Chester, Nova Scotia

I had greater ambitions today, but I couldn’t pull it off. And what does it matter?

Russ and Laura write that the best bike tours are the open ended ones, without set departures or fixed schedules. It’s hard to arrange a tour like that if you only have 2 weeks, or in my case, 8 days.

The rails-to-trails path is awesome, with just one caveat: it’s lonely out there. It’s Friday so I expected more company on the trail, but I wouldn’t even see one person per hour, which is a little spooky when traveling alone. So 10 miles out of Chester I abandon the off-road trail for the roadway. Then I remember the advantage of the trail — it’s mostly flat versus the Route 3 roller coaster I found myself on.

There’s a 3-foot law here which is new, but widely followed. I’ve been treated very courteously on the roads, except for this one jerk.

Cyclists all know the difference in horn blowing; it can be a toot that says, “I’m here, don’t worry,” or something much more threatening. That’s what I heard just seconds before this pickup with trailer deliberately shaved me like no other close call in my life, and for no reason. He was practiced at the art of coming within inches of a cyclist; I’m sure he’s doing it every chance he gets.

But the moment passes and I’m soon enjoying the ambiance of the Foc’sle restaurant in Chester. My table has an electrical outlet and great wiFi, and the draft beer is delicious; I was tempted to have another.

Where to stay? Although I pictured myself further down the road, there’s nothing wrong with 50 miles when fully loaded.

Trip Advisor suggests a couple of promising B&Bs; I think I’ll ride by and check them out, but as I come to the edge of town I pause, there are hills in every direction. That’s when I find myself right outside Nicki’s Inn. I didn’t even look at it online, because it didn’t have a photo, but this place is charming and stylish, built on top of a swanky looking restaurant — it’s worth a look, hope it has wiFi.

Bedtime at 9pm? That’s after a nap at 5. “Cyclists aren’t partiers,” according to Richard DeBernardis of El Tour de Tucson. I’m proof of that tonight.

In the morning I take a short walk around town; it’s quiet and cool. The homes are all well maintained, many with views of Mahone Bay. Many have For Sale signs, too, and I fantasize: what would it be like to spend the summer in Chester? This town looks ready-made for a Fourth of July parade, or the Canadian equivalent.

I’m in no rush this morning; my route is half of yesterday’s. The Surfside Inn in Queensland sits right on the water; another recommendation by Joanne Byrne at Pedal and Sea. She deserves more than just this brief reference; I’ve driven her crazy with my questions over the past few days. I finally semi-apologized, blaming my lack of resolve and indecision on traveling solo, and maybe that is a factor. Surrounded by others, my opinions are molded by the chatter in my head, blended with an earful of alternatives. Alone I seem to take longer to plan; like today: will I stay on the roads or take the isolated, yet quiet off-road path? I’m leaning to the path, but there’s a case to be made for each and I’m weighing all the pros and cons myself.

At other times it’s cleansing being out on the road alone. If that’s the right term; this trip is strenuous, yet relaxing, lonely, but to compensate I’m reaching out to strangers for little bits of chit chat and I feel connected to my home for one night, in Chester.