6/30/2013 Chrysostome to North Cape, PEI.

I awake in the middle of the night to go pee. Wait- there’s a light just outside my tent- a flashlight- I’ve been discovered- Merde! Then the light goes away. I cautiously step outside- and am surrounded by blinking firefly fairy lights. Oh, how marvelous, it is so lovely, I jump with delight.

I awake with arrythmia, so I decide to take it easy. Fortunately there is a strong tail wind, and I can just sail along up highway 2, then cut to the bike trail in Portage.


There are so many different wildflowers I decide I must photograph some to show you.


I ride up to Bloomfield, and then tiring of the bike trail scenery, I cut for the coast, go sailing up lovely highway 14 and stop to visit Miminegash, the self proclaimed Irish Moss capital of the world.

But the place looks pretty dead.


I pull over to talk to the gentlemen sitting outside the convenience store, always a good source of knoweledge. They tell me the industry has been dead for thirty years. There is another moss growing in the bay, from which carogeen can be derived, but that carogeen is green, whereas the carogeen from Irish Moss is white, which makes it a much better food aditive. They bemoan how this end of the island is emptying out, and I am sympathetic, having seen a fair percentage of empty looking homes and farms.

I decide to try and cycle to the end of the island today, North Cape, which has a large experimental wind facility.


These guys are enormous. For me, it is like being in a cathedral to be close to such creations. Check out one blade resting on the ground:


Another shot:


I spend a few hours there learning all I can, soaking up the sun, and charging my laptop. When I leave, I have a hunch I can camp close to a giant, having seen a promising road. And it pans out. Can you find my tent, orange, bottom left?


I am leaning against the base of the giant as I write this, sitting on it’s concrete pad. The tips of the blades slice the air at 70 plus mph. They sound like whips. The steel clyinder that holds up the windmill creaks and twangs and sounds like a gearbox, hums with power. This turbine is generating 330 thousand watts. The rooftop solar on my house, in comparison, generates 3 thousand watts. I am so thrilled to be on intimate terms with this most elegant expression of the good man can do.

I’ll guard it well tonight.

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