Day 69, Little Bras d’Or, Nova Scotia
Wycogomach to Little Bras d’Or
Distance: 144km
Day 70, Argentia, Newfoundland
Little Bras d’Or to Argentia, NF
Distance: 6 km (14 hour ferry to Argentia)
Day 71 St. John’s, Newfoundland
Argentia to St. John’s
Distance: 144km
The last few rides seemed to distill all the elements over the course of the tour and deliver a potent cross section of all the elements that came across our paths: wind, cold, rain, heat and of course, hills.
We were all feeling like we’d been put inside a tumble dryer as the conditions seemed to change so frequently, leaving us with a feeling of being slightly disoriented, or at least, this is how I felt.
That morning the Aussie Crew had their last galley duty; it was a bittersweet moment when they finished up that morning, as they were the last to cook; they were of course ecstatic about being done, as we all were, but since their meals were always such a success, and they always seemed to have such fun, it was sad to see their kitchen serving its last meal.
Lewis and I set off on our own that morning; I had asked Alex whether I should take along my rain booties; I had come to rely more heavily on him for his weather predictions, as he had a better track record at this time than did Environment Canada.
This was the first time that he let me down, as I did not bring them, and quickly came to regret this.
Within minutes of setting off the clouds started to dump their contents on our heads; we knew that there was supposed to be a Timmy’s up ahead, so we turned on the gas, and charged our way over the beautiful, wet Nova Scotia countryside.
Since we could see sun up ahead, we rode even faster, trying to escape from the rain and expedite our passage to our savior, Tim Horton’s, but as we approached our sanctuary, our wet faces fell in bitter disappointment - it was closed.
It must have been the only closed one in the entire country, and we happened upon it.
Sadly we got back onto our wet steeds and pressed on into the next town.
Luckily we found a great little place, lined with many of the bikes from our tour, as others had obviously had the same experience.
As it turns out not everyone got rained on, some were lucky enough to stay ahead of the rain.
Needless to say, we took off our wet things and tried to dry out as much as we could.
After camping out there for as long as possible, we pressed on, and shortly found ourselves at the foot of an amazing 11km climb called, ‘Kelly’s Mountain.’
Since we were on the edge of the Cabot Trail, the hills were one after the next.
I didn’t realize we were there, but soon clued in as this climb would just not end; I was wearing my rain jacket, which is an excellent insulator, so by mid-way up I felt like a hot-dog in a microwave.
Near the end of the climb there was a fabulous look-out onto the valley below, and gave me the chance to again shed my insulating layers.
The descent from Kelly’s Mountain was fun, but cold as it had started to rain again, and we’d cooled off from the climb.
That night in camp was to be our last night camping, and along with it came the sad task of stripping the truck, which had become so much more than just a truck, of all of our possessions.
This 5-tonne Ryder truck had come to represent our relative comfort and solace after our long and often arduous rides; sighting the truck after coming into camp was always a comfort, and we’d come to associate the truck with relaxation and nourishment (food and beer.)
We would have to bid a sad farewell to ‘Sam’ as he’d come to be called.
Before that however, all of our stuff had to be taken off from the shelf that had housed it over the course of the trip, and packed for transport on the ferry to Newfoundland, where our journey was to draw to a close.
Lewis and I set up our tent on the water’s edge, a good idea at the time, as it was a gorgeous setting, but the wind was relentless that night and our tent was beaten and battered throughout; not conducive for sleeping and we both got up in the morning feeling as if we’d slept in a wind tunnel.
The next morning all we had to do was ride 6 km to the ferry terminal, so most of us rode in our ‘civilian’ clothing, making us feel even giddier than we were already feeling at the prospect of a 14 hour ferry ride.
The ferry was a big ol’ thang that looked as if she’d seen some pretty rough seas; we raced aboard to find our reclining chairs, on which we’d hopefully sleep that night-they were very similar to airline seats, and it looked as if it was going to be a long and uncomfortable night.
I am not very sea-worthy, as I pretty much get sea-sick in the bath tub kind of thing, and since the weather was rough, the sea was rolling and pitching the boat so that everyone looked slightly drunk as they lurched along the corridors.
For some, the only cure is alcohol, perhaps in the hope that it will stabilize or equalize the body’s equilibrium.
The bar was opened soon after the ferry set sail, and this is where many of our riders spent the next few hours; someone asked what time the bar closed, and was told, “when the first punch is thrown.”
They thought they were kidding, but unbeknownst to them, this was a little bit of foreshadowing.
There was a live band playing, which really set the scene for some big drinking, as they were belting out Newfoundland folk songs and Irish music that seems to make the alcohol flow more freely; there was nothing to indicate that we were on a ferry, crossing over on the stormy seas of the Atlantic, as we could have been in any wild pub anywhere in the world at this point.
There is nothing sadder than an aging punk-rocker; faded tattoos and hair that has been bleached one time too many, along with aged punk rock tees that have seen better days.
This was ‘Steve’ who was returning to Newfoundland after being away from home for many years, in as he said, “26 states.”
Lewis asked him if this meant “26 states of consciousness,” but he was too far gone at this point to get the joke.
Steve rolled and pitched along with the ferry, lurching around the bar, mistakenly thrusting drinks into people’s faces, followed by loud, indecipherable yellings that no one could quite make out.
Later on in the evening, one of our riders happened to be beside him when someone else, equally drunk, stumbled up to him and proceeded to punch him in the nose.
He went with the punch, much like one of those punching bags that wobbles, but comes back to its original positions, where he was then punched a couple more times before some people clued into the fracas and broke them up, or rather removed the punching bag from the other guy’s reach.
As soon as punching bag and puncher were separated, the bar shutters were pulled down ‘tout de suite’ immediately, and the band hastily packed away their equipment and beat a retreat; it was hard to believe that moments before the place was hopping with people, weaving in every direction, jamming to the sounds of music and imbibing on copious amounts of booze.
We made our way up to our reclining seats where we all spent a fitful night, trying to get into a comfortable position, impossible as the seats jammed their unforgiving hard parts into our backs, forcing us to shift positions every few minutes.
Gratefully, morning arrived eventually; we were un-rested, but thankful to get off the damn boat, and onto, for the last time of the tour, our bikes for what turned out to be a very difficult ride.
We felt the wind as soon as we got onto our bikes, the kind of wind that sucks and blows almost at the same time, forcing one to hang onto the handlebars not just to steer, but for support as well.
Immediately after setting off we got a taste of what was to come, a steep hill that made us feel the effects of the last two sleepless nights.
The going was really tough as the winds were howling, forcing us to crawl along at a painful pace; many of us, myself included just wanted the ride to be over with, as we were tired and anxious to get into St. John’s where we could relax and unwind once and for all.
The past week of the ride I had been feeling very tired; physically and mentally, and I was more impatient than Lewis for the ride to come to an end; with the wind and cold and hills however, it made for a long day.
As we neared St. John’s the hills just did not stop, perhaps even increasing in size, pitch and number.
We had arranged for our group to meet at a pre-determined Timmy’s, so that together we could dip our wheels into the Atlantic, and then do our last climb of the tour, up Signal Hill.
We waited for a while, but very few people seemed to be coming by, and we were getting cold waiting, so figuring that the others had taken the alternate route into St. John’s and skipped the meeting, we pushed on for our last 11 km of the ride.
We made our way to the water, where we had our ceremonial dipping of our wheels; I was very tempted at this time to just let go of my bike, sending it down to a watery grave, where it could not inflict any more pain and misery upon me.
But the moment was fleeting, and on we went towards Signal Hill; I was not prepared for what we were about to climb; the Mother of all hills.
It was deceiving as once you’d round one corner, the hill continued-it was the steepest one I think we’d climbed all tour, and it just kept on going-yikes.
We could hear yelling and hollering as we neared mid-climb and could see little dots on the top jumping up and down; we were being propelled up the hill by the yells of excitement and encouragement of those already there-it was very exciting, I felt as if we were in the Tour Du France, and the crowds were pulling us along.
Lewis made a break away, and I could not touch him as he floated up towards the end.
What a feeling as I finally ascended-exhilaration, and exhaustion all in one; it was a bittersweet moment to think that this adventure had finally after so much, come to an end.
There was much celebrating on the hill, someone even broke out the champagne and we toasted to our journey, from Victoria Mile 0 to St. John’s Mile 0 of the Trans-Canada Highway-what an adventure it was.
The following day we had our awards brunch, which was a lot of fun, as we all received gag gifts and laughed a lot about all the silly things that had happened over the course of the 10 weeks.
Lara-Lynn did a fantastic job of putting it together, and making up all of the appropriate gifts to give to people.
She and the other Lara, incidentally, rode up Signal Hill in their bikinis’; I don’t know how they did this, as it was freezing cold out, but I am sure it was pure adrenaline that got them to the top.
We spent the next few days in St. John’s wandering around, and getting used to Life After Biking; I think for many of us it will be an adjustment to break ourselves from the daily rhythm of biking and camping, day after day, to get back our regular lives.
Overall this trip has been everything one would expect it to be: fantastic, exciting, boring, exhausting, exhilarating, frustrating, fun, hilarious, and at times even ridiculous.
Seeing the country from the saddle of one’s bike has been an amazing way to see it; it’s been fast enough to cover decent daily distances, and slow enough to get a sense of each place we have passed through; in a vehicle one is in a bubble, and removed from the smells and sounds of a place, the bike allows the rider to momentarily submerge oneself into the surroundings.
I have so many memories on which to draw from, from this trip; each place and person on the tour has offered something to make up the experience that it was.
My impression of Canada has changed; living in a bustling multicultural city of Toronto, with a population nearing 3 million, one thinks that the rest of the country must somewhat reflect this, but it does not come close.
We did not enter many of Canada’s major cities, as we mostly skirted them, or went to the smaller ones’, giving outsiders the opinion that Canada is somewhat under-populated.
Perhaps it is, as the impression we got from the Western Provinces like Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba, is that many little towns are slowly dying out.
I recall Youngstown with less than 100 people, and the next town Cereal, with less than 40, with the main street with businesses and houses that have been neglected or closed down; it’s quite sad that all these farming communities are slowly shutting down, I naively thought that this kind of thing does not happen here, but it is happening all too often, as we witnessed right across the country.
The other thing that struck me, besides the vastness of the country, was how it changed geographically from region to region, province to province; sometimes so much so that one felt almost as if in another country.
Each province had its own flavor and personality; in New Brunswick, as soon as we crossed the border, the architecture of the houses changed drastically compared to the way the Quebecois kept theirs.
I noticed how many churches there were in Quebec, New Brunswick and Nova Scotia; it seemed that at times there were more churches than people, with bold signs along the road that seemed to almost demand guilt from passers-by, “REPENT for thy sins as Christ DIED for YOUR sins,” and “Our Lord Jesus was CRUSIFIED for YOUR SINS, repent NOW.” kind of signs.
I am not Christian, but couldn’t help but feel guilty anyhow as the signs were so accusatory that one felt somehow responsible.
I am now back in Toronto, not quite with my feet back on the ground as I am still feeling slightly removed from the reality here; I am sure it will take a while to come back down to earth from what has turned out to be, quite an excellent adventure.
I suppose the only remedy is to start planning our next big trip.
There were some amazing people on the trip, and I hope to see many of them again; some not so much.
Although there were problems with the organization of the tour, I would still recommend it to anyone who has a tolerance for the unusual, and a sense of adventure.
Sandi Danilowitz
Toronto
For a link to the last few albums click on:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/Slideshow.jsp?mode=fromshare&Uc=w1ru7rm.7hzk4ldy&Uy=-5sm1bh&Ux=0
This link includes 32 albums; to see the rest click on ‘browse all albums.’
For albums of St. John's and the awards banquet see:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/Slideshow.jsp?mode=fromshare&Uc=w1ru7rm.95f8a51i&Uy=-j9sqze&Ux=0
Thursday, September 7, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Day 65 Murray Beach, New Brunswick
St. Louis DeKent to Murray Beach
Distance: 132 km
Day 66 Cornwall, Prince Edward Island
Murray Beach to Cornwall
Distance: 97 km
Day 67 Lower Barney’s River, Nova Scotia
Cornwall to Lower Barney’s River
Distance 132km
Day 68 Wycogomagh, Nova Scotia
Lower Barney’s River to Wycogomach
Distance: 148km
Patience is not a virtue that I am blessed with; I am one of the most impatient of people, I have been told, by many people besides my parents.
These past few days, weeks and months even have been an exercise in forced patience; or it has been more like a foul tasting medicine being forced down my throat.
The riding over the last few days have offered all of the forces to try anyone’s patience, let alone someone who has none to start with.
The elements have all conspired against us; wind, rain, cold temperatures, hills, making a long kilometer day stretch time to such elastic lengths that at times I felt as if I had been banished to a hell where the days never end.
As I mentioned earlier some kilometers tick by, but over the last few days they have been slower coming than trying to pull lead buckets from a bog-they just would not come.
All of my mental games invented over the past few months have not offered any inoculation to the slow crawl of father time…..my mind and legs are ready to stop riding my bike every day!
It seems as if our bodies know that the end is near, and in anticipation have started to act up; knee aches, back aches, everything aches, is it over yet?
As sad as I will be to say goodbye to everyone, and close the door on an incredible journey, my body is anxiously awaiting for the punch line so the book can be closed.
The night we were in Murray Beach we had our last galley duty; with much glee and delight we no longer have to cook for 27 hungry, picky eaters after a long had day on the bike.
We have each taken turns picking a menu and performing the role of head chef, as the other crew member’s work under your instruction; this time was my turn, and it seemed to be a success, as people came for seconds, which is always a good sign.
Telling, is how other people on the team support you when you are spearheading the project; mostly we have all supported each other, but that night we had one member push off when he felt he had done enough, and left the rest of us to do all of the washing up while he went to make a personal call.
We couldn’t believe that anyone’s conscience could justify leaving the team when he pushed off, and it wasn’t the first time, but thankfully was the last as we no longer have to work together!
The good news was that we finally got our driver back; we are not sure what happened, but were very happy to see her when we pulled into camp; as much as we like drivermike, we had become very attached to Megan.
She informed us that Murray Beach had a bit of a skunk problem; the night before a trigger-happy skunk had apparently sprayed the 73 day group’s cooking cart; we cannot imagine what the cooking cart must have done to deserve the squirt, but the cooking area did suffer from that pungent skunky-aroma.
That night we had a fire around camp, and as darkness descended upon the camp, out came the skunks; we had never seen so many-there must have been 4 or 5 of them sniffing around the truck, cooking area and tents.
Most people were in their tents at this point, some with their reading lights on, so when a skunk ventured near the tent for a sniff, we were all squealed like glee-filled school children, shouting at people to turn out their lights.
We were quite terrified/thrilled at the prospect of these funny little animals teetering around our tents.
Poor Aussie-Pete, after the last horrifying experience, emptied their tent of most of its contents and slept in just a sleeping bag with no bed roll.
The following day we were to leave New Brunswick for PEI via the Confederation Bridge; we had to wait for a shuttle bus to take us across as bikes are not allowed on.
Once in PEI, we made our way to Victoria by the Sea (the other Victoria one) where we had heard about a wonderful chocolate shop.
I was amazed at how quickly the landscape again changed once in a new province; PEI has green rolling fields and the typical red, sandy-earth that the famous potatoes are grown in.
I felt as if we’d traveled back in time as we traversed, or at least had been transported to the Scottish countryside with the greenery.
We had lunch at an amazing café that had received a write-up in Canada’s, “Where to Eat.”
Since it was drizzling and cold, we were more so in the mood to eat than we usually are, and continued on to the chocolate shop for some chocolatey-goodies.
We finished the day by visiting Charlottetown, and in the old part and saw the building where the first key meeting on Canadian confederation took place.
While touring through on our bikes, we happened across one of those amphibious ‘Hippo’ touring buses and saw one of our tour members practically hanging out of the thing, waving and yelling to us-that was quite a funny site.
He later told us that he had interrupted the tour when he excitedly leapt from his seat and practically threw himself out of the bus to wave.
The following day we had to catch the ferry over to Nova Scotia; we wanted to catch the 11:00am ferry, as the next one was at 1:00, which would have put us into camp near 6pm.
We had just a few hours to do 67km to reach the ferry; ordinarily the time we had allotted ourselves would have been ample to make the ferry, but we had head-wig and a very hilly course to contend with before we could get there.
I have a phobia against missing transportation vessels (trains, plains, buses, ferries, etc,) so along with Lewis’ paranoia, we rode like the devil was upon us and heaved and pushed our way over the many hills, into the gusty winds to make it in time.
I felt as it we were in a time trial, as Lewis kept yelling out our times at various intervals-we charged our way along and even had time to rescue a wandering beagle who was meandering along the highway; Lewis leapt off his bike, grabbed the beagle, cradling it like a baby, and trotted off towards the only farm house in the area.
The poor dog didn’t know what was happening as it was whisked away and swiftly deposited at the house; they claimed he was theirs, but Lewis reported that woman took a while to remember the dog’s name.
Off we went, a ferry to catch, and made it in plenty of time; half of our group made it and the other half had to wait until the 1:00 ferry, making the day an even longer one for them.
Once on the other side we visited Pictou, where there was a life size replica of the boat that brought over the first of the Scottish immigrants to Nova Scotia.
After that we got a bit lost and added on quite a few km to what was already a tough ride as the terrain is very hilly.
I was exhausted at the end of that day as the wind and cold with the bit of rain just drained me.
The skies of late have been looming over us with a threatening menace to them-we’d had, up until today little sprinkles here and there, but today the skies opened up and let loose.
The worst is not the rain itself, but the water being kicked up from the road by the trucks that whiz by us at mach speed.
The grit and grime from the road interspersed with the water from the road have a knack for finding its way into all the nooks and crannies on your bike and clothing.
It made a difficult day even more so, as at that point I could only look up at the sky, after battling major headwinds for a 150km ride, and ask, “what else you got?”
For me, I find it most disturbing to see the road kill that litters the roads; some beings completely recognizable, and some, not at all; some are so flat and squashed that their DNA is now at one with the asphalt, and there is very little to indicate that this thing was at one time a living, breathing thing.
I mostly try to avert my eyes when passing by them, often at the risk of my own life as I turn my head and weave all over the road to avoid seeing the carnage; unfortunately, this tactic has not saved me from seeing entire raccoon and skunk families who have suffered fatally under the wheels of speeding vehicles-it is very sad to see this, as I can’t help but think that the babies would have come running after the mother to see what happened.
Just as sad, is seeing a few cats that lie in twisted forms on the roadside, my only hope is that they died quickly and did not suffer any.
We only have two more tent-sleeps until the end, it is hard to believe that I will no longer have to pack my bed and house into a wee little bag every morning, and won’t have to find my light, my glasses, take out my earplugs, remove my eye shades, put on my jacket, unzip the tent, put on my shoes, close the tent, open the fly, close the fly, just to pee in the middle of the night!
St. Louis DeKent to Murray Beach
Distance: 132 km
Day 66 Cornwall, Prince Edward Island
Murray Beach to Cornwall
Distance: 97 km
Day 67 Lower Barney’s River, Nova Scotia
Cornwall to Lower Barney’s River
Distance 132km
Day 68 Wycogomagh, Nova Scotia
Lower Barney’s River to Wycogomach
Distance: 148km
Patience is not a virtue that I am blessed with; I am one of the most impatient of people, I have been told, by many people besides my parents.
These past few days, weeks and months even have been an exercise in forced patience; or it has been more like a foul tasting medicine being forced down my throat.
The riding over the last few days have offered all of the forces to try anyone’s patience, let alone someone who has none to start with.
The elements have all conspired against us; wind, rain, cold temperatures, hills, making a long kilometer day stretch time to such elastic lengths that at times I felt as if I had been banished to a hell where the days never end.
As I mentioned earlier some kilometers tick by, but over the last few days they have been slower coming than trying to pull lead buckets from a bog-they just would not come.
All of my mental games invented over the past few months have not offered any inoculation to the slow crawl of father time…..my mind and legs are ready to stop riding my bike every day!
It seems as if our bodies know that the end is near, and in anticipation have started to act up; knee aches, back aches, everything aches, is it over yet?
As sad as I will be to say goodbye to everyone, and close the door on an incredible journey, my body is anxiously awaiting for the punch line so the book can be closed.
The night we were in Murray Beach we had our last galley duty; with much glee and delight we no longer have to cook for 27 hungry, picky eaters after a long had day on the bike.
We have each taken turns picking a menu and performing the role of head chef, as the other crew member’s work under your instruction; this time was my turn, and it seemed to be a success, as people came for seconds, which is always a good sign.
Telling, is how other people on the team support you when you are spearheading the project; mostly we have all supported each other, but that night we had one member push off when he felt he had done enough, and left the rest of us to do all of the washing up while he went to make a personal call.
We couldn’t believe that anyone’s conscience could justify leaving the team when he pushed off, and it wasn’t the first time, but thankfully was the last as we no longer have to work together!
The good news was that we finally got our driver back; we are not sure what happened, but were very happy to see her when we pulled into camp; as much as we like drivermike, we had become very attached to Megan.
She informed us that Murray Beach had a bit of a skunk problem; the night before a trigger-happy skunk had apparently sprayed the 73 day group’s cooking cart; we cannot imagine what the cooking cart must have done to deserve the squirt, but the cooking area did suffer from that pungent skunky-aroma.
That night we had a fire around camp, and as darkness descended upon the camp, out came the skunks; we had never seen so many-there must have been 4 or 5 of them sniffing around the truck, cooking area and tents.
Most people were in their tents at this point, some with their reading lights on, so when a skunk ventured near the tent for a sniff, we were all squealed like glee-filled school children, shouting at people to turn out their lights.
We were quite terrified/thrilled at the prospect of these funny little animals teetering around our tents.
Poor Aussie-Pete, after the last horrifying experience, emptied their tent of most of its contents and slept in just a sleeping bag with no bed roll.
The following day we were to leave New Brunswick for PEI via the Confederation Bridge; we had to wait for a shuttle bus to take us across as bikes are not allowed on.
Once in PEI, we made our way to Victoria by the Sea (the other Victoria one) where we had heard about a wonderful chocolate shop.
I was amazed at how quickly the landscape again changed once in a new province; PEI has green rolling fields and the typical red, sandy-earth that the famous potatoes are grown in.
I felt as if we’d traveled back in time as we traversed, or at least had been transported to the Scottish countryside with the greenery.
We had lunch at an amazing café that had received a write-up in Canada’s, “Where to Eat.”
Since it was drizzling and cold, we were more so in the mood to eat than we usually are, and continued on to the chocolate shop for some chocolatey-goodies.
We finished the day by visiting Charlottetown, and in the old part and saw the building where the first key meeting on Canadian confederation took place.
While touring through on our bikes, we happened across one of those amphibious ‘Hippo’ touring buses and saw one of our tour members practically hanging out of the thing, waving and yelling to us-that was quite a funny site.
He later told us that he had interrupted the tour when he excitedly leapt from his seat and practically threw himself out of the bus to wave.
The following day we had to catch the ferry over to Nova Scotia; we wanted to catch the 11:00am ferry, as the next one was at 1:00, which would have put us into camp near 6pm.
We had just a few hours to do 67km to reach the ferry; ordinarily the time we had allotted ourselves would have been ample to make the ferry, but we had head-wig and a very hilly course to contend with before we could get there.
I have a phobia against missing transportation vessels (trains, plains, buses, ferries, etc,) so along with Lewis’ paranoia, we rode like the devil was upon us and heaved and pushed our way over the many hills, into the gusty winds to make it in time.
I felt as it we were in a time trial, as Lewis kept yelling out our times at various intervals-we charged our way along and even had time to rescue a wandering beagle who was meandering along the highway; Lewis leapt off his bike, grabbed the beagle, cradling it like a baby, and trotted off towards the only farm house in the area.
The poor dog didn’t know what was happening as it was whisked away and swiftly deposited at the house; they claimed he was theirs, but Lewis reported that woman took a while to remember the dog’s name.
Off we went, a ferry to catch, and made it in plenty of time; half of our group made it and the other half had to wait until the 1:00 ferry, making the day an even longer one for them.
Once on the other side we visited Pictou, where there was a life size replica of the boat that brought over the first of the Scottish immigrants to Nova Scotia.
After that we got a bit lost and added on quite a few km to what was already a tough ride as the terrain is very hilly.
I was exhausted at the end of that day as the wind and cold with the bit of rain just drained me.
The skies of late have been looming over us with a threatening menace to them-we’d had, up until today little sprinkles here and there, but today the skies opened up and let loose.
The worst is not the rain itself, but the water being kicked up from the road by the trucks that whiz by us at mach speed.
The grit and grime from the road interspersed with the water from the road have a knack for finding its way into all the nooks and crannies on your bike and clothing.
It made a difficult day even more so, as at that point I could only look up at the sky, after battling major headwinds for a 150km ride, and ask, “what else you got?”
For me, I find it most disturbing to see the road kill that litters the roads; some beings completely recognizable, and some, not at all; some are so flat and squashed that their DNA is now at one with the asphalt, and there is very little to indicate that this thing was at one time a living, breathing thing.
I mostly try to avert my eyes when passing by them, often at the risk of my own life as I turn my head and weave all over the road to avoid seeing the carnage; unfortunately, this tactic has not saved me from seeing entire raccoon and skunk families who have suffered fatally under the wheels of speeding vehicles-it is very sad to see this, as I can’t help but think that the babies would have come running after the mother to see what happened.
Just as sad, is seeing a few cats that lie in twisted forms on the roadside, my only hope is that they died quickly and did not suffer any.
We only have two more tent-sleeps until the end, it is hard to believe that I will no longer have to pack my bed and house into a wee little bag every morning, and won’t have to find my light, my glasses, take out my earplugs, remove my eye shades, put on my jacket, unzip the tent, put on my shoes, close the tent, open the fly, close the fly, just to pee in the middle of the night!
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Day 63 St. Louis DeKent (Rest Day)
Petit Rocher to St. Louis DeKent
Distance: 149 km
August 25, 2006
This morning did not start auspiciously, as when I showed up for breakfast at my usual 7:30 time to an empty oatmeal pot, I was told that breakfast was over, and that I could make it myself.
These are not the words that should be spoken by the galley crew, as it is galley crew’s responsibility to provide breakfast for one and all.
I was too tired to get into it with them, so just grumbled and walked away to make a sandwich; the past two meals around camp had let to big rows between other people besides the BP and myself for a change; I think people are really tired and are coming to the end of their patience-rope, as tempers have been flaring.
The breakfast before last had two parties going at each other, to the point where we thought someone’s eyes would pop out from the exertion of physical expression.
One of the other riders had more energy and got into it with one of the galley crew (as he’s had a similar situation earlier that week for the same reason, that some of the early leavers who want to get out of camp earlier, are rushing the later leavers by shutting down breakfast precipitously.)
Rumor was going around that the original breakfast time of 7:00am to 8:00am had changed to end at 7:30am; we were told at the beginning that under no terms was this ending time to change, as people were not to be rushed.
Somehow, the early leavers thought they could change the rules without a vote, or any consultation with the rest of the group, and that the rule change would go unnoticed.
It hasn’t, as people are up in arms over the dictatorial type rule change.
The person who instructed me to ‘make my own breakfast’ claimed that she thought that everyone knew of the rule change, and when a random pole suggested otherwise, she claimed that since we had got the new driver, she thought we had changed the breakfast time, which was simply not true.
We decided that when we are making everyone fried eggs on toast for breakfast on our next shift, we shall declare the kitchen shut just as she puts out her plate; petty revenge seems to be the order of the day as we are reduced to the immature actions of children on this trip.
Our galley crew motto is, ‘no stomach leaves half full,’ whereas theirs is obviously, “screw you guys, we’re outta here.”
After this all too early excitement, we headed out for a relatively long ride; this being our 6th day of riding before our long awaited rest day.
We rode with our fave’s the Aussies, leaving the camp laughing about the past few explosions around camp.
Our ride was great, as the winds were fairly cooperative, although we switched directions so many times that we didn’t get to take full advantage, but didn’t mind so much as we were having too much fun to notice otherwise.
Even though we were riding with different people, we carried on with our impressions of our fellow campers, this time including the people we were riding with yesterday, so that when we got into camp, we had a good laugh with the others over all of our impressions of each other; some people can do it better that the original person.
At the end of the trip, we shall all perform our impressions of each other, to each other’s faces and have a good laugh as it’s all done in good fun, with no mal intent; most people have a really good sense of humor and play along.
We only have seven more days until we reach St. John’s, so the trip is growing to a close; I will be sad to say goodbye to some of these people even, I am surprised to admit, BP, as we have all grown very fond of each other, in our own funny way.
Some of us have outright argued and blown up at each other, we have all definitely irritated each other at some point or another, but just like a dysfunctional family, care for each other and are genuinely fond of each other, and will be sad to part company at the end.
Petit Rocher to St. Louis DeKent
Distance: 149 km
August 25, 2006
This morning did not start auspiciously, as when I showed up for breakfast at my usual 7:30 time to an empty oatmeal pot, I was told that breakfast was over, and that I could make it myself.
These are not the words that should be spoken by the galley crew, as it is galley crew’s responsibility to provide breakfast for one and all.
I was too tired to get into it with them, so just grumbled and walked away to make a sandwich; the past two meals around camp had let to big rows between other people besides the BP and myself for a change; I think people are really tired and are coming to the end of their patience-rope, as tempers have been flaring.
The breakfast before last had two parties going at each other, to the point where we thought someone’s eyes would pop out from the exertion of physical expression.
One of the other riders had more energy and got into it with one of the galley crew (as he’s had a similar situation earlier that week for the same reason, that some of the early leavers who want to get out of camp earlier, are rushing the later leavers by shutting down breakfast precipitously.)
Rumor was going around that the original breakfast time of 7:00am to 8:00am had changed to end at 7:30am; we were told at the beginning that under no terms was this ending time to change, as people were not to be rushed.
Somehow, the early leavers thought they could change the rules without a vote, or any consultation with the rest of the group, and that the rule change would go unnoticed.
It hasn’t, as people are up in arms over the dictatorial type rule change.
The person who instructed me to ‘make my own breakfast’ claimed that she thought that everyone knew of the rule change, and when a random pole suggested otherwise, she claimed that since we had got the new driver, she thought we had changed the breakfast time, which was simply not true.
We decided that when we are making everyone fried eggs on toast for breakfast on our next shift, we shall declare the kitchen shut just as she puts out her plate; petty revenge seems to be the order of the day as we are reduced to the immature actions of children on this trip.
Our galley crew motto is, ‘no stomach leaves half full,’ whereas theirs is obviously, “screw you guys, we’re outta here.”
After this all too early excitement, we headed out for a relatively long ride; this being our 6th day of riding before our long awaited rest day.
We rode with our fave’s the Aussies, leaving the camp laughing about the past few explosions around camp.
Our ride was great, as the winds were fairly cooperative, although we switched directions so many times that we didn’t get to take full advantage, but didn’t mind so much as we were having too much fun to notice otherwise.
Even though we were riding with different people, we carried on with our impressions of our fellow campers, this time including the people we were riding with yesterday, so that when we got into camp, we had a good laugh with the others over all of our impressions of each other; some people can do it better that the original person.
At the end of the trip, we shall all perform our impressions of each other, to each other’s faces and have a good laugh as it’s all done in good fun, with no mal intent; most people have a really good sense of humor and play along.
We only have seven more days until we reach St. John’s, so the trip is growing to a close; I will be sad to say goodbye to some of these people even, I am surprised to admit, BP, as we have all grown very fond of each other, in our own funny way.
Some of us have outright argued and blown up at each other, we have all definitely irritated each other at some point or another, but just like a dysfunctional family, care for each other and are genuinely fond of each other, and will be sad to part company at the end.
Day 62 Petit Rocher
Campbellton to Petit Rocher
Distance: 100 km
August 24, 2006
Since our distance was short today, we were beside ourselves with glee, added to by the winds blowing kindly in a favorable direction, plus it being my birthday making the day pretty special.
We got a late start to the day since we knew we had such a short distance to cover, and got into the nearby town of Dalhousie by approximately 10:00am, the time at which Tim Horton’s is even more typically rammed than usual.
We are used to some odd stares from people, accompanied by the odd comment, but the attention received this morning made us feel like minor celebs.
Probably more owing to one of our riders who rides a recumbent bike, or tricyle that draws all kind of attention wherever he goes.
He usually comes into camp with stories of people flagging him down only to pepper him with the standard questions, “is there a motor in it?” (no) “What is it made of?” (carbon fiber,) and the like, but this morning he was swarmed by people fascinated by this alien looking craft with three wheels.
Lewis and I were also surrounded by the friendly folk in Tim’s, who were obviously only too happy to have a distraction from their daily lives (usually we are mostly ignored, or given a narrow-eyed, suspicious sideways glance followed by what is presumably a wise crack made to their equally smug looking friends.)
As it turned out we were chatting with the mayor of Dalhousie’s wife, who was very excited to learn about our adventure; she made a prompt call straight to the mayor’s office, who then in turn came trotting over to meet us at Tim’s, where we were all invited for a group photo op at Town Hall.
We were only too happy to play into the role of welcomed and esteemed guests, and puffed out our chests, and clicked and slid our way over to the Town Hall (cycling shoes are difficult to walk in,) where we were met by the town photographer who had us pose in front of Town Hall, with the Mayor, who was the friendliest of the friendlies in Dalhousie.
He invited us into his office (quite grand) and gave us a tour.
We learned that he used to play with the Boston Bruins and played against whom else but Tim Horton himself!
I have become so used to using that name as a means to tea and yummy treats that I had forgotten that he was an actual person, a famous hockey player at that.
We ended up spending quite a while with the mayor, chatting about this and that, (it was also his wife’s birthday today, which was reason for a big hug from the mayor) and left feeling quite chuffed with ourselves (the photographer is also the local reporter who was going to publish a story about us.)
Shortly after we left, we rounded the corner and came face to face with a 13 degree hill, probably the steepest of the tour; luckily it was relatively short, as had it been any longer I fear I would have had to get off and walk as I was feeling especially lazy and tired.
We had a wonderfully fun day riding with a good crew (Vancouvermike, Englishmike and Alex); we mostly spent the ride doing impressions of other people on the tour, as we have good fodder and people who can do good impressions-this was worth many laughs as we sailed along, coming into camp relatively early, due to our short day.
What a lucky day it was for me; I had ‘happy birthday’ sung to me twice by the group (once in the morning and once at dinner,) and in two languages, English and Dutch.
I was presented with a group card, and a cake, with my name spelled correctly-a rarity.
The Aussies and Tom (also Australian) also gave me a card and a gift, which was really very sweet, as I have no idea where they would have purchased it from that day, as we passed no stores of consequence. I’m led to believe they had the forethought to get it the previous day, something that must have taken extraordinary effort, as this trip really reduces one to thinking only of oneself mostly, so I was very grateful for their thoughtfulness and effort.
Campbellton to Petit Rocher
Distance: 100 km
August 24, 2006
Since our distance was short today, we were beside ourselves with glee, added to by the winds blowing kindly in a favorable direction, plus it being my birthday making the day pretty special.
We got a late start to the day since we knew we had such a short distance to cover, and got into the nearby town of Dalhousie by approximately 10:00am, the time at which Tim Horton’s is even more typically rammed than usual.
We are used to some odd stares from people, accompanied by the odd comment, but the attention received this morning made us feel like minor celebs.
Probably more owing to one of our riders who rides a recumbent bike, or tricyle that draws all kind of attention wherever he goes.
He usually comes into camp with stories of people flagging him down only to pepper him with the standard questions, “is there a motor in it?” (no) “What is it made of?” (carbon fiber,) and the like, but this morning he was swarmed by people fascinated by this alien looking craft with three wheels.
Lewis and I were also surrounded by the friendly folk in Tim’s, who were obviously only too happy to have a distraction from their daily lives (usually we are mostly ignored, or given a narrow-eyed, suspicious sideways glance followed by what is presumably a wise crack made to their equally smug looking friends.)
As it turned out we were chatting with the mayor of Dalhousie’s wife, who was very excited to learn about our adventure; she made a prompt call straight to the mayor’s office, who then in turn came trotting over to meet us at Tim’s, where we were all invited for a group photo op at Town Hall.
We were only too happy to play into the role of welcomed and esteemed guests, and puffed out our chests, and clicked and slid our way over to the Town Hall (cycling shoes are difficult to walk in,) where we were met by the town photographer who had us pose in front of Town Hall, with the Mayor, who was the friendliest of the friendlies in Dalhousie.
He invited us into his office (quite grand) and gave us a tour.
We learned that he used to play with the Boston Bruins and played against whom else but Tim Horton himself!
I have become so used to using that name as a means to tea and yummy treats that I had forgotten that he was an actual person, a famous hockey player at that.
We ended up spending quite a while with the mayor, chatting about this and that, (it was also his wife’s birthday today, which was reason for a big hug from the mayor) and left feeling quite chuffed with ourselves (the photographer is also the local reporter who was going to publish a story about us.)
Shortly after we left, we rounded the corner and came face to face with a 13 degree hill, probably the steepest of the tour; luckily it was relatively short, as had it been any longer I fear I would have had to get off and walk as I was feeling especially lazy and tired.
We had a wonderfully fun day riding with a good crew (Vancouvermike, Englishmike and Alex); we mostly spent the ride doing impressions of other people on the tour, as we have good fodder and people who can do good impressions-this was worth many laughs as we sailed along, coming into camp relatively early, due to our short day.
What a lucky day it was for me; I had ‘happy birthday’ sung to me twice by the group (once in the morning and once at dinner,) and in two languages, English and Dutch.
I was presented with a group card, and a cake, with my name spelled correctly-a rarity.
The Aussies and Tom (also Australian) also gave me a card and a gift, which was really very sweet, as I have no idea where they would have purchased it from that day, as we passed no stores of consequence. I’m led to believe they had the forethought to get it the previous day, something that must have taken extraordinary effort, as this trip really reduces one to thinking only of oneself mostly, so I was very grateful for their thoughtfulness and effort.
Day 61 Campbellton, New Brunswick
Amqui to Campbellton
Distance: 104 km
August 23, 2006
Since our group has, in many ways, devolved into much of a circus, one of the riders purchased a clown horn; he likes to honk it at every opportune moment-sometimes directed at the clownish drivers who demonstrate their idiotic driving skills, but more often to announce arrivals, and to punctuate the many bizarre situations we find ourselves in.
This morning a herd (gaggle?) of ducks came wandering near our campsite; he gave the horn a toot, and they reacted like they had just heard their home-coming call as they all came waddling over to us, as if this was the standard procedure.
What else could we do, but feed them our daily bread; it was a fun way to start the day (especially for me as I am such a fan of ducks.)
The Fun People had decided that this was going to be ‘wear underwear on the outside day,’ so those brave enough followed through with the plan; five of us, myself included put our undies over our bike shorts and hit the road.
It was fun for a while, until we stopped at a store of sorts and had to endure the leering looks of the men, and the hostile glare of the women-no words were exchanged whatsoever (none needed to as the message was clear, our behaviour was not appreciated.)
Some of us in the group are more at home with the attention, or more like, are attention seekers, so this only bolstered the activity as we set back out onto the road.
I lasted until about midday, until I could no longer take the questioning looks, and honks from trucks, so took them off before we went into a restaurant packed with truckers.
The riding conditions have been a bit sketchy of late, what with no shoulder for long stretches that have forced us into the roads.
We had a couple of close calls today, again from people overtaking coming from the other direction; one guy decided to start over taking right beside us, with a boat in tow that almost took the whole line of us out (5 people.)
Besides near death experiences that we have become alarmingly accustomed to, the scenery, amazingly has changed quite dramatically; we’re in the fly fishing capital of Atlantic Canada now, so our ride snaked along besides twisty, turny rivers that often had people in big boots, fishing for salmon.
It almost looked like we were back in BC again, as we are in the hills again with the rivers that run beside them.
The weather has taken a really cold turn; none of us seem quite prepared as we have been so used to the heat wave that had Canada up in arms this summer; it’s either too hot or too cold; why can’t we be like Goldie Locks and her porridge and get it ‘just right?’
Amqui to Campbellton
Distance: 104 km
August 23, 2006
Since our group has, in many ways, devolved into much of a circus, one of the riders purchased a clown horn; he likes to honk it at every opportune moment-sometimes directed at the clownish drivers who demonstrate their idiotic driving skills, but more often to announce arrivals, and to punctuate the many bizarre situations we find ourselves in.
This morning a herd (gaggle?) of ducks came wandering near our campsite; he gave the horn a toot, and they reacted like they had just heard their home-coming call as they all came waddling over to us, as if this was the standard procedure.
What else could we do, but feed them our daily bread; it was a fun way to start the day (especially for me as I am such a fan of ducks.)
The Fun People had decided that this was going to be ‘wear underwear on the outside day,’ so those brave enough followed through with the plan; five of us, myself included put our undies over our bike shorts and hit the road.
It was fun for a while, until we stopped at a store of sorts and had to endure the leering looks of the men, and the hostile glare of the women-no words were exchanged whatsoever (none needed to as the message was clear, our behaviour was not appreciated.)
Some of us in the group are more at home with the attention, or more like, are attention seekers, so this only bolstered the activity as we set back out onto the road.
I lasted until about midday, until I could no longer take the questioning looks, and honks from trucks, so took them off before we went into a restaurant packed with truckers.
The riding conditions have been a bit sketchy of late, what with no shoulder for long stretches that have forced us into the roads.
We had a couple of close calls today, again from people overtaking coming from the other direction; one guy decided to start over taking right beside us, with a boat in tow that almost took the whole line of us out (5 people.)
Besides near death experiences that we have become alarmingly accustomed to, the scenery, amazingly has changed quite dramatically; we’re in the fly fishing capital of Atlantic Canada now, so our ride snaked along besides twisty, turny rivers that often had people in big boots, fishing for salmon.
It almost looked like we were back in BC again, as we are in the hills again with the rivers that run beside them.
The weather has taken a really cold turn; none of us seem quite prepared as we have been so used to the heat wave that had Canada up in arms this summer; it’s either too hot or too cold; why can’t we be like Goldie Locks and her porridge and get it ‘just right?’
Day 60 Amqui, Quebec
Trois Pistole to Amqui
Distance: 158 km
August 22, 2006
Yay, finally we were blessed with the presence of Tailwig!
The almighty winds shifted direction at some point during the night and blew in an easterly direction.
It was so nice for a change to sail by other cyclists going in the other direction, this time with big grins on our faces!
Whereas a few days ago it took us over 30 minutes to do 10 km, today we did over 20km in half an hour, we were just flying along-what a glorious feeling to be able to travel at such speeds (up to 50km/hour on a flat,) it’s this kind of riding that makes all the bad days worth it.
The scenery in this part of Quebec is just amazing; the little villages that we go through seem to come from the impressionist era, with their little cozy houses and vibrant gardens bursting with flowers and greenery.
At one point we were following the ‘coast line’ and had spectacular views of the St. Lawrence river and the surrounding farm lands; Quebec seems to smell like blue cheese-I think it’s all the dairies and dairy farms, but there is a definite blue cheese aroma in the air.
Before we knew it we had done 60km in two hours, and to accompany this happy situation we happened across our favorite stop, Timmy H’s, where we found some others from our crew, happily sipping hot beverages and other sweet treats.
We left with our riding partners, the Aussies and had a fun rest of the day sailing across the Quebec landscape.
Unfortunately we missed some good restaurants earlier on, in hope that we’d find some later in the ride; we didn’t, but found a roadside stop where Lewis and I could not resist the poutine; the Aussies showed more restraint.
I was quite pleased with myself as I was able to sort of order ‘en Francais’ as the person was able to understand me; I am inspired to learn French upon my return!
In other news, we were hoping to get our driver Megan back at the last rest stop, where the 72 and 73 day groups overlap, but it was not to be.
The group is still really angry about it, as even though we like the new driver (driverMike) we can’t understand why they weren’t traded back, as each group wants their original driver back-we were told she was going to be given a rest, but it does not make any sense, as she is now working the same job, just driving another truck with the other group.
It seems senseless and mean spirited to us that each group is unhappy with the situation, as are the drivers, when the situation could be rectified very easily by just switching them back.
Trois Pistole to Amqui
Distance: 158 km
August 22, 2006
Yay, finally we were blessed with the presence of Tailwig!
The almighty winds shifted direction at some point during the night and blew in an easterly direction.
It was so nice for a change to sail by other cyclists going in the other direction, this time with big grins on our faces!
Whereas a few days ago it took us over 30 minutes to do 10 km, today we did over 20km in half an hour, we were just flying along-what a glorious feeling to be able to travel at such speeds (up to 50km/hour on a flat,) it’s this kind of riding that makes all the bad days worth it.
The scenery in this part of Quebec is just amazing; the little villages that we go through seem to come from the impressionist era, with their little cozy houses and vibrant gardens bursting with flowers and greenery.
At one point we were following the ‘coast line’ and had spectacular views of the St. Lawrence river and the surrounding farm lands; Quebec seems to smell like blue cheese-I think it’s all the dairies and dairy farms, but there is a definite blue cheese aroma in the air.
Before we knew it we had done 60km in two hours, and to accompany this happy situation we happened across our favorite stop, Timmy H’s, where we found some others from our crew, happily sipping hot beverages and other sweet treats.
We left with our riding partners, the Aussies and had a fun rest of the day sailing across the Quebec landscape.
Unfortunately we missed some good restaurants earlier on, in hope that we’d find some later in the ride; we didn’t, but found a roadside stop where Lewis and I could not resist the poutine; the Aussies showed more restraint.
I was quite pleased with myself as I was able to sort of order ‘en Francais’ as the person was able to understand me; I am inspired to learn French upon my return!
In other news, we were hoping to get our driver Megan back at the last rest stop, where the 72 and 73 day groups overlap, but it was not to be.
The group is still really angry about it, as even though we like the new driver (driverMike) we can’t understand why they weren’t traded back, as each group wants their original driver back-we were told she was going to be given a rest, but it does not make any sense, as she is now working the same job, just driving another truck with the other group.
It seems senseless and mean spirited to us that each group is unhappy with the situation, as are the drivers, when the situation could be rectified very easily by just switching them back.
Day 58 Riviere Quelle
Quebec City to Riviere Quelle
Distance: 138 km
Day 59 Trois Pistoles
Riviere Quelle to Trois Pistole
Distance: 117km
August 21, 2006
If I had thought that I had already had my toughest ride on the tour thus far, I was grievously mistaken; yesterday the wind was measured between 40 and 50km/hour-gusting and railing against us for the entire day.
Standing upright in the kinds of gusts yesterday was challenging, but riding a bicycle was beyond what I would consider to be a reasonable activity to do on a day like that.
A marine person we met along the way reported that waves on the St. Lawrence were measured at one meter-the height at which gale force winds are determined to be blowing.
At lunch a local informed us that the winds ‘usually blow in the other direction.’
I don’t know how many times we have heard that, and it was certainly not of any consolation to hear, knowing what we had to go back outside to face.
I also got tired really quickly of seeing cyclists going in the other direction with huge grins on their faces; if they’d had sails they could have been in Vancouver in a few hours.
Whereas we sometimes, when lucky can travel in the low 40km/hour, we were at times crawling along at 13km/hour- fighting and struggling for every single kilometer.
Surprisingly the noise of the wind in the ears is also really bothersome as the wind makes a terrible racket.
We had galley duty last night and one of our crew got in at 9:00pm-poor guy.
We were all really worried about him and his riding partner, as it now gets dark by 8:00pm, so navigating those roads in the dark would have been a been a challenge, on top of the winds to contend with.
Our day started at approximately 8:00am when we had a 10km stretch to get to a ferry that left at 8:30am; we thought half an hour was ample time, until we got out into the wind and realized what kind of a day of horrors we had in wait.
The ride to the ferry was treacherous; we came across other riders battling their way there, some made it, some not.
We eventually arrived into camp at 5:30pm, and had to get started with galley duty almost immediately, after an exhausting day-not my idea of fun.
Lewis was crew chief this time, and in true Lewis-style, picked a three course meal which required much chopping, cutting and overall work.
Luckily we had BC Pete step in and cover for Don, who was still out at war on the roads.
The meal ended up being one of the best yet; a chicken stew, a perfect meal for a post ride of marathon proportions on a cold and blustery day. Lewis was vindicated.
Since we started late, we weren’t able to wash up when we were done dinner at 9:00pm, as it was pitch dark, and we were without any lights-we had to wash the dinner dishes on our breakfast shift, where we served oatmeal (not popular.)
I didn’t care however; as I felt we had done more than our due the night before with our three course meal, prepared under the extreme circumstances. (Dessert included stewed apples in brown sugar and cream, if you please!)
Along the way we met quite a few other riders battling the winds, and ended taking on another rider into our traveling convoy of people who trying to get shelter from the wind.
He was an odd fellow who did not speak much English; not odd for that reason, odd for a multitude of others, one being that he kept poking me in the legs (at lunch) and remarking, in very broken English/French what, “grande des jambs” I had-I knew he was trying to pay me a compliment, but not the sort of thing a woman wants to hear, “what big legs you have.” (He had the physique of a string bean, so I could see where he was coming from, but still.)
He also called me a ‘monster’, something also that one doesn’t necessarily want to hear, again, I got the compliment, but still….
I got a couple more slaps on the back, and pokes in the leg with his spindly finger before we parted company.
He was a good distraction for a while from the mind grind that was going on, on the bikes.
Thankfully I had one of the best sleeps that night, as I was bone tired, and the cold weather made for a cozy sleep.
The weather seems unseasonably cold; usually August is one of our hottest months, but it has taken a rather wintry turn, and has some of us bundled in toques and jackets around camp.
We all prayed to the Tailwig Gods, and hoped that the winds would switch direction in the morning-no such luck; I stepped outside our tent into another wall of wind-how on earth we were to fight our way through another day of this treachery?
The ride, at least for the first part of the day, seemed, if possible even more difficult that yesterday as we had to cross through flat unsheltered terrain, where there was no shelter from any trees or hills.
Again, we were crawling along at 13km/hour in parts-painful.
If there is ever a place to get time to stand still, it is on a bike, faced with such winds.
As a distraction, we did go through the most amazing little towns that looked like they had been painted-every little house was so unique and pretty, with colorful shutters, covered in flowers.
We met up with Aussies and joined forces, making the going a little bit easier.
We ended up stopping for lunch at a spa-restaurant, where people were cruising around in their dressing gowns (from the spa.)
I was very tempted to throw one on and hunker down; the thought of getting back out into the harsh elements was enough to make me cower.
The only consolation for days like this is the food; and make no mistake, we are consoling ourselves very well, so well in fact that I feel like I am at ‘fat camp.’
We picked up some Quebecoise fromage and baguettes, with red wine, and sat on the beach and heartily rewarded ourselves this evening-the scene was spectacular and was a great way to end the day.
Tomorrow’s ride is 164km, I will cry if the winds have not let up when I get up tomorrow morning.
Quebec City to Riviere Quelle
Distance: 138 km
Day 59 Trois Pistoles
Riviere Quelle to Trois Pistole
Distance: 117km
August 21, 2006
If I had thought that I had already had my toughest ride on the tour thus far, I was grievously mistaken; yesterday the wind was measured between 40 and 50km/hour-gusting and railing against us for the entire day.
Standing upright in the kinds of gusts yesterday was challenging, but riding a bicycle was beyond what I would consider to be a reasonable activity to do on a day like that.
A marine person we met along the way reported that waves on the St. Lawrence were measured at one meter-the height at which gale force winds are determined to be blowing.
At lunch a local informed us that the winds ‘usually blow in the other direction.’
I don’t know how many times we have heard that, and it was certainly not of any consolation to hear, knowing what we had to go back outside to face.
I also got tired really quickly of seeing cyclists going in the other direction with huge grins on their faces; if they’d had sails they could have been in Vancouver in a few hours.
Whereas we sometimes, when lucky can travel in the low 40km/hour, we were at times crawling along at 13km/hour- fighting and struggling for every single kilometer.
Surprisingly the noise of the wind in the ears is also really bothersome as the wind makes a terrible racket.
We had galley duty last night and one of our crew got in at 9:00pm-poor guy.
We were all really worried about him and his riding partner, as it now gets dark by 8:00pm, so navigating those roads in the dark would have been a been a challenge, on top of the winds to contend with.
Our day started at approximately 8:00am when we had a 10km stretch to get to a ferry that left at 8:30am; we thought half an hour was ample time, until we got out into the wind and realized what kind of a day of horrors we had in wait.
The ride to the ferry was treacherous; we came across other riders battling their way there, some made it, some not.
We eventually arrived into camp at 5:30pm, and had to get started with galley duty almost immediately, after an exhausting day-not my idea of fun.
Lewis was crew chief this time, and in true Lewis-style, picked a three course meal which required much chopping, cutting and overall work.
Luckily we had BC Pete step in and cover for Don, who was still out at war on the roads.
The meal ended up being one of the best yet; a chicken stew, a perfect meal for a post ride of marathon proportions on a cold and blustery day. Lewis was vindicated.
Since we started late, we weren’t able to wash up when we were done dinner at 9:00pm, as it was pitch dark, and we were without any lights-we had to wash the dinner dishes on our breakfast shift, where we served oatmeal (not popular.)
I didn’t care however; as I felt we had done more than our due the night before with our three course meal, prepared under the extreme circumstances. (Dessert included stewed apples in brown sugar and cream, if you please!)
Along the way we met quite a few other riders battling the winds, and ended taking on another rider into our traveling convoy of people who trying to get shelter from the wind.
He was an odd fellow who did not speak much English; not odd for that reason, odd for a multitude of others, one being that he kept poking me in the legs (at lunch) and remarking, in very broken English/French what, “grande des jambs” I had-I knew he was trying to pay me a compliment, but not the sort of thing a woman wants to hear, “what big legs you have.” (He had the physique of a string bean, so I could see where he was coming from, but still.)
He also called me a ‘monster’, something also that one doesn’t necessarily want to hear, again, I got the compliment, but still….
I got a couple more slaps on the back, and pokes in the leg with his spindly finger before we parted company.
He was a good distraction for a while from the mind grind that was going on, on the bikes.
Thankfully I had one of the best sleeps that night, as I was bone tired, and the cold weather made for a cozy sleep.
The weather seems unseasonably cold; usually August is one of our hottest months, but it has taken a rather wintry turn, and has some of us bundled in toques and jackets around camp.
We all prayed to the Tailwig Gods, and hoped that the winds would switch direction in the morning-no such luck; I stepped outside our tent into another wall of wind-how on earth we were to fight our way through another day of this treachery?
The ride, at least for the first part of the day, seemed, if possible even more difficult that yesterday as we had to cross through flat unsheltered terrain, where there was no shelter from any trees or hills.
Again, we were crawling along at 13km/hour in parts-painful.
If there is ever a place to get time to stand still, it is on a bike, faced with such winds.
As a distraction, we did go through the most amazing little towns that looked like they had been painted-every little house was so unique and pretty, with colorful shutters, covered in flowers.
We met up with Aussies and joined forces, making the going a little bit easier.
We ended up stopping for lunch at a spa-restaurant, where people were cruising around in their dressing gowns (from the spa.)
I was very tempted to throw one on and hunker down; the thought of getting back out into the harsh elements was enough to make me cower.
The only consolation for days like this is the food; and make no mistake, we are consoling ourselves very well, so well in fact that I feel like I am at ‘fat camp.’
We picked up some Quebecoise fromage and baguettes, with red wine, and sat on the beach and heartily rewarded ourselves this evening-the scene was spectacular and was a great way to end the day.
Tomorrow’s ride is 164km, I will cry if the winds have not let up when I get up tomorrow morning.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Day 56 Quebec City (Rest Day)
Pointe-Du-Lac to Quebec City
Distance: 145 km
August 18, 2006
After closer inspection of the questionable bunks in the dorms, we decided to sleep in our wee tent on the beach; it was a beautiful night, with a sky jammed with twinkly-stars.
At approximately 4:00 a.m, which must be the witching hour for skunks, Lewis and I woke up to the overwhelming stench of the wretched creature once again-this time we had left our ‘fly’ cover off the tent, leaving us more exposed to the elements, skunks included.
We both lay there dead-still hoping not to anger the stinky bugger in any way, so that we would not have to suffer the same fate that the Aussies did.
After what seemed like an eternity, the fetid bouquet dissipated, and we could breathe once again-my heart was racing though, as I was terrified it had given our bare tent a wee squirt of the dreadful goo just for good measure.
Today’s ride was one of my favorite so far; the scenery in Quebec keeps getting better, and apparently as we move along the St. Lawrence, the scenery continues to impress.
What definitely adds to the enjoyment are the roads and wide shoulders for us to ride on-- not having to worry about getting creamed by a transport truck every few minutes, not surprisingly, increases the enjoyment factor of the ride considerably.
Quebec has however, had some of the best and worst roads; coming into and leaving Montreal had us riding through massive pot holes, on streets with more cracks on it than at a plumber’s convention.
The French definitely have got two things right; their attitude towards cyclists, with the wide shoulders and considerations given to riders, and in their food-some of the best bakeries and restaurants we’ve come across have been here.
We stopped off for lunch at a very typically French little restaurant-café that is only open in the summer.
When one walked into the place it was dripping with cutesey-French-European charm, right down to the toilet with was in a separate little chamber, with a pull cord for the light.
We had home made lemonade which came in a pretty glass with mint, and the most delicious veggie soup, and baguette with cheese- all really good.
It was so difficult to get back onto the bikes, in the heat, with a full belly in 30 degree heat, with another 75km to go-it took a while to convince our bodies to wake up and get back into the ride.
Coming into Quebec City had us descend some steep hills which gave us an incredible view of the river, and homes along it, followed by a leg-cracking hill on a road that was under construction.
This added to the ‘technical’ factor when climbing it (like having to sprint up the hill in front of impatient cars, over gravel-was pretty fun as I felt like I was playing some wacky video game.)
We’re staying at Laval University in residence, and since it’s now a rest day, a few of us ventured into the old city for some good ol’ drunken times last night, and boy did some of our crew do their party-due diligence, as some of them got home at 4:30 a.m, Lewis included, drunk, as they say, as a skunk.
Pointe-Du-Lac to Quebec City
Distance: 145 km
August 18, 2006
After closer inspection of the questionable bunks in the dorms, we decided to sleep in our wee tent on the beach; it was a beautiful night, with a sky jammed with twinkly-stars.
At approximately 4:00 a.m, which must be the witching hour for skunks, Lewis and I woke up to the overwhelming stench of the wretched creature once again-this time we had left our ‘fly’ cover off the tent, leaving us more exposed to the elements, skunks included.
We both lay there dead-still hoping not to anger the stinky bugger in any way, so that we would not have to suffer the same fate that the Aussies did.
After what seemed like an eternity, the fetid bouquet dissipated, and we could breathe once again-my heart was racing though, as I was terrified it had given our bare tent a wee squirt of the dreadful goo just for good measure.
Today’s ride was one of my favorite so far; the scenery in Quebec keeps getting better, and apparently as we move along the St. Lawrence, the scenery continues to impress.
What definitely adds to the enjoyment are the roads and wide shoulders for us to ride on-- not having to worry about getting creamed by a transport truck every few minutes, not surprisingly, increases the enjoyment factor of the ride considerably.
Quebec has however, had some of the best and worst roads; coming into and leaving Montreal had us riding through massive pot holes, on streets with more cracks on it than at a plumber’s convention.
The French definitely have got two things right; their attitude towards cyclists, with the wide shoulders and considerations given to riders, and in their food-some of the best bakeries and restaurants we’ve come across have been here.
We stopped off for lunch at a very typically French little restaurant-café that is only open in the summer.
When one walked into the place it was dripping with cutesey-French-European charm, right down to the toilet with was in a separate little chamber, with a pull cord for the light.
We had home made lemonade which came in a pretty glass with mint, and the most delicious veggie soup, and baguette with cheese- all really good.
It was so difficult to get back onto the bikes, in the heat, with a full belly in 30 degree heat, with another 75km to go-it took a while to convince our bodies to wake up and get back into the ride.
Coming into Quebec City had us descend some steep hills which gave us an incredible view of the river, and homes along it, followed by a leg-cracking hill on a road that was under construction.
This added to the ‘technical’ factor when climbing it (like having to sprint up the hill in front of impatient cars, over gravel-was pretty fun as I felt like I was playing some wacky video game.)
We’re staying at Laval University in residence, and since it’s now a rest day, a few of us ventured into the old city for some good ol’ drunken times last night, and boy did some of our crew do their party-due diligence, as some of them got home at 4:30 a.m, Lewis included, drunk, as they say, as a skunk.
Day 55 Pointe-Du-Lac, Quebec
Mont St-Hillaire to Pointe-Du-Lac
Distance: 130 km
August 17, 2006
In more Aussie news they not only had to chuck out their beloved tent, but their pillows and then their air mattresses as well, making last night’s sleep very uncomfortable for them, on the cold hard inhospitable ground.
Luckily tonight we’re staying at a camp where we are sleeping in dorms so they are spared having to sleep on the hard floor again, until we reach Quebec City tomorrow where they can purchase new, skunk-scent-free bedding.
Our ride today was very pretty, the Quebec countryside is quite beautiful with its rolling terrain and little farms.
We rode with ‘the fun people’ today, who ride at a more relaxed and enjoyable pace, and actually do take the time to smell the proverbial roses along the way.
Mercury must be in retrograde again as four people got flat tires today, slowing the ride down even more which was fine, as we no longer feel the urge to race into camp; it seems that the pace of the rides, at least for us has become a lot more relaxed compared to how we were riding in the beginning when we were ‘caning’ it on almost every ride (hence the dead legs) whereas now we are ambling along and enjoying the country side a lot more.
We’re staying at a defunct nun’s retreat in a rundown dorm; the beds look pretty dodgy, so most people are sleeping in their tents-the grounds are amazing, as we’re backing onto a beach and have the whole place to ourselves, so we can do as we please.
Mont St-Hillaire to Pointe-Du-Lac
Distance: 130 km
August 17, 2006
In more Aussie news they not only had to chuck out their beloved tent, but their pillows and then their air mattresses as well, making last night’s sleep very uncomfortable for them, on the cold hard inhospitable ground.
Luckily tonight we’re staying at a camp where we are sleeping in dorms so they are spared having to sleep on the hard floor again, until we reach Quebec City tomorrow where they can purchase new, skunk-scent-free bedding.
Our ride today was very pretty, the Quebec countryside is quite beautiful with its rolling terrain and little farms.
We rode with ‘the fun people’ today, who ride at a more relaxed and enjoyable pace, and actually do take the time to smell the proverbial roses along the way.
Mercury must be in retrograde again as four people got flat tires today, slowing the ride down even more which was fine, as we no longer feel the urge to race into camp; it seems that the pace of the rides, at least for us has become a lot more relaxed compared to how we were riding in the beginning when we were ‘caning’ it on almost every ride (hence the dead legs) whereas now we are ambling along and enjoying the country side a lot more.
We’re staying at a defunct nun’s retreat in a rundown dorm; the beds look pretty dodgy, so most people are sleeping in their tents-the grounds are amazing, as we’re backing onto a beach and have the whole place to ourselves, so we can do as we please.
Day 54 Mont St-Hillaire, Quebec
Hudson to Mont St-Hillaire
Distance: 120 km
August 16, 2006
Breaking news-a skunk felled the mighty Aussie Taj!
This morning at approximately 4:00am the little, furry, black and white creature was nosing around their tent, when Peter, thinking whatever it was that was scratching and poking around could be discouraged by a solid ‘whack’, was unpleasantly surprised when the beast retaliated by spilling the nasty, oily contents of it’s smelly little stink-sack all over the Kookaburra Lodge.
Following the nasty spillage from the wicked creature, the contents of the Kookaburra Lodge came tumbling out of the tent, coughing, splattering, and gasping for air.
Poor Carol-Anne was retching and vomiting from the foul stench.
Since their tent had been sprayed, all the contents of the tent were tainted by the fetid stench; they could not return to sleep, so got up for a cup of tea to ponder their stinky predicament.
In the meantime, the brazen skunk returned for more excitement, and was nosing around the trash it had scattered around the camping area; Peter decided it was time to exact revenge and sprayed it with the hose-this time sending it away, albeit probably wet and stinky.
It probably went away to brew another rank and malodorous concoction-this time embittered even more by its last experience, and even more trigger happy for the next opportunity to soil some more poor unsuspecting campers.
The camp employee happily reported that a few days earlier someone had made their way tearfully into the camp store looking for skunk spray, as the same thing had happened to them.
Another guy in charge (we think) came roaring up to our site in a golf cart to investigate the scene of the crime.
He seemed rather proud that one of his skunks had sprayed another camper, as he had a huge grin on his face, and obviously found the situation very amusing (so did we, but not at that moment, it was too soon for humor.)
He kept asking, “Was eet the beeg wan or the leetle wan that make pee on your tent?”
“Ze beeg wan is the mamma skunk and she ees the wan to make pee on the tent.”
(They weren’t sure, but assumed it was the ‘beeg wan.’)
The poor Aussies, what a terrible thing to have happen; they can now say that they have truly had The Canadian Experience.
I think we should be warned more of skunks than of bears as they are definitely more prolific and not as scared of us-as-we-of-them (like the spiders and bears.)
Carol-Anne, understandably angry and embittered by this unwelcome of Canadian experiences suggested that we write to our MP’s and lobby for the abolition of skunks.
And wouldn’t you know it that this furry little stinker set in motion a series of most unfortunate events that ultimately led to us having one of our longest days ever.
To second the bad start to the day, we missed the first turn and ended up back-tracking 6 km-not an auspicious start to the day, when just 2 km into the ride.
Since the Aussies had such rotten luck, we decided to stick with them and go to a Canadian Tire to buy a new tent (The Almighty Taj was chucked-along with pillows!)
While there, Lewis took out his wallet to use a coin to change his cleats; the wallet didn’t make it back into his pocket, and thus, we set out-sans wallet.
Approximately 50 km away the wallet-less pocket was discovered when trying to buy lunch in Montreal-panic ensued, and was followed by frantic phone calls to all the places we’d been along the way-no such luck.
We spent a while in Montreal on the phone, trying to negotiate our way through the language and bureaucracy at Canadian Tire to reach the appropriate people.
I know that one can end up pulling out one’s hair when trying to get through in one’s own language, so never mind in French.
After cancelling the credit cards and sitting around with long faces for the appropriate length of time, we pressed on.
Poor Peter was carrying the tent in a backpack, and this was not the day to be doing it as the roads were terrible; cracked, bumpy and festooned with holes-making it a very slow and arduous ride.
Even though the distance was short, it turned out to be one of our longest days yet, as we got in at 6:00pm, just in time for the dinner clang.
Poor Aussies-all their stuff reeks and it will probably take ages for the smell to dissipate-oh well, at least they can boast to their grandkids that they were sprayed by a genuine piece of Canadiana!
They have not had good luck with the beasts and insects in Canada; Carol-Anne has been stung twice by bees, once giving her a bad infection that necessitated a visit to the doctor followed by antibiotics, and then she was stung in her tent in the wee hours of the morning before dawn (why and how a bee got into the tent shall always remain a mystery.)
Poor Peter had to wake up and tend to another bee sting, while all bleary eyed and half asleep, and Carol-Anne had to suffer the indignity of another sting.
As it turns out Bob also lost his wallet today, but had the fortune of having someone decent find it, as they turned it into the local police station (who called his wife and left a message, “please call the police regarding your husband Bob.”)
Not the kind a call one wants to receive, but in this case, with a happy ending-not so for us unfortunately, leading me to think this Karma thing is a bunch of crap as I have found a few wallets and have always returned them with all the contents still inside!
Hudson to Mont St-Hillaire
Distance: 120 km
August 16, 2006
Breaking news-a skunk felled the mighty Aussie Taj!
This morning at approximately 4:00am the little, furry, black and white creature was nosing around their tent, when Peter, thinking whatever it was that was scratching and poking around could be discouraged by a solid ‘whack’, was unpleasantly surprised when the beast retaliated by spilling the nasty, oily contents of it’s smelly little stink-sack all over the Kookaburra Lodge.
Following the nasty spillage from the wicked creature, the contents of the Kookaburra Lodge came tumbling out of the tent, coughing, splattering, and gasping for air.
Poor Carol-Anne was retching and vomiting from the foul stench.
Since their tent had been sprayed, all the contents of the tent were tainted by the fetid stench; they could not return to sleep, so got up for a cup of tea to ponder their stinky predicament.
In the meantime, the brazen skunk returned for more excitement, and was nosing around the trash it had scattered around the camping area; Peter decided it was time to exact revenge and sprayed it with the hose-this time sending it away, albeit probably wet and stinky.
It probably went away to brew another rank and malodorous concoction-this time embittered even more by its last experience, and even more trigger happy for the next opportunity to soil some more poor unsuspecting campers.
The camp employee happily reported that a few days earlier someone had made their way tearfully into the camp store looking for skunk spray, as the same thing had happened to them.
Another guy in charge (we think) came roaring up to our site in a golf cart to investigate the scene of the crime.
He seemed rather proud that one of his skunks had sprayed another camper, as he had a huge grin on his face, and obviously found the situation very amusing (so did we, but not at that moment, it was too soon for humor.)
He kept asking, “Was eet the beeg wan or the leetle wan that make pee on your tent?”
“Ze beeg wan is the mamma skunk and she ees the wan to make pee on the tent.”
(They weren’t sure, but assumed it was the ‘beeg wan.’)
The poor Aussies, what a terrible thing to have happen; they can now say that they have truly had The Canadian Experience.
I think we should be warned more of skunks than of bears as they are definitely more prolific and not as scared of us-as-we-of-them (like the spiders and bears.)
Carol-Anne, understandably angry and embittered by this unwelcome of Canadian experiences suggested that we write to our MP’s and lobby for the abolition of skunks.
And wouldn’t you know it that this furry little stinker set in motion a series of most unfortunate events that ultimately led to us having one of our longest days ever.
To second the bad start to the day, we missed the first turn and ended up back-tracking 6 km-not an auspicious start to the day, when just 2 km into the ride.
Since the Aussies had such rotten luck, we decided to stick with them and go to a Canadian Tire to buy a new tent (The Almighty Taj was chucked-along with pillows!)
While there, Lewis took out his wallet to use a coin to change his cleats; the wallet didn’t make it back into his pocket, and thus, we set out-sans wallet.
Approximately 50 km away the wallet-less pocket was discovered when trying to buy lunch in Montreal-panic ensued, and was followed by frantic phone calls to all the places we’d been along the way-no such luck.
We spent a while in Montreal on the phone, trying to negotiate our way through the language and bureaucracy at Canadian Tire to reach the appropriate people.
I know that one can end up pulling out one’s hair when trying to get through in one’s own language, so never mind in French.
After cancelling the credit cards and sitting around with long faces for the appropriate length of time, we pressed on.
Poor Peter was carrying the tent in a backpack, and this was not the day to be doing it as the roads were terrible; cracked, bumpy and festooned with holes-making it a very slow and arduous ride.
Even though the distance was short, it turned out to be one of our longest days yet, as we got in at 6:00pm, just in time for the dinner clang.
Poor Aussies-all their stuff reeks and it will probably take ages for the smell to dissipate-oh well, at least they can boast to their grandkids that they were sprayed by a genuine piece of Canadiana!
They have not had good luck with the beasts and insects in Canada; Carol-Anne has been stung twice by bees, once giving her a bad infection that necessitated a visit to the doctor followed by antibiotics, and then she was stung in her tent in the wee hours of the morning before dawn (why and how a bee got into the tent shall always remain a mystery.)
Poor Peter had to wake up and tend to another bee sting, while all bleary eyed and half asleep, and Carol-Anne had to suffer the indignity of another sting.
As it turns out Bob also lost his wallet today, but had the fortune of having someone decent find it, as they turned it into the local police station (who called his wife and left a message, “please call the police regarding your husband Bob.”)
Not the kind a call one wants to receive, but in this case, with a happy ending-not so for us unfortunately, leading me to think this Karma thing is a bunch of crap as I have found a few wallets and have always returned them with all the contents still inside!
Day 53 Hudson
Ottawa to Hudson, Quebec
Distance: 164 km
August 15, 2006
This morning we all met at the Parliament buildings at 8:15 to have our pictures taken; as usual Lewis and I were the last to leave Carlton, and scrambled to catch up with everyone else so we could also be immortalized with the rest of the TDC in front of our nation’s government HQ.
One of the riders works for National Capital Commission, and organized for us to visit his work around the corner from the Parliament Buildings and have coffee and donuts with the NCC team; they had very kindly put a package together for us, which included maps of Ottawa as well as information about what was happening around town-this was very useful as usually we have no clue what is happening and end up wandering around whatever town, aimlessly hoping to figure out what is going on-and usually don’t, so end up doing laundry and hanging about in internet cafes on our rest days.
The NCC presented us with pins in the shape of the maple leaf made from the old copper roof of the Parliament Buildings-we were all very happy to hold a piece of Canadian history in our hot little hands.
After meeting and greeting with the nice people from the NCC, Bob took us on a route out of Ottawa, and was coincidentally the route on which he rides to and from work daily, and in fact he ended up taking us right past his house.
We also rode past 24 Sussex Drive, and stopped to make faces at the stoic-looking Governor General’s Guards wearing the bear skin hats.
Once we arrived at Bob’s house we couldn’t resist jumping off our bikes and rolling around on his front lawn (very nice and manicured) and had his neighbor take some more pics (our second lot that morning.)
We had a wonderful morning getting a full tour of Bob’s life; his work and work mates, his bike commute to work, and then his house-we all feel very much closer to him at this point.
Too bad we don’t all get to do this.
Since we’d started the ride in such a jocular mood, the rest of the ride seemed to follow suit; for the early part of the day we stayed together-something we never do, and gave the ride a feeling something like a traveling circus, replete with clown and air horns (recently picked up by a couple of riders in retaliation to some of the idiotic motorists.)
We took a ferry which took us right into Quebec, making this our fifth province.
The rest of the ride was very pretty-riding in Quebec has always been a favorite for cyclists due to the scenery.
Ottawa to Hudson, Quebec
Distance: 164 km
August 15, 2006
This morning we all met at the Parliament buildings at 8:15 to have our pictures taken; as usual Lewis and I were the last to leave Carlton, and scrambled to catch up with everyone else so we could also be immortalized with the rest of the TDC in front of our nation’s government HQ.
One of the riders works for National Capital Commission, and organized for us to visit his work around the corner from the Parliament Buildings and have coffee and donuts with the NCC team; they had very kindly put a package together for us, which included maps of Ottawa as well as information about what was happening around town-this was very useful as usually we have no clue what is happening and end up wandering around whatever town, aimlessly hoping to figure out what is going on-and usually don’t, so end up doing laundry and hanging about in internet cafes on our rest days.
The NCC presented us with pins in the shape of the maple leaf made from the old copper roof of the Parliament Buildings-we were all very happy to hold a piece of Canadian history in our hot little hands.
After meeting and greeting with the nice people from the NCC, Bob took us on a route out of Ottawa, and was coincidentally the route on which he rides to and from work daily, and in fact he ended up taking us right past his house.
We also rode past 24 Sussex Drive, and stopped to make faces at the stoic-looking Governor General’s Guards wearing the bear skin hats.
Once we arrived at Bob’s house we couldn’t resist jumping off our bikes and rolling around on his front lawn (very nice and manicured) and had his neighbor take some more pics (our second lot that morning.)
We had a wonderful morning getting a full tour of Bob’s life; his work and work mates, his bike commute to work, and then his house-we all feel very much closer to him at this point.
Too bad we don’t all get to do this.
Since we’d started the ride in such a jocular mood, the rest of the ride seemed to follow suit; for the early part of the day we stayed together-something we never do, and gave the ride a feeling something like a traveling circus, replete with clown and air horns (recently picked up by a couple of riders in retaliation to some of the idiotic motorists.)
We took a ferry which took us right into Quebec, making this our fifth province.
The rest of the ride was very pretty-riding in Quebec has always been a favorite for cyclists due to the scenery.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Day 49 Carrying Place
Dalington to Carrying Place
Distance: 116km
Day 50 Perth Road Village
Carrying Place to Perth Road Village
Distance: 129 km
Day 51 Ottawa
Perth Road Village to Ottawa (rest day)
Distance: 135km
Our stay in Toronto was brief, but everything we wanted it to be; we were well taken care of, fed lots of good food, and got to spend some brief time with our family.
We also briefly went downtown which was a strange experience as I have not been around so many people in a long time; the largest city since Vancouver has been Regina, which, when we were there was either deserted, or they don’t have enough people there as there hardly seemed to be anyone on the streets.
Not like downtown TO, where my elbows are rusty from not having to push my way along the side-walks. (Ok, maybe not that bad, but TO is certainly not lacking the masses)
After all the lonely desolate towns we have come across along the way, which have given the impression to visitors that Canada is devoid of people one only needs to visit a city like Toronto to realize that 80% of the population are all crammed into the metropolis.
Anyhow, it was very odd still being ‘on the ride’ and visiting our Other World, it felt like we were straddling two worlds, with one foot in one, and another on the bike.
My folks drove us back to camp; we missed the leg of the ride from Alliston to Darlington (forcing us to give up our EFI (Every F***** Inch status for the ride,) as we wanted an extra day to hang out with the family.
When we got back to the group, they were still simmering over the fiasco of having our driver taken away; there is still much talk and deliberation of how to get her back.
The ride from Darlington to Carrying Place was one of the most relaxed and enjoyable-pace wise of the trip so far; for some reason everyone seemed to be in a very mellow mood-perhaps due to the relatively short distance, and due to the really pretty scenery, we all rode at a very leisurely pace.
This part of southern Ontario is so pretty, with all these quaint little towns and farms along the way; one almost expects to see blue and pink bows tied around the necks of cows-the farm landscape is so quintessentially picture-book, right down to the painted mailboxes and red barns.
We had a lot of fun riding with The Fun People; we broke our own rules of not riding two abreast, and at times were taking up the whole road (small country roads only!)
Lewis and I were on galley crew that night; we made hamburgers which were a real hit-finally, we are working our way up to gaining a good rep’ for our cooking-it was touch and go for a while.
Also, we are all behaving ourselves, as BP and I have been nothing but polite and nice to each other, and avoid any potentially explosive topics by limiting the conversation to food only (seems to work.)
The following day we rode with two of our fave’s, the Aussies, who are always good for some laughs-we had a good ride with them.
I think that they are also converts to Tim Horton’s now (didn’t take long) as it always seems to be a hit with cyclists (and motorists, bikers, walkers, etc) as we hit a couple along the way.
We are now more or less riding the ride that I had envisioned from the get-go - riding from one Tim’s to the next across Canada.
I had anticipated that the rest of Canada was as populated with Tim’s as southern Ontario, but we went weeks and weeks without seeing any out west-their TV commercials are misleading as they portray a Canada that is dotted and connected through a community of Tim Horton’s, who are ready to supply hungry and weary travelers with that dependable cuppa cawfee or tea, done just the way we like it.
C’mon Timmy-the rest of Canada is crying out for more, there are vast expanses where nary a one is to be seen--most disappointing.
I digress.
At one point we came across a couple of other riders who are usually the one’s who are up before the sun and practically in camp while I am still having my brekkie.
One of the Aussies spotted them in the distance, and like a greyhound after the rabbit took off like a shot, us all trying to hang on; I was two behind her and could see her little legs working like pistons to catch them-the game was on!
I had ‘flight of the bumble bee’ playing in my head as we were gaining on them-caught them, and passed them like a freight train, not before the one looked over with an excited grin on her face (genuinely excited for us, and excited to be passed by us-and shouted, “Oh EXCellent, FANtastic, have a great ride!!”
And on we went.
When we pulled into camp, we found the assorted crew hanging about, some playing horseshoes and others lazing under a tree, and no truck in sight.
We received a message from the camp office to say the truck had broken down and was waiting for service.
A few hours later the truck rolled in-with the driver looking rather sheepish as he’d locked the keys in the cab and had to wait two hours for a locksmith.
Galley crew was not happy as it meant a late start and cleaning up in the dark, as the sun is setting earlier and earlier now.
Dinner was good, but this time instead of way overestimating the amount to make, they underestimated as some people were still hungry afterwards and resorted to toasting bread on the stove.
It is really difficult to estimate the quantity to cook; there are so many variables: length of ride, wind factor (headwinds=hungrier people,) amount of services along the route, quality of services along the route, temperature, drafting factor, and so on.
A true mathematical equation for quantity would probably look something like this:
Quantity (grams)= (number of riders + length of ride/numbers drafting)+(temperature/wind speed) x (estimated number of services/quality of services (Tim’s VS dingy truck-stop)-(number of hills x % grade of said hills.)
As you can see it is a complicated set of cumulating factors that all contribute to the hunger of a cyclist, thus making the estimates for quantity of food nearly impossible to make-often its over, but that night it was under.
The ride into Ottawa was equally as pretty as the previous days, and we passed through many more little towns.
We are the modern day cowboys and cowgirls-we roll into town (literally) with a glint in our eye, sizing up the place, and people, but instead of guns in our holsters and saddle bags we have bananas and fruit bars--‘stop, or I’ll fruit you.’
We are staying at Carlton University, which has a modern residence, much nicer than the last one which is in serious need of a Debbie Travis type make-over.
Dalington to Carrying Place
Distance: 116km
Day 50 Perth Road Village
Carrying Place to Perth Road Village
Distance: 129 km
Day 51 Ottawa
Perth Road Village to Ottawa (rest day)
Distance: 135km
Our stay in Toronto was brief, but everything we wanted it to be; we were well taken care of, fed lots of good food, and got to spend some brief time with our family.
We also briefly went downtown which was a strange experience as I have not been around so many people in a long time; the largest city since Vancouver has been Regina, which, when we were there was either deserted, or they don’t have enough people there as there hardly seemed to be anyone on the streets.
Not like downtown TO, where my elbows are rusty from not having to push my way along the side-walks. (Ok, maybe not that bad, but TO is certainly not lacking the masses)
After all the lonely desolate towns we have come across along the way, which have given the impression to visitors that Canada is devoid of people one only needs to visit a city like Toronto to realize that 80% of the population are all crammed into the metropolis.
Anyhow, it was very odd still being ‘on the ride’ and visiting our Other World, it felt like we were straddling two worlds, with one foot in one, and another on the bike.
My folks drove us back to camp; we missed the leg of the ride from Alliston to Darlington (forcing us to give up our EFI (Every F***** Inch status for the ride,) as we wanted an extra day to hang out with the family.
When we got back to the group, they were still simmering over the fiasco of having our driver taken away; there is still much talk and deliberation of how to get her back.
The ride from Darlington to Carrying Place was one of the most relaxed and enjoyable-pace wise of the trip so far; for some reason everyone seemed to be in a very mellow mood-perhaps due to the relatively short distance, and due to the really pretty scenery, we all rode at a very leisurely pace.
This part of southern Ontario is so pretty, with all these quaint little towns and farms along the way; one almost expects to see blue and pink bows tied around the necks of cows-the farm landscape is so quintessentially picture-book, right down to the painted mailboxes and red barns.
We had a lot of fun riding with The Fun People; we broke our own rules of not riding two abreast, and at times were taking up the whole road (small country roads only!)
Lewis and I were on galley crew that night; we made hamburgers which were a real hit-finally, we are working our way up to gaining a good rep’ for our cooking-it was touch and go for a while.
Also, we are all behaving ourselves, as BP and I have been nothing but polite and nice to each other, and avoid any potentially explosive topics by limiting the conversation to food only (seems to work.)
The following day we rode with two of our fave’s, the Aussies, who are always good for some laughs-we had a good ride with them.
I think that they are also converts to Tim Horton’s now (didn’t take long) as it always seems to be a hit with cyclists (and motorists, bikers, walkers, etc) as we hit a couple along the way.
We are now more or less riding the ride that I had envisioned from the get-go - riding from one Tim’s to the next across Canada.
I had anticipated that the rest of Canada was as populated with Tim’s as southern Ontario, but we went weeks and weeks without seeing any out west-their TV commercials are misleading as they portray a Canada that is dotted and connected through a community of Tim Horton’s, who are ready to supply hungry and weary travelers with that dependable cuppa cawfee or tea, done just the way we like it.
C’mon Timmy-the rest of Canada is crying out for more, there are vast expanses where nary a one is to be seen--most disappointing.
I digress.
At one point we came across a couple of other riders who are usually the one’s who are up before the sun and practically in camp while I am still having my brekkie.
One of the Aussies spotted them in the distance, and like a greyhound after the rabbit took off like a shot, us all trying to hang on; I was two behind her and could see her little legs working like pistons to catch them-the game was on!
I had ‘flight of the bumble bee’ playing in my head as we were gaining on them-caught them, and passed them like a freight train, not before the one looked over with an excited grin on her face (genuinely excited for us, and excited to be passed by us-and shouted, “Oh EXCellent, FANtastic, have a great ride!!”
And on we went.
When we pulled into camp, we found the assorted crew hanging about, some playing horseshoes and others lazing under a tree, and no truck in sight.
We received a message from the camp office to say the truck had broken down and was waiting for service.
A few hours later the truck rolled in-with the driver looking rather sheepish as he’d locked the keys in the cab and had to wait two hours for a locksmith.
Galley crew was not happy as it meant a late start and cleaning up in the dark, as the sun is setting earlier and earlier now.
Dinner was good, but this time instead of way overestimating the amount to make, they underestimated as some people were still hungry afterwards and resorted to toasting bread on the stove.
It is really difficult to estimate the quantity to cook; there are so many variables: length of ride, wind factor (headwinds=hungrier people,) amount of services along the route, quality of services along the route, temperature, drafting factor, and so on.
A true mathematical equation for quantity would probably look something like this:
Quantity (grams)= (number of riders + length of ride/numbers drafting)+(temperature/wind speed) x (estimated number of services/quality of services (Tim’s VS dingy truck-stop)-(number of hills x % grade of said hills.)
As you can see it is a complicated set of cumulating factors that all contribute to the hunger of a cyclist, thus making the estimates for quantity of food nearly impossible to make-often its over, but that night it was under.
The ride into Ottawa was equally as pretty as the previous days, and we passed through many more little towns.
We are the modern day cowboys and cowgirls-we roll into town (literally) with a glint in our eye, sizing up the place, and people, but instead of guns in our holsters and saddle bags we have bananas and fruit bars--‘stop, or I’ll fruit you.’
We are staying at Carlton University, which has a modern residence, much nicer than the last one which is in serious need of a Debbie Travis type make-over.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Day 45 Owen Sound
Tobermory to Owen Sound
Distance 131 km
Day 46 Toronto (rest day)
Owen Sound to Alliston
Distance 160km
Since we’ve had seven days of riding, people are tired and have been anxiously awaiting the rest day in Alliston, ourselves included.
My folks are picking us up and will transport us back to civilization-we are really looking forward to seeing our family, and our cat, who probably doesn’t care whatsoever that we have been away, and will be visiting her (making a special trip as she is staying at Lewis’ cousin’s place.)
Someone got to lookin’ at a map of our destinations and figured out a way to shave about 40km off the ride yesterday; the new proposed route kept people on the highway and prevented them from seeing the gorgeous scenery leaving Tobermory.
I was tempted to take the short cut, but since we are bureaucratic masochists who must follow the rules in the pursuit of pain, we decided to take the regular route, and pulled into camp hours after everyone else, who were all sitting back, showered, relaxed with beer in hand.
It’s hard to argue how beautiful the scenery was to people who have kicked back and are half buzzed by the beer and sun.
The following day-the ride into Alliston was a long one at 166 km.
Again, everyone except for 5 people decided to take the regular route; since I knew my folks were picking us up, I couldn’t wait to get back to camp, so again was very tempted to take the short cut.
Again, my masochistic tendencies persuaded me to ride 166km instead of approximately 115km-I dragged myself away from the ‘fun people’ as I have come to call them, to go on my journey.
We were warned by the organizer on the map that the course was hilly; I was not prepared for the frequency and pitch of the hills (Beaver Valley which is part of the Niagara Escarpment.) I felt like we were reliving the Rockies and Northern Ontario all over again, my poor legs were crying out for mercy.
For the first 100 km or so it was nonstop hills, and I felt as if I did not have one more ounce of physical, emotional, or mental strength to get me through this ride; I think because I was so looking forward to the rest day, I just wanted to get the ride over with.
I had a little breakdown on the bike, moaning and groaning as I pedaled; hoping that doing so would somehow give me strength (it never seems to.)
Poor Lewis was also feeling beaten and had to listen to me whinge as well.
This aside, the scenery was pretty spectacular as we climbed to the top of the escarpment and were treated with terrific views of southern Ontario.
It’s too bad that people missed the beautiful country side, as it is very pretty up there, with charming little farm houses and old barns that dot the landscape.
Both Lewis and I hit our all time record for downhill speed on County Road 12 outside Honeytown; I hit 77km/hour and Lewis 79 km-what a rush!
We both had big grins on our faces after that descent, which temporarily wiped away any complaints I had about the ride.
We ended up shaving 10km off the ride by taking another road that had us descend for about 2-3 km on a spectacular road that let us down off the escarpment and onto flatter terrain-that too was thrilling.
Eventually we pulled into camp after what seemed like an eternity, and pulled in to find our group gathered around the organizer, who had dropped in to drop a bombshell-our beloved driver, our supplier of sustenance, support, maps, water, cake, ice cream, and most importantly-alcohol, had been removed from us, for reasons unknown to us.
We are left to speculate and have suspicions as to the reasons, but have not been told.
We are all very upset and angry about the trade, and when we left the group for Toronto everyone was still locked in a serious debate as to how we would remedy the situation.
We want our driver back!
Tobermory to Owen Sound
Distance 131 km
Day 46 Toronto (rest day)
Owen Sound to Alliston
Distance 160km
Since we’ve had seven days of riding, people are tired and have been anxiously awaiting the rest day in Alliston, ourselves included.
My folks are picking us up and will transport us back to civilization-we are really looking forward to seeing our family, and our cat, who probably doesn’t care whatsoever that we have been away, and will be visiting her (making a special trip as she is staying at Lewis’ cousin’s place.)
Someone got to lookin’ at a map of our destinations and figured out a way to shave about 40km off the ride yesterday; the new proposed route kept people on the highway and prevented them from seeing the gorgeous scenery leaving Tobermory.
I was tempted to take the short cut, but since we are bureaucratic masochists who must follow the rules in the pursuit of pain, we decided to take the regular route, and pulled into camp hours after everyone else, who were all sitting back, showered, relaxed with beer in hand.
It’s hard to argue how beautiful the scenery was to people who have kicked back and are half buzzed by the beer and sun.
The following day-the ride into Alliston was a long one at 166 km.
Again, everyone except for 5 people decided to take the regular route; since I knew my folks were picking us up, I couldn’t wait to get back to camp, so again was very tempted to take the short cut.
Again, my masochistic tendencies persuaded me to ride 166km instead of approximately 115km-I dragged myself away from the ‘fun people’ as I have come to call them, to go on my journey.
We were warned by the organizer on the map that the course was hilly; I was not prepared for the frequency and pitch of the hills (Beaver Valley which is part of the Niagara Escarpment.) I felt like we were reliving the Rockies and Northern Ontario all over again, my poor legs were crying out for mercy.
For the first 100 km or so it was nonstop hills, and I felt as if I did not have one more ounce of physical, emotional, or mental strength to get me through this ride; I think because I was so looking forward to the rest day, I just wanted to get the ride over with.
I had a little breakdown on the bike, moaning and groaning as I pedaled; hoping that doing so would somehow give me strength (it never seems to.)
Poor Lewis was also feeling beaten and had to listen to me whinge as well.
This aside, the scenery was pretty spectacular as we climbed to the top of the escarpment and were treated with terrific views of southern Ontario.
It’s too bad that people missed the beautiful country side, as it is very pretty up there, with charming little farm houses and old barns that dot the landscape.
Both Lewis and I hit our all time record for downhill speed on County Road 12 outside Honeytown; I hit 77km/hour and Lewis 79 km-what a rush!
We both had big grins on our faces after that descent, which temporarily wiped away any complaints I had about the ride.
We ended up shaving 10km off the ride by taking another road that had us descend for about 2-3 km on a spectacular road that let us down off the escarpment and onto flatter terrain-that too was thrilling.
Eventually we pulled into camp after what seemed like an eternity, and pulled in to find our group gathered around the organizer, who had dropped in to drop a bombshell-our beloved driver, our supplier of sustenance, support, maps, water, cake, ice cream, and most importantly-alcohol, had been removed from us, for reasons unknown to us.
We are left to speculate and have suspicions as to the reasons, but have not been told.
We are all very upset and angry about the trade, and when we left the group for Toronto everyone was still locked in a serious debate as to how we would remedy the situation.
We want our driver back!
Day 44-Tobermory, Ontario
Manitoulin Island to Tobermory (ferry crossing day)
Distance: 44 km
Temp: hot
Since we caught the ferry to Tobermory, our riding day was much shorter than usual.
We had to have all of our stuff on the truck by 7:00am, and be at the ferry dock by 8:40am, 35 km away, which wasn’t a problem (for some getting up early and having the stuff loaded was the problem, me included.)
Turns out that last night after the horse-shoers packed in their rowdy game, a bunch of teens decided to take up what sounded to be a very violent and loud game of tag.
We were all glad when one of them was wounded and started to cry, thus ending the game past 11pm.
Since Hedwig has declared war on us of late (over more than a week of his unwelcome and unwanted company) we struggled and battled our way over the relatively short distance to the ferry.
I am even more convinced of my earlier stated theory that Environment Canada runs a racket; they report that there are prevailing winds from the west to east, but for the past week, as mentioned we haven’t had any tailwinds.
I think that they figured that they don’t know what they’re doing, so rely on past years’ predictions, trying to establish a trend of something; I mean, I don’t know-how are these people employed with such a bad track record, surely there should be some accountability here?
Lewis and I spent the 1 hour and 50 minute ferry ride hand feeding Cheetos and french fries to sea gulls that were drafting in the wake of the ferry, it was lots of fun watching their aerial acrobatics as they twisted, turned and dove for those morsels of cheesy goodness.
The campsite we’re staying is no longer open to the public, so we’re pretty much alone here, except for a few people who have been coming here for years, our tour included.
The owner obviously doesn’t have the heart to tell everyone to bugger off.
It’s a great campsite however, even if it has that abandoned feel to it, as it’s amongst a forest, so we can hear the comforting sound of rustling leaves in the background.
For pics of the past 9 albums (if you are really interested and have time) see the following link, to see the other albums scroll down to 'browse all albums (9)' and hopefully it should work:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/Slideshow.jsp?mode=fromshare&Uc=w1ru7rm.7a4o9hku&Uy=4s3j7t&Ux=0
Manitoulin Island to Tobermory (ferry crossing day)
Distance: 44 km
Temp: hot
Since we caught the ferry to Tobermory, our riding day was much shorter than usual.
We had to have all of our stuff on the truck by 7:00am, and be at the ferry dock by 8:40am, 35 km away, which wasn’t a problem (for some getting up early and having the stuff loaded was the problem, me included.)
Turns out that last night after the horse-shoers packed in their rowdy game, a bunch of teens decided to take up what sounded to be a very violent and loud game of tag.
We were all glad when one of them was wounded and started to cry, thus ending the game past 11pm.
Since Hedwig has declared war on us of late (over more than a week of his unwelcome and unwanted company) we struggled and battled our way over the relatively short distance to the ferry.
I am even more convinced of my earlier stated theory that Environment Canada runs a racket; they report that there are prevailing winds from the west to east, but for the past week, as mentioned we haven’t had any tailwinds.
I think that they figured that they don’t know what they’re doing, so rely on past years’ predictions, trying to establish a trend of something; I mean, I don’t know-how are these people employed with such a bad track record, surely there should be some accountability here?
Lewis and I spent the 1 hour and 50 minute ferry ride hand feeding Cheetos and french fries to sea gulls that were drafting in the wake of the ferry, it was lots of fun watching their aerial acrobatics as they twisted, turned and dove for those morsels of cheesy goodness.
The campsite we’re staying is no longer open to the public, so we’re pretty much alone here, except for a few people who have been coming here for years, our tour included.
The owner obviously doesn’t have the heart to tell everyone to bugger off.
It’s a great campsite however, even if it has that abandoned feel to it, as it’s amongst a forest, so we can hear the comforting sound of rustling leaves in the background.
For pics of the past 9 albums (if you are really interested and have time) see the following link, to see the other albums scroll down to 'browse all albums (9)' and hopefully it should work:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/Slideshow.jsp?mode=fromshare&Uc=w1ru7rm.7a4o9hku&Uy=4s3j7t&Ux=0
Day 43-Manitowaning, Ontario
Massey to Manitowaning, Manitoulin Island
Distance: 111 km
Temp: 26 degrees
Thankfully our galley crew breakfast was successful, both in reviews and in our compatibility-we were all pleasantly surprised and happy to begin the day without drama.
BP and I seemed to have moved on from our last spat and have managed to find a common ground-I am very impressed with our grown-up behaviour and ability to get along.
We started the ride on a country road, which although gravelly, was relatively traffic-free.
After stopping at Tim’s for a tea we set out onto a much hillier and busier route; the first half of the ride again being terrifying due to the complete lack of shoulder, and aggressive holiday traffic.
A couple of people pulled into camp in near tears due to the traffic, as one rider was very nearly hit in a similar situation that we faced yesterday with an overtaking car coming from the other direction.
At dinner we have all been sitting around and plotting ploys for revenge on malicious drivers.
As we were riding to Manitoulin Island, the terrain very quickly changed-we could see one of our favorite haunts, Killarney in the background.
The campground we’re staying in is another great one; as we’re on an island, we’re staying beside the water in a very pretty setting.
I was chatting with the owners and we were exchanging frightening animal stories (always a favorite campsite pastime)-they won as they showed me some pictures of a guy who had been mauled by a polar bear (he survived, bear lost, but not before performing what looked like crude surgery on the guy as he was missing parts and things just did not look at all right in the pictures.)
I felt quite queasy after seeing them (e-mail me if you wan to see them!) and wandered away from them, back to my tent where I made sure I checked for polar bears before going to bed. (I didn’t see any.)
Unfortunately we have a very rowdy group of people having a ‘horse-shoe throwing’ competition right beside our campsite.
It looks like a really boring game, but they seem to be having a blast tossing these things to and fro, as they cheer whenever one lands it seems.
Since we’re catching the ferry very early tomorrow morning for Tobermory, we all need to get to bed early.
I hope they pack it in early as I think the horses need their shoes back.
Massey to Manitowaning, Manitoulin Island
Distance: 111 km
Temp: 26 degrees
Thankfully our galley crew breakfast was successful, both in reviews and in our compatibility-we were all pleasantly surprised and happy to begin the day without drama.
BP and I seemed to have moved on from our last spat and have managed to find a common ground-I am very impressed with our grown-up behaviour and ability to get along.
We started the ride on a country road, which although gravelly, was relatively traffic-free.
After stopping at Tim’s for a tea we set out onto a much hillier and busier route; the first half of the ride again being terrifying due to the complete lack of shoulder, and aggressive holiday traffic.
A couple of people pulled into camp in near tears due to the traffic, as one rider was very nearly hit in a similar situation that we faced yesterday with an overtaking car coming from the other direction.
At dinner we have all been sitting around and plotting ploys for revenge on malicious drivers.
As we were riding to Manitoulin Island, the terrain very quickly changed-we could see one of our favorite haunts, Killarney in the background.
The campground we’re staying in is another great one; as we’re on an island, we’re staying beside the water in a very pretty setting.
I was chatting with the owners and we were exchanging frightening animal stories (always a favorite campsite pastime)-they won as they showed me some pictures of a guy who had been mauled by a polar bear (he survived, bear lost, but not before performing what looked like crude surgery on the guy as he was missing parts and things just did not look at all right in the pictures.)
I felt quite queasy after seeing them (e-mail me if you wan to see them!) and wandered away from them, back to my tent where I made sure I checked for polar bears before going to bed. (I didn’t see any.)
Unfortunately we have a very rowdy group of people having a ‘horse-shoe throwing’ competition right beside our campsite.
It looks like a really boring game, but they seem to be having a blast tossing these things to and fro, as they cheer whenever one lands it seems.
Since we’re catching the ferry very early tomorrow morning for Tobermory, we all need to get to bed early.
I hope they pack it in early as I think the horses need their shoes back.
Saturday, August 5, 2006
Day 42-Massey, Ontario
Thessalon to Massey
Distance: 130 km
Temp: 26 degrees
So far today’s ride was one of the worst so far; the traffic was horrendous, probably owing to it being a long weekend, but not helping matters was the absence or decayed state of the shoulders (6 inches if we were lucky.)
I have never been more terrified on the bike as I was today, pulling into camp a twisted knot of spent adrenaline and nerves.
The worst moment was when we had a massive SUV overtaking a truck, coming in the other direction, so at the point they passed us we had a tractor-trailer, an SUV, and ourselves sharing a very small road.
This SUV must have been going over 140km/hour trying to pass this truck-so having a heaving mass of metal bulleting towards you at such high speeds gets the heart rate near the red line.
At the last minute we decided to ditch the road, and jump onto the gravel shoulder, forcing us off our bikes.
We were jumping up and down and giving the one-finger-salute we were so mad!
Lewis swore he saw the person in the SUV smiling as they went by.
I just can’t believe the stupidity of these people, obviously they don’t give a crap about us, but you’d think they would figure out how much it would ruin their day if they were to take us out.
The trucks were also especially bad today; every time one went by I found myself gritting my teeth, holding my breath and white knuckling my handlebars---I found I was running out of breath after a while.
A guy was killed on August 31st just a few days ago on the same roads that we’re on now-Highway 17-he wasn’t from our tour, but was near the end of his own ride across Canada-not very encouraging news for us.
We’re all feeling a little shell-shocked and strung out by the traffic and just want this part of the ride to be over.
In other news, we made it through a dinner galley crew without drama!
We still have tomorrow morning to get through but so far so good-perhaps there is even hope for us-the drama team!
I think the rest of the group was slightly disappointed that there wasn’t any night time entertainment.
I forgot to mention that we passed through White River the other day, home of the real Winnie the Pooh!
Thessalon to Massey
Distance: 130 km
Temp: 26 degrees
So far today’s ride was one of the worst so far; the traffic was horrendous, probably owing to it being a long weekend, but not helping matters was the absence or decayed state of the shoulders (6 inches if we were lucky.)
I have never been more terrified on the bike as I was today, pulling into camp a twisted knot of spent adrenaline and nerves.
The worst moment was when we had a massive SUV overtaking a truck, coming in the other direction, so at the point they passed us we had a tractor-trailer, an SUV, and ourselves sharing a very small road.
This SUV must have been going over 140km/hour trying to pass this truck-so having a heaving mass of metal bulleting towards you at such high speeds gets the heart rate near the red line.
At the last minute we decided to ditch the road, and jump onto the gravel shoulder, forcing us off our bikes.
We were jumping up and down and giving the one-finger-salute we were so mad!
Lewis swore he saw the person in the SUV smiling as they went by.
I just can’t believe the stupidity of these people, obviously they don’t give a crap about us, but you’d think they would figure out how much it would ruin their day if they were to take us out.
The trucks were also especially bad today; every time one went by I found myself gritting my teeth, holding my breath and white knuckling my handlebars---I found I was running out of breath after a while.
A guy was killed on August 31st just a few days ago on the same roads that we’re on now-Highway 17-he wasn’t from our tour, but was near the end of his own ride across Canada-not very encouraging news for us.
We’re all feeling a little shell-shocked and strung out by the traffic and just want this part of the ride to be over.
In other news, we made it through a dinner galley crew without drama!
We still have tomorrow morning to get through but so far so good-perhaps there is even hope for us-the drama team!
I think the rest of the group was slightly disappointed that there wasn’t any night time entertainment.
I forgot to mention that we passed through White River the other day, home of the real Winnie the Pooh!
Day 41-Thessalon, Ontario
Pancake Bay Provincial Park to Thessalon
Distance: 162 km
Temp: hot
Another hundred-miler today-the hills weren’t as bad as the past few days as we are now out of the Canadian Shield, which is responsible for most of The Big Hills.
We had one really steep and long hill heading into Sault St. Marie (The Soo) which had my muscles gasping for air, reminding me of little baby birds, mouths agape, screaming for food.
We stopped off in the Soo for a free coffee, offered by ‘JJ’ who had done the ‘Tour D’Afrique’ last year; some riders met him at a coffee shop yesterday and they got to chattin’ about his adventure, and ours.
He owns a hotel in town, and obviously felt some camaraderie with us, and offered us the beverage, to which we all gladly agreed.
Afterwards we set out through some of the streets of the town; it’s quite a pretty town.
The ride today was a mix of undulating hills, treed terrain, and open fields-the area is becoming noticeably more populated, as the areas we’ve come from have been quite desolate and sparse.
Overall so far the roads in Ontario have been the worst; today there was often no shoulder, or the tiny shoulder that existed was so cracked and worn they were unrideable, forcing us onto the road with the trucks.
I am not usually a nervous rider in traffic, but these trucks are doing my head in; a couple of times I had to put my breaks on, and ‘white knuckle it’ while they almost brushed up against us-especially when one is passing at the same time in the opposite direction, leaving no room whatsoever for mistakes.
The worst kinds of trucks to pass are the live-stock trucks-I hate that more than anything for a couple of reasons: I hate seeing the pink little noses and ears poking through the slats, and also the smell.
Even worse is when it’s raining, and we get splashed with the guck of pig’s bums and all that-blech!
As a result of seeing these sweet little pink noses sticking out, Lewis has decided that he will no longer eat pork (I don’t eat it either, I used to out of pseudo religious reasons, but now because I also hate seeing them on the trucks.)
Lewis has declared that once he gets home he will cease pork-consumption; in the meantime before we get home, I think he is on a mission to eat an entire pig.
One of the Aussies reported that she had really good ‘Peabody’ bacon the other day (they don’t get Peameal in Australia.)
We all thought it was really cute.
Tonight’s campsite is one of the best so far, not so much because of the facilities, but because of the scenery; we’re on Lake Huron, staying pretty much on the beach-after dinner we sat around a fire and listened to one of our talented musicians strum a few ditties on his gee-tar.
It really was the quintessential camping experience, sitting on a beach at dusk, watching the moon rise, while listening to some good tunes.
Lewis and I set up our tent in what we thought was the perfect spot; we had a gorgeous view of the beach and water, and were sitting in our chairs enjoying the view.
Wouldn’t you know that a couple on the tour came and set up their tent right in front of ours, blocking our view!
I asked if they wouldn’t mind moving their tent over so as to not obstruct our view, but they chose this moment to pretend to not to clearly understand me, as they are French speaking.
It seems their grasp of the English language comes and goes at the most opportunistic of times!
But privacy amongst campers does not exists as we all seem to pretty much set our tents right on top of each other (more so in bear country,) I have offered one guy the chance to set up his tent inside ours, as he seems to like being so close to us-I can’t figure out why though, as I think I know who the ‘phantom-pharter’ is, and suspect he is in my tent!
Pancake Bay Provincial Park to Thessalon
Distance: 162 km
Temp: hot
Another hundred-miler today-the hills weren’t as bad as the past few days as we are now out of the Canadian Shield, which is responsible for most of The Big Hills.
We had one really steep and long hill heading into Sault St. Marie (The Soo) which had my muscles gasping for air, reminding me of little baby birds, mouths agape, screaming for food.
We stopped off in the Soo for a free coffee, offered by ‘JJ’ who had done the ‘Tour D’Afrique’ last year; some riders met him at a coffee shop yesterday and they got to chattin’ about his adventure, and ours.
He owns a hotel in town, and obviously felt some camaraderie with us, and offered us the beverage, to which we all gladly agreed.
Afterwards we set out through some of the streets of the town; it’s quite a pretty town.
The ride today was a mix of undulating hills, treed terrain, and open fields-the area is becoming noticeably more populated, as the areas we’ve come from have been quite desolate and sparse.
Overall so far the roads in Ontario have been the worst; today there was often no shoulder, or the tiny shoulder that existed was so cracked and worn they were unrideable, forcing us onto the road with the trucks.
I am not usually a nervous rider in traffic, but these trucks are doing my head in; a couple of times I had to put my breaks on, and ‘white knuckle it’ while they almost brushed up against us-especially when one is passing at the same time in the opposite direction, leaving no room whatsoever for mistakes.
The worst kinds of trucks to pass are the live-stock trucks-I hate that more than anything for a couple of reasons: I hate seeing the pink little noses and ears poking through the slats, and also the smell.
Even worse is when it’s raining, and we get splashed with the guck of pig’s bums and all that-blech!
As a result of seeing these sweet little pink noses sticking out, Lewis has decided that he will no longer eat pork (I don’t eat it either, I used to out of pseudo religious reasons, but now because I also hate seeing them on the trucks.)
Lewis has declared that once he gets home he will cease pork-consumption; in the meantime before we get home, I think he is on a mission to eat an entire pig.
One of the Aussies reported that she had really good ‘Peabody’ bacon the other day (they don’t get Peameal in Australia.)
We all thought it was really cute.
Tonight’s campsite is one of the best so far, not so much because of the facilities, but because of the scenery; we’re on Lake Huron, staying pretty much on the beach-after dinner we sat around a fire and listened to one of our talented musicians strum a few ditties on his gee-tar.
It really was the quintessential camping experience, sitting on a beach at dusk, watching the moon rise, while listening to some good tunes.
Lewis and I set up our tent in what we thought was the perfect spot; we had a gorgeous view of the beach and water, and were sitting in our chairs enjoying the view.
Wouldn’t you know that a couple on the tour came and set up their tent right in front of ours, blocking our view!
I asked if they wouldn’t mind moving their tent over so as to not obstruct our view, but they chose this moment to pretend to not to clearly understand me, as they are French speaking.
It seems their grasp of the English language comes and goes at the most opportunistic of times!
But privacy amongst campers does not exists as we all seem to pretty much set our tents right on top of each other (more so in bear country,) I have offered one guy the chance to set up his tent inside ours, as he seems to like being so close to us-I can’t figure out why though, as I think I know who the ‘phantom-pharter’ is, and suspect he is in my tent!
Day 40-Pancake Bay, Ontario
Wawa to Pancake Bay Provincial Park
Distance: 163 km
Temp: mild and overcast/rainy
We set out late this morning as we’d stayed in a motel overnight and had to get back to the campsite to take down our tent since we’d set it up anyhow, in case we decided to go back to camp the night before the ride (we decided against it.)
Since we got to camp late, we missed breakfast so ended up eating at a truck-stop with really bad service, putting us even later into the morning.
We were on the road shortly after 10am; hours after the rest of the group had set out.
As mentioned previously, some kilometers come easily, and tick by relatively quickly, and other times it feels as if you have to fight for every one-today was one of those days.
It seemed like the whole ride was uphill (much of it was, at 1220 meters of climbing ) but adding Hedwig to the mix turned the ride into one of the most challenging so far; with all elements conspiring against us, I felt like throwing either myself, the bike, or both over a cliff-mentally I just could not wrap my head around this one.
Even though we have passed the half way point, there is still a huge amount of distance to cover; I try not to think about that too much, as I cannot quite digest it, but one comes up with other ways to break the ride down, like day by day.
However some days, like today seem like an eternity; there are a few different mind games at play to get one through; if it’s a ride in distance around 140km, then after the first 40k, it’s ‘just another hundred to go,’ or conversely, after 100, then just 40 to go, both work quite well.
If it’s a ride like today, around 160km, thinking ‘only 60 to go, then 100’ doesn’t quite work as well, or conversely, 100 done and only 60 to go also doesn’t sound so encouraging, so one has to come up with other inventive ways to get through the tough ride.
Whining and moaning seems to occupy some time, but that has an expiration date as Lewis will only listen to so much, so then I have to internalize it, which isn’t as fun somehow.
One interesting thing that we have been observing along the way are discarded bottles along the side of the road; at first we couldn’t figure out what they were and why they had been scattered along the side of the road; they are the smaller plastic pop bottles with a liquid inside that is clearly not the original pop.
The color of the liquid varies-but is generally an ice-tea color.
Finally, to our horror, we deduced what the contents of the bottles are: pee.
Whose pee?
Truckers’ pee.
The lazy bastards can’t seem to get it together like the rest of us to pee outside, or in a bathroom-ok, so they are on a tight schedule, McDonald’s needs their egg McMuffins, but can’t these people at least hang onto the bottles instead of flinging them out the window for others to come across?
Since my other mind games weren’t working today, I had time to think about this one: these pop bottles are small, how do they aim properly into the bottles while operating a multi-ton truck and not get pee all over themselves?
Perhaps this will explain why some of them seem to swerve in towards us-are they trying to aim their unit into the tiny bottle opening?
Seems plausible.
Or conversely, the numbers of bottles we see are numerous, but are not proportionate to the number of trucks that pass us; in fact the number of bottles seems somewhat proportionate to the number of psychotic drivers who try to scare us/run us off the road.
Could it be that the type of person who pees into a bottle and chucks it out the window is the type of person to try to terrorize us?
Very possible.
Another possible theory: often men’s level of self confidence is tied into the size of their genitalia; could it be possible, that since presumably some of the men can aim their peckers into these pop bottles, they must have small ones’, which, according to the popular theory of small pecker=low self esteem, then these small-peckered men who can fit it into the pop bottles have low self esteem and low confidence, and must thus make up for it in some way, like picking on those who are smaller than them (why do they want to drive such massive trucks, obviously trying to make up for something lacking?) so the most obvious target, are cyclists.
Just a theory.
Another observation is the extremely disturbing find of dirty diapers also tossed from cars-yech; what is wrong with these people that they somehow justify tossing their crappy nappies into the wilderness for others to come across:
”Oh look honey! Another diaper full of crap! How sweet-and look how healthy this child is, getting a diet of corn.”
I think there is some correlation between people who travel long distances and having a low chromosome count-I mean really, what up with all that?
Wawa to Pancake Bay Provincial Park
Distance: 163 km
Temp: mild and overcast/rainy
We set out late this morning as we’d stayed in a motel overnight and had to get back to the campsite to take down our tent since we’d set it up anyhow, in case we decided to go back to camp the night before the ride (we decided against it.)
Since we got to camp late, we missed breakfast so ended up eating at a truck-stop with really bad service, putting us even later into the morning.
We were on the road shortly after 10am; hours after the rest of the group had set out.
As mentioned previously, some kilometers come easily, and tick by relatively quickly, and other times it feels as if you have to fight for every one-today was one of those days.
It seemed like the whole ride was uphill (much of it was, at 1220 meters of climbing ) but adding Hedwig to the mix turned the ride into one of the most challenging so far; with all elements conspiring against us, I felt like throwing either myself, the bike, or both over a cliff-mentally I just could not wrap my head around this one.
Even though we have passed the half way point, there is still a huge amount of distance to cover; I try not to think about that too much, as I cannot quite digest it, but one comes up with other ways to break the ride down, like day by day.
However some days, like today seem like an eternity; there are a few different mind games at play to get one through; if it’s a ride in distance around 140km, then after the first 40k, it’s ‘just another hundred to go,’ or conversely, after 100, then just 40 to go, both work quite well.
If it’s a ride like today, around 160km, thinking ‘only 60 to go, then 100’ doesn’t quite work as well, or conversely, 100 done and only 60 to go also doesn’t sound so encouraging, so one has to come up with other inventive ways to get through the tough ride.
Whining and moaning seems to occupy some time, but that has an expiration date as Lewis will only listen to so much, so then I have to internalize it, which isn’t as fun somehow.
One interesting thing that we have been observing along the way are discarded bottles along the side of the road; at first we couldn’t figure out what they were and why they had been scattered along the side of the road; they are the smaller plastic pop bottles with a liquid inside that is clearly not the original pop.
The color of the liquid varies-but is generally an ice-tea color.
Finally, to our horror, we deduced what the contents of the bottles are: pee.
Whose pee?
Truckers’ pee.
The lazy bastards can’t seem to get it together like the rest of us to pee outside, or in a bathroom-ok, so they are on a tight schedule, McDonald’s needs their egg McMuffins, but can’t these people at least hang onto the bottles instead of flinging them out the window for others to come across?
Since my other mind games weren’t working today, I had time to think about this one: these pop bottles are small, how do they aim properly into the bottles while operating a multi-ton truck and not get pee all over themselves?
Perhaps this will explain why some of them seem to swerve in towards us-are they trying to aim their unit into the tiny bottle opening?
Seems plausible.
Or conversely, the numbers of bottles we see are numerous, but are not proportionate to the number of trucks that pass us; in fact the number of bottles seems somewhat proportionate to the number of psychotic drivers who try to scare us/run us off the road.
Could it be that the type of person who pees into a bottle and chucks it out the window is the type of person to try to terrorize us?
Very possible.
Another possible theory: often men’s level of self confidence is tied into the size of their genitalia; could it be possible, that since presumably some of the men can aim their peckers into these pop bottles, they must have small ones’, which, according to the popular theory of small pecker=low self esteem, then these small-peckered men who can fit it into the pop bottles have low self esteem and low confidence, and must thus make up for it in some way, like picking on those who are smaller than them (why do they want to drive such massive trucks, obviously trying to make up for something lacking?) so the most obvious target, are cyclists.
Just a theory.
Another observation is the extremely disturbing find of dirty diapers also tossed from cars-yech; what is wrong with these people that they somehow justify tossing their crappy nappies into the wilderness for others to come across:
”Oh look honey! Another diaper full of crap! How sweet-and look how healthy this child is, getting a diet of corn.”
I think there is some correlation between people who travel long distances and having a low chromosome count-I mean really, what up with all that?
Tuesday, August 1, 2006
Day 38-Wawa, Ontario
White Lake Provincial Park to Wawa
Distance: 129km
Temp: 27 and raining
I was woken up at about 4:30 am by the distant rumblings of thunder and the light pitter-pat of rain on our tent.
I drifted in and out of sleep as the thunder continued to build until there was an ear splitting crash, followed by our tent lighting up completely by the lightning that then continued to flicker on and off for the next while.
The skies let lose and the rest of the night and morning we got hammered by the rain.
We tried prolonging getting up in the hopes that the rain would let up, but no such luck.
I’d left my shoes outside the tent, and got a rude wake up when I stepped into soggy, wet sandals, and squelched my way over to breakfast, where I had a soggy egg on bread (only because I stepped out into the rain from underneath the half-tarp.)
Since we were straggling, again we were one of the last to leave (as always.)
The rain did seem to let up enough by the time breakfast was over to trick us into thinking that it had exhausted itself onto our tents during that night, and had nothing more to give; boy, were we wrong.
No sooner had we left the camp grounds and were onto the road, did the skies let lose again, soaking us through within minutes (or me, as I had only brought my wind breaker, thinking I didn’t need my rain jacket.)
Before we left for the trip, Lewis and I did a big spring clean and got rid of a bunch of stuff; we had two piles, one for Goodwill, and one for The Trip.
Unfortunately some of our cycling stuff mistakenly made it into the Goodwill pile, namely our rain booties; we spent a good chunk of our time while in Victoria searching for booties-not easy to find in summer time.
We hadn’t needed them thus far, until yesterday morning, where they stayed nice and dry in our bag, on the truck.
I cursed as we trudged through the torrential rains that belted us as we made our way along; it rained heavily for the first 40km until we reached the air conditioned coffee shop, where we sat and froze while having coffee.
I created puddles big enough for ducks when I wrung out my socks.
Although the rain let up, I was still soaked, and squelched my way to our next destination, 130km from where we started-yuck.
I had started the day feeling really sluggish from our ride the previous day, which had really taken any umph out of our legs, but mid way through the ride we stopped for a peanut butter, cheese and jam sandwich, which must have been laced with speed, as Lewis and I rocketed back to camp, over the remaining 40km, passing most of the other riders.
I felt badly passing them (I always do!) and apologetically made it into camp only after a couple of others who had left in the early morning, through rain and all.
Since the skies were grey, and our feet wet, we decided to treat ourselves to a motel, also contributing to this easy- to-make decision was the fact that we were put miles away from town on our rest day, again, putting everyone into a really grumpy mood, as it means having to either bike into town (a no-no on a rest day,) or having to cab back and forth.
There is only one cab (not company, one vehicle) making this a difficult exercise to coordinate when 27 people all want to go into town at different times.
We removed ourselves from this equation and just put ourselves into town-much easier this way, plus having a warm, spider-free bed with a bathroom a few steps away is pure dreamy luxury-what more could one possibly want from life?
This trip certainly puts things into perspective.
Some camp sites we are so far from the bathrooms most of us end up riding our bikes over, or just going in the bushes.
One of the women on the tour used to live and work in Wawa, in the hospital.
She must have made quite an impression as all the nurses banded together and made a potluck for us; it was quite the feast.
Once again, we are so taken aback by the kindness of strangers-some of these people even made two dishes!
We all gripe and moan about having to cook galley duty for ourselves, and here are complete strangers cooking for us-definitely restores the yang to the yin of humanity to offset the bad vibes we get from the truckers, some of whom try to run us off the road.
Most truckers are good and when they can, will give us some room when passing. Some, even when there is no other traffic coming from the other direction, will come as close to us as possible-what they don’t (or possibly do) realize is when they come so close to us there is a draft which sucks us towards them as they pass.
They are literally inches away from us when they pass so close.
As mentioned most are pretty considerate, but there are a few who must be psychotic, as one tried to run a couple of fellow riders off the road the other day, and scared one of them so much, that she got onto the gravel side and stopped her bike every time one went by for the rest of the day.
We have all had run-ins with them; often we’ll get back to camp and compare notes and realize that often it has been the same trucker who has tried to run us off the road that day.
One can only wonder what is going on inside the heads of these people, if anything-do they think that we are not people on the bikes?
For pics see:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/Slideshow.jsp?mode=fromshare&Uc=w1ru7rm.1y15x25a&Uy=ca94vv&Ux=0
White Lake Provincial Park to Wawa
Distance: 129km
Temp: 27 and raining
I was woken up at about 4:30 am by the distant rumblings of thunder and the light pitter-pat of rain on our tent.
I drifted in and out of sleep as the thunder continued to build until there was an ear splitting crash, followed by our tent lighting up completely by the lightning that then continued to flicker on and off for the next while.
The skies let lose and the rest of the night and morning we got hammered by the rain.
We tried prolonging getting up in the hopes that the rain would let up, but no such luck.
I’d left my shoes outside the tent, and got a rude wake up when I stepped into soggy, wet sandals, and squelched my way over to breakfast, where I had a soggy egg on bread (only because I stepped out into the rain from underneath the half-tarp.)
Since we were straggling, again we were one of the last to leave (as always.)
The rain did seem to let up enough by the time breakfast was over to trick us into thinking that it had exhausted itself onto our tents during that night, and had nothing more to give; boy, were we wrong.
No sooner had we left the camp grounds and were onto the road, did the skies let lose again, soaking us through within minutes (or me, as I had only brought my wind breaker, thinking I didn’t need my rain jacket.)
Before we left for the trip, Lewis and I did a big spring clean and got rid of a bunch of stuff; we had two piles, one for Goodwill, and one for The Trip.
Unfortunately some of our cycling stuff mistakenly made it into the Goodwill pile, namely our rain booties; we spent a good chunk of our time while in Victoria searching for booties-not easy to find in summer time.
We hadn’t needed them thus far, until yesterday morning, where they stayed nice and dry in our bag, on the truck.
I cursed as we trudged through the torrential rains that belted us as we made our way along; it rained heavily for the first 40km until we reached the air conditioned coffee shop, where we sat and froze while having coffee.
I created puddles big enough for ducks when I wrung out my socks.
Although the rain let up, I was still soaked, and squelched my way to our next destination, 130km from where we started-yuck.
I had started the day feeling really sluggish from our ride the previous day, which had really taken any umph out of our legs, but mid way through the ride we stopped for a peanut butter, cheese and jam sandwich, which must have been laced with speed, as Lewis and I rocketed back to camp, over the remaining 40km, passing most of the other riders.
I felt badly passing them (I always do!) and apologetically made it into camp only after a couple of others who had left in the early morning, through rain and all.
Since the skies were grey, and our feet wet, we decided to treat ourselves to a motel, also contributing to this easy- to-make decision was the fact that we were put miles away from town on our rest day, again, putting everyone into a really grumpy mood, as it means having to either bike into town (a no-no on a rest day,) or having to cab back and forth.
There is only one cab (not company, one vehicle) making this a difficult exercise to coordinate when 27 people all want to go into town at different times.
We removed ourselves from this equation and just put ourselves into town-much easier this way, plus having a warm, spider-free bed with a bathroom a few steps away is pure dreamy luxury-what more could one possibly want from life?
This trip certainly puts things into perspective.
Some camp sites we are so far from the bathrooms most of us end up riding our bikes over, or just going in the bushes.
One of the women on the tour used to live and work in Wawa, in the hospital.
She must have made quite an impression as all the nurses banded together and made a potluck for us; it was quite the feast.
Once again, we are so taken aback by the kindness of strangers-some of these people even made two dishes!
We all gripe and moan about having to cook galley duty for ourselves, and here are complete strangers cooking for us-definitely restores the yang to the yin of humanity to offset the bad vibes we get from the truckers, some of whom try to run us off the road.
Most truckers are good and when they can, will give us some room when passing. Some, even when there is no other traffic coming from the other direction, will come as close to us as possible-what they don’t (or possibly do) realize is when they come so close to us there is a draft which sucks us towards them as they pass.
They are literally inches away from us when they pass so close.
As mentioned most are pretty considerate, but there are a few who must be psychotic, as one tried to run a couple of fellow riders off the road the other day, and scared one of them so much, that she got onto the gravel side and stopped her bike every time one went by for the rest of the day.
We have all had run-ins with them; often we’ll get back to camp and compare notes and realize that often it has been the same trucker who has tried to run us off the road that day.
One can only wonder what is going on inside the heads of these people, if anything-do they think that we are not people on the bikes?
For pics see:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/Slideshow.jsp?mode=fromshare&Uc=w1ru7rm.1y15x25a&Uy=ca94vv&Ux=0
Day 37-White Lake Provincial Park
Terrace Bay to White Lake Provincial Park
Distance: 153km
Temp: 33 degrees
Half way!
Today Megan met us at the half way point on our ride, to celebrate the half way mark of our tour- 3 759km, and 3 759 km to go!
We had a nice lunch while overlooking Lake Superior; we thought it such a civilized way to do the ride and suggested that she meet us every day at the half way point (no such luck.)
There is a group called Bikes For Bibles who are traversing the country at the same time as us; we’ve crossed paths a couple of times (either they clean out all the ice cream and pie at the stops, or we do-whoever gets there first.)
But they have volunteers who cook for them the whole way, and supply lunch along the way as well.
A few of us have considered converting just for the food-I’d say it’d be worth it.
We notice that some strangers are especially nice to us-like overly nice, and we finally figured out that we were being mistaken for the Bible Bikers-but we didn’t have the heart to tell them otherwise, and basked in their pious glow.
Today’s ride was probably one of the toughest rides of the tour so far, as those northern Ontario hills that we have been threatened with showed up with a vengeance; as we climbed over 1, 400 meters today.
The worst (or best depending on how you feel about hills) came early in the ride-it was so steep I thought my bike might topple over backwards-every fiber of my body was screeching for oxygen, and I had no more to give.
For the first 80km it was just hill after endless hill, and each one seemed steeper and longer than the next.
By the time we got to the lunch stop at the half way point in Marathon (town motto: “Superior in the Long Run”, get it?) we were all so pooched and wanted to camp right there for the night.
It was all I could muster to get back on the bike and continue on.
Shortly after leaving from the lunch stop we saw a black bear and her cub.
Lewis got to see my theory proven, that bears are like spiders and are more afraid of us than we are of them, as it started to turn to leave.
We got to spend a couple of minutes staring at them before they thought better of it and made their way into the bush.
Tonight the Aussies and their crew prepared another great meal for dinner-they are definitely winning in the meals department.
Terrace Bay to White Lake Provincial Park
Distance: 153km
Temp: 33 degrees
Half way!
Today Megan met us at the half way point on our ride, to celebrate the half way mark of our tour- 3 759km, and 3 759 km to go!
We had a nice lunch while overlooking Lake Superior; we thought it such a civilized way to do the ride and suggested that she meet us every day at the half way point (no such luck.)
There is a group called Bikes For Bibles who are traversing the country at the same time as us; we’ve crossed paths a couple of times (either they clean out all the ice cream and pie at the stops, or we do-whoever gets there first.)
But they have volunteers who cook for them the whole way, and supply lunch along the way as well.
A few of us have considered converting just for the food-I’d say it’d be worth it.
We notice that some strangers are especially nice to us-like overly nice, and we finally figured out that we were being mistaken for the Bible Bikers-but we didn’t have the heart to tell them otherwise, and basked in their pious glow.
Today’s ride was probably one of the toughest rides of the tour so far, as those northern Ontario hills that we have been threatened with showed up with a vengeance; as we climbed over 1, 400 meters today.
The worst (or best depending on how you feel about hills) came early in the ride-it was so steep I thought my bike might topple over backwards-every fiber of my body was screeching for oxygen, and I had no more to give.
For the first 80km it was just hill after endless hill, and each one seemed steeper and longer than the next.
By the time we got to the lunch stop at the half way point in Marathon (town motto: “Superior in the Long Run”, get it?) we were all so pooched and wanted to camp right there for the night.
It was all I could muster to get back on the bike and continue on.
Shortly after leaving from the lunch stop we saw a black bear and her cub.
Lewis got to see my theory proven, that bears are like spiders and are more afraid of us than we are of them, as it started to turn to leave.
We got to spend a couple of minutes staring at them before they thought better of it and made their way into the bush.
Tonight the Aussies and their crew prepared another great meal for dinner-they are definitely winning in the meals department.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Day 36-Terrace Bay
Nipigon to Terrace Bay, Ontario
Distance: 108km
Temp: cold!
Today’s ride finally delivered on the promise of the hills-we climbed 1030 meters today; the hills ranged in distance from 2 to 5 km, but there was one section after lunch, and on the last 40 km that was on a more or less incline for approximately 12 km-it just kept going and going-legs were heavily objecting by the end of it.
To compensate for the challenging terrain, the scenery was pretty spectacular as the hills seemingly lifted us into the clouds, and had us at such heights that we had incredible views of Lake Superior and the surrounding areas-this is definitely postcard country.
Of late my bike has started to make very curious noises; I took it into to see Bike Guru in Thunder Bay, and had my bottom bracket changed, however the groaning noises have stopped but now it’s squeaking.
As there were often no other noises to hear beside the wind in our ears, and the squeak of my bike, the mind starts to do odd things, like interpret the squeaks for songs; Lewis heard La Bamba, and I heard ‘Pop Goes the Weasel.’
Today was not only a big hill day, but also a big eating day; we stopped at a roadside restaurant and had a homemade piece of rhubarb-strawberry pie-it was heavenly.
40 km later we stopped in Rossport, an ex-fishing village which sits in a little natural harbor on the lake and had lunch at a restaurant looking over the lake; the food was pretty good, but the views were better.
Following lunch was the 12 km climb, giving us the opportunity to work for our lunch.
We got into camp at a decent time, giving us the chance to check out some local waterfalls that are used for a hydro station or something like that.
Apparently we’re back in bear country; a few people saw one yesterday, and some have been sighted in the past few camps we’ve stayed at.
Last night Lewis had a restless sleep, as he was on semi-bear watch.
At one point he shot up out of his sleeping bag, convinced that one was lurking outside our tent, waiting for a juicy arm or leg to come out of the tent.
As it turns out it was our neighbor going to the bathroom.
Personally I think these bears are like spiders, they are more scared of us than we are of them (wee black ones’, I would feel differently about grizzlies.)
We all feel very much at home at this campsite as there is a train than runs right beside it, so far two have come by since we got in, each one outdoing the other for volume and length of the whistle blow.
Nipigon to Terrace Bay, Ontario
Distance: 108km
Temp: cold!
Today’s ride finally delivered on the promise of the hills-we climbed 1030 meters today; the hills ranged in distance from 2 to 5 km, but there was one section after lunch, and on the last 40 km that was on a more or less incline for approximately 12 km-it just kept going and going-legs were heavily objecting by the end of it.
To compensate for the challenging terrain, the scenery was pretty spectacular as the hills seemingly lifted us into the clouds, and had us at such heights that we had incredible views of Lake Superior and the surrounding areas-this is definitely postcard country.
Of late my bike has started to make very curious noises; I took it into to see Bike Guru in Thunder Bay, and had my bottom bracket changed, however the groaning noises have stopped but now it’s squeaking.
As there were often no other noises to hear beside the wind in our ears, and the squeak of my bike, the mind starts to do odd things, like interpret the squeaks for songs; Lewis heard La Bamba, and I heard ‘Pop Goes the Weasel.’
Today was not only a big hill day, but also a big eating day; we stopped at a roadside restaurant and had a homemade piece of rhubarb-strawberry pie-it was heavenly.
40 km later we stopped in Rossport, an ex-fishing village which sits in a little natural harbor on the lake and had lunch at a restaurant looking over the lake; the food was pretty good, but the views were better.
Following lunch was the 12 km climb, giving us the opportunity to work for our lunch.
We got into camp at a decent time, giving us the chance to check out some local waterfalls that are used for a hydro station or something like that.
Apparently we’re back in bear country; a few people saw one yesterday, and some have been sighted in the past few camps we’ve stayed at.
Last night Lewis had a restless sleep, as he was on semi-bear watch.
At one point he shot up out of his sleeping bag, convinced that one was lurking outside our tent, waiting for a juicy arm or leg to come out of the tent.
As it turns out it was our neighbor going to the bathroom.
Personally I think these bears are like spiders, they are more scared of us than we are of them (wee black ones’, I would feel differently about grizzlies.)
We all feel very much at home at this campsite as there is a train than runs right beside it, so far two have come by since we got in, each one outdoing the other for volume and length of the whistle blow.
Day 35-Nipigon
Thunder Bay, to Nipigon
Distance: 109 km
Temp: 27 degrees
We kept hearing from people about how bad the hills were; we were warned by the organizer, as well as by all kinds of people along the way About The Hills.
We all worked ourselves into a frenzy about today’s ride, which as it went along, only delivered little ‘hilletts’-nothing too substantial.
We kept thinking that perhaps the worst of them were saved until the end-but nothing that was worth the hype and hooplah.
I thought that maybe we had ridden such monsters over the course so far, that we had become un-fazable, so fit that monstrous hills no longer had any affect-surely not possible.
Anyhow, we all remained suspicious as although the terrain was certainly challenging, it in no way presented us with the hardship that was promised (although Hedwig certainly had a good go, as we had strong winds for most of the day.)
Since we had all slept so poorly in residence at Lakehead (due to the heat) we were all tired and lazy-it was difficult to get on with the ride.
We rode along a very pretty side-street that ran parallel to the highway, but ran along the Lake Superior shoreline; we got to see very pretty houses that backed onto the water.
On we pressed, often through parts of the highway that were under construction, which meant waiting beside huge trucks before the flag-wavers let us through; once we were waved through, we rode beside huge caravans of massive steam rollers, and rode through wafts of tar steam.
The freshly tarred road had a tacky/sticky feel to it, and was so fresh some of it splashed onto my legs, making it look like I’d been playing in tar pits when I got into camp.
At some point along the highway there was no shoulder to ride on, or if there was it was cracked and unrideable, forcing us onto the road, which was the only host to the many trucks ferrying goods to and from the area.
As mentioned before some trucks are nice under ideal conditions, and some not, under less than ideal conditions (where we all have to share the road) it is quite a scary situation-but we all made it.
Thunder Bay, to Nipigon
Distance: 109 km
Temp: 27 degrees
We kept hearing from people about how bad the hills were; we were warned by the organizer, as well as by all kinds of people along the way About The Hills.
We all worked ourselves into a frenzy about today’s ride, which as it went along, only delivered little ‘hilletts’-nothing too substantial.
We kept thinking that perhaps the worst of them were saved until the end-but nothing that was worth the hype and hooplah.
I thought that maybe we had ridden such monsters over the course so far, that we had become un-fazable, so fit that monstrous hills no longer had any affect-surely not possible.
Anyhow, we all remained suspicious as although the terrain was certainly challenging, it in no way presented us with the hardship that was promised (although Hedwig certainly had a good go, as we had strong winds for most of the day.)
Since we had all slept so poorly in residence at Lakehead (due to the heat) we were all tired and lazy-it was difficult to get on with the ride.
We rode along a very pretty side-street that ran parallel to the highway, but ran along the Lake Superior shoreline; we got to see very pretty houses that backed onto the water.
On we pressed, often through parts of the highway that were under construction, which meant waiting beside huge trucks before the flag-wavers let us through; once we were waved through, we rode beside huge caravans of massive steam rollers, and rode through wafts of tar steam.
The freshly tarred road had a tacky/sticky feel to it, and was so fresh some of it splashed onto my legs, making it look like I’d been playing in tar pits when I got into camp.
At some point along the highway there was no shoulder to ride on, or if there was it was cracked and unrideable, forcing us onto the road, which was the only host to the many trucks ferrying goods to and from the area.
As mentioned before some trucks are nice under ideal conditions, and some not, under less than ideal conditions (where we all have to share the road) it is quite a scary situation-but we all made it.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Day 33, 34-Thunder Bay
Quetico to Thunder Bay, Ontario
Distance: 174 km
Hot then rainy
Well, wouldn’t you know it, the Button Pusher (BP) and I got into a huge row in the parking low at Kakabaka Falls; without going into too much detail, all there is to tell is that I am all that is logical and reasonable and he has the logical reasoning of a teenaged stubborn donkey.
I tried to begin the conversation like an adult, inviting him to discuss a matter that needed attention.
He refused any such engagement and immediately went into the equivalent of sticking his fingers in his ears and saying, “lu lu luluuuu, I can’t hear you,”.
I attempted to engage him again in adult dialogue which he again met with the same type response.
At this point I lost any cool I had left and regrettably made it personal by asking him if it was any wonder that no one liked him on the tour.
It got ugly from then on in, and I am embarrassed to say we caused quite the scene.
Since we were engaged in battle at a popular tourist spot, particularly on the path to the falls, people had to slink by to get around us.
Perhaps the location was not ideal but then again, one does not exactly plan for such things, or do they?
I couldn’t believe his seismic capacity for being unreasonable-it was something to behold, and even worse, involve oneself with.
Eventually Lewis could see that the argument was futile and tried to distract and disengage me from battle, but at this point I had could taste blood, so to speak and was not about to let go, foolishly of course, as how does one possibly reason with such a person who clearly lacks the capacity to do so?
I apologized afterwards to our very quiet and reserved co-riders who looked like they were witnessing the brutal slaying of furry kittens; I think confrontation is avoided at all costs for these folks, but not for BP and I!
Had we owned swords or guns they would have been drawn at that point.
Later that evening I did apologize to him for making it personal, as I felt that was a below the belt move, but I still stand by my overall stance on the matter and him in general, but since we’re on the same galley crew peace had to be made.
Anyhow, that was certainly worth a good few hours of distraction and entertainment, even if it was at the cost of my own mental sanity.
Besides that, the ride yesterday was long, at 174 km, but good nonetheless.
We climbed 890 meters over the course of the day, yet only gained 50 meters overall in altitude, illustrating the rolley-polley type of terrain we are dealing with.
We’re staying in residence at Lakehead University in Thunder Bay; it’s a nice campus with many trees and a strange looking half drained lake/pool outside the cafeteria.
The campus is connected by a series of tunnels and it apparently gets very cold here; hard to believe as it’s stinky hot right now.
Once again, there is so much to do on a rest day; we have laundry to do, internet, phone calls, eating, and of course, bike repair.
Rumor had it that there is a bike mechanic here in Thunder Bay at a place called Petrie’s who is supposed to be one the best mechanics in Ontario-so we had to check him out.
After getting lost and riding around for longer that I was hoping to, we found the store, and, he did not disappoint.
It is rare that I come across someone who is a true ‘master’ or guru in their field, but this guy truly lived up to his reputation.
We stood around for a few hours watching him work (on our bikes) and with others who came into the store in search of some bicycle wisdom from him; he has a true fan club.
He explained things to me about the bike that I could never dream about understanding, his fingers whirred about the bike, reading it like it were a story, inferring each click and tick from the This and That of the bike, making minor adjustments as he went along.
It was like watching surgery with a master surgeon.
Lewis has seen four other mechanics who have all told him that there was nothing wrong with his headset; Lewis insisted there was.
I thought he was just being a bike hypochondriac, but as soon as this guy felt the bike he picked up on a very subtle defect and figured out the problem-a true genius.
Tomorrow’s ride is 109km, but is apparently pretty much a straight climb. I hope legs will be in a cooperative mood tomorrow, and will take into account the rest day they just had-I better get them off to bed.
For the past 8 albums see: (scroll down to see 'browse all albums (8)
http://www.kodakgallery.com/Slideshow.jsp?mode=fromshare&Uc=w1ru7rm.a604z2xq&Uy=-yr13zp&Ux=0
Quetico to Thunder Bay, Ontario
Distance: 174 km
Hot then rainy
Well, wouldn’t you know it, the Button Pusher (BP) and I got into a huge row in the parking low at Kakabaka Falls; without going into too much detail, all there is to tell is that I am all that is logical and reasonable and he has the logical reasoning of a teenaged stubborn donkey.
I tried to begin the conversation like an adult, inviting him to discuss a matter that needed attention.
He refused any such engagement and immediately went into the equivalent of sticking his fingers in his ears and saying, “lu lu luluuuu, I can’t hear you,”.
I attempted to engage him again in adult dialogue which he again met with the same type response.
At this point I lost any cool I had left and regrettably made it personal by asking him if it was any wonder that no one liked him on the tour.
It got ugly from then on in, and I am embarrassed to say we caused quite the scene.
Since we were engaged in battle at a popular tourist spot, particularly on the path to the falls, people had to slink by to get around us.
Perhaps the location was not ideal but then again, one does not exactly plan for such things, or do they?
I couldn’t believe his seismic capacity for being unreasonable-it was something to behold, and even worse, involve oneself with.
Eventually Lewis could see that the argument was futile and tried to distract and disengage me from battle, but at this point I had could taste blood, so to speak and was not about to let go, foolishly of course, as how does one possibly reason with such a person who clearly lacks the capacity to do so?
I apologized afterwards to our very quiet and reserved co-riders who looked like they were witnessing the brutal slaying of furry kittens; I think confrontation is avoided at all costs for these folks, but not for BP and I!
Had we owned swords or guns they would have been drawn at that point.
Later that evening I did apologize to him for making it personal, as I felt that was a below the belt move, but I still stand by my overall stance on the matter and him in general, but since we’re on the same galley crew peace had to be made.
Anyhow, that was certainly worth a good few hours of distraction and entertainment, even if it was at the cost of my own mental sanity.
Besides that, the ride yesterday was long, at 174 km, but good nonetheless.
We climbed 890 meters over the course of the day, yet only gained 50 meters overall in altitude, illustrating the rolley-polley type of terrain we are dealing with.
We’re staying in residence at Lakehead University in Thunder Bay; it’s a nice campus with many trees and a strange looking half drained lake/pool outside the cafeteria.
The campus is connected by a series of tunnels and it apparently gets very cold here; hard to believe as it’s stinky hot right now.
Once again, there is so much to do on a rest day; we have laundry to do, internet, phone calls, eating, and of course, bike repair.
Rumor had it that there is a bike mechanic here in Thunder Bay at a place called Petrie’s who is supposed to be one the best mechanics in Ontario-so we had to check him out.
After getting lost and riding around for longer that I was hoping to, we found the store, and, he did not disappoint.
It is rare that I come across someone who is a true ‘master’ or guru in their field, but this guy truly lived up to his reputation.
We stood around for a few hours watching him work (on our bikes) and with others who came into the store in search of some bicycle wisdom from him; he has a true fan club.
He explained things to me about the bike that I could never dream about understanding, his fingers whirred about the bike, reading it like it were a story, inferring each click and tick from the This and That of the bike, making minor adjustments as he went along.
It was like watching surgery with a master surgeon.
Lewis has seen four other mechanics who have all told him that there was nothing wrong with his headset; Lewis insisted there was.
I thought he was just being a bike hypochondriac, but as soon as this guy felt the bike he picked up on a very subtle defect and figured out the problem-a true genius.
Tomorrow’s ride is 109km, but is apparently pretty much a straight climb. I hope legs will be in a cooperative mood tomorrow, and will take into account the rest day they just had-I better get them off to bed.
For the past 8 albums see: (scroll down to see 'browse all albums (8)
http://www.kodakgallery.com/Slideshow.jsp?mode=fromshare&Uc=w1ru7rm.a604z2xq&Uy=-yr13zp&Ux=0
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