing into your tent.

A difficult climb makes for a picturesque road
A difficult climb makes for a picturesque road

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