Montreal River Harbour, ON
1,147 km
Remember getting new rain boots or a new raincoat as a kid? Remember that feeling when you got a chance to try them out during the first downpour: [Avoid] the puddles? Are you insane — these are new rain boots! At which point you would plonk your feet into the deepest puddle available. Well, anyway, that’s how it was for me as a kid (“when I was a lad”). And today I got a chance to relive my youth. The skies had been bruised and the air had been thick with the smell of ozone from intermittent cloudbursts I’d dodged throughout the day. Then, just as I was having dinner at a roadside diner at Batchawana Bay, the skies opened up overhead. Yes!
Ever since I purchased my rain suit from B
MW (expensive but worth it according to the reviews), I’ve been dying to try it out. Sure enough, it lived up to its reputation. Depite requiring a bit of effort to squirm into and being bright yellow (like a hazmat suit), it kept me bone dry as I cruised up the Trans Canada to my stop for today at Montreal River Harbour. Kudos, as well, to the Forma boots–my feet were dry as the Sahara at noon. Let it rain!
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Earlier in the day, as I was doing a walk-around inspection of Gunther while sipping a large double-double Dark Roast in the Timmy’s parking lot in Blind River, I heard a voice from behind me say, “Ah, another biker!”. It was Mark, the owner of this particular Tim Hortons. Turns out Mark is doing almost the same route as I am in a couple of weeks, only on a Triumph Tiger. Small world. Very friendly guy. Good luck Mark–maybe our paths will cross in BC!
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I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little despondent that it’s Day 4 and I am still not out of Ontario; and probably won’t be for another couple of days despite having covered over 1,000 kms. I’d been warned by others of this. I think one has to experience it first hand, though, to fully appreciate the vastness of this province–which is, after all, why I am on this trip–for the experience. All of that said, I am getting better at resisting the urge to open the throttle a little more; to speed things up and get on with it already. After all, it’s not about the destination; it’s not about getting there; but about being here. I think we miss a lot of the important stuff that’s around us when we focus too much on what’s ahead (or behind for that matter).
It can get pretty lonely on the road up here, too: kilometer upon kilometer, hour upon hour of empty road with nothing but forest and rock on either side and the inside of my helmet to talk to. When this happens, I sometimes catch myself singing just to hear another voice. Yeah, that’s right — singing. I must say, I’m not half bad either inf the in-helmet acoustics are any indication. So, what do I sing? Well, folk / country music, mostly — Arlo Guthrie’s City of New Orleans; Gordon Lightfoot’s Carefree Highway; The Band’s The Weight; etc. I’ve added these to my playlist in case anyone out there is looking for great road music (the originals; not my versions, great as they are).
The other thing that breaks through the desolation is the train tracks. I guess the Trans Canada more-or less follows the CN tracks that join East and West; and, vevery now and then, they make an appearance for a few minutes in the trees a few meters from the road. Rather comforting, actually — like a lifeline back to my home; a a testament to the fact that there really is civilization out there (out here).