Reigned In.

2,923 kilometres of memories.

London, ON – The day seemed set on monochrome as I twisted open the throttle for the final push home. Donning rain gear, we set off into a deluge that didn't let up until Findlay, Ohio.

We had decided to forgo any of the fun back roads because we were being greeted by the remnants of a tropical storm that had hit Texas. Safety and ease of getting back home would win the day.

My aching tailbone was silently grateful.

Perhaps it was time after more than 46 hours of riding, 2,923 kilometres, countless curves, three BBQ sandwiches, seven states and a province. And a tonne of laughs and memories with my father.

Which is what it was all about. Thanks, Dad.

Vitals:

•     Time: 7 hours
•     Distance: 541.2 kms
•     Weather: Heavy rain, giving way to sun
•     States/Province: Ohio, Michigan, Ontario
•     Wildlife: Deer

Beam Me Up.

Not a booze cruise.

Dayton, OH – The rural roads we crossed in central Kentucky this morning were quiet and unlined. Coursing under a canopy of mature trees, they more resembled extended driveways.

Dogs, puffing their chests, nipped at our heels as we roared past barns, streaked red and black, and countless Baptist steeples, bleached white.

For miles, corn sprouted to my knees, while other fields were pin-pricked by bright bales, dried in the sun. And then, apparently, we stumbled upon the Bourbon Trail. Acres of storage sheds for the brown liquor stood tall on the roadside: Maker’s Mark, Heaven’s Hill and Jim Beam.

We took a break to stroll through the Beam homestead and have a quick look at some of the production facilities as the smell of charred white oak and vanilla blended into the boozy humidity. We didn't imbibe: we didn't want our two wheels to begin to appear they were four.

Soon, we crossed a big blue bridge over the Ohio River, leading me to expect to be in its namesake's state. Instead, Indiana.

Cruising along the waterway, we stopped into Rising Sun for lunch. If the name of the town wasn’t enough of a reason to stop, the tasty pulled pork sandwich and conversation with Mark at the Main Street Diner certainly was.

These quirky finds are what make road trips what they are.

Vitals:

•     Time: 9 hours, 30 minutes
•     Distance: 463.7 kms
•     Weather: Sunny, with only a sprinkle of rain
•     States: Kentucky, Indiana, Ohio
•     Wildlife: None

Like a Champ.

So. Many. Churches.

Campbellsville, KY – I floated by a butterfly, and got stung by a bee.

I don’t imagine the insect was thrilled about having slammed itself into my leg at 80 km/hr, leaving me banking through 10 more minutes of curves before I could finally stop to pluck the stinger from my skin.

Wear chaps, you say?

Soon thereafter, we passed a white house nestled into the trees that was notable for vast streams of red that ran down its face. I presume its owners butcher animals on the second-floor porch. At least I hope that's what it was.

It was a bit of an odd stretch of road to say the least.

We had continued our slow return north on Highway 27 after a morning ride on the stunning  Cherohala Skyway into Tennessee. Far less technical than Tail of the Dragon, the 40-mile scenic byway continues to twist and turn and is, in many ways, a more enjoyable ride. Along with rides out of Prestonburg and through Great Smoky National Park, this was a highlight of the trip.

If you like being blanketed in the silence of your own thoughts, meandering streams, trees and vistas that stretch into three-dimensional panoramas, the Cherohala Skyway might be the place for you.

I know it was for me.

Vitals:

• Time: 8 hours, 30 minutes
• Distance: 489.3 kms
• Weather: Sunny, with rain at the end of the day; hot
• States: North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky
• Wildlife: None

Tame of the Dragon.

Salmon? No, slalom!

Robbinsville, NC – No sign trumpets your arrival.

Instead, you suddenly find yourself in the maw of the dragon.

While we had slalomed across roads in six states already, this was the main event – the ride we were here to challenge. Tail of the Dragon in Deals Gap, North Carolina features 318 curves over 11 miles as you roar over the border into Tennessee. It's trumpeted as the top motorcycle and sports car road in the United States.

It's a technical ride with constant shifting as you swish over roads banked like a bobsleigh track. After two days on the highway, it took a conscious reminder to ride with my feet. No, it's definitely not a time for sightseeing. Instead, I aimed high and tried to not look away out of fear of missing the next curve, which was inevitably imminent. Repeatedly.

Mission: Don't add to the Tree of Shame.

My mind even barely registered the Lamborghini sitting at the crest of one of the hills.

Although the roads were relatively quiet that time of day, light through the trees danced, playing tricks on my eyes as I bent myself into a couple 300-degree turns. Ever present: the unwillingness to contribute to the notorious Tree of Shame.

The day began with a deer, but ended with a dragon, slain.

Twice.

Vitals:

•     Time: 10.5 hours
•     Distance: 569.8 kms
•     Weather: Sunny with fluffy clouds, hot
•     States: Kentucky, Tennessee, North Carolina
•     Wildlife: Deer

Out of Town.

Great Smoky Mountains National Park, minus the bear.

Pigeon Forge, TN – We began the day careening down Highway 23 – the Country Music Highway, apparently – past tree-lined peaks nestled into low-lying clouds.

I hadn't gone a mile before a sun-kissed fawn crossed the road in front of me. It ambled away with an awkward gait and a stunned look. I'm not sure it knew what to make of the rumble from my engine.

Cedar and eucalyptus provided nature’s cologne, eagerly breathed in. The whole experience through the clouds reminded me of my time in Rwanda. Today offered some of my all-time favourite rides.

All morning, we'd go up, down and around like we were riding a ribbon a young child had awkwardly glued to a page.

Then, stuck in traffic, we were greeted by the neon theme park that is Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, which is set against the vast majesty of Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It's sadly reminiscent of Niagara Falls, Ontario: once a beauty, now faded and overcompensating with too much make-up.

Instead, strip malls showcase 'As seen on TV' stores, countless billboards for commercially made ‘moonshine’ and Dollywood. All of this framed by the towering canopy of trees cascading over winding roads through the park.

I’ll take the latter, thanks.

Oh, Hi, Yo.

Roads, bent like Gumby.

Prestonburg, KY – As we rode into Ohio, the morning chill melted off to aromas of dry pine and campfire. By lunch, which we had enjoyed at a rest stop in Michigan, the temperature had risen from 14 to 30.

And, by mid-afternoon: 40.

But, as we approached Columbus, Ohio, the round, peaty smell of summer rain rose to my nostrils and grey skies turned white with large drops that caromed off the windshield. We didn’t even have time to don our rain riders.

Twenty minutes past the storm, however, it hardly mattered: the hot wind had slapped the moisture from our legs and, again, we sizzled.

We were fortunate to re-find the sun as it dropped with us into the Appalachian Mountains, where rock faces finally unmasked themselves to us.

These are the curves for which the area is so well known.

Vitals:

•   Time: 11 hours, 15 minutes
•   Distance: 845.7 kms
•   Weather: Variably sunny and cloudy, with thunderstorms in Columbus; cool then hot
•   Province/States: Ontario, Michigan, Ohio, Kentucky
•   Wildlife: None

The Road Home.

London, ON - While the sky had yet to blink, the road awoke to the bark of my engine at 6:40 this morning. Thirteen hours later, we would be home, the journey - and the adventure - complete.

Continuing the trend of the past few days, we basked in sun and warmth - at times, even heat - except during a stretch we knew would break when we emerged from a large pillow of fog that had settled into the valley around Killington, VT. Moving through the Green Mountains, we again enjoyed the curves and scenery, and particularly quaint towns like Woodstock, VT.

After a great breakfast with pancakes, whipped butter and homemade maple syrup at Sugar & Spice in Mendon, VT (artificial syrup, extra!), we made our way toward New York state on Highway 2. Arriving at Saratoga Springs, the casual riding ended and we hit the Interstate to make our way home more quickly. I cannot remember the last time I crossed the border at the Rainbow Bridge, but I marvelled at what an inviting panorama it presented to those coming into Canada - a great view of Niagara Falls, the mist rising into a cloudless sky.

And a few hours later, with a high-five - which had become our symbol of fraternity at the beginning and end of each leg of the trip - we were home, having covered a total of 4,778.7 kilometres. My windshield resembled a Jackson Pollock, the remains of intrepid insects who decided to box. And lost.

We, however, had made it.

Vitals:

• Time: 12 hours, 58 minutes
  Distance: 886.3 kilometres
  
• Weather: Sun, Warm
• States/Provinces: New Hampshire, Vermont, New York, Ontario
• Wildlife: None

Knuckles, White Like Mountains.

Lebanon, NH – The border guard at St. Stephens, NB, held my passport up, looked at it, then me, and said, smiling: "There's a striking resemblance." He added: "You riding with the guy behind you?" "He's my father; you'll notice a striking resemblance there, too," I replied. He chuckled in a way you don't usually see at larger border crossings in Ontario.

We had been on the road for a couple hours, traveling south in New Brunswick past some spectacular views of the Bay of Fundy, and had just stopped for breakfast. Our return home will include secondary roads through the United States until we get within striking distance of home.

From a bumper sticker pro- claiming "10 Out of 10 Terrorists Prefer Obama for President" to two guys sitting on a lawn covered in crossbows, long swords and other weapons for sale, it was obvious we were somewhere different. A lawn sign proclaimed "The Obamanure is Getting High" beside another with the old standby: "If you can't stand behind our troops, feel free to stand in front of them." I resisted the urge to comment on the irony that, as Commander-in-Chief, Obama is the head of troops for whom they were seeking support.

The winding roads, like veins, brought me energy as I challenged the switchbacks that wend through the White Mountains in New Hampshire and Vermont. Centuries ago, shoulders of rock shrugged, forming the magnificent hills we rode through today.

In their immensity, they remained indifferent.

Vitals:

• Time: 11 hours, 32 minutes
• Distance: 708.7 kilometres
• Weather: Sun, Warm
• Provinces/States: New Brunswick, Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont
• Wildlife: None

Strait to PEI.

St. John, NB – The fog hung like lace and not yet a minute out the driveway, I already wanted to take a photo of it hanging over a church in New Ross. Bundled against the cold, I resisted the urge.

It was still there by the time we reached the Shubenacadie River, which is fed by the Bay of Fundy, and somewhere you can raft on the tidal bore. It burned off during our walk from the parking lot, though.

Winding through the trees and past fog-covered lakes, the temperature dipped as low as four, and climbed as high as nine. My father reminded my aunt, uncle and me that his bike was equipped with heated grips and seats. For the hundredth time. We groaned. Then shivered. He grinned.

My nose welcomed the scent of a thousand Christ- mases as we passed through pine forests on our way to the ferry that would carry us across the Northumberland Strait to PEI. While we did not spend long exploring the province, I found it surprisingly underwhelming. I imagine my impression would have been different had we ventured more places and visited some of the beaches. It didn't help that I lost everyone in Charlottetown.

Crossing Confederation Bridge – the longest in the world over water that freezes – took all of eleven minutes, and so began our leisurely return home. We bid adieu to my aunt and uncle on the New Brunswick side and made tracks toward St. John. Still no moose.

Tired, we descended upon the largest city in New Brunswick – and oldest incorporated city in the country – during Exhibition time. Naturally. The dearth of rooms led us to cross town and end up at Hotel Courtenay Bay. Not so recommended, but it was a (dusty) bed on which to rest my weary head. Yes, that rhymes. I'm tired.

Vitals:

• Time: 12 hours, 12 minutes
• Distance: 619.1 kilometres
• Weather: Sun, Warm, Fog, Cold
• Provinces: Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, New Brunswick
• Wildlife: None

Turning the Tide.

New Ross, NS – Tail lights jigged like fireflies as we returned from an evening watching the sun set over Peggy's Cove, the full moon like another motorcycle's large headlight guiding us through the darkness of the forest.

Peggy's Cove is somewhere I always seem to go when I am here; for whatever the reason, it holds a special allure for me. It could be the beauty. As the sun danced across the curves of waves, the water shimmered like a woman in sapphire sequins – and large fountains alerted us to the presence of a pod of humpback whales swimming by, occasionally cresting the surface. What's not to like? It was a pretty cool way to spend an evening.

Given last night's events, we had a bit of a late start this morning, but enjoyed a gorgeous, sunny day by riding to the Look-off, Wolfville, Minas Basin – home to the world's highest tides, at more than 50 feet – Cape Blomidon and Hall's Harbour. In other words, it was a day of Bay of Fundy.

With the tide out, many fishing boats laid like whales, beached in red mud. I resisted the urge to use it on my skin – that's hardly the 'tough biker' thing to do.

I cannot stress how fun it is to ride the roads out here. Of course, time with family and the fact each of these spins ended with a lobster roll leaves very little to complain about.

Vitals:

• Distance: 385.8 kilometres
• Weather: Sun, Warm
• Province: Nova Scotia
  
• Wildlife: Pod of Humpback Whales
  

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.