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.

Back on Solid Ground. But Dizzy with Exhaustion.

London, Ontario - Following another 44 hours in transit, we finally returned home to the land of the maple leaf last night. And we're feeling a bit weary from the whole affair (SCS has actually been quite ill for the past couple of days). This time, thankfully, there were no snafus with delayed and cancelled planes, nor any lost luggage (which we checked in Langkawi and it, mercifully, still successfully followed us through three flights to Toronto). But, with only a trio of half-hour naps over that stretch, I'm feeling a bit knackered in both body and mind today. Of course, the fact our first flight on the 13th didn't leave until 11 p.m. after a full day of exploring didn't help either. Yawn.

All in all, it was a rough life there for a while in Langkawi. Or not. The ocean, lapping at the back patio of our villa. The sky, endless and blue, draped over the green jungle that crawled down the mountainside to our front door. The beach, soft and white under our feet, proffering glittery shells as offerings to weary travellers. Not too shabby.

We stayed at the Berjaya Beach and Spa resort on the island of Langkawi, which is to the north of mainland Malaysia and about a forty minute plane trip from Penang. A little luxury after trekking through the concrete jungle for the earlier parts of the trip. From the first moment, service at the resort was top-notch and everyone from the bellhops to the shuttle drivers to the leaf blowers (every morning, cleaning off the walkways) to miscellaneous other staff members scooting around on motorbikes would smile and say hello.

The accomm- odations were also beyond nice, with private little villas designed in a fairly open concept fashion and nestled into the jungle, with banana, bamboo and palm fanning them. Our patio looked out toward the ocean, over which we would watch the sun set while we enjoyed dinner. Likely because of the heat (in the low- to mid-forties), the sky was ablaze with beautiful electric storms at night.

Langkawi also provide me with my first experience driving on the left side of the road. And the right side of the car. I wasn't sure how it would work out, but the freedom to go where we wished on the island was attractive and the adjustment actually ended up being fairly easy. Only once did I go, "Gee, I wonder why that guy is coming straight at me. Oh, crap."

Our first night, we were startled by a flying squirrel, which swooped down and latched onto a tree along the path we were taking. It looked like a Muppet, the way it trained its beady little eyes on us, quickly looking left, then right. Long, long arms and a crazy flap of a tail. It was really quite amazing.

We went into town to rustle up some dinner and found an Indian food hawker for some take-away. There had been some difficulties communicating and service ended up being a little slow. So, the look on SCS's face was priceless when -- after a long wait -- the cook started packaging up 34 Char Keow Teows. Turns out, they weren't for us. What we did get, though, was great and we returned the second night.

On our way back to our room, we also crossed paths with a lemur, but I was slow on the draw with the camera. And, from our balcony, we saw a monitor lizard snaking through the surf. Alas, no monkeys on day one. Funny though, when we got back to our room, it looked as though someone had been there in our absence. Monkeys, hiding in our suitcases? No. But there were orchids on the pillows and an empty box on dresser. A quick peek into the fridge revealed a cake. And it said, "Happy Honeymoon" on it. SCS and I both looked at each other and laughed, wondering if there was something the other had neglected to mention. Um, there was no wedding. And this isn't a honeymoon. But told you the service was good. And thanks for the cake.

Day two started with SCS being startled by a rather large (four inches wide?) spider peering back at her from inside her luggage. Turns out her socks make a cozy place to rest, free from the wrath of the bald eagles circling outside. Not that I'd have picked them. We hopped into the car and made our way to the Seven Wells waterfall, where we finally saw monkeys. Holy crap -- lots of monkeys! The first was sitting on the railing which guides you up the extremely steep steps to the top of the mountain (and did I mention that it was forty degrees out? No? Well, it was mighty warm). Up and down the mountain, we'd wind up seeing many more monkeys, including a tiny baby trying to venture beyond its mother's grasp and onto a branch. Like any good mother, she just sat there calmly, holding its tail like a child leash. Then, when another mom-key was around, she'd let it explore. The teen monkeys, like the one at right, all had funny little fuzzy mohawks. And this one was jonesing for what was in SCS's green plastic bag. Badly. Most of the ones we crossed paths with that day were relatively friendly (but no, you don't pet them); it wasn't until my third day that I was pursued with fangs bared. Wanting to take a picture of a couple of monkeys playing in a tree, I started to cross the road and two little devils on the ground came flying at me from different angles. I retreated. Quickly. Like I was French or something. They obviously weren't a part of the Malaysia 2007 tourism board. Except maybe in the brochures. Like furry models.

Later in the day, we went to a mangrove forest, but the water was low, leaving only a pile of mud and a tangle of roots. And crabs ducking in and out of daylight. More monkeys, too, looking all cute and stuff so that patrons of a restaurant in the middle of the forest would share their food. Then, an enormous monitor lizard skulked out from the mud, flicking its tongue. Rewarded with a chicken carcass, it made short work of its prize, grinding the bones into a paste. Yum. Raw chicken, with paste. An impressive sight nonetheless.

Most of the rest of our time on Langkawi was spent at the beach (you know you're carrying a little extra weight when you sunburn in stripes) and checking out other sights around the island. With an ever watchful eye for more wildlife. The only regret was that we didn't get to take the cable car up the mountain -- alas, it was closed for maintenance the day we wanted to go. Better that it be maintained.

Driving around, we took in scenery from every angle and visited some new beaches. It was astounding how many beer bottles -- likely from fishermen -- were frolicking in the waves, much like the drunken sailors who likely threw them overboard. Any sea glass enthusiasts should have quite the haul in a couple of years. We also marvelled at the small clear crabs which darted into holes in the nick of time before our treacherous toes could inadvertently track them down. "Scurry, scurry crab." At one of the beaches, I was looking between the rocks for shells and suddenly, a half dozen shells took off from me like a Dukes of Hazard chase scene. All willy nilly. Hermit crabs. As tended to be the way when we found something new for the other to come look at, I almost yelled to SCS, "I've got crabs!". But thought better of it. I also felt it would be unfriendly if I took their homes from them. Particularly with their claws spinning out, grasping for my fingers.

Langkawi: a beautiful island. Except maybe for the Lefarge cement plant, incongruously placed in between more beautiful plants. And Lim's Optometry and Nuts? Still haven't figured out what that's all about. No swimming monkeys, but a lemur, many bald eagles, a flying squirrel, several monitor lizards of a variety of sizes and monkeys, monkeys, monkeys. And yet more food in a bag.

Day One. Oh, and Days Two and Three Thrown In.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia - 44 hours door-to-door. And that’s not considering the difference in time zone, multiple curry dishes, nor the two hours spent hosing down in the shower to scrape off those parts of the trip that decided to leech into my skin. Curry was but a part of that equation. After the day we had yesterday, I felt dirtier than Rick Solomon after One Night in Paris. And just as unfulfilled.

We arrived at the Hotel Istana in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia tonight around 20:30 local time (13 hours ahead of the time back home – and after having left on Saturday at 12:30 EST), on the heels of a circuitous route through Toronto, Paris and London, the last of which was an unexpected stop. 35 straight hours my eyelids kept running, clicking like shutters, until I was finally able to sleep on the twelve hour flight from London to KL.

Our flights were significantly delayed in Toronto, Paris and London – oh wait, that’s three for three – and cancelled in Paris. After much pleading in both English and French with Malaysian Air representatives in France – even pulling out the fact that SCS has a presentation first thing Tuesday morning for the Prime Minister of Malaysia – we were finally able to get seats on a flight to KL from London, England, leaving ten hours later than we had originally intended. But of course, we had to get to London first. And our bags had been lost because of complications with the cancelled flight from Paris. More than an hour later, they appeared in the nick of time and we ran to the gate just seconds prior to closing by surreptitiously jumping a few lines. Naturally, the terminal from which the plane would be leaving was miles away.

Oh, but wait – theme of the day – when we got to the gate, we found out this plane, too, had been delayed 90 minutes. At that point, it really didn’t matter as we would have been waiting several hours in Heathrow anyway, so it gave us an opportunity to see the newer (and nicer) terminal in Paris. And an opportunity for SCS to catch a Charlie nap.

The situation in France had been a bit of a farce and SCS and I had initially been laughing at our welcome to the country. The airport was beyond dated. And far beyond efficient. When we got to the desk to check in and to get our tickets, we were told the flight wasn't on the board yet and that we'd have to come back in an hour. So we made our way back down through the creepy caverns and back to the terminal's central hub to have a coffee and a pain au chocolat (I believe I have finally swayed SCS to the dark side on those at this point). When we returned to the gate, we were told that we were being given lunch at the Hippopotamus restaurant downstairs because the flight had been delayed three hours. No problems. Asking directions six times, we were finally able to make our way down to the restaurant in the 'Shopping District'. Which included a McDonald's, another restaurant, a pharmacy and a convenience store that had different names depending on which door you entered. Not much of a 'district'. Best of all, we were able to waltz out into Paris without ever once going through immigration or customs. So much for post-911 security.

The centre of the terminal was open-air and consisted of several glass tubes with moving carpets criss-crossing each other and taking people to different levels; that said, no matter where you were trying to access one, it was always going in the opposite direction. SCS likened it to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Hm, Charlie and Chocolate -- likely her two favorite things. And the sign in the elevator helpfully pointed to the floor for "Halls 2-24" and to another floor for "Hall 5". Must be a pretty big Hall. It turns out that one of the Malaysian Airlines planes from the previous day required repairs, stranding those passengers. They, in turn, took our flight, causing two days' worth of nightmares. The worst part is that we found out later they knew all along we weren't going to be flying, but didn't tell most people in enough time to make alternate arrangements. There were some pretty unhappy folks.

In the air, I saw the Eiffel Tower all lit up, and some fireworks over the Thames in London, as well as the Millennium Ferris Wheel. Flying over KL, you could see palm tree plantations as far as you looked, all ordered in perfect lines.

The hotel provides us with a great view of the Petronas Towers and is very nice, though we each described it as “worn”. We didn’t get to see much of KL on the drive in, though the Moorish architecture is one thing that certainly stands out. That’s what the next couple of days, and feet, are for – Discovery!

Day Three. Home Sweet Home.

London, Ontario - And, he's back. Good golly, we return to Michigan today, where they like them some churches, mighty fine. Halleluiah!

The day started off well, with a complete – and most importantly – included, hot breakfast, Super 8-style. Make-your-own waffles, cereal, doughnuts, some sort of chopped sausage grits/porridge concoction I didn’t touch. And coffee. The orange juice was skunky, so it got tossed. Not a bad start, particularly after the lack of real food yesterday. Up at 6:54, I am still completely knackered. My throat is scratchy. And not in the sexy way. The trip started to catch up with me last night, but I really didn’t want to ply myself from the covers this morning. Well, I should have crawled under them earlier. Sigh. Such a dummy. Having started at the crack of darkness on Tuesday didn’t help either. Really.

On the road at 7:34 – not too bad a turnaround time despite the fog in my brain. One sign that it’s going to be a good day, though: the warning at the entrance to the highway states that it is not to be used by “farm implements”. Brings back fond memories of one of my former history professors who would always sprinkle his lectures with the term because he knew it would make us all laugh. Absurd, really. Another good sign: it’s clear and 20 degrees. Starting at 2,078.7 kms. today.

7:44: Big Bone Lick State Park. No comment. It’s too early, dammit. And I’m dumb today. Just past this, and outside Cincinnati, though, a giant traffic snarl lights up like an LED board. Signs warn of 10-15 minute delays. I remind myself of the perils of cat naps during that stretch. Then stretch and yawn. Where’s that coffee again? Gone. Damn my inability to drink more slowly. Sigh (number two).
What’s Playing: The Organ, Grab that Gun

8:13: Cincinnati! Finally, free from the clutches of the hordes. Traffic jam, be gone.

8:34: 2,170.9 kms. It’s grey out, but at least it's not raining.
What’s Playing: Man on the Moon, OST

8:57: West Carrolton, OH for more gas. Looks like a ritzier neighborhood. Whoops, maybe not the best place to choose for gas. It just struck me that I’m so used to not going to generic gas stations that I have stuck with the majors to fill the rental car. Hmm. $2.479 a gallon for a total of $26.48. According to news reports last night, fuel is cheaper across the US than it has been in a year and it is anticipated that gas prices will be down to $2.00 a gallon by Thanksgiving. Depends if their President starts another war somewhere. Sorry, my little yellow ribbon must have peeled off. I can support the troops just fine, thanks – I just don’t support that government. There is a very BIG difference. But these people carry guns, so I’ll keep my trap shut. Big trap. Big guns. Closed.
What’s Playing: Lauryn Hill, The Miseducation of

9:34: 2,272.7 kms.
What’s Playing: Alanis Morissette, Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie

10:34: 2,383.7 kms.
What’s Playing: The Tragically Hip, Day for Night

11:23: Michigan!

11:29: Monroe, Michigan, here we come. Alright, one more stop for the road trip. The last hurrah. The big finale (have I built up the anticipation yet?). Jerky!

Uh, Santa lives there, right? How exactly do I get into a career in Jerky? I’m sure Guelph offers a degree in it.

Anytime a man wearing an apron -- and surrounded by various cured meats -- approaches with shears, do not fret. Smile broadly. Samples! Teriyaki Beef. Smoked Beef (sorry, drooling on the keyboard). Some other kind I cannot remember, though if I search far enough back into my molars, I might find some stringy remnants. Mmm, remnants. Jerky = yum. Especially on road trips. Too bad this one is almost over.

Anyway, paper bags full of jerky and I’m a happy man. In the absence of other exciting photo opp’s today, we’re going to embark on the journey called “Jerky over Michigan”. Replete with reviews. In depth reviews. Some might even say, “meaty”. Others stick to “dry”. Those ones are usually being jerky.

Beer flavoured beef. Spicy. Okay, I get it – tough to go too far astray with this one: Give man meat. Give man beer. Man be happy. A club, too? Over the moon.

11:34: 2,484.9 kms. Last stop? For real this time? Michigan Welcome Centre in Monroe. There’s the coffee again. And empty the car of garbage acquired in six states and one province over three days. But really, I just wanted to add to my map collection. I just got back into the car and wow, does it smell strongly of dried meats. Mmm, dried meats…Sorry, I just lost more time, opening and closing the door. Wafts are so good. But such a tease. Need more meat. Did I mention there’s jerky? Jerky, we’re close, you know.

Try the garlic beef, you say? Why, mighty nice of you to ask. Barkley was feeling left out and wanted to try some, too (I don't even want to see the cat gut after that one). This was surprisingly bland until 5-6 hours later. Just ask anyone I talked to. Except the jerky, he’s gone (hey, it was a lonely car). That conversation went like this: “Am I shaped like a state you just left?” “Not yet,” I replied. Then it became Rhode Island, which was subsequently sucked into the dark, gurgling ocean.
What’s Playing: Travis, The Man Who

12:20: Detroit! (Sorry Paul, “The D”).

12:28: Canada!*
(*Caveat: Well, we’re at the midpoint of the Ambassador Bridge, so they haven’t technically let me into the country yet. But the Russian judge ruled in my favor on this one.)

12:34: 2,555.8 kms.

My favorite jerky of the day was the honey garlic pork. Ever so slight a zip. Tender. I don’t want to pig out because I’m bac-on track to get home. It was smooth. Like butter. Very chewy butter. At least it looks like a maple leaf for going across the border (that’s what they’d say at Ruby Falls, anyway).

12:36: SCS wins the bet (she had wagered that I had a 42 per cent chance of getting stopped at the border, I had wagered 74 per cent). I whizzed through without any difficulty this time. I think the ever-so serious agent even raised the corner of her lip the slightest bit when I replied to her query about items to declare: “…right at $100 worth of apparel, including a pair of shoes…and some jerky.” A micro-smile at best, but I know she wanted some. I was just glad that she didn’t ask where I had been; I’ve had a mental block about remembering “Huntsville” all week, for whatever the reason.

Welcome to Canada! Windsor! Eek. 24 degrees and sunny. Finally make it to the good ol’ 401 eleven minutes later.
What’s Playing: Split CD: Wolf Parade, Apologies to the Queen Mary and EPs

13:34: 2,652.7 kms.
What’s Playing: Split CD: Regina Spektor: Soviet Kitsch and Begin to Hope

14:20: London! Grr. Welcome back to the city’s horribly mistimed lights. All red. And I’m so close I can taste it. Or maybe that’s just the jerky.

14:34: 2,749.4 kms.

14:38: Gas for the last time. 89.7, which is still cheaper than I’ve seen it in quite a while around here, for a total of $34.77. Drivin’ isn’t cheap.

14:43: HOME!!! (Yes, that one deserves triple exclamation marks). Total trip kilometers: 2,751.7. 35 hours and 28 minutes of tooling around time. Two bags of Crispers. Two Granny Smith Apples. A bag of Licorice. Most of two boxes of granola bars. Two 2L bottles of pop and a litre of water. A bag of Skor bites. And jerky, sweet jerky. Where would I be without you? Um, here.
And yes thanks, I am as tired as I look. But it was worth it.