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Maritimes, here I come ! - day 2

Updated: Jul 23, 2022

Plaster Rock - Miramichi - Moncton 

328 km 

This morning it is 6°C. It's freezing cold.

The panel announces 137 km before the next service station. I, therefore, fill up before embarking on the adventure.

I was told that the road between Plaster Rock and Miramichi is very bad. Except that…the one who told me that isn't used to riding in Quebec. The route des Grands Jardins is much worse.

A few potholes, a few ostrich nests, it's perfect for practicing countersteering.

The road is in the woods. No villages but… there are still surprises along the way. Suicidal chipmunks, a couple of birds of prey, even a little bear cub who runs away as soon as he sees me.

I'm in the middle of the woods and…my second coffee is ready to be evacuated. I know how to do it… peeing behind a tree no longer holds any secrets for me. So I start to pull down my Cordura pants, then my waterproof pants that I had put on to cut the wind, then my jeans, then my long underwear and there… I realize that there are too many of them and that I will be impossible not to soak my clothes. So I put everything back together, get on my bike and head for Renous. This is when I admit that I would have liked to have had a small pipe to simplify my life.

I'm freezing and regretting every new mile that I didn't buy that heated jacket I saw on social media. It's said, as soon as I get back, I order one.

Passing through St-Louis-de-Kent, I take this opportunity to rekindle another childhood memory, fried clams.

I cross the Miramichi River and decide to take the schoolchildren's pat to Moncton. The NB-11 would be faster but much less interesting. I'm riding a bit on the NB-134 when suddenly I see a sign announcing the Acadian shores road.

New Brunswick has created scenic routes to reveal the province's well-hidden secrets. My instinct tells me to follow this sign. This is how, following the NB-505, I arrive at the sea.

The smell of salty air, that little oyster taste on the tip of the tongue, delights me. I take the time to chat with a white striped bass fisherman. Those fishes need to be 19.6 inches and more... no less, it's the law.

This big guy emigrated from Switzerland to New Brunswick 30 years ago and congratulates himself every day on his choice.

In New Brunswick, even the garbage cans are beautiful.

I finally arrive in Moncton at my Bunkabiker's host. A first for me.

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