I don’t like old houses. I don’t like how the basements smell, how the windows don’t quite fit, how drafty and miserable they can be in the cold weather. I don’t like stained ceilings from leaky roofs, or slow, temperamental plumbing. And I don’t like choppy little rooms.
Ian Cameron’s house in Meadowville, Pictou County might be the exception. The outside, as most of these older homes do, could use a new paint job; a monumental and expensive proposition. 
The inside, though, has been updated somewhat without jarring the ambience. The woodwork is extraordinary. Beautiful, natural, albeit unstained, unpolished wood floors layed in rectangular log cabin patterns here, and longitudinally there. Solid, carved wooden staircases and railings. It’s a lovely, classic old house. 
Ian lived there with his parents until they died not many years ago. Alex, Ian’s brother told us that when Ian was in his mid-twenties, living and working way up north as a researcher, he was in an aeroplane accident that claimed the life of the pilot and changed Ian’s life forever. He suffered but a few scratches on his body but had a serious head injury and lost most of his vision and hearing. Still, he did well, farming Island cattle and he’s a handy man. We were very blessed to enjoy his hospitality in his home and we slept very well in an old wooden bed upstairs. 
After our usual breakfast we thanked Ian and Alex picked us to take us back to the roundabout. EFI, no cheating allowed! Away we went, our bikes lighter as Maura had taken our excess gear. She and Jol were going to Cape Breton on Saturday and we would meet up and collect it all then. In the meantime, our bikes were lighter and we were free!
“Wind”, I said under my breath between gasps, “We checked the weather network and you’re supposed to be with us today”. “I”, gusted the wind about me, “I, will blow where I want and rustle or ravage as I please.” Well, there’s no arguing with that, so we knuckled in and drove into its force. That, coupled with the hills, which rose and fell like Christmas ribbon candy, made for a challenging morning. Eventually though, the wind came around and gently ousted behind us.
We stopped for lunch under a bridge in Pomquet. There was a clear, cool, inviting river and we just had to go for a swim. Easy for Charlie. He jumped in wearing his underwear. A little more complicated for me. Look left, look right. Whump, down go the biking shorts.Whip, up goes the bathing suit. Inch it up, up. Quick, quick, unclip. Toss that T-shirt, fling that bra! Ah, there! Done and no one witnessed it. I’m a quick change artist. And really, if someone did catch a glimpse, it’s okay; they’ll recover, lol. 
Jack de Wilde has an interesting story. As a young man in Holland, he was interested in the culture of Native North American people. He met a First Nations woman from South Dakota and moved there to join her on her Reservation. He spent several years there and one time during a Sun Dance he was called upon to replace one of the dancers. According to tradition, if/when that happens, the substitute dancer is “adopted” into the family. The First Nations dancer was from Afton, Nova Scotia. Eventually Jack moved to Afton and lived with his adoptive family in their crowded home. 
Linda (who we were not fortunate enough to meet as she was away) lived not far where she had lots of space. He left the family to live with her and now they’ve been married 25 years. Their grown son, another Charlie, lives in Bedford, Nova Scotia and currently works in construction. He started at university but is more suited to “hands on” work. His parents hope he’ll return to school to learn a trade and get his certificate.
Jack, or “Dutchie” as he is known locally, kindly hosted us through “Warm Showers”. He is an enthusiastic cyclist as well and is soon leaving to cycle Newfoundland with 3 other guys. He makes an awesome lasagna, by the way, if you’re ever out his way! 
Wendingourway:Across Canada by Bike 2017 
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