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	lane and wait till it is time to board the ferry. Parking the CBR 1100XX on the centerstand I get a pair of jeans out of my tail-bag and change out of my leathers. One of the port guards tells us there is plenty of time to walk over into the town beside the harbor. Having a few hours to kill Sturgill and I take him up on his suggestion and walk into town through a turnstile at the right side of the holding area where our bikes are parked. Finding a restaurant specializing in hot wings with enough kick to make them tasty but not so hot to be uncomfortable we eat two dozen on them along with a cold salad before going back to the bikes. Motorcycles are privileged in being the first vehicles loaded onto the ferry and we are at the head of the line with me being the first motorcycle onto the ferry. The ferry's bow opens up like a large mouth to swallow motorcycles, cars, motor-homes, tractor-trailers, and other vehicles into the belly of the boat. Experienced from a previous trip we brought our own tie-downs and nylon straps needed for securing the motorcycles for the ocean crossing. The ferry service does provide heavy straps with large metal hooks that can be used with small nylon motorcycle straps provided you have them. If you don't, "ouch" it's going to hurt the finish on the bike. This is a large ocean going vessel with plenty of amenities, from food to a live band keeping passengers entertained during the five and half to six hours crossing depending on weather conditions. It is 9:30 p.m. when the ferry arrives in Port-aux-Basque a difference of an hour and a half ahead of Eastern Time, why the half-hour I do not know. Knowing it would be late when we arrive in Newfoundland I made reservations for a Bed & Breakfast in Port-aux-Basque, Newfoundland before we started the trip. Finding the Heritage Bed & Breakfast around 10 p.m. we meet the couple who rent the rooms of their house out during the vacation season. Directed to our bedroom and shown a hall bath we are told breakfast is served between 7a.m. and 9 a.m. A quick shower ends a relatively easy day today except for the two years of my life I lost when Sturgill made the cowboy pass on the Cabot Trail.
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	Thursday August 14th 5th Day A breakfast of cold cereal, toast, coffee, orange juice and we are out of Port-aux-Basques by 8 a.m. heading due north on Trans Canada Highway 1 for St. Barbe Bay. I estimate it to be close to 350 miles from Channel-Port-aux Basques to St. Barbe Bay where we hope to catch the last ferry leaving at 6 p.m. to Blanc Sablon, Quebec. This particular ferry takes no reservations, it's first come first serve, we absolutely must be there, the whole crux of this trip is dependent upon catching this ferry and if we miss it the next one is 10:30 the following morning. Weeks before while planning our trip Sturgill and I talked about today's scenario and what our options would be if we miss this ferry. Our consensus is to turn around and head home because there is probably not enough time tomorrow to catch the ferry to Goose Bay and if we miss it we will have to wait until Monday morning for the next one, time we do not have. Before breakfast this morning positive minded Sturgill called ahead and made reservations at a Bed & Breakfast in L'Anse-au-Loup, Labrador. More motivation is not needed for me but less anxiety is gratefully accepted, kudos to Sturgill, I sense victory for this day. (Mountain Backdrop in Newfoundland)
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	(Sturgill standing on other side of Bikes) What a beautiful day today the temperature is perfect for full leathers, hardly a trace of clouds in the sky and to me the landscape is reminiscent of the "Lord of the Rings" movie. I tell Sturgill that we need to get a picture of this scenery and pull off at a rest area on our right. Sturgill stands in front of the bikes and I take his picture with mountains behind him, then I immediately walk around to the other side of the bikes and take another picture, but this time there is a wide-open ocean behind him. These images are the type my mind's eye will replay to me whenever I think about this trip in the years to come. At Deer Lake we take a left onto the "Viking Trail" (RT 430), this follows the West side of Newfoundland running through the "Gros Morne National Park" another panorama filled highway. Stopping again for an additional Kodak moment we are on a mountaintop that looks down through a valley to a picturesque lake nestled between the mountains. Pictures are taken, legs stretch and we make one last stop at a lighthouse to fulfill a promise Sturgill made to his kids about bringing them back a toy lighthouse.
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	(Light House on Viking Trail, Newfoundland) It's 4:30 p.m. when we pull in the boat launch at St. Barbe, the pressure is off, we made it, and the "Apollo" ferry is waiting to depart to Blanc Sablon, Quebec on the border of Labrador. The cost of the ferry is $18.75 (Canadian) and takes 1¾ hours to cross the Strait of Belle Isle. A line of cars and a motorcycle are waiting to board the ferry and we pull the bikes in line beside a guy named Pius Barney ridding a Suzuki Intruder. During the crossing Sturgill and I strike up a conversation with Pius and learn that he is going to Labrador for a high school class reunion. Being that he is familiar with the area we ask him about a good place for dinner and he names a couple of places then asks us where we are staying. (Pius Barney, Gary & Sturgill)
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	Sturgill passes on that he made reservation at Barney's Bed & Breakfast as Pius interrupts "Oh Aunt Mary's" and laughs, "She'll fix you dinner" and pulls out his cell phone to call his brother. "Tell Aunt Mary, I've got two guys from the States who are staying with her tonight and I told them she'd probably fix them dinner if they called ahead, would you care to call her and see if she can do this?" A couple of minutes later Pius's cell phone rings and he looks over to us and asks, "What do you want for dinner, Caribou or fish?" "Whatever is her specialty," I reply." It will be waiting on you when you get there and Pius hangs up the phone. Pius changes the conversation and asks what brings us to Labrador? I tell him, "We are going to Cartwright first thing in the morning to catch the ferry to Goose Bay." Pius shakes his head and says he's never been to Cartwright and then proceeds to tell us the road was just opened this year plus it's unpaved once you pass Red Bay. "Yeah," I tell him with a sigh of apprehension I know this from spending hours and hours mapping out our routes". (Pius leading Gary to Aunt Mary's) By the time we make port there is a heavy mist in the air, the sky overcast and it feels as though the temperature is 10 degrees cooler here than in Newfoundland. Pius's hospitality continues as he insists upon on ridding with us the twenty miles to Aunt Mary's Bed and Breakfast telling us that he has not seen her for a while and would like to stop in and say hello. When we reach Barney's Bed & Breakfast Aunt Mary's is there to meet us at the door with a warm greeting and a big hug for Pius. She has not seen Pius for some time so there is a little small talk between the two of them to get up to speed about each others lives. Sturgill and I are outside bringing our gear in from the bikes and fending off the
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	black flies. I do not know who is hungrier the flies, or me they are eating us up and the longer we stay out side the more flies are coming to dine on our flesh. Aunt Mary has a superb home cooked meal of fresh Halibut and vegetables simmering on the stove with an aroma that has my mouth watering. Swiftly we put our gear away, hold off on taking a shower until after dinner, wash our faces and hands, and bee-line it to the dinner table for the finest meal we have eaten so far. It is during dinner we hear on the evening news of a black out on the East Coast that has the power off all the way into Canada. The Canadian guest staying at the Bed and Breakfast can tell that Sturgill and I are from the states and light heartily blame the Americans for the outage. I tell them to quit watching the Canadian channel and turn the television over to fellow countryman Peter Jennings to get the real story. We all laugh, (blackout was caused by a tree limb in a power station in Ohio) a good day today, but tomorrow looms another deadline, another ferry on our odyssey to Goose Bay. Friday August 15th 6th Day Sturgill and I are both up early and I begin prepping my bike for the day's journey by taping a piece of black insulating foam that I brought from home to the chin of my fairing in anticipation of the gravel roads in Labrador. The reason I do this in to protect the fairing from the flying gravel coming off the front wheel and chipping the paint and plastic. Sturgill is busy cleaning and oiling his chain when he notices the clip on his chain's master link is broken. Disaster has struck and the conclusion of the trip may be at hand us unless we find a replacement clip, but thank goodness Sturgill found this before we started today. Quickly the bikes are loaded and into town we ride looking for a hardware store. While driving through town we notice a Yamaha snowmobile dealership on the right side of the road and with fingers crossed and a quick prayer we pull into the parking lot. Sturgill is off his bike and inside the dealership explaining his predicament to the guy behind the counter before I can put my bike on the centerstand. Looking through a few drawers the man behind the Yamaha parts counter finds two master-links that will fit the FJ 1200's chain and Sturgill buys them both. In twenty minutes we have the new one on and the other tucked away as a spare before getting back on the road. About thirty miles from Aunt Mary's the pavement ends and Labrador's gravel Highway 510 starts. Highway 510 goes all the way to Cartwright where we are to catch the ferry to Goose Bay. Starting on the gravel highway I feel as though I am leaving civilization and crossing into (Yamaha snowmobile dealership, Labrador)
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	uncharted areas of Canada. The rolling hills have no trees, the terrain is rocky, and the ground looks to be covered with a dense green matlike growth. Highway 501 just opened this year and I imagine Sturgill and I are one of the firsts if not the first motorcyclist to make the trek all the way through Labrador via the gravel roads. It is a wide road with plenty of room but the gravel is small, round, and gives me the uneasy feeling of riding on marbles. The Honda feels very squirrelly on this road and a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me I've made a terrible mistake believing it possible to ride a sportbike across the providence of Labrador. (Gravel Road in Labrador) Cars and trucks traveling this road sweep the gravel away and make two lanes of no gravel where we can do about 60 mph as long as we stay in these swept areas. Have a car or a momentary lack of concentration put you into the gravel and it becomes a seat-puckering incidence of momentary panic until you return to the cleaned tracks. I quickly learn if I stay around 40 mph in the gravel the front end doesn't dig in, but this takes awhile to convince my pucker factor that my brain is not lying to sphincter muscle. Sturgill is riding behind me in a smothering cloud of dust so thick that he intentionally starts lagging behind in an attempt to find clean air. The dust clouds are so dense that we are able to see other vehicles coming at us from either direction from the wake of their rolling clouds of dust as they move across Highway 501. We've been ridding for about an hour when a car and mini van blast pass us in a cloud of swirling dust and flying gravel so thick that I thought I was going to have to stop. It is demoralizing to my ego to be passed by a car let
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	alone a mini van and not being able to pass them back if I so desire. After nursing my ego for about an hour I think I'm getting the feel for the gravel and it's becoming less stressful when being passed by cars and trucks. By the time we reach Cartwright we have ridden 213 miles of gravel road and I have been on a steep learning curve on how to handle the "Blackbird" in an environment she was not designed for. It is three hours before the ferry is scheduled to depart and I'm covered head to toe in dust with Sturgill fairing even worse from ridding in the back. Pulling into the full parking lot of the ferry launch I have expectations of getting a berth for our voyage to Goose Bay. Reservations were made weeks ago (www.gov.nf.ca/FerryServices) but I was unable to get a berth then but hope to get one now through a cancellation. As I check in and buy our tickets I am told that everything (The Dusty Trail) is full and there is a waiting list of people just trying to get on the ferry. It is a twelve-hour cruise to Goose Bay at a cost of $176 (Canadian) to ship Sturgill, the motorcycles, and me to this distant city. (Waiting to Board Ferry for Goose Bay)
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	Two hours pass before we are allowed to ride the bikes into the ship and securely tie them down for their last ocean voyage. Grabbing what gear is needed off the bikes we head to the upper decks in search of a place to park ourselves and gear for the voyage. The ferry isn't scheduled to leave port for another 45 minutes and I need to get out of these filthy leathers and into some clean clothes. Finding a clean restroom with a shower close to where we are setting, I grab my toiletries and fresh change of clothes and I'm off like a prom dress for the showers. Refreshed after taking my shower I mull around the deck while Sturgill is takes his shower when I notice on the ship's bulletin board that the ferry's cafeteria closes at 6:30 p.m. I glance at my watch and its 6:25 p.m. neither one of us have eaten since the light breakfast early this morning. Panic stricken, I stick my head into the bathroom and tell Sturgill "the cafeteria is closing right now!" Sturgill is out in a flash and in frantic scuttle we go down to the lower deck where the cafeteria is located only to see an empty serving line. A girl is closing the cash register and tells us they are closed now but will reopen in the morning for breakfast at 5:30 a.m. Sturgill blurts out that we have not eaten since this morning and we're both famished. Apparently the cook over hears us and steps out from the kitchen to say that he has some chicken nuggets and fries left over and can heat them up. "Yes, Yes, anything," I tell the cook the thought of having to wait until the next morning would make a long agonizing night. Ten minutes later the cook has them ready and I don't believe I have eaten any that tasted better. The kindheartedness of the cook saves the day and we are so grateful that when he comes by our table we stick a five-dollar bill in his shirt pocket. (Sunset in Labrador)
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	After our much-appreciated dinner we go up to the top deck for some fresh air, watch a beautiful sunset, and have a conversation with a business professor from the U.K. whom is on her way back home after spending a holiday in Cartwright with her mother. She tells us that the Inuits (native Eskimos) ride their snowmobiles across the bay in the winter to hunt Caribou. I look around the bay and imagine anything above zero degrees (F°) here in winter is probably a warm day. Saturday August 16th 7th Day Ferry deadlines are now over and after a long sleepless night in an ill-fitting chair we finally make it to Happy Valley-Goose Bay and we are both worn-out. A exceedingly taxing ride yesterday along with very little sleep on the boat we decide to spend the day in Goose Bay and rest before tackling the gravel roads again. Stopping at the first motel we find a yellowish tan metal-sided building called the Aurora hotel becomes our refuge of rest. Sturgill hits the bed and is out like a light snoring so loud that I believe the window is rattling. (Gary at sign for Goose Bay) Goose Bay is the government center for Labrador and home to a major NATO air base that was used as a last stop before crossing the Atlantic during WWII. It also serves as the commercial airport for Goose Bay and is an official alternate landing site for the NASA Space Shuttle Program. Many countries use the base for training during the summer and our motel manger tells us that the German and Italian air forces flew out two weeks ago.
Labrador Part Three