They say Cape Breton Island is the most beautiful island in the world. When I first heard that, I thought it was a pretty tall claim, there are some REALLY beautiful islands out there. Could Cape Breton possibly compared to Virgin Gorda in the B.V.I.? It does.

I have become impervious to the mosquitoes and blackflies now, because they can’t make me itchy when I’m already always itchy. I’m actually having a really great trip. I left Prince Edward Island on a shimmering ferry ride across the Northumberland Strait, a man playing a guitar onboard, people talking in French, the weather cool and fresh as always in summer here. I arrived in Nova Scotia, the first time I’ve ever been here.

I drove many kilometers to arrive at sundown on Cape Breton Island, the furthest parcel of land north in Nova Scotia. The hills and ridges here are everywhere, and while they are densely forested by dark green spruce trees, the pines are matched in equal parts with these candy green maple and birch trees. The look of the clean and dainty forest is distinctly Canadian, this is Acadia.

The mosquitoes were bad where I camped the first night, again finding their way into the truck, but the subsequent nights they haven’t been bad at all. Blackflies, however, leave a bite which festers and scars! In the morning I woke up in my parking spot in a ditch and left. I packed up and was allowed to park my truck for free in a motel, how nice of them! I’m leaving it there for four or five days and going by bike. I wanted to see the Cabot trail, so I decided if I’m going to see it, I might as well bike it.

It was a freeing feeling to bike away, and soon I found myself climbing Hunter Mountain. The first part of the ride was aboot 120 kilometers to get to the coast at Margaree Forks. The place is new Scotland and was settled entirely by the Scottish. I see ‘Mac’ on every mailbox, everywhere. MacPherson, MacLean, MacRae! MacLennon, oh my god… my family is MacKenzie!! I’m one of these people. I passed a cemetery that had at least 16 graves engraved MacRae, probably five MacLennons. The French Canadian sounds like if you tried to speak French with a Scottish accent.

I definitely love it here, this is the nicest place ever. These are the Canadian Maritime provinces, and there is something distinct about some landscapes here which I doubt you can find anywhere else in the world. It looks arctic, with uninterrupted grasslands meeting the coast in sea cliffs, colorful houses perched in fields around the rolling hills. The road snakes through these fairytale towns and calls you to keep biking through them. The towns of Margaree Harbor and Cheticamp were like this.

Then, further north, things changed. I felt like I was now biking in Washington state, somewhere wet, rugged and wild. I camped the first night by a river and it rained on me in the morning. It was still a good start to the day, and I went right up into the mountains at the Cape Breton Highlands national park. It felt sublime to be biking through these real mountains, rocky cliffs meeting northern capes and the stormy ocean. The clouds didn’t break until afternoon but patches of sun came through.

 

I’m not sure how far I biked today, probably not as many miles as yesterday but it was much harder and more exhausting. First I climbed to the highest elevation in the national Park on French Mountain, 450 meters above sea level.

It was an inspiring trip, a vigorous and tree covered ride up. At the top the forest changed, and for the first time I met the Taiga forest at its southernmost extent. This is the largest forest in the world covering completely the Canadian arctic and Russia. It was a bog, it was untouched, there were strange skunk-cabbage-like orchids blooming from the sphagnum moss and peat.

 

The descent really did remind me of Virgin Gorda, the sun was out now, the water was various shades of Atlantic blue and turquoise streaks, the wind was blowing cool and fresh all day. The waves sparkled on the expansive sea and I flew down the mountain toward it for miles. Cape Lawrence headlands were visible in front of me, and the town of Pleasant bay was below. Eventually I arrived.

I thought North Cape wouldn’t be much farther, however, it was a lot farther. I had to climb North Mountain first. It was straight up for many kilometers, I don’t know how many, but I was impressed with how steep this road was. It was easily as steep as some of the roads I biked in California, I was shocked to be on such a huge mountain without expecting it at all. I was fatigued and growing quickly more so. I couldn’t make it! Had to keep stopping and was becoming dizzy. It winded around cliffs and took hairpin turns. The wind was blowing the electric green maples surrounding me with neon light. It’s times like this I can re-live in memories after they are over, I don’t realize it at the time, but standing there exhausted halfway up a beautiful and unique mountain burns a specific image into my mind. This one was extremely green and wild. I did in fact make it and arrived back at the mossy alpine forest where I had to lay down in the moss. The descent from North Mountain was an epic flight, going faster than the cars. The scenes were so beautiful but it was no use to me now, I was completely fatigued and destroyed from the climb.

It was still so much farther through the majestic, windy, deciduous forest to North Cape. I was on this long road and decided I didn’t want to be biking anymore, so I stopped and picked strawberries and cloudberries for a long time before realizing, oh, I have to keep biking. Finally I did stop though, at the glorious Effie Brook and after unpacking and halfway setting up camp, I drifted off to sleep laying on the ground. The blackflies did a number on me. I’m camped on a little pebble sandbar right now, writing this from in my bivvy sack. There is a small waterfall here and a pool of clean water. Have to carry my bike back up that ravine in the morning though. I’m having a really excellent trip.