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Checking Chains and Retracing our Steps : Mile 2167

Au Revoir, Canada! Back in the USSA...

We woke up this morning to a blinding white fog enshrouding St. John..  A big riding day laid before us, and even after several dryer cycles, our clothes were still dank and musty from the day before.  Damp and sluggish, we pulled out of the motel and drove with our blinkers on down the Trans-Canada Highway, where we knifed through the cloud and drizzle, which restricted our visibility to less than 100ft (...hence no pictures).
The deluge the day before and the Brigadoon-like fog this morning, mixed with a tinge of personal ennui about embarking upon the final leg of our journey, made me feel like Canada wasn't ready to let us leave.  While Jay likes to ride in the rain, and he and I both agree that meteorological variability over the course of a trip causes travelers to appreciate the opposite extreme, waterlogged, blind motorcycling simply isn't fun. Yet within throwing distance of the US / Canada border, the clouds cracked and the rain stopped.  Customs was unexpectedly as easy as our outbound trip, and we were both through in two minutes.
We decided to take the most direct route, and tore up the asphalt along Route 9 towards Bangor then down 95.  Jay and I stopped off for lunch late in the afternoon at a quite quaint truck stop that sold homemade pies and doughnuts, arguing over whether Americans are inherently less friendly and gruffer than Canadians.  Is this difference in behavior we perceive acquired from local norms as a social survival trait, or in fact does urbanization naturally force it's citizenry to turn inwardly to cope with the sheer volume of hunan interaction, or could the grand narrative of two coastal travelers on some fantastic trek effect
 our reception in each town we visit? 
Nervous about the chains on our bikes (mine has a tight spot, and Jay's is flopping around loosely), we pushed on all the way to Portland to find yet another shop to look at our chains.  We struck out at a couple hotels, and ended up on the same strip we had a week and half earlier. 
Hungry and tired, the receptionist at the motel directed us to an authentic South Indian restaurant a few miles away called Taj, where I learned (using the term loosely) how to eat properly (using my hand).  The food was incredible (and according to Jay, South Indian fare is hard to find in NYC), and the family who ran the restaurant was charming, humble and helpful.  After a long meal, we waddled back to our room and researched motorcycle shops for the following day.
Today's trek; though it took much longer than 5 hours.

The Last Day: Nova Scotia: Mile 2472


Rides gone by...