Remember Sebastian Cabot, the bearded and erudite actor who played Mr. French, the butler, in the 1966-'71 series Family Affair? I was a big fan of his. Apparently, so were the Canadians, who named a scenic trail around the northern half of Cape Breton, in Nova Scotia, after him. Some actually believe the Cabot Trail was named after John "Giovanni" Cabot, an Italian navigator who discovered the coast of North America in 1497. I'm having none of this, however, because the Cabot Trail's 185-mile circumference approximates the dimensions of the late, portly actor.
I have long wanted to ride the Cabot Trail. Everyone I've spoken to who's been there has raved. Furthermore, it's in Canada, one of the most motorcycle-friendly countries in the world. When you combine the advantages of proximity, shared (kind of) language, a favorable exchange rate, great roads, sparse traffic, nary a speck of trash and seafood to die for, what's not to love? Little persuasion was needed to enlist my usual riding buddies, Bill, Jon and Pat, for the trek north from Virginia.
We had only eight days to play with, which would necessitate a lot of time in the saddle, especially given our desire to avoid interstate highways. Our plan, necessarily cursory, was to spend two days riding to Portland, Maine, take an overnight ferry ride to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, spend three days touring the Cabot Trail, relax for a day on the ferry back to Portland and then make the two-day return ride to Virginia.
We rode across Pennsylvania, then up along the Delaware River and Water Gap into New York state. At Albany, we headed due east across Vermont and New Hampshire to arrive at the Portland Marine Terminal for our overnight trip on the Scotia Prince. The ferry, which holds up to 250 cars, is very comfortable and has good food at a reasonable price. If you want to save some money and don't mind sleeping in an easy chair, you can forgo the $40 per person for a berth. One advantage of the ferry is that motorcycles are loaded first in Portland. That means we ride off first, and reach customs first in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. It took us only 30 minutes to clear and begin our explorations.
Heading north out of Yarmouth on U.S. Highway 101, which runs along the western coast, we immediately noticed several things. First, there was absolutely no trash along the highways. In fact, after a 100-mile stretch, I asked if anyone had seen that coffee cup on the side of the road 40-50 miles back. Everyone had, so noticeable was this errant piece of refuse! Second, the roads were virtually without traffic. Even in the height of tourist season, one might go several miles between car sightings, especially on the limited access roads in the southern sector. Since less than 1 million Nova Scotians inhabit an area approximately the size of West Virginia, this is not surprising.
As we plied our way north, stopping at the Spitfire pub in Windsor, one could hardly miss the number of towns with Scottish names: Argyle, New Edinburg, New Glasgow, Caledonia, Glengarry, Scots Bay, Inverness.... We also noted how many town names, like New Germany, Liverpool, Denmark, Sydney and Ohio, attest to the island's openness and hospitality. Of course, all this internationalism was reined back into focus with the McLobster sandwiches we consumed at one of the local McDonalds.
We arrived at Port Hastings, gateway to Cape Breton Island and the Cabot Trail, 350 miles later. The temperature had dropped considerably, reminding us how far north we'd traveled. The mlange of aromas-from lobster restaurants, seaweed, salty air and smoking freighters-along the Strait of Canso was exotic and inviting. By midafternoon we had already ridden 400 miles and were ready for a good meal and cold beer. We stopped for the night in Whycocomagh, a small village about 20 miles south of Nyasa and the beginning of the Cabot Trail. We planned the next day's ride with maps spread out all over our hotel room, a bottle of single malt scotch and a few Cuban cigars.