Drugged up on Gravol, I did get some sleep.  Far from a good night – but definitely some shut eye.  Sleeping in all my gear on a seat is a far cry from comfort.  At the very least if I don’t splurge on a bed next time, I’d be bringing a sleeping bag.

View from my window as we pulled into the harbour:

Getting down into the hold to release the bikes after docking, we had the pleasure of finding out the Harley that wouldn’t start last night, wouldn’t start this morning either.  The Wings and I pushed him out to the ferry ramp, before health and safety sent us back.  We weren’t to go out of the boat without hard hats on.   Probably a smart idea, but we had to leave the bike blocking traffic, run back to put on our helmets before pushing him off.  We got him  rolling down the ramp and let go…  But he decided to bump start it part way through and stopped at the bottom.   Being the only one who hadn’t headed back, I got to push him around to the concrete.  Gets the blood flowing in the morning anyway.

We disembarked – and wouldn’t you know it, all the Harleys took off.   Abandoned their fellow brand rider to the parking lot.  Just the Wings and I pulled over to lend a hand…

After three of four runs, the three of us were done.  I really hadn’t planned on being so sweaty this early on such a cool day.  Legs were still recovering from the earlier hikes and try as hard as we could, it wouldn’t turn over.  I think our suspicions were that he had popped it into 1st rather than 2nd for the start.   The back tire was locking up rather than turning the engine.  Fortunately, some truckers took pity on us since it was clear we didn’t have any juice left.   They eventually tied the straps to the front forks and bump started it that way.

Getting of the ferry, things were a bit grey.  But even without the sun, it was some great territory.   Loved the mountains and the mist.   Too bad I didn’t have the camera set up in a way to pull it out and take pictures on the road.    I looked for a place to pull over, but I guess the views were too commonplace and no one cared.   I didn’t stop until there was a bit of a backup in traffic where a pickup had blown a front tire and spun around a few times.   I stopped with the others, but realized I wasn’t about to be much help and continued on my way.

Blue skies and puffy white clouds as I pulled into Gros Morne.

I ducked into the Visitor Center to try to get some suggestions on how to best spend my time on the Rock.  The girl was fairly honest in saying that as a park rep, her goal was to get me to spend as much time in Gros Morne as was reasonable.   Eventually, the weather made the decision – the next two days were to be a bit grim, and if I wanted to do any hiking, best do it today.

One of the easier hikes with the best rewards was the Baker’s Brook Falls.  I took that one… It was relatively flat until you got to the water.  I had forgotten about my little morning adventure with the Harley and my legs were burning by the time I made it to the end.   Took some pictures and had a nice talk to a Dane who was coming back to Gros Morne for the 3rd time – he was spending a good 10 days just in the park.  My hit and run trip felt rushed again.  Relaxing at the end of the trail in the sun helped slow things down.

Heading back, my tummy started to rumble.   And really not in a good way.   I foolishly didn’t pay it much mind and kept going.  Well, not entirely, I picked up the pace a little just in case I needed to be back at the trail head.   This did make me count the blessing that probably a good 3.5 out of the 5k trail was boardwalk.

I did bump into a few folks who warned me of a moose up ahead.  So this time, I didn’t rush into things quite as much and got to grab a decent picture.  Moose!

Once it became clear he was going to just keep munching on the greenery, I moved on, attempting to ignore the building urgency in my gut.  Stopping for one of those “it’s too scary to keep walking” moments, I thought I might as well grab a picture.

I continued shuffling along, and kept an eye out for the distance markers and potential paths out of sight.   Trail markers were not promising, I had almost halfway to go -2km.   And eventually, there wasn’t much I could do.   In a relatively forested section, I bolted 20 feet off the trail, hid behind some trees and did my business.  There’s a book in most of the bookstores titled “Who pooped in the woods?”.  I’m sure “the asian guy on a motorcycle” isn’t one of the entries.

This was a fairly stark reminder it was necessary to do my laundry.  The campgrounds at the National Parks didn’t have laundry services in Gros Morne, but there was a KOA in Norris Point.  I checked in for two nights and cleaned myself up.

With Mendy unloaded, I thought it might be fun to go for a bit of a ride and headed out to the Tablelands and Trout River.  As one of the few places on Earth where the mantle is exposed, Tablelands was very alien in comparison to the rest of the park.  I only did the short hike since the day was winding down and I’d rather not ride after dark with the risk of moose at dusk.

Quick ride out to Trout River before turning around and heading back to the KOA.

The KOA was one of the nicer ones I’ve been to.  Aside from the gravel road making me a touch nervous, this park beat most of the National campgrounds.  Lots of space between sites, lots of trees, good shower facilities and not much more expensive.

Snacks and camp fuel at the store was naturally overpriced, but at least it was in stock.  The lady at the counter asked me if I was buying the Coleman fuel to start my campfire.  I’m pretty sure the last time I used camp fuel to help start the fire, my dad lost his eyebrows.   Us kids had dumped some fuel onto the kindling and were attempting to throw  lit matches into the fire pit.  After watching us fail repeatedly, my dad went right up to the fire, crouched down and put the match in with his hand.   Giant fireball and some burnt hair later, we naturally got yelled at…  I still maintain that there was a reason we were standing a few feet away trying to throw matches.