Getting to Ottawa with a bike in tow turned out to be a bit of a challenge in itself. I decided the easiest and most economical mode of transportation would be an overnight train from Moncton. This required an initial 2 hr trip by bus. Once we had my bike nicely boxed in an Acadian Lines $20 bike box, I was soon ready to board. As I handed my ticket to the driver, I thought I would double-check about whether there had been any problem getting my bike in the luggage compartment. To which he responded “Bike? What bike?” He then went inside and an attendant come out and removed my bike from the bus parked next to the bus going to Moncton. I have no idea where the other bus was going....
I’m lousy at picking where to sit - and lucky me, I got to spend about 2 hrs sitting next to a mother and her three young kids who had left Winnipeg by bus FOUR days before. Needless to say, it was not fun.
But I did arrive in Moncton, with bike, and met up with a colleague from work. We drove over to the train station and went out for some lunch on Main St. After a haircut and a trip to the grocery and liquor stores, I was on my way. The train trip was pretty uneventful, except that we arrived in Montreal over an hour late and I had to arrange to get my bike off the Mtl train and onto the Ottawa train. Lesson #1 - if you want to travel with your bike by train, go to Europe! The train from Mtl to Ottawa doesn’t carry checked luggage, but they do make some exceptions. To make a long story short, I was finally able to arrange to get my bike to Ottawa later the same day, but not on the train I was taking. No problem, I was only leaving Ottawa by bike the following day.
I was really looking forward to arriving in Ottawa and seeing Eric, an old friend from university. We don’t see hardly enough of each other and it’s always great when we manage to reconnect. Eric and I headed out for lunch. He had to return to work and I had some relatives I wanted to visit. So we headed out for the afternoon and planned to meet later that day. Instead of spending a fortune on a taxi, I decided to hop on the Transitway - a bus corridor that runs through central Ottawa- and head out to the Baseline stop. I had spent a month in Ottawa on training way back when and had made this trip several times. I had a nice chat with some transit workers and riders on the way just to confirm transfer points, etc. After spending the pm with my aunt and uncle (my mother’s younger brother), I hopped another bus back to the train station and Eric and I went back to his place for supper. It was really great to catch up and reminisce about old times back at Université de Moncton. After supper and a trip down memory lane, we headed out to a visit a couple Eric knows. It was a great evening meeting new people and reconnecting with an old friend.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
After picking up some last-minute bike supplies the next day and lunch at a great spot down the street from Eric’s place, it was time to leave. I didn’t want to leave. I just wanted to spend more time with Eric in Ottawa! Drink, shop, sight-see - it was all very tempting, but I had a long trip ahead of me so off I went down Montreal Road, my bike wobbling back and forth in heavy traffic as I tried to get used to the extra weight in my back panniers. I wanted to start my trip at the most famous spot in Ottawa - Parliament Hill.
I wanted to get some pics of me in front of these iconic Canadian buildings before heading out. But as luck would have it, this was also the 60th anniversary of the Chinese Revolution and Chinese Canadians were out in full force celebrating the event. The red flags on Parliament Hill had more gold stars than maple leaves, but on the upside, I had no problem finding someone to take my picture. It was also a reminder of one of the things that I think makes our country so interesting and vibrant, i.e., its cultural diversity.
Well, it was now about 1 pm and I was still in Ottawa AND I was planning to bike about 100 k that day. Mmmm. Me thinks I should get started. The trip out of Ottawa was beautiful - past the National Art Gallery, the Royal Cdn Mint, the French Embassy, 24 Sussex (the PM’s residence) and Rideau Hall before descending down to a bike path along the Ottawa River.
The path went on for 10 km or more and it made for a beautiful ride on a lovely fall afternoon. I was having problems getting my seat adjusted to the right height after having lowered it for transport (more on this later), so there were a few stops along the way to attempt some fine-tuning (and devour all the sweets I had picked up at a bakery before I left). I had a detailed route description for the Ottawa-Montreal leg of the trip, but no map. This concerned me a bit - well, a lot. Anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that I’m a little obsessed with maps and with knowing exactly where I am on a map when I’m travelling. But as it turned out the route description was very detailed and I had no problem following it.
Later in the afternoon around Rockland, there was a very short rain shower. It was already close to 5 p.m. and I had many miles to ride before I slept. I thought briefly about stopping there for the night, but I decided to push on. Following country roads that crisscrossed Hwy 17, I eventually ended up back near the river and the wind had picked up... and it was getting a little dark. But I had the geese to keep me company. In fact, they would keep me company for my entire trip. Flock after flock of migrating geese in their signature V shape - one of those wonders of nature Canadians can't resist looking up at and pausing a moment to appreciate. One of the disadvantages of biking in the fall though - much shorter days. It was decision time - I was at a ferry crossing that could take my across to Montabello Quebec and I could spend the night there - or I could push on to Hawkesbury and bike in the dark. I had a flashing tail light, but no headlight. There was no moon. I had no info on hotels in Montabello, but it was a resort town and I knew there “should” be lots of places. Mmm. Worst case scenario, I call Eric and have him come rescue me. (What takes hours to do by bike, can be done in minutes by car!). Onward ho! I called the hotel in Hawkesbury, made a reservation and away I went. Hell, it was a really warm night, and I could always sleep outside in a cornfield somewhere. (It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve pushed myself too far and ended up spending the night out of doors.) Well, I did finally pull into Hawkesbury around 8 pm - exhausted and of course, the hotel was another 30 min on the other side of town out by the highway. AND I ended up paying a fortune for the room since there were few rooms available and the one that was left for me wasn’t cheap. Did I care at the time? Nope. I gladly handed over my Visa and signed on the dotted line! My knees were terribly sore, but I thought a good night’s rest would do the trick.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Did I mention the expensive hotel room didn’t even include breakfast? Bummer. But my room did have a microwave and I had lots of oatmeal, so no problem there. Back in the saddle and across the bridge into Quebec. Next stop Montreal. But, boy did my knees hurt. I couldn’t understand it. I had done lots of training and had never had knee problems. As the day progressed (still following the beautiful Ottawa River), I was having doubts. “I had pushed myself too hard on the first day.” “I wasn’t even going to get to Montreal.” “My trip was ruined before it even began.” Hills were a real killer. If I could get to a cruising speed, I was ok. Being alone on a bike trip gives you lots of time to think - I was having some very negative thoughts. “Maybe I should take the day off or stay in Mtl an extra day.” All possible scenarios were going through my mind. But I just kept pedalling. All new territory to me. Past beautiful old stone houses, misty views of the river, abandoned churches,
and of course the dozens upon dozens of shacks selling tax-free cigarettes on the Kanesetake Native Reserve. Then to Oka, the site of an infamous stand-off between natives and the Canadian military over a proposed expansion to a golf course in 1990. A ferry back across the Ottawa River to Hudson, and the beginning of the ride into downtown.
Lunch in a park at Vaudreuil-Dorion and a quick call to our friend Maurice to give him an ETA. Probably another 4-5 hours to downtown - a distance that can be covered by less than an hour by car. Travelling by bike is like living in another dimension.
Getting onto the island of Mtl by bike turned out to be surprisingly easy. There are bike lanes everywhere. It really is a cyclist’s paradise. The route into downtown follows the south shore of the island of Montreal and takes you through all the bedroom communities of the west island - Ste-Anne-de-Bellevue and its beautiful little shops as well as a campus of McGill University, Beaconsfield, Baie d'Urfé, Laval
and finally the Lachine canal with a glorious bike trail that takes you right into the city centre.
Canal de Lachine - Berceau de l'industre - Cradle of Industry
It was Sunday afternoon, and every cyclist in Montreal seemed to out taking advantage of the weather and one of the last weekends before winter when they would be able to indulge in their favourite sport. Some even slowed to the pace of the bike tourist with the heavy panniers to make some conversation and provide some much needed encouragement. One last big hill through Westmount - the old rich English enclave of Mtl - which is now much less English but just as rich - and down the other side of the mountain into Notre-Dame-de-Grâce and sweet, sweet rest - for those aching knees.
More catching up with Maurice and then off for some fish and chips at a pub on Sherbrooke. The cyclist’s appetite was just starting to kick in. I’m well known for always being hungry - but when I’m hiking or biking, well, the term “bottomless pit” takes on a whole new meaning. I could tell it was going to be an early night. We watched a bit of “Tout le monde en parle”, a hugely popular Sunday night talk-show on Radio-Canada before my heavy eyelids could stay open no more.
Gay Tree Pride!
Monday, Sept. 28
I was out the door by 8 the next morning. I stocked up at a bakery on Sherbrooke before finding my way back to the Lachine Canal to pick up where I left off the day before. Now for the fun part - weaving my way through morning traffic in downtown Mtl. What a blast! Thankfully there are bike lanes everywhere.
The locals cyclists seem to care not a bit whether they have the right-of-way or not. They just weave in and out and expect drivers to avoid them. Me, I have a little more respect for the damage a huge piece of steel can do to bones and flesh. But as it turned out, it wasn’t automobiles that I needed to fear, but the dreaded lamppost. As I was made my way through a little park in East Montreal, I noticed a monument dedicated to the fallen soldiers of some or all the wars of the 20th Century. But what is this? The inscription is only in English? (East Montreal is VERY French.). Where is the French? I suppose it must be on the other side. This is very ... kaboom... next thing I know I’m on the ground. Seems that I had drifted slightly to my right and unbeknownst to me, there happened to by a lamppost in my way. Well, no harm done - to me or my bike. Lesson learned. One really does have to watch where one is going when mounted precariously on two wheels and only the combination of balance and momentum keeping one from making contact with the pavement below. "Elegant" as Maurice would say (There's a story about a fortune cookie behind that comment.)
I soon realized that I must have neglected to calculate how long it would take me to get OFF the island of Mtl before joining the Chemin du Roy (King’s Road) to Trois-Rivières, my initial destination for the day. It was already noon and I had just crossed the bridge to the mainland. Montreal is a BIG island. Much bigger than I had realized. Well, the beauty of being on the road with no reservations is that destinations can be easily changed. As could the height of my seat post. You see, my knees were still aching and I decided to stop and take time to really look at the height of my seat post. I played with it until I was sure it was in exactly the right spot. Not a millimetre too high, not a millimetre too low and Alleluia, it felt soo much better. Although initially reluctant to believe the solution could be so simple, after a few hours more in the saddle, I knew I had solved the problem and for the first time I thought I might actually finish this trip. It truly was a wonderful feeling. Who knew such a minor adjustment would make such a huge difference. Lesson learned!
I was lucky enough to almost avoid a major rainstorm and the skies were quite clear for the rest of the day as I passed through one village after another, each with a very large stone church and silver-coloured steeples in the village centre. I had visions of the same work crew moving from village to village sometime in the 1600s and completing construction of one church after another. An idea that probably has no basis in fact, but they all looked so similar, you had to wonder....
After a final late-afternoon rain shower (during which I just happened to be passing a rest-stop with covered picnic tables - something that gave such pleasure that I sang a little song as I sat there all nice and dry on top of a picnic table and ate some bread and cheese), I arrived in Berthierville and started looking for a place to stay. The “cheap” motel in town was closed for the season, the B&B I called did not pick up, so it was off the Day’s Inn. Damnit! Another boring hotel out by the highway. Not what I had in mind when I planned this trip. Well, at least breakfast was included and it wasn’t overly expensive. As I biked out Gilles Villeneuve Blvd, I actually passed the B&B I had called earlier. They were mowing the lawn. Explains why they didn’t pick up. I didn’t stop. The hotel was just down the road. I was tired and not feeling very sociable anyway.
Berthierville, I soon realized, is the birthplace of famous car racer Gilles Villeneuve, who died fairly young during a race in 1982. His son Jacques Villeneuve has followed in his father’s footsteps and had also made a career for himself in car racing. In Berthierville, there is Parc J-V, the Musée J-V, the afore-mentioned boulevard J.-V. I was only there overnight. I’m sure that had I stayed longer, I would have found many more public places honouring the town’s native son. Oh yeah, the hotel had framed posters commemorating various aspects of his career in the halls, the elevator... They really should think of going all the way and renaming the entire town.
A man, a family, a life of passion
So it would take me three days instead of two to go from Mtl to Quebec City. No problem, I should still make it back in time to return to work on the Tues following Thanksgiving. And this road was famous in the history of Quebec. The Chemin du Roy (Roy being the old French spelling of Roi or king) was the original road linking Quebec and Montreal. There was a lot of history here and I wanted to take time to soak it up. There was also Trois-Rivières, a large well-known city that I had never visited. I got a bit off-track coming into the city, but my mistake lead me past a Subway Restaurant, so I indulged in a 12 in veggie sub, which was a nice change from the cheese and bread in my panniers. I puttered around the downtown for a while, made a reservation at a village farther down the road and headed out of town. I had been hoping to find a bakery for a nice sweet something to top off my veggie sub, but no such luck. (During a bike trip through Switzerland in 2003, every little town, village, hamlet and hole-in-the-wall had a bakery selling the most delicious pastries. I made a point of stopping at each one!)
As I crossed the three rivers of Trois-Rivières (actually the same river, but it goes around a few islands, making it look like three different rivers before emptying into the St. Lawrence), I came upon this humongous building perched on the banks of the St. Lawrence. It was a Catholic Sanctuary of some sort. Obviously quite famous. There were a few bus tours and groups of students. Quite impressive from the outside although the inside, while remarkable because of the sheer size, was rather dark and disappointing. Click, click, picture here, picture there, there was something very powerful about the whole place, but I had a reservation at a B&B (yeah!) so no time to get all spiritual.
Next stop was Grondines-Deschambault, a village that belongs to the “Most beautiful villages of Quebec Association.” One of my colleagues from work had recommended it to me. I had a reservation at the Maison bleue - nothing too impressive from the outside, but the room!!!! OMG - pure luxury. A full kitchen, a beautiful private bath and a very comfy bed. There were no restaurants in town, but I had lots of food in my packs (and a few beer that I had picked up about an hour up the road). Tuna melt, hot baked beans and beer. Yum! After filling me tummy, I was off to explore the little village and learn about its history. It is located on a strategic point that juts out into the St. Lawrence and its geography played an important role in the history of the town. The village store is straight out of the early 1900s. Like stepping back in time. A quiet peaceful night.
I woke up the next day and peeked outside my window. I knew it would be raining. But my heart sank when I say the branches of the tree across the road bouncing violently in the wind - which was obviously blowing west. I swore. I said many bad words. Ah well, maybe it will improve as the day goes on (It didn’t.) I enjoyed a tasty, filling breakfast. One of the owners of the B&B is an artist and her work was on display throughout the house and the restaurant next door. I liked then very much. Unfortunately, no room for paintings on a bike.
I reluctantly got in my saddle, shifted into my granny gears, put down my head and off I went. Quebec City or Bust! I won’t try to candy coat any of it. It sucked! And whoever mapped out the bike route approaching Quebec City took some perverse pleasure in making cyclists go up and down the cliff on the bank of the St. Lawrence far too many times. But I did finally make it. Snapped a shot of the two magnificent bridges crossing the St. Lawrence (one of which is famous among those in the engineering profession) and headed down Chemin Saint-Louis to the old town. I was drenched when I finally arrived at the Coureur des bois B&B - a long-time gay-owned B&B which has recently been bought by a man and wife from Belgium. Very cozy, great location, reasonably priced. I was on the top floor, where there were 3 bedrooms with a shared bath. I was hoping for a private bath, because I had some major drying out to do, but no such luck. I had left my bike, helmet and saddlebags in the courtyard and after making sure the courtyard doors were tightly shut (they had cats) lugged my gear (protected by two black garbage bags) up to my room. But my clothes were soaked and despite multiple layers of plastic, a few of my belongings needed drying out as well. Within a few minutes, I had completely redecorated my room with clothes hanging from every conceivable location. I opened the window to let out some of the humidity and headed to the bathroom to luxuriate in a hot, hot shower. As I returned to my room, the thee people next door were having a little party. I could tell from their accent that two of them were Acadians from New Brunswick. I asked where they were from and they said Moncton (their door was open). When I said I was from Fredericton, they replied, “Ah ben là, viens t’asseoir, on va te donner quelque chose à boire.” (Well, come on in and we’ll get you something to drink!) Acadians are renowned for their hospitality! So I ended up hanging out with them for much of the evening. We all went out to supper at a Crêperie (oh man, those crêpes were soooo good.) I headed out to a bar that I had frequented many moons ago during trips to Quebec City in the 1990s. It was a Wed night, so except for the karaoke, things were pretty quiet (and no, I did not sing - although had my newly found fun-loving Acadian friends accompanied me and had I consumed a sufficient number of beers, who knows what the night would have brought).
Sunshine beautiful sunshine. As I ate my omelletes, toast, banana, yogourt, more toast, cereal, OJ, ....ok you get picture....I was giddy looking at the sunshine and blue sky. Had it been rainy and cold again, I think I would have stayed put. But it was a glorious day. I packed my stuff, said my good-byes and loaded up the bike. Off through old Quebec on my bike, with the warm sun on my back. First stop, the Château Frontenac for some more pics and then the ferry across the St. Lawrence to Lévis. But what is that smell? Something really smelt odd. Oh, it’s my helmet. Must be because it was so wet yesterday and hasn’t dried off. I used my drinking water to give it a good rinse. OMG, it’s on one of my panniers too. Woooo. What a smell. Anyway, at least my helmet doesn’t smell any more. Well, not a lot. As I said, when you’re biking alone, you have lot of time to think. So I pondered what this offending smell could be. And then...oh no.... not that....surely not.....oh yeah.... that’s it...cat pee! They had cats and I left my helmet and panniers with my bike in the courtyard. Yuck! The male cat had sprayed my stuff. Fuck. Oh well, at least, I had all my clothes upstairs and they were (sort of ) protected by black plastic. Maybe I’ll be able to wash it out at my next stop. Not going to let this ruin my day. And what a day! A strong tailwind. I was averaging at least 25 km/h as I flew east on Hwy 132. Through Montmagny and several pretty villages such as Saint-Jean-Port-Joli. Then I Gilles’ face on a campaign sign - Gilles Duceppe. A federal election. Oh no, surely not. Did our PM pull the plug and call a fall election? Will he get his majority? Here we go again. Should be interesting. I have to call Jeff and see what’s going on. He has no idea what I’m talking about. Turns out Rivière-du-Loup-Kamouraska was having a by-election.
Not being sure what the restaurant situation would be like mid-week in Kamouraska, I stocked up before I got there. The B&B was ok - no private bath or kitchen. A typical B&B. The owners were a little over-bearing. Notes and more notes on proper etiquette for B&B patrons. Probably aimed at people like me who arrive with luggage stinking of cat pee. Frankly, the longer I stayed the more amazed I was Madame let me through the door. But there I was in my room with a pannier that stunk beyond belief. After I removed everything I needed, I quickly wrapped it in plastic and took it outside to the garage where my bike was. Thankfully, they did NOT have cats. Of course, one could not make it out the front door, without Madame running out from the kitchen to make sure everything was ok. “Oh fine, just thought I’d take my panniers outside because a cat pissed all over them last night and they reek!” She would not have been amused. Thankfully, I did manage to get everything out to the garage without incident. Although, if they remove their “Cyclists Welcome” sign from their door next year, it will probably be because they think cyclists smell like cat pee.
I had the pleasure of sharing the breakfast table with 4 tourists from France the next morning. They were taking 4 weeks to travel around Quebec - and only Quebec. They will know the province better than most Quebeckers I suspect. Lots of interesting stories.
The weather started out ok, but by the time I reached Rivière-du-Loup, the rain had returned. I drank a beer and downed some bread and cheese to celebrate my arrival at Rivière-du-Loup, where I would begin to head south away from the St. Lawrence and toward home. The highway here is not suited to biking but there is a bike trail where the old rail line used to be. The “Petit-Témis” is about 120 km long. For the first 65 km, it goes uphill. Very gradually. But on a bike, it doesn’t matter. You can tell. And it isn’t paved, so the gravel slows you down even more.Yeah, it looks flat, but my burning legs know damn well that it ain’t flat. A “false flat” I later learned it’s called. But the colours of the trees were stunning. And after being on roads for a week, the solitude of the forest was relaxing, even though I was pushing myself to make Degelis by or Edmundston by night. I soon realized I would be lucky to get to Notre-Dame-du-Lac, so I made a reservation there and on I went. At one point the trail made a detour onto a side road because of a washout (which of course took you over a big, bloody hill) and I decided to attempt riding on Hwy 185. A heavily-travelled two-lane portion of the Trans-Canada. More big hills. Rain. Lots of transport trucks. And what’s this? Oh goody, construction. Narrow shoulders. And I seem to have lost my rear brakes. This was decidedly not a good idea! But I was committed for about 10 km before I could get back on the trail.
I finally arrived. Not only was I as wet as I was in Quebec City. Me, my bike and my panniers were covered in wet gravel. No problem. They gave me bucket after bucket of water to clean my bike in the basement and then showed me up to my room. It was not a small hotel. I was the only guest. That’s a weird feeling. But I had a private bath and could finally take some soap and water to that stinky pannier. No, not even all that rain and muck had removed the stench. A little bit of TV, a bit of reading and lights out by 9 pm. Breakfast was included (the waiter/owner/cook, unfortunately, was not.) I did ask him for some tools so that I could repair my rear breaks, since I knew the hills of New Brunswick were ahead and I would need all my braking power. People who cross Canada by bike are stunned by the hills in New Brunswick. Many find them even harder than the Rockies, where you find more gradual switchbacks.
Notre-Dame-du-Lac to Edmundston was uneventful. Cloudy, cool and still wet from the day before. Riding into Edmundston was a major low point. I was cold. I wanted to hop on a bus and go home. I went to a Subway and sat next to a heater while I ate lunch. Heat and food do wonders for your state of mind. That and I could feel a good tailwind beginning before I stopped for lunch.
The old Trans Canada is ideal for cycling. Wide shoulder, no traffic. As I whizzed south on old Hwy 2, I saw a family on bikes heading North. A Mom and Dad with fully-loaded bikes and two kids with very lightly loaded bikes grinding into the headwind. I could feel their pain. I waved and quietly wished them luck. Hopefully, a nice warm table and some good food would cheer them up as well.
This area brought back lots of memories of my year of French immersion in 1985. That is until I saw something sticking out of my front tire. A big staple. Shit. Well, I’m not riding a bike with a tire that could blow at any minute. Out comes the staple and down goes the tire. Now, how does this new pump work? Maybe I should have tried it before my trip. After a bit of frigging, I finally got it switched over to fit onto presta valve, and few pumps and about 45 min later, I’m back on the road and heading into Grand Falls looking for a hotel. Lucky me. The hotel across the street from the supermarket and liquor store has a vacancy. I ate well and went to bed a tired and contented biker. The sun had come out, but the forecast for the next days was so-so.
Whoever decided this should be a sign for a rest stop in New Brunswick??
A beautiful sunrise in the morning and some stunning shots of the falls. But the clouds are not far and the day will soon turn gray and cold. And the wind will not be kind to me today as I tackle the hills along the Saint John River and its deep narrow valley. The road descends and rises for every stream, brook and trickle that empties into the river. It is a challenging but rewarding day. As much as I enjoy solitary travel, there are days such as this when I know companionship would make things much easier. My most physically exhausting day. I find a B&B in Woodstock - only an hour’s drive from home. I whip up some tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches in my room for supper, eat with the knowledge that I’m going to having a home-cooked meal with pie that following night and it’s lights out by 9.
Early morning start. Time to go home. Fruit plate and Eggs Benedict for breakfast (2 - but I could have eaten 4!) The sun was out. And I have a strong tailwind to push me home. I’m on the road before 8. There are a lot of hills to climb, but it’s no problem with the wind and the lightened load that comes after emptying your panniers of food. The downhills are thrilling, the strong winds from the river catching you from behind each time you reach the bottom. You gear down to take advantage of the push and gain as much speed as possible for the next hill. You feel strong and powerful - it’s only a feeling, but it’s a nice feeling. The road is familiar now. The only difference being the speed at which everything goes by. Each hill means one less obstacle between me and that moment I’ve dreamed of since the idea of the trip was born. And then it’s the last hill, the last turn, one final stop just before home to say “I love you and I miss you.”
Pulling into the driveway and the knowledge that I accomplished my goal. 1020 kilometers from Ottawa to Fredericton. Now let’s eat.
