Our son, Walt, insisted that Chub and I should buy expens~ive rainwear for our bicycle trip across Newfoundland. Even at his wholesale cost, pants and jackets cost about $75 per set. Walt remembered that this easternmost Canadian province was both wet and windy. He and Nancy were 9 and 11 years old when we camped there. He crawled out of his sleeping bag on a drizzly morning and came to the campfire barefoot. Chub said, ~“It’s cold, put on your shoes.” Walt said, “My shoes are colder than the ground.” In 1974, he was a bike dealer, and we took his advice about the Peter Storm rain suits.

In Montreal while waiting for our small plane to Deer Lake, Newfoundland, a fellow admired our bikes and said, “Our daughter has a Peugeot.” Reading our names on the bikes and saddlebags, he spelled out “G-E-R-A-R-D. Why you’~re Mrs. G. who took Cindy on that trip!” We were full of talk till plane time and as we parted he said, “It’s a small world.” But there was nothing small about the problem we encountered on that plane. Near the end of the flight the stewardess checked our tickets and said, “We’ll land at Harmon Field in about 30 minutes.” I asked what time we’d land at Deer Lake. “We don’t go to Deer Lake,” she replied. “But our tickets and our overnight reservations are for Deer Lake,” I said.

“The airport is under repair. Deer Lake runways are plowed up. You’ll be getting off at Harmon Field.” Of course she was right! But Harmon Field was not a town, had no hotel. We landed, claimed our bikes and the stewardess said, “You can get a hotel in Corner Brook” and disappeared in the rainy darkness. The hotel was about 30 miles away!

Other passengers were loading into cars and leaving. A man getting into the last car saw us standing there bewildered, and drove over saying, “We can put the bikes in the trunk and you can hold the bags. I’ll take you to Corner Brook.” What a godsend!

It was a beautiful 500-mile ride to St. Johns on the east coast. That expensive rain gear came out of our saddlebags nine of the 11 days that we pedaled along on Canada~’s new Highway One. Truckers honked and waved as they passed and Mounties slowed as if we might want them to stop. After the same drivers had seen us on the road day after day, they were rooting for our success.

We carried tent, canned and dried foods and water in addition to camera, clothing, spare tires, tools, camera, etc. About halfway through a stretch marked “63 Miles, No Services,” we camped in an abandoned gravel pit. The next day we rested and enjoyed a hot meal at the end of that stretch. Some of our “rooters” were there wanting to ~get acquainted. One of the Mounties said, “Well, we can’t stand it. We just have to ask how old you are, anyway.” I replied, “One of us is almost 60 and the other past 60~,” I said.

The road friends became more supportive as we neared St. Johns, and we pedaled that 65 wet miles the last day in order to attend a 7:30 p.m. local movie on polar bears. There was time for a hot shower before the show. And the show was worth the long ride!