Money Bay!

It should be an easy day for me today, to Bay L’Argent (Money or Silver Bay), only 65 kilometres away, mostly along the road back up the Burin Peninsula. The weather is fine and I start the day with a light heart. It's a point of pride to me when, after a trip is done, I have used everything I've brought, and I've lacked for nothing. Today, for the first time in Newfoundland I pull out an item I haven't used before - my sunglasses. The sun though, is feeble, with all the power of a frail old lady trying to open a jar of jam. The wind on the other hand, has the snap of a rolled up towel on a wet ass. I put on more clothes.

Here is no gentle valley, like at home, with its apple blossoms and strawberry U-picks. It's a hard land with bare-backed mountains plunging directly into the sea, like gannets fishing. Gannets, those wild-eyed hunters, big as eagles, sporting bills of iron, sharp as sabres; they dive from a height, fold their wings and smash into the ocean with a smack you can hear a kilometre away. But there are no gannets here, in fact, there is little sign of any life - a few gulls, a few robins. These are not your garden variety suburban robins, pulling worms from your lawn. These are tough as drunk Irishmen on George Street, this one with a black eye, that one with a busted lip.

The bike seems OK but my heart jumps each time I need to shift. I change gears gingerly, like people passing a sick baby from hand to hand.

I’m in familiar territory, and I’m delighted to come to the Tea Rose again. It's not quite open yet but a hostess comes outside and takes the orders of the people waiting. The atmosphere is relaxed and everyone is friendly and chatting away happily. Everybody orders the “Jake's”, as do I, though I don't know what it is. They all compete to explain what it is. One lady wants her cabbage and gravy on the side and the hostess responds with “Oh, don’t be so fucken complicated!” My eyes pop out - “Whoa!! But nobody is offended as the hostess continues: “You must be from Marystown.” Everyone laughs as the lady admits, “Yes, I’m from Marystown”. They're all joking and asking each other “Where you longs to?” and “Who knit ya?”, the first topic of many a Newfoundland conversation.

When the food comes I learn it's actually Jiggs Dinner, a Newfoundland specialty. It's a boiled meal of potato, carrot, cabbage, mashed turnip, turkey, and salt beef, with a bit of raisin cake. It's some good and each person in turn, as they finally give up trying to finish it, lets out a long groan. Then they all order dessert - partridgeberry pie, bakeapple cheesecake, or raisin tea bun. I make a gaff and order coffee instead of the Newfoundland drink, tea. I get a cup of hot water and a little bowl of instant coffee. The room is cozy and people are calling from table to table, laughing and joking; there are no strangers here. By the end of lunch, everybody in the place knows who I am, what I”m doing, and how I like the “Jakes.”

There's a craft shop there, I visit it and chat away for half an hour with the ladies running it. Normally, I’m very reserved, I can go a week without speaking to anyone. There’s something about this province, though, that has me relaxed and chattering away like a teenaged girl. At the gift shop, I buy an enchanting quilt made by a local lady. It’s got a whimsical design featuring mummering, an island tradition now illegal. They’ll send it home for me.

Jigg's Dinner: Best meal I had in Newfoundland

Mummering: a 300 year old tradition. Disguise yourself, go door to door, have fun. But some had too much fun; drinking and beating people up. It was made illegal.

I turn off the main road towards Bay L'Argent. I'm going through the mountains now. The hills are taking their duty more seriously now and the wind begins to assert itself. Shooting down one hill, I’m almost choked as my helmet is blown off my head.

At a gas bar outside of town I ask if anyone around rents rooms for the night. The lady tells me to go into town and ask for T.F.. When I get to town I ask the first person I see. I’m not at all surprised that he is T.F.. He gets in his truck to drive to his place, which is two houses away. It’s a two bedroom house, for $100. He gives me a quick tour. There are dirty dishes in the sink and the fridge has bottles of ketchup and leftovers in it. A wet towel is hanging in the bathroom. In one bedroom there is a dresser with an open drawer; it’s his underwear drawer. There's 3-in-1 instant coffee on the counter and whiskey in the freezer. He tells me to help myself to both and leave the money on the table when I go.

There is a washer and dryer and I write this while sipping coffee and listening to the washing machine banging around. I have to get his stuff out of the dryer before I can put mine in. I put in a water treatment tab when I fill my water bottle; the water is the colour of urine. I walk around town, it doesn't take long. I come back to the house and eat my beans piping hot, straight out of the pot instead of out of the can. Then I settle down with a bit of whiskey. Life is good.

At Bay L'Argent looking toward Little Bay

Today's ride: 65 km (40 miles)
Total: 380 km (236 miles)

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