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Cycling through Acadia

August 18th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 59: Campbellton to Beresford (110km)

Isn’t it lovely to wake up in a bed?

I had the hostel dorm to myself and so had enjoyed an uninterrupted night’s sleep. Bed linen. A comfy mattress. Silence. No bugs. I fell asleep under the red glow of the emergency exit sign and woke only as the morning light crept through the gaps in the window blinds.

The hostel occupied an old lighthouse building. The outside of the lighthouse, neatly painted in red and white, looks just the part as it sits overlooking the widening Salmon River. The light on the lighthouse, I learnt, had only been turned off for the last time a few weeks ago. The light is owned by the federal government and they had switched it off as it the lighthouse was now redundant due to another light situated on the nearby wharf.

It was tempting to stay another day but I have a plane to catch and over a thousand kilometres still to cycle. So I pressed on. Goodbye lovely lighthouse.

Yesterday I had crossed a time zone but I pretended I was still in the old time zone to allow myself an extra hour in bed. On the road, the sun had already begun to heat up the day. The misty clouds that were resting over the houses on the far shore early in the morning had now vanished.

It was a beautiful day. I cycled along a quiet road bordering the coast. I could still see the far reaches of Quebec fading in the distance as the river gave way to the sea. A single sailing boat stood in the calm waters. A sign pointed to the crabs and scallops for sale. The houses were decorated with bright triangles of red, white and blue bunting. The Acadian flag swung out to the east, erected by the wind. I only missed Acadian Day by a day but clearly nobody had got round to taking down the decorations yet.

The Acadians are the descendants of the French colonists who live in the Maritimes. Along the Acadian shore of New Brunswick you are as likely to hear French spoken as English and most people seem to be bilingual. I am intrigued by the confusing accent they have here. Last night I was playing with my iPad in the hostel while a couple of folks chatted away in strong, almost incomprehensible accents. I decided to covertly record them speaking and felt very sneaky… Until I realised they were taking about me!

Mid morning I stopped for a gigantic maple walnut ice cream and sat overlooking the water. It’s the coast from here to the end, I thought. From here to the Atlantic. I could get to Halifax in less than a week but I am going to finish with a flourish.

Today passed without grand incident or hilarious mishap. It really been just a very pleasant day’s ride along the coast of New Brunswick.

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Frazzled nerves

August 17th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 58: Causapscal to Cambellton (81km)

Uh-oh. That doesn’t look good. I was doing my morning check on Monty. Brakes fines, rims fine, tyre beading bulging out of rim. Uh-oh.

The bulge!

The bulge!

I had treated myself to double coffee this morning. The large dose of caffeine coursing through my veins fuelled my anxiety as I Googled my options. I’ve had a tyre explode on me before. It had looked like this, I had nonchalantly ignored it and carried on cycling to work, until one day – BANG!

How far would this bulge survive? I was hoping 80km. I cycled as fast and carefully as possible. Long sections of construction did not help my nerves as Monty bounced on the dust and rubble. I tried to enjoy the scenic views, pushing to the back of my mind the constant worry that my front tyre was going to EXPLODE ANY SECOND.

The scenery was very beautiful as the 132 followed alongside the Matapedia River. The river is renowned for its salmon fishing. Men in beige waded in the shallow, rocky water. The sun came out, illuminating the edges of the angular hills. Forest stretched in all directions. The road was quiet. It reminded me of being in BC.

And then…

ARGGGG!!

A black bear is running in the road right in front of me. I screech on the brakes as the bears jumps past. The bear!? The bear?! I swivel round to look, but the bear has already disappeared into the overgrowth.

My heart rate had rocketed. I had chucked out my bear spray yesterday because I thought – thought! – I am no longer in bear country. My nerves, worn by the worry of an exploding tyre, were now frazzled.

Soon enough I reached the bridge that would lead me to a new province: New Brunswick. I was closing in on the bike shop and (fingers crossed) the tyre had not yet exploded. I was counting down the distance to Campbellton not in kilometres, not in jelly beans consumed but in the number of hours it would take me to walk from here to Campbellton if my tyre exploded. 5 hours, 4 hours… I felt happier once I realised that Monty and I could walk to town before nightfall.

The river separating Quebec from New Brunswick

The river separating Quebec from New Brunswick

Thankfully we reached town without any loud bangs. I wheeled into bike shop #1. Alas no suitable tyre. I wheeled into bike shop #2. They had a tyre that was the right size. The mechanic grinned at me in a camp yet gormless way (an odd combo, I know).

“It’s a good tyre,” he said, emitting an aura of cluelessness.

It costs $20. That is about £12. Call me a bike snob but I do not trust a tyre that costs less than the socks I am wearing (yes, I do happen to be wearing very nice socks). It costs less than the pizza I ate in Rimouski.

This man had apparently never seen a touring bike. My concern piqued when he asked “did [Roberts, Monty’s frame builder] create that handlebar?”

The tyre is awful. Bits of different length rubber poke out the edge. “It’s a good tyre,” the mechanic enthused again.

It is a shit* tyre, my instinct said. Lo and behold, the online review later confirmed that it is indeed a shit tyre. On the plus it need only last until I get to Charlottetown where a better bike shop can sell me a better tyre.

If all else fails I shall buy a pizza and strap that on the rim.

*pardon my use of language but there are few adjectives suitable for this tyre.

Notes:
Why is the tyre about to explode?
Most tyres don’t explode if they are pumped up properly and aren’t really old and worn out. My Schwalbe marathon plus tyre appeared to have a manufacturing defect that has made it bulge. The tyre has however travelled 10,000km with a touring load so I would still recommend these tyres.

Leaving the St Lawrence

August 17th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 57: Rimouski to Causapscal (123km)

I am glad that I had a rest day yesterday even though I spent most of the day wallowing in self pity. I looked out the window yesterday morning to see a monochrome world of hammering rain and battering (easterly) wind.

I only have 3 rest days between Montreal and Halifax on account of having booked my flight for the wrong day (oops). It seemed too early to take a day off. My legs felt fine. Outside: grey, cold rain and a gusting headwind. Inside: a Bed. White, fresh linen in a room all to myself. Grey rain versus bed. Bed won.

My rest days are usually awful. I am far happier on a bike. The day in Rimouski was a classic “rest day” filled with anxiety, fretting and homesickness. Why am I here? Why can’t I go home already?

On the advice of my mother I went out for dinner. The pizza, beer and chocolate cake cheered me up no end. Dining by oneself in a nice restaurant can sometimes feel odd. I am past caring. They had wifi at the restaurant so I entertained myself by googling extreme sports you’ve never heard of, and looking up info on how to train for an ironman distance triathlon. I ordered the pizza size the waitress told me was for “deux personnes” but I insisted and even managed to fit some chocolate cake in afterwards. A suitable diet for someone Googling triathlons, I’m sure.

Pizza and beer antidote to pathetic moping

Pizza and beer antidote to pathetic moping

This morning I was glad to leave Rimouski. The bike path along the river was beautiful as it hugged the side of the St Lawrence. I passed a number of poissonneries and the smell of the sea drifted off the waves. A huddle of gulls lay on the rusty rock their beaks nestled away from the wind, hiding under their own features. A line of coloured lounge chairs lined the bank, overlooking the grey sand. I saw an interpretation board which suggested curlew inhabit these shores but alas I did not see one. Shortly after cycling past a beautiful lighthouse I was met by a friendly cyclist, Andre. He provided good company and a running commentary for 10km.

Pointe-au-pere lighthouse

Pointe-au-pere lighthouse

A lemon-painted wooden house stood looking over the flueve. Is that land on the other side of the river or just an indigo smudge of cloud? Following the St Lawrence has provided some of the most beautiful cycling in Canada. I hope to return here again soon.

After 30km I said goodbye to the St Lawrence as I turned a sharp right inland towards Nouveau Brunswick. Straight away the road began to climb up, up and up. The landscape changed colour as I climbed into the forested interior. The wind pushed from behind me so I was spinning along fast. By lunch I had done nearly 80km. I was so sunny, the wind was behind me so I kept going past my intended campground.

I polished off the day with a beer and devoured a pack of crisps while watching a movie (a movie!!) inside my tent. Sunset came early so I was asleep by 9pm. So rock n roll.

The 5 People You Meet On The Road

August 14th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (1 Comments)

“You need to take it easy,” said the Physio, shaking her head. The hills just kept on coming.

The Athlete throws a look: wild, energetic. She’s already forgotten the last hill and wants to climb out the saddle and race. She wants to get there faster today. She wants to push the average speed up again.

“Don’t fret,” says the Philosopher, “it is not a race, it is a journey of discovery.”

The Logistician rolls her eyes. That twaddle again? It’s now gone 4pm and we still have 46km to go. The Logistician chats to the Athlete. The Physio interrupts to explain that if she pushes it too much then it might cause the knee to flare up again and cause problems tomorrow. The Logistician nods sagely.

“I feel fine,” the Athlete asserts, leaning forward on the bike, ready to push off again.

The Mechanic lies on her back enjoying the sun. It’s the usual story. The Athlete wants to push on. The Physio is concerned that the Athlete should rest her knee. The Philosopher is lost in a daze of self-reflection and life-affirming moments of realisation. The Logistician has just reached for the iPad again to check the directions to the campground. The Mechanic chuckles to herself, digging into the pannier for another protein bar. Twice a day she’ll check the bike over, hmming over the need to find a track pump. But today, while the rest of the team bicker about what to do next, she can relax.

When the sun is burning, when the hills don’t stop, when the pain gets worse, when the gears start skipping, when the plan falls apart. You meet 5 people on the road.

The Mechanic
The Physio
The Athlete
The Philosopher
The Logistician

They bicker, they fight, but they get your through.

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“It’s not far”

August 14th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 56: Rivière du Loup to Rimouski

“It’s not far then.”

I glared. Not far for you, buddy.

This man, short, portly built with inset eyes and an annoying accent, had asked me how far it was to the Gaspe. How far? It’s a large peninsula, you idiot. That’s like asking far is it to the south west. I had initially taken him to be American because his manner so smoothly combined ignorance with self importance. I’m sorry to say he was actually from Ontario.

Once I had established that he meant how far is it from here (small picnic bench on rainy roadside 25km north east of Rivière du Loup), all the way around the peninsula along the coastal road and back to here, I told him it was “several hundred kilometres.”

“Where are we?” he asked. He had spread my provincial map across the picnic table and was now leaning over, studying it with purpose.

“We are here,” I said, pointing at the map, “and Rimouski – here – is 80km. So around the Gaspe will be several hundred kilometres.”

“Oh, it’s not far,” he said again.

“It’s several hundred kilometres,” I replied tersely, neglecting to tell him that it would take me the best part of a WEEK of cycling in a freezing headwind to get around.

It had just started raining again so I folded close my panniers while the man continued to pour over my map. He started writing notes on a post it. So far I had cycled 25km. The north easterly wind had picked up force, muffling my ears and struggling my slow progress. It was cold. Too cold. I was wearing my arm warmers and gilet. My buff was wrapped around my head but I was still cold. i had just cycled past a nature reserve famous for its shorebirds. I had been looking forward to stopping and taking out my monocular to enjoy the wildlife but today, punching into a bitter wind, I kept on glumly cycling. If I stopped I would only get too cold. And in this weather the birds are probably hiding.

“Oh, it’s not far,” he declared for the THIRD TIME.

My eyes narrowed into malevolent slits. You said that again and I will swipe you. The man wandered off.

I cycled. It was cold. It was raining. And there was a headwind. I cycled to Rimouski, that 80km-from-here place. It’s not far.

My foul weather mood was punctuated by only two moments of amusement on the road:

1. Celebrating the 6,000km mark on the cold, windy roadside by chomping on 6 squares of Kendal Mintcake that, yes, I have carried in my pannier for the last 6,000km.
2. Discovering what happens to a mini packet of Haribo when it is squished into a hot pannier bag for over 2 months. The single Haribo slug still tastes the delightful same.

I am now in a private hostel room drinking Earl Grey tea (thank you Clayton and Catherine) and a box of chocolate chip cookies.

Congealed Haribo slug

Congealed Haribo slug

Beer and cheese tour

August 14th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (1 Comments)

Day 55: L’islet to Rivière du Loup

The day started with chatting to bikers Dave and Dave who were camped next door (flap?) to me. Dave 1 (who had about a 2:1 facial hair to head hair ratio) was very chatty in telling me about the adventure they had planned – leisurely touring around the Gaspe. Dave 2 (15:1 ratio due to thick beard and near baldness) had converted an old motorbike into a beer cooler on wheels. I enjoyed the rare chat in fluent English with these guys before it was time for us to hit the same road at different speeds.

Again i was treated a pushing tailwind. The sun shone, then it hid, then the clouds drizzle a bit but it was all quite liveable.

Uh-oh. Detour. Je n’aime pas le detour. I looked on my map (ie app on iPad) to see that there was a main highway running almost parallel. The road ahead was closed and looked to be so cut up that it would be impassable. I turned off the 132 towards to main highway. I was just approaching the highway when I thought… Oh, where is the slip road? Il n’y a pas de slip road. Assessing the steep descent I figured it was doable so unloaded a few panniers to carry them down the 45% gradient.

Some detours are for bikes only

Some detours are for bikes only

I pedalled on merrily. Passing through a small town I flagged down by a loud “bonjour!” and the sight of skinny, lycraed cyclists leaping into the road.

Here I met Alain, Eve and Claude. The panniers explained who was who. You can tell who is Canadian and who is European from the panniers. Alain had MEC panniers and thus was Canadian (plus he was clearly Quebecoise as spoke in a rapid, accented French that I barely understood.)Claude and Eve had Ortliebs so I knew they were European. It was only later that I noticed the two Belgian flags flapping from their bikes.

Alain, skinny and angular, was fashioning loopy bicycle shaped wire earrings. He and his bike were largely dressed in matching yellow.

Claude, a fit, nervous looking woman had taken off her helmet to reveal greying hair. Her helmet sported furry horns.

Eve, slightly more normal than the other two, spoke excellent English in a soft, relaxed manner. Her big green sunglasses swamped her moon-shaped face. The sticker attached to the front of her helmet instructed “bend and peel”. “Instructions,” she explained jokingly, “for what to do if you find me in a medical emergency.”

Eve and Claude were travelling together but had, it would appear, already flagged down the eccentric looking Alain to help them. Claude had a flat. I fact she’d had 4 flats in the last 2 days and I was called in to help.

I checked the tyre tread, it looked fine. I checked the beading, it looked fine. I checked the spokes, they were fine. I checked the rim, it was true. Hmm.

You know when you hear hooves beating you think unicorns because you assume that one of the other cyclists has already ruled out horses, right?

Alain was pulling the tyre apart, exclaiming that the tyre was the wrong size for the wheel. (It wasn’t, it was just baggy.) While I wandered over to chat with Eve about the joys of cycling around Europe, Alain was checking the tyre.

“A-ha!” He exclaimed, as Eve and I were midway around Denmark. He pointed to a gritty scrap of sharpness poking through the tyre.

The Belgians have swapped the inner tubes without finding the cause of the puncture. A school boy error. Hoof beats means horse.

Highly amused I said my Bon Voyages and pedalled off.

Eve: bend and peel

Eve: bend and peel

Shorty after lunch (yes, avocado and crackers) I found the micro-brasserie that the Wanderers had visited a few days ago. I recognised the place from Katie’s description of the chickens, cat and benches outside. Is it just cycling or was that not the most delicious beer had all year? The blonde, Belgian style beer was refreshingly and fruity. Sadly they do not export. I schlurped and i munched the accompanying cheese and bread while fantasising about a chocolate, cheese and beer cycling tour of Europe.

If only all cycling days were like today.

Nom nom nom.

Nom nom nom.

Gourmet cycling

August 12th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 54: Quebec City to L’islet (86km)

I don’t know what they are saying to me. It’s a sunny Sunday morning on a bike path hugging the side of the St Lawrence. The cyclists are out in force. Smiling couples, a peloton of club riders, a lone female cyclist headed to Halifax and MAMILs. Lots and lots of MAMILs sporting protruding middle age midriff wrapped in snazzy lycra jersey. They fly past me on their carbon forks, exclaiming… I don’t know. I imagine that they are saying:

“Wow, you’ve got a lot of stuff. Where are you headed?”
“Wow, you’ve got a lot of stuff. You must have strong legs!”
“Wow, you’ve got a lot of stuff. Are you carrying glass jars or something?”

I reply with a simple “bonjour” for fear of affirming or disaffirming whatever they have said. I pedal on.

Today has been brilliant. Absolutely smashing.

I didn’t realise what time it was and accidentally left the hostel an hour early. I had made good use of the hostel’s $5 breakfast by picking up: 2 bagels, 2 peanut butters, 2 jams, 2 margarines, 4 mini muffins, 2 glasses of orange juice, 2 sachets of porridge, 1 banana, 1 orange, 2 boiled eggs and 1 tea bag. No, I didn’t eat it all then and there but I figured if questioned by staff I could have.

I screeched down the near vertical streets of old Quebec to the clamour of church bells. The sun was already warm and the tourists had already started their guided walking tours of the cobbled side streets.

To continue my journey east I took the ferry over the river. On board there were a lot of cyclists. One MAMIL wandered over to chat. In very, very broken French I explained what I was doing. To be honest, one only needs to say “Victoria, Halifax” and people can tell from my tan lines and Monty exactly what I’m doing.

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On the other side of the river I followed the MAMILs along the route verte bike path. I passed a gazebo and my heart panged. That very gazebo. I remember it. The last time (and first time) I cycled alongside the river in Quebec was on a ride with the Millers 8 years ago. I ate a muffin in that gazebo while we waited for the ferry. Alas, that is the last familiar sight I will see for a month. But on the plus, I’ve been promised more muffins when I return to the Miller’s in Montreal so that is a reason to keep cycling.

Perhaps it was the memory of a Miller muffin but my stomach growled. So I stopped on one of the lounging chairs alongside the bike path and ate 2 x protein bars in quick succession. I set a new record for eating Second Breakfast after only 3km. Go me.

All the way along the bike path I was passed by fellow cyclists. I was approaching a road crossing. The bike path cut over a quiet residential street. And then it happen.

A car stopped for me. A car. Stopped. For me. I nearly fell off my bike in shock. It wasn’t until a 2km later that realised I was going the wrong way so turned back around.

Mr Ferry cycled past. “Halifax is that way!” He called as he saw me returning to the residential road.
“This is the first time in 5,500 kilometres that I have gone the wrong way and had to back track,” I explained. For little did he realise the effect of the car stopping.

Cycling with John around Montreal reminded me how deliciously icecream complements cycling. So when I saw a dairy bar touting homemade icecream I figured I should stop for a scoop or two. it is amazing I received anything given how appallingly badly I spoke French. Savouring maple and Nutella icecream outside in the sunshine though I reflected on my new finishing point.

Thanks to the crashed ferry I have saved myself a sweet $400 (ie £250) by ending in Halifax rather than St John’s. I decided that this money should be reinvested in my trip. So for the next 4 weeks I have a $10 per day beer, icecream and delicious items budget (BIDIB).

Food was clearly in my mind. I couldn’t resist stopping at one of the roadside stalls to buy freshly picked sweet corn and a box of strawberries. All day I pedalled past neat rows of strawberries, rhubarb and fields of corn lined in stripes leading down to the river. The sun warmed my back and wind blew behind me. I felt free and happy.

After lunch I went grocery shopping, with my newly formed BIDIB in mind. I have decided to go gourmet. I have basically existing on a diet of peanut butter, crackers, avocado and Kraft dinner for the last 2 months. So I bought some maple butter. I am, after all, in Canada and intend at some point to attempt pancakes. But, yes, that does mean I am now carrying a glass jar.

After a pleasant 86km of riding I arrived at campground at the sweetly early hour of 3.30pm. I devoured a block of fudge and a beer. I set up my tent with great difficulty in the strongly gusting wind.

What now? Alas yesterday I discovered that my kindle has died. I followed instructions on the amazon website in an attempt to resurrect it but to no avail. I began to lament the lack of decent paperbacks for paperbacks do not have problems with the frozen screen of death. Then I realised I could download the Kindle app on iPad. Joy of joys. I continued reading Victoria Pendleton’s biography on iPad app and forgot about the demise of paperbacks.

A happy day indeed.

Blown to Quebec City

August 11th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 53: Pontneuf to Quebec City (69.5km)

What is that? I woke up in the middle of the night to a flashing light and muttering. I peered out the flat in my tent to see three dark figures sitting on my picnic bench. Monty was locked to that picnic table. They were speaking a strange, unfamiliar language. No, not French. Or Russian. It sounded sort of Eastern European though. The light was due to the campfire they had started. I unzipped the flap a bit more to get a better view. Monty looked to be okay.

It never ceases to amaze me why people, when given the choice of 3 picnic benches, will choose to sit on the one with someone else’s bike locked to it when there are another 2 benches available nearer their tent. I’m sure they were just BBQing but what if a globule of beef fat leapt off the BBQ and splashed onto Monty? I am sure he is a vegetarian bike.

I fell into a unease sleep of weird dreams. Thankfully, the thunderstorm that I had seen strobing on the far horizon when I’d gone to bed never passed overhead.

An early start meant I was on the road just after 8am. I have no idea how I managed to pack up so quickly. Usually the first two hours of the day are spent faffing with bits of kit and nipping repeatedly between my litre bottle of strong coffee and the toilet. Not so today.

My tent flapped dry quickly this morning. Because, oh boy, it was windy. Usually the wind takes a while to get going but this morning it managed to blow my tent off the line while I was packing up.

The fleurs-de-lys flags of Quebec, straightened by the wind, pointed in the direction I was going. I barely pedalled. I was just pushed along at high speed by the gusting wind. I flew past roadside stalls selling freshly picked strawberries and sweet corn.

I stopped by the river for second breakfast. There were white caps on the St Lawrence as the strong westerly wind caught the water, dashing the waves against the bank. Wind surfers were out gliding to and fro.

Note windsurfers on the river

Note windsurfers on the river

All morning I was overtaken by cyclists. Usually I don’t let myself be overtaken and chase after the offending cyclist. Today I didn’t bother to do anything except say “bonjour” to the roadies who sped by on their Cannondales and Pinarellos. I would assess their gastrocnemius and decide whether, if I riding a Pinarello rather than a loaded mule, I could cycle that fast. Today I was content to coast.

Going into Quebec, I had to ascend a few sharp hills but mostly it was flat as I merrily pedalled along. The paths and parks that bordered the St Lawrence were bustling with Saturday morning folks out cycling, skating, packing away their windsurfers, stopping for a picnic on the bench, taking a photograph of the intriguing artwork in the path. Soon the famous bits of Quebec became visible as I came round past the port. The cliffs! I imagined General Wolfe climbing these steep, rocky slopes up the side of the city to fight the French.

I knew that unfortunately famous cliffs also meant famously steep hill up to my hostel. But first I needed to sort out Monty.

I scooted into a bike shop. I had bought a new chain in Montreal but it was skipping so I switched back to the old chain. I needed a new cassette.

Amazingly I managed to have an entire conversation with the bike mechanic in French. Admittedly I had practised a bit of the vocab with John but it all went well.

“C’est plus chere parce que c’est XT, eh?”

I know what you’re thinking: fluent.

Having forked out a small fortune for a shiny bit of metal, Monty is now fashioning a brand new 11-32 shimano XT 9 speed rear cassette. Whoop. To test it and the new chain out we fought up a hill that resembled a cliff edge. I am amazed we did not fall off backwards. The chain and cassette survived.

I dropped Monty off at the hostel and wandered into the old part of the city. Old buildings! I had forgotten that buildings could be old. The old stone and narrow-ish twisting lanes of the old city give Quebec a European flavour that I have been missing. I joined the hordes of tourists bimbling around Rue St Jean and stopped to be highly entertained by a busker capable of juggling 7 batons. (I’ve never seen anyone juggle so many.) The traffic was dammed by the meandering tourists and the occasional horse-drawn carriage. I found a beer but I have yet to find any poutine.

Chateau Frontenac - probably where the Wanderers stayed

Chateau Frontenac – probably where the Wanderers stayed

Old streets and modern traffic

Old streets and modern traffic

The long slog to Pontneuf

August 10th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 52: Louiseville to Pontneuf (111.5km)

I am an encumbered tortoise on a treadmill.

There was a headwind all day to make my life tough. To be fair, it was also extremely flat. I ponder the endless cyclists’ debate of hills versus wind. I vote wind. Yet, be it the wind or my legs, I was feeling tired and sluggish. An early Second Breakfast (after only 12km) did little to increase my speed although it did mean I am now out of homemade muffins. Woe.

I slogged on to Trois Riveres (note: my iPad doesn’t appear to do accents). I was still in need of a boost so stopped for a coffee and donut. Alas even caffeine and sugar did little to increase my energy levels. I plodded on like a harnessed donkey.

I stopped at a grocery store to restock my panniers. Outside I was met by a guy in a large, loose-fitting shirt and a pair of bug-like sunglasses. Michael was friendly and seemed to be a keen cyclist. Yet I also feel a bit nervous when folks (other than mechanics in bike shops) start asking too many questions about Monty.

Michael seemed admiring of Monty yet also apparently didn’t have the foggiest what a fine specimen Monty truly is. ” How much did it cost? About $2000?” He asked.

“Er… Yea about $2,000,” I confirmed. (Monty is worth considerably more than that. And to me he is priceless.)

“Aren’t you worried about strange men?” He asked, without irony. “I mean, I’ve never heard of a cyclist, a woman, like you being attacked in Quebec but you never know.”

Oh, is that he type? I had best pedal off else I’ll be late.

A hard slog of cycling later and I met some friendly bikers at the lunch stop. They have a resectable amount of leather, shiny metal and protruding beer belly between the four of them. One, a large man fully clad in leathers, was so impressed he took a photo of me posing next to Monty. One of his friends boasted he could get to Halifax in 14 hours. 14 hours!! Please don’t say stuff like that. I have 3 weeks of cycling to go. I asked if any of them wanted to swap their Harley for my Monty. They did not. Yet it was nice to chat to the bikers as I get the impression that bikers have a better sense of distance than the average Joe. They seemed to appreciate the joy of watching the world zoom by, the shiny bits of your bike gleaming in the sunshine, as you cruise/slog down the open road.

Despite the headwind I enjoyed the scenery today. The quiet route 138 continued to follow the side of the river. I passed the pastoral scene of ripe corn fields, lowing herds of cows, pick-your-own blueberry fields, colourful boxes of beehives, and butterflies fluttering among the wildflowers.

Ripening cornfields.

Ripening cornfields.

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea. Or not. Or they just sit there.

The lowing herd winds slowly o’er the lea. Or not. Or they just sit there.

Finally made it to campground after a long day on the road.

I am sightly bemused by this place. It is jam packed. But so jam packed that it resembles a car park (translation: parking lot). The campsite is set out in a grid pattern and every small rectangular lot is filled with an RV. Goodness knows why it is so popular as it is not particularly near a lake, river or anything else. It’s also one of those places where people ride round in buggy carts (like the ones they have at golf courses) because clearly it is so far to the toilet, garbage etc.

After 110km of flat today it really does feel like the last 5,000km have caught up with me. If someone could post me a large, squidgy armchair that would be perfect. Or better still a body-enveloping sofa or bed with fresh linen. I hope that I get my energy back as I still have 2,000km to go. It is now 8pm but I will just wash the Kraft dinner remnants from my bowl and head to my tent. Tomorrow I will be in Quebec City. But for now I wish only to be horizontal.

Goodbye Montreal

August 9th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 51: Montreal to Louiseville (109km)

The tailwind is gently pushing me along. The sun warms the skin of my back. A few whispy feathers of cloud float in the sky. Cornfields grow tall in the not-to-hot sunshine. The bike path along the river is flat. The road is quiet, the traffic considerate. This would be the most beautiful day’s cycling, but I can barely see the road through the tears in my eyes.

Why am I here? Why do I have to cycle today? The toned, muscularity of my shoulders and legs belies the weakness underneath. I feel like I am wearing a heavy cloak. Tears fall down my face as Monty pedals on. It feels like I am leaving home.

Montreal has been the highlight of my trip. In the last 3 days I have discovered a local fungi market stall, cooked spaghetti carbonara with 3 different species of fungi, chatted about bike fitting, touring and frame welding in the friendliness bike shop downtown. I’ve slept in a warm bed, eaten smoked salmon for brunch, sampled crime brûlée ice cream and clocked up 60km of pedalling around the city’s bike paths. But Montreal has felt more like home because the Millers (all of them) have made me feel so welcome.

Fungi stall at Jean Talon market

Fungi stall at Jean Talon market

I didn’t leave Montreal until 12noon. I packed so slowly, delayed for a bit and let the time pass. But isn’t it so late now that I should just stay here and leave tomorrow? In the haven of the Millers’ apartment, my body has relaxed these last few days and the peaceful, comfortable rest has unveiled the exhaustion that lies underneath. My body craves sleep.

But I had to leave Montreal today because I now have a flight to catch. My plans have changed because the ferry that I was intending to take to Argentia, Newfoundland, (but thankfully hadn’t booked) had been cancelled for the “next few weeks”. This is because one of the other Marine Atlantic ferries, on the more popular route to Port-aux-basques, crashed and so the Argentia ferry was moved over to the shorter crossing while the damage boat is repaired. Marine Atlantic seem to have made a complete muck up of handling the situation and information on the revised ferry schedule has been thin on the ground. In fact, if it wasn’t for Katie Wanderer I won’t even have known! Anyway, cycling from Port-aux-Basques to St John’s would take at least an extra week – a week I don’t have. So I have decided that I will meet the coast and finish my trip in Halifax. I will still have time for a final flourish around the Cabot Trail but finishing in Halifax will also allow me to nip to Toronto for a couple of days before I fly back to England. All I need to do now is cycle to the Atlantic coast. To be honest, that’s all I’ve been doing for the last 2 months.

John guided me along the bike path for the first part of my journey out of Montreal. I would have loved him to carry on pedalling for the next 2,000km but he just laughed and hugged me goodbye. My mini tours around the islands of Montreal with John have been some of the most relaxed, enjoyable rides of the whole trip.

I can’t really remember most of the ride. I was crying too much that my tears blurred my vision and didn’t see what was around me. Monty carried me out the city, along the bike path, over a bridge, through some construction and out into the country. I only came-to after about 40km when my stomach started rumbling. I stopped for a muffin (homemade with love, which nearly set me off again) and nibbled some grapes.

Miller muffins: the best in the world

Miller muffins: the best in the world

I was loosely aware that it was a perfect day for cycling (sunshine, not too hot, tailwind etc). Monty kept on going. Then I saw blueberries by the side of the road. I love blueberries. I even managed to understand what the Blueberry Man was saying to me in French. Just as I was getting peckish again we found a picnic spot with a shaded bench and a refreshingly cold water tap overlooking the river. Another muffin entered my mouth, followed by a large handful of blueberries. A friendly couple wandered over to say hello and ask about my trip.

Yes I ate all of them.

Yes I ate all of them.

Each warm smile from a passing cyclist, each bite of muffin and each gusting tailwind unpeeled another thin layer off my miserable coating. Slowly I was beginning to remember that this was fun. Passing over the main highway, I didn’t turn back west to Montreal.

I arrived at the campground. I was greeted first by a sign on the door declaring “bienvenue cyclistes”, followed by a cheery “Bonsoir!” as the proprietor came out the office.

“Let me show you where to camp,” she said in English. She led me round to the river. And pointed at a perfectly cut grassy site bordering the river, complete with picnic bench and gazebo. I looked around the rest of the campground. This was definitely the best spot. My jaw fell.

“Install yourself here.”

“It’s beautiful.” I muttered.

“Yes,” she confirmed, “this is the best site. I save it for women and cyclists.”

At this point a smile spread across my face and with it the final layer of misery peeled off. Bar for the emotion trauma of leaving the friendliest household in Canada, today has been a perfect day of cycle touring.

Monty gets his own gazebo to sleep under

Monty gets his own gazebo to sleep under