I cannot believe that I have got so far behind with this
blog, sorry, sorry, sorry… real life has got in the way. Since the last post I
have spent a week in South Africa, with an additional 70 hours of flying and
transit time, and the climax of a very busy project at work. Bum excuses I
know, but true nonetheless. The trip to South Africa was wonderful and perhaps
I’ll write about it in due course, if only to dispel the winter blues that are
coming my way. The trip included a few
profoundly proud moments for a parent, I watched my daughter present her
absolutely fabulous fashion collection on the runway and graduate with a BA in
Fashion Design. Man, do they grow up so fast, the years speed by so quickly, it was only yesterday that I held her tiny body in my
hands and rocked her to sleep. Anyway allow me to cycle back in time to mid-fall
and the trip to Muskoka.
Paying a visit to the Screaming Heads has been on my bucket
list ever since hearing about them a few years ago. I recall after seeing
pictures of these sculptures for the first time, thinking that these heads are
protesting something, something about the way we are ‘managing’ things. It
turns out that I was right, artist Peter Camani, an ex-school teacher has created
these sculptures and opened his farm to the public to view them in an attempt
to protest against the environmental degradation we humans visit upon the
planet in the pursuit of the good life as defined by Walmart et al. I get it
completely, sometimes I feel that I can scream along with them. I guess that if things carry on the way they
are heading there will come a day when we will all be screaming and not in
protest, but in real anguish when everything of consequence goes tits up thanks
to our consumerism. I must admit to not knowing the answers, but I do know that
current received wisdom is driving us, lemming like, over the abyss. I know
that the western ideal of rampant unchecked capitalism is as flawed a system as
central planning. I know that when CEOs of companies earn salaries north of a
million dollars a year (in some cases many times that) or people can spend a million
dollars on as frivolous a thing as a wedding celebration, whist millions of
people starve, there really is something that stinks about the way things are
organized. I know that as long as the
system can only function if there is constant growth and rewards cost cutting
at the expense of the environment or at the comfort of our fellow creature
(calves in feedlots, broiler chickens, pigs in factory farms, wild animals
deprived of habitat and so on) we will doom our own species to a horrible
end.
On a more cheerful note, it is a gorgeous morning and
despite the efforts of the employees of CN (for the benefit of non-Canadians,
CN is The Canadian National Railway Company), I am feeling pretty good (see http://www.not-so-easy-rider.blogspot.ca/2015/10/planes-trains-and-motorcycles.html). I have
a decent ride ahead of me for the day and that is always guaranteed to make me
cheerful. I wipe the KLR down with a cloth I brought along for just that,
drying off the dew, and I carry out the daily safety inspection. I've learned to do that
before setting out on a longish ride, I know one should always do it, but
I must admit to not being quite as fastidious when I’m just doing a short spin.
Today the inspection reveals that I am indeed low on engine oil. These
motorcycles tend to burn oil when you push them hard, I hadn’t thought that I
had done terribly long stretches at 100 km/h plus, but then it is coming up for
the next service. My host had mentioned that there is a Canadian Tire service
station on the road out of town, for sure they will have the right grade of oil
and with a bit of luck they will stock the motorcycle version… memo to me, carry
a liter of the stuff in the saddle bags on long rides in the future.
I pack up, settle the modest account and head out, first
stop Canadian Tire, fill up gas and top up oil, indeed they carry exactly the
oil I want, good ol’ CT. Joseph Street becomes Parry Sound Drive which in turn
becomes Highway 124. I go under Highway 400 and follow the 124 for about 8 km,
then turn northwards into Lorimer Lakes Road. A few kilometers on the road
forks and I take the left fork which goes by the silly name of ‘Bunny Trail’.
Silly name, but gorgeous road, the blacktop is in perfect condition and the
curves are plentiful and not so tight that you can’t take them at a decent
speed. I encounter one heart-stopping moment, the road has no markings, which
should not be an issue as drivers are after all supposed to be adults, but one
asshole in a big ass truck nearly forces me off the road. I think every
motorcyclist has had a few of these moments, I can recall at least three, when suddenly
there is a car on your side of the road bearing straight down on you. This
particular prick decided that the whole fucking road is his side of the road. I
head for the very edge of the pavement and the truck swerves back to where he
should have been. The incident is over in perhaps two seconds and as there is
nowhere safe to stop and let the adrenaline dissipate, I just carry on, albeit
at somewhat of a slower pace and soon settle back into enjoying the ride.
Bunny Trail
Eventually Bunny Trail meets up with Muskoka Road 520,
another great motorcycle road to ride in this lovely county. It’s a reasonable
distance to the turnoff to the Screaming Heads, the Lord of the Rings sounding
‘Midlothian Road’. Indeed by the time I reach this point I am getting fairly
hungry, but the chance of finding somewhere to eat seems low. The road is
pleasantly twisty but not in great condition so I take it easy, which turns out
to be a good thing, Midlothian Castle, as the farm is called, is easy to miss. Once
in the grounds it is apparent that it is somewhat busier than expected, there
is a sort of New Age market on the go, as well as a disk golf tournament. I manage
to get a semi-reasonable cup of coffee from a stall that sells organic cookies
and such like, but as I have sworn off eating carbs, I give the eats a miss.
Now disc golf is worth a small digression. I am deeply
shocked to discover so many adherents in one place, at least 20, and one of
them tells me that 100 more are expected, there is a major tournament on the
go. For the uninitiated, disc golf is a form of golf played with Frisbees, I
kid you not. The players throw Frisbees instead of hitting golf balls and
finally toss the thing into a basket at the end of the ‘hole’. There is a park
near to where I live that hosts disc golf every Sunday in summer. Every Sunday the
baskets are placed out, but I have seen no more than three people actually tossing
the Frisbees from tees to greens and into baskets over the past several
summers. I never thought that this was an actual sport with actual tournaments,
but here in the most unexpected place is a bunch of enthusiastic guys and gals
throwing Frisbees and walking around with special bags to hold the discs. Still
I suspect that disc golf won’t be an Olympic sport any time soon.
Midlothian Castle is indeed an unexpected place and the
screaming heads are something to see, definitely worth a visit if you find
yourself in this part of the word. The expression of anguish is so clear it is palpable,
they are warning us, but I guess we will just ignore these, like we ignore all
the warnings. The heads are not all in the same place, and I wander around to
see them, taking care not to get in the way of a Frisbee. I would have liked to
have experienced the place with less people around, I think a grey rainy
morning with no one about would have been a more appropriate setting, still it
was good. I take my leave, wave to the disc golfers I’d been chatting to and
head down Midlothian Road the way I came
Midlothian Castle
Few of the screaming heads
The Not-so-Easy Rider, picture courtesy of an avid disc golfer
 |
I'd also scream if I had a gong hanging from a nasal orifice
My route takes me to Burk’s Falls. I’m quite hungry, but don’t
want to waste an hour at a restaurant so it’s Tim Hortons and a large coffee with
cream that takes the edge off. I take Highway 11 south bound for a few kilometers
until turning right onto County Road 518, heading west to Orrville. Another
fantastic road to ride a motorcycle on, sweeping curves, excellent pavement and
the beauty of Muskoka in the fall. At
Orrville I discover a great little coffee shop / bakery. They serve me a platter
of cheese, Salami, olives and ham accompanied by an excellent cup of coffee. There
is not much to Orrville so it’s surprising to find something like this there.
The baked goods look very tasty, but as I mentioned I have sworn of the carbs
to reduce my waistline a bit. While sitting on the veranda having lunch I research
using the map app on my phone, I’m looking for some off-the-beaten-track roads
to ride, maybe some dirt roads. I decide on a route that will take me south on Star
Lake Road, then onto Turtle Lake road, then onto the oddly named Tally Ho
Swords Road and end up on Highway 141.
Orrville Bakery
This turns out to be dirt road most of the way, through some
very lovely areas. Lots of lakes and forest (lots of cottages too). The KLR
feels sure footed enough on the gravel, but I keep the speed down, don’t go
above sixty and take the corners a little like a grandmother. I enjoy the change
of pace and the feeling of freedom and adventure, it’s very tame I know, but
still, a little way into that dual sport / enduro territory.
Highway 141 takes me to Highway 400, thirty odd kilometers
south of Parry Sound. I have spent the morning riding a loop. It was great fun,
but now I head for home, about a two hour ride on the busy as hell highway. It’s
the cottage traffic, Sunday afternoon Muskoka empties back into Toronto. I’m
sad now, as I know this is the last longish ride of the season, the rainy
season is here and winter is approaching and I must winterize the bikes before
leaving for South Africa. I’ll still ride a bit for sure, but won’t be
venturing far from home.
Muskoka has beautiful fall colours, but this park around the corner from my home is also stunning
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