An Off-Day, Spent With Family.

New Ross, NS – Still feeling the effects of having had the wind slap my face on the way out, today was essentially an off-day from the bike, though we did get out for a quick tour around familial landmarks and to Chester Basin.

With my uncle, we stitched together the dashed lines of winding roads through the trees, and the cloudy morning eventually gave way to a sunny afternoon. These roads are some of the most fun I've had riding.

Instead of riding, we had a fabulous evening of mussels, bugs (lobster, in local parlance), frivolity and family. There may have even been a cold beverage. Or two. And a great, great time.

Vitals:

• Distance: 94.2 kilometres
• Weather: Cloud, Sun, Warm
• Province: Nova Scotia
  
• Wildlife: None
  

Home at the Cross.

New Ross, NS – The day awoke to ghosts of conifers bristling against the morning chill as we prepared for the long day of riding ahead.

Yesterday’s rain lingered and the temperature dipped as we climbed north in Québec – an average of 11 degrees is particularly cold on a motorcycle, especially when it’s wet. Set into a valley outside Lévi, an Ultramar refinery was lit up like a Christmas tree, with large balls of light covering each surface. It was incongruous with the natural setting surrounding it.

Even the mountains were wrapped in scarves of fog, but we started to become moderately warmer as we descended from Rivière-du-Loup, which was the northernmost point on our trip.

My highway peg fell off immediately after crossing into New Brunswick and I had to hike back down the highway to retrieve it. Naturally, an 18-wheeler had run over it. As I reattached my crippled peg in the visitors’ centre parking lot, a young couple from Ontario came up and asked if we needed some tools. “Mechanic?” my father asked. “Tire guy,” came the reply, accompanied by the right-sized ratchet. By this point, I had discovered the importance of being able to shift sitting positions while riding long distances.

Even New Brunswick refused to welcome us with blue sky, except for a 10-minute stretch lined by moose fences in the Appalachian mountains. In fact, it rained all the way to Fredericton before simply shrouding us in grey. Still, the scenery was like a Bob Ross painting on PBS. Only real.

I was nearly run over by a pickup truck pulling a trailer whose driver decided the left lane at a toll booth would be faster. It would have been, except I was there and had to remind him so with an angry blast of my horn. All in all, the drivers haven’t been bad, though.

As my gas gauge started blinking, chiding me for letting it get too low on a stretch of road that did not have much around, we took an impromptu side trip into Florenceville. On the plus side, we got to ride through a covered bridge – four times. Turns out the roads we were on were remote enough the GPS could not pick them up.

All day long, the road unfurled before me like film: each scene similar, but altered slightly and saved in memory for posterity. A girl took our photo as she passed, people gave us thumbs-up and other bikers waved from across the highway. It was pretty cool.

We had started to disbelieve in the existence of the sun, yet it was beginning to set beautifully as we crossed into Nova Scotia. We had expected to be hit by the remains of tropical storm Danny as we arrived, but, while 1,000 mm had fallen earlier in the day, it was clear this evening.

The end of the ride was particularly tough as we wove through the trees, knackered and so close to our destination. This area is the Balsam fir Christmas tree capital of the world and the winding and hilly roads were as dark as I wanted my eyes to be. It was my first legitimate 1,000-kilometre ride day.

At 7:30, we finally pulled up to Cottage at the Cross, which is managed by my aunt and uncle and is next to their house – and my father’s childhood home.

“Welcome home, boys,” my aunt said. Considering my dad grew up here in a house his father built, it was particularly fitting.

Vitals:

• Time: 13 hours, 41 minutes
• Distance: 1,094.9 kilometres
• Weather: Cold, Rain, Cloudy, Sun
• Provinces: Québec, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia
  
• Wildlife: None (Where, oh where are you, moose?)

The Wet Road to Québec.

Saint-Nicholas, QC – With a blat from the engine, we were off. It was 5:34 a.m., cold, wet and foggy. It was also a sign of things to come.

Already, the mist created a clear, beaded feather on my windscreen and a shiver set into my knuckles. Not once, though, did I think about scrapping the plan.

My father pulled out of the driveway behind me, having decided to ride part way – or so I thought. It was not until past Whitby, sitting in a Tim Horton’s, that he mentioned “By now, you’ve figured out I’m coming all the way, right?” I hadn’t, but welcomed the companionship. As much as riding can be a very individual experience, you remain part of a greater community.

The storm was particularly strong in Napanee and the only slight reprieve we had the whole day was between Kingston and Cornwall. With low visibility, I did not have the opportunity to see much: the sky was washed out, seemingly covered in giant scoops of paste. My windscreen had become a grey kaleidoscope of shifting, hypnotic droplets. Apart from the fossilized skeleton of the Canadian shield as you approach Ottawa, it's not like Highway 401 is the most visually stimulating of roads at the best of times.

Having had some difficulty finding a room north of Québec City, we’ve stopped at Hotel Golf Stastny, a large yellow house nestled in the trees, run by former Québec Nordiques great Marian Stastny. It’s a nice place, but I would have been happy anywhere that had a bed and a hot shower I could stand in for an hour in an attempt to finally warm up.

It was a day filled with the smell of rain, the feel of rain, the look of rain. It was my first time riding through Toronto. And Montréal. It was also the longest ride of my life.

My knuckles and knees are stiff from the cold, and I am utterly exhausted. But, in a perverse way, I loved today. Well, most of it.

The adventure is underway.
Vitals:

• Time: 14 hours
• Distance: 989.7 kilometres
• Weather: Rain, Cold
• Provinces: Ontario, Québec
  
• Wildlife: A wild turkey and Queen's University students

The Open Road Calls.

London, Ontario - Since buying a motor- cycle, and subs- equently seeing the movie One Week (which contains a pretty good Canadian soundtrack, I might add), I have been fidgety to set out on the road for a substantial bike trip.

Unleash the freedom of two wheels: take pictures in front of the "world's-largest" everything. Stop at every fifth Tim Horton's. Finally see a moose in the wild – from a distance. Pull up to a scruffy diner – try the meatloaf. Count the trees – and lose count, time and time again. Reminisce about how nice it was to have a map or a GPS beside me – then remember it's about the journey. Whine about having a sore rear end – and have nobody there to hear it. Eat seafood. Visit family.

Rinse, lather, repeat.

Pending developments with Hurricane Bill, which currently has the province in its sights, my headlight should be pointed toward Nova Scotia in a week's time. It's a drive I've done before by car, but will be the farthest I've gone by motorcycle. By a lot. It's a challenge I welcome, albeit with a healthy degree of trepidation. I may also ride the Cabot Trail, which comes highly recommended, and potentially return through Vermont – which, strangely, given the extent of my travel through the US, is the northernmost state I have yet to visit.

Vroom, vroom.

Sigh.

London, Ontario – 4,300 kms. One week. Five crab cake sand- wiches, one chicken fried steak and 17 mini cheddar corn muffins. Nine American states. Home.

Dribbling Down Tobacco Road.

Charleston, WV – The rains chased us into West Virginia’s mountains this evening. The rolling, green landscape is gorgeous, but would have been more so had I not had to worry about navigating the g-forces of continuous steep curves on slippery roads as brake lights blinked like an alarm clock.

Oddly enough, this is the only state in which we’ve witnessed a travel boom and had trouble finding reasonable accommodation – everywhere else, we have been told hotels are having troubles filling rooms. The mountains are pretty, but it’s still a little strange.

Even billboards have reflected the economic downturn, with a series of churches seeking to attract to their flocks by playing on depression arising from mounting debts and related troubles. Troublesomely, another cried out in large block letters: “Tell the recession where to go!” beside a six-pack of Miller High Life. That’s right, just drink your problems away. Seems logical.

We spent the day walking through the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (Go ‘Heels!) and driving through Duke University in Durham. It may be that I work at a university, but I’m always intrigued to walk through other campuses – I love the feeling. We thoroughly enjoyed being at UNC and realized we could very easily imagine ourselves working there. Duke's campus was also stunning.

As a basketball fan – and one who appreciates one of the great rivalries in sport that exists between UNC and Duke, which are only 10 miles apart and regularly among the best college teams in the nation – this was a part of the trip I looked forward to. Unfortunately, the Smith Center was closed for renovations and I did not have time to visit Cameron Indoor Stadium, home to the Blue Devils and some of the nation’s craziest fans. I did, however, get to visit the Tar Heels’ basketball museum.

Combined with the size of sports complexes at our American counterparts, the fact the University has a large museum dedicated to one sport underlies the amount of time and money invested in the business of athletics in the United States – particularly compared to the system here. Given the heated rivalry, I had a good chuckle when I found a letter from Duke coach Mike Krzyzewski to a high school-aged Michael Jordan, expressing regret that Jordan had decided not to play in Raleigh.

Of course an item like this would end up in UNC’s museum – the Jordan kid would go on to a passable basketball career.