July 18th - 13th Day of Biking!
Today was like watching a story play out. We woke up sore and tired and insatiably hungry. The heat was so strong even in the morning that sleeping more was out of the question. We wearily packed up and began our most physically and mentally grueling day yet. By the fourth mile we were exhausted from the already daunting hills and stopped at a antiques store/cafe. From the outside it seemed like the dime a dozen stores that we've been passing since Maine, but on the inside it was a strange hippie oasis: the baristas had dreds, the coffee was Free Trade, they had soy milk for coffee and even vegan muffins! As we sat on the patio enjoying portabella paninis, in disbelief, one of the baristas came out to shoot the breeze about bikes, telling us that he had once owned a bike shop and then expecting us to know all the pros and cons about different fancy frames (it's funny that everyone assumes we know so much about biking just because we decided to do a long trip and look important with all the gear on our bikes).
We thought we would be rejuvenated after our cool find, but 15 miles more of hills led us into Windsor where we wanted to give up completely. We got lost going to the grocery store and gave up, felt panicked trying to find out how we would stay on schedule if every day from here on out provided the crazy climbs we were seeing, and we were just generally frustrated that the only way we were going to get out of Nova Scotia would be biking.
Since we had no choice, we kept going and started day dreaming about many things: how much easier this trip would be if we stayed in hotels and only ate at restaurants - imagine how much less weight we would be carrying on our bikes! We also lamented the fact that since we were biking along the "armpit" of the coast, if there were only a bridge, it would have saved us this whole day. And lastly, there's always the sobering thought if we were driving, this would all just take a day! All the while we were climbing more and more hills - the type that when you reach the crest, it doesn't plummet down to give you some coasting; it instead barely levels off and then goes up again. The scenery was strange: all farmland on the top of the world, cordoned off by muddy rivers.
More concerning was the fact that we realized the only campground within striking distance for the day was one where there was a festival. The next closest one was 20 miles further on the same terrain and the towns we were passing where we thought we could always find a cheap motel were turning out to be nonexistent. Drained and out of sorts, we stopped at the only building in Summerville: a ragtag inn, the first we had seen since Windsor. We went in to inquire about a room and found the place totally deserted. It was so strange inside: bags of chips among homemade wool caps, prices for lumber, paint, and cans of beans. We called, "hello?" a few times and then gave up, eager to rummage through our sad supply of food. We ate dinner on the stoop: cold spaghettios, jerkey, peanut butter, add water hummous, garlic crackers, pina colada "energy shot blocks," and, alarmingly, almost the end of our water.

Before leaving, Katharine decided to give calling for the manager one last shot. She found an old but vivacious woman inside. There was no room at the inn because of the festival but the woman, knowing that the campground we were headed to was already full and that we would have to bike in the wee hours of the night to get to the next one, called some of her friends down the road to see if they had room for us. No luck. Then, she said, "Well, I have some empty lawn out back. Why don't you stay there? Actually, I think it's supposed to rain so you can sleep downstairs. I won't even charge you." It's strange that given such helpful generosity, it's hard to know how to react or even to keep your suspicions at bay. She didn't even know our names, we didn't know hers, but she hustled in, telling us to lock our bikes up on the post of the "shop" and leading us downstairs to what we thought would be a leaky basement but was, shockingly, a very nice yoga studio?? She then told us to shower upstairs since one of her guests hadn't yet arrived. Her hospitality was overwhelming and very appreciated in our mile of need.
We went to sleep in disbelief, while we could hear and smell her baking cinnamon buns upstairs. In fact, we could hear people pattering around all night, as if no one was sleeping, but just preparing things.

Mileage: 39.8 miles
Providential Moments: A kindred spirit in Summerville.