Coffee for Cyclists (part one)
Most of the cycling community love coffee. They either need it to get in the saddle or they need it as motivation to finish their ride. My partner, Charly, and I are no different; on our recent North American tour, we had every kind of coffee under the sun — and under the rain, wind, thunder, and frost.
It’s the lubricant on our figurative chains. It’s the fuel in our tanks. It’s the slight tailwind on a headwind kind of day. It’s a patch of shade under the midday sun. It’s a bond between strangers. It’s the opportunity for a kind gesture.
Here is a definitive guide to the best coffees of our trip:
- Mother Parker’s drip coffee, at a convenience store just south of the middle of nowhere: Cape Breton
From the moment we planned to cross Canada on our bicycles, there was no question we would ride the Cabot Trail. As it turned out, we started our trip in Halifax, on the east coast, so it was early on in the trip that we hit the famous route.
It was the end of April, the bears had barely come out of hibernation and the people definitely hadn’t. Having recently been held hostage by a ridiculous rainstorm, we were beginning to understand why most people tackle this trail later in the springtime. Nonetheless, on 1st May we left Chéticamp on the west coast of Cape Breton and headed for the highlands. It being technically still winter, all the campsites were officially closed, and there were no cars on the road — as an aside, this positive factor outweighed all the negatives of being out of season.
Our first day of riding the trail was foggy. Like, 20ft visibility foggy. The thick pure white mountain mist lay all around us, creating palpable moisture in the air. We climbed our first hurdle and reached 790 metres up without seeing anything but each other and the illusion of treetops. At the summit, we were worried we wouldn’t make it as far as hoped and made preparations to use the emergency cabins that dotted the route — this plan relied on them being unlocked so luckily we made up time on the swooping downhills and arrived at Broad Cove well before sundown. Sheltering in a wooden cabin at a rest area, we scrambled together enough wood to light the stove inside and contemplated our first tough day.
It was here we discovered a tragedy; the kettle we had specifically purchased did not fit on our stove.
The kettle was abandoned in the hopes that some future hiker would appreciate the utensil; and we dug into the small amount of Maxwell House instant coffee we brought, preparing it in the saucepan. Our fingers were numb with cold as we tried to pour the steaming black liquid into our bowls steadily. We lifted them to our purple lips, ready to be greeted with passable warmth. Oh no. If you have never had Maxwell House coffee — don’t. It was the worst hot beverage I have ever ingested. We were both desperate for something warm to drink but neither of us could manage more than a few sips. It was terrible. It honestly felt like a true tragedy at that moment. We stared at the steaming sludge with despair and went to bed defeated.
That night, it snowed.
Thankfully we had the smarts to set our tent up inside the wooden cabin (not technically legal, but as there was literally not a soul for miles, it was fine) but we still had to set off up the steepest ascent of the trail on icy roads. It was hard. We were set into our lowest gears and just plodding on, pausing at every other curve to take a breath. Fortunately the mist had cleared overnight so we had gorgeous views of snow-capped trees and frozen lakes as excuses and rewards for our rests. We reached the top in good spirits, so blown away by the beauty that we forgot to feel tired. We powered on and made it to the last campsite of the trail that night. Yes, it was closed, and yes, once more we had seen a grand total of two cars on the roads today. The traffic situation was absolutely perfect for winding and carving our way up the steepest parts of the hills and for the exhilarating downhill of Mount Smokey. The closed campsites meant we had exclusive choice of flat ground to pitch the tent, without any fees, and we were proud, content, exhausted. The only problem was the lack of fuelling hot beverages to ice the cake of the situation.
The next morning we awoke to frosty ground, -3 on the thermometer, and a literal, desperate need for coffee. It had been two days since Chéticamp and the last signs of habitation. The sun was shining and we hit the road, ready for the civilisation we thought was coming. As an astute reader, you may have realised that it was still winter, still off-season, and therefore the population of Cape Breton was minimal. We were blinded by the imagined promise of coffee on leaving the trail and were immediately disappointed by the first two signs of life (a convenience store and a gas station) having a distinct lack of the nectar. Then we passed somewhere advertising coffee, but it was closed.
Then, finally, DuBois’ market.
We saw men silhouetted in the window, lifting small paper cups to their mouths. Hallelujah! Our bikes were thrown down in excitement and we rushed in. Turning away from the convenience store snacks, cigarettes, and tabloids, we saw four tables and two coffee pots. We grabbed the biggest cups available and filled up. It was honestly, at that moment, the best coffee I had ever drunk. The label said Mother Parker’s and it cost $1.50 for limitless refills. It was smooth, it was hot, it was drinkable; we were sat inside and there were real live people there! It felt like heaven. Even the lighting inside had a pastel blue tinge, which gave the whole gas station a divine glow.
We sat warming our souls and listening to the fisherman discuss the first day of the season for almost an hour. DuBois’ Market wasn’t anything special compared to the thousands of convenience stores throughout the whole country but that morning, after an incredibly tough few days of riding, after an unbelievably cold night’s sleep, and at the beginning of a seven-month journey, it felt like the promised land.
I looked at Charly, right in the eyes, as I took my last sip and set my empty cup gently down on the plastic table, and I said with full confidence and truth:
