I like the exotic, the unfamiliar. I’m Canadian and I know Canada quite well; I’ve traveled it from ocean to ocean to ocean. To me, though, most of it is as exotic as white bread. There are exceptions, of course, and one of them, Newfoundland, can be found right next door to my home in Nova Scotia. No white bread that, Newfoundland is scrunchions, toutons, Jiggs Dinner, brewis and a whole lot of other stuff I’ve never even heard of.  

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Newfoundland is not quite Canada. Sure, it has been part of Canada since 1949, but Canada has not necessarily been part of Newfoundland. I’ve been there before, by car, with my wife. Arriving at Argentia that time on the Marine Atlantic ferry, we overheard a young girl calling her grandmother: “Nana, we’re home. Well, not home, home, but home.” To her, like for many Newfoundlanders, all of Newfoundland was home, but Canada was not. I had to see this place again, this time from the seat of my bike.

I prepared for my trip by doing a bit  of research in advance, reading, watching YouTube videos, and scanning weather reports. Mistake!  I scared the shit out of myself! I was fully expecting a month of gales with sleet, snow, shipwrecks, and starvation. But never mind, I'm not a man without cojones so I’m buying a ferry ticket and loading up the panniers. 

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