Planes, Trains and Motorcycles

This trip wasn’t really planned, until yesterday I hadn’t even thought about riding, other than maybe a snatched few hours if the weather played ball. It’s been that sort of week, head down and deal with the brown stuff as it comes my way. Yesterday afternoon I lifted my head up and noticed that the weather forecast was looking rather good for the weekend. These weekends with nice weather at this time of year are little gifts bestowed by the gods of weather to the gods of motorbikes, and are ignored at your peril, pissing these celestial beings off can result in constant rain until it starts to snow in November. At any rate that is my story and I will stand by it, which is why I am setting out for a weekend numb-bum shortly before noon on a truly glorious fall day. My original thought had been to leave home at the fart-of-sparrow, but there has been a niggling job that had to be done sooner or later and to my credit I decide to do it, of course I had reckoned on an hour delay, tops – heard that one before?

The caulk-free drain provided as a freebie with the shower I had installed was proving to be a little unsatisfactory, it leaked, and my temporary solution of a bucket beneath the drain in the crawl space, whilst effective, was definitely not a final solution. Continuing with this ersatz arrangement for another few days was tempting, but I needed to get it fixed before it is discovered by other members of the family and my rep goes down the drain, so to speak. My morning activities involved the caulk-free drain getting thoroughly caulked, but only after a monumental struggle to get the bloody thing loose. This involved sawing through PVC drain pipes, and then having to cement the severed pipes back together with joins, after dashing to the nearest Home Depot for the joins and cement. Anyway, I’ll see in due course if my efforts will be rewarded by the gods of plumbing with a leak free showering experience.  Words of wisdom for others that may be installing showers, make the hole in the floor big enough to get your hands in, make sure the thread on the ring is clean and oil it with a drop of baby oil. Oh yes, use a good quality silicon sealer even if the manufacturer claims that you don’t need any caulk at all.

Job done, I spend a half hour poring over Google maps and decide that I’ll ride to Tobermory at the north end of the Bruce Peninsula, find a place to stay, then spend Sunday exploring the area, before riding home. It seems like a good plan, but the little voice in my head tells me that the fall colors will be more spectacular in Muskoka. Of course Maine, Vermont or Adirondack would be the pinnacle, but that requires a bit more time than I have on my hands right now. Still I set out with a route in mind that will take me to Bruce County, however as I reach the turn-off from highway 27 that will take me there, the KLR goes straight, Muskoka it is… more lakes, more forest, more hills and there are still some damn good roads there that I haven’t yet ridden.

Fall colours in Muskoka  

For some distance I trace, going the other way, the route Helena and I took a week ago when we rode up to have lunch in Bracebridge. It’s the homeward route we followed that I am riding now. North on highway 27, then north on highway 400 from Barrie, east on Old Barrie Road, then north again on highway 11. I take my leave of the motorway at Severn Township and follow Muskoka road 13, also known as Southwood Road. This is great, pretty much what I came this way to see, the autumn color festival courtesy of the forest trees. There is a fair amount of evergreen around here, lots of pine, so the reds yellows and orange contrast wonderfully against the green. Sometimes one comes across whole swathes of forest that seem not to be effected in the slightest by the season and are hanging onto summer verdant greens, why these trees are green and not the ones a mile back, same species as far as I can tell… who knows?

Southwood Road with cemetery in the middle of nowhere

The last time I rode this road was with my heavy (see http://www.not-so-easy-rider.blogspot.ca/2015/07/bike-shopping.html) in late spring. I am impressed, back then there were considerable stretches that were seriously damaged, now almost all of the bad sections have been resurfaced. It’s a lovely ride, but you can’t take most of these corners at a speed that makes for exhilarating riding, they are just too tight. Fortunately the scenery is so lovely that you actually just want to take it easy, take in the view and smell the hummus, so to speak. After dashing up the motorways at 120 km/h plus, this is a nice change of pace. I relax and get into a pattern of weaving through the non-stop corners going at between forty and sixty, mostly I’m in third or fourth gear and I get to practice leaning on the corners. There are not many places that you can safely stop to take some pictures, but I come across a little cemetery and stop for a photo op. It’s sunny and warm, an absolutely a gorgeous fall day, all the more precious when you know that there are only a few of these left this year and quite possibly no more that fall on a weekend. Living the dream… at least for now.

Southwood Road eventually winds its way to meet up with Highway 169, which I follow north to the picturesque little town of Bala, I stop to stretch my legs and buy a little bottle of Scotch at the local LCBO. For the benefit of readers outside of Canada, LCBO stands for the Liquor Control Board of Ontario, which controls the liquor in Ontario by selling it to anyone over the age of 19 that can pay for it, it is a government controlled monopoly. From my point of view it is a slick, well run business with cheerful, beautifully laid out shops, stocked with booze from the four corners of this world. As

alcohol is an addictive chemical substance, this would make the government of Ontario the biggest pusher in the province. I’m actually ok with the whole idea, at least the profits of this trade are going into a pot that keeps my taxes a bit lower and doesn’t just make some fat cat capitalist even richer, which is exactly what would happen if it were decided to privatize. So I’m all for the LCBO, and must stress that I have grave doubts any private enterprise could do this any better, the LCBO outlets are the very example of retail at its best. Anyway the LCBO at Bala is in complete character with the town, and as I am in an expansive mood I splash out on a half bottle of Glenfiddich Single Malt 12 years old Scotch… yum.

From Bala I carry on with the 169 to Foot’s Bay, then Lake Joseph Road. This is lake country, lots of water, lots of hills and the road takes lovely sweeping curves. This is a great road for riding a motorcycle, the blacktop is in excellent condition, the traffic is light, the scenery is great and you can do a good speed. The sun is getting a little low in the sky so I am glad I am travelling north. Thus time of year riding east or west in the early morning or evening carries the extra danger of getting blinded by the sun, or even worse, the oncoming traffic getting blinded. I am not exaggerating, I have had moments when coming over a rise to suddenly find the sun directly in my eyes and I couldn’t see anything at all except this blinding light, bloody scary. Eventually Lake Joseph Road meets up with Highway 400 and the last few kilometers to Parry Sound pass in a blur of 120 to 130 km/h, high speed indeed for the KLR, but that single cylinder 650 cc carbureted motor seems to be quite up to the job… love this little bike.

Parry Sound is an interesting if not entirely pretty town, on the shores of Lake Huron. It’s a little bit of a gritty town with a gritty past and hasn’t been completely gentrified by ‘cottage money’ from Toronto…I like it, it’s got the feeling of a working class town with few pretensions. The town is a bit of a railway juncture, a good deal of Canadian timber that built the great cities of North America passed through Parry Sound over the last hundred or so years, and as I will reveal, the railway lines are still running (at all hours of the night). I make my way to the waterfront with the intention of finding a pleasant, but inexpensive pension where I might spend the night, preferably with a verandah and a view over the harbor. I assume that there will be dozens of such establishments with plenty of vacant rooms at nicely discount prices…I assume wrong, there is one and it is full, damn. I ask the proprietress to point me in the direction of some other places where I may lay my head down for the night. There is nothing on the waterfront, but there are several motels in town and a Comfort Inn, but she warns me, a touch gleefully, that there is a very big wedding on the go and she thinks that nearly everything is fully booked.  I’m not too worried, if Parry Sound does not have room at an inn for me, I’ll just go elsewhere, it is still a few hours before sunset is complete.

Nonetheless I follow her directions to where the motels are located, it seems they are mostly on Church Street (what town settled by Brits in the Victorian era does not sport a Church street?). Enquires at the first three places come up with blanks, but my persistence pays off on the third place. The Town and Country Motel is not actually on Church Street, it is on Joseph Street, however Church becomes Joseph. The motel is just as the lady from the B&B on the waterfront said, “Just a block after the Dairy Queen”. The way she spoke it was as if DQ is the pinnacle of Parry Sound cuisine, I hope not. There are two rooms left, a smoking room and a non-smoking room, I am surprised that smoking rooms still exist, but snap up the non-smoking room. This is a real motel, but a really nice one. It advertises itself as “clean, quiet and affordable”, and indeed that is exactly what it is. The room is spotless, simply, but nicely furnished and as I said really, really clean. The owner, it turns out, is also a keen motorcyclist and we spend a few moments discussing the joys of riding a steel pony. I notice a few other motorbikes parked in front of the rooms (it’s a motel, you park in front of your room). My room costs about $70 for the night, very inexpensive when you consider there are beds for 5 people, and it has its own bathroom, needless to say spotless as well.  Nowadays you

would think that having its own bathroom is sort of accepted as a given, but as I discovered on the trip to Manitoulin Island earlier this year (see http://www.not-so-easy-rider.blogspot.ca/2015/07/wet-wet-wet.html) there are still places that consider that as an extra, an optional luxury, and as you didn’t ask for a bathroom you shouldn’t be surprised by its absence. Anyway no such concern with Town and Country Motel, the bathroom is thrown right in.  So far all is good and as advertised, clean, quiet and fairly priced, I would say cheap, but that word has managed to get a bad press. 

I am about a fifteen to twenty minute walk from the waterfront where I have decided to have dinner, Dairy Queen be damned (actually I would not be caught dead eating at DQ). After an afternoon on the bike, walking feels good. I have of course freshened up with a shower and a change of underwear, but as I have not packed extravagantly, my cleanest dirty shirt and the jeans I wore all day will have to do. I have left the motorcycle jacket in the room and wear a fleecy hoody instead, however, in truth it is almost warm enough for shirt sleeves. Fall is soo unpredictable, can be hot one day and pissing cold the next.

Parry Sound has a very pleasant, if rather quiet little waterfront, a bit short on places to stay as already mentioned, but there are a few pubs and restaurants, with verandahs with nice views. I notice that these establishments are not terribly busy so I spend a few quality minutes wandering about the harbor area, unconcerned that I will not be able to get dinner. There is an actual airline, the Georgian Bay Airlines Ltd. albeit it has just a few Cessna single engine seaplanes, still very romantic. The

Island Queen Cruise ship lies at anchor, I’m not sure that it still operates this late in the season, in season you can book what I believe is a pretty decent outing on this vessel and get to see many of the islands (there are some 30,000 plus they say) in the Georgian bay area. I have seen some of these from the ferry between Tobermory and Manitoulin Island so can attest to the general loveliness of Georgian Bay. If you have been following this blog you will know that I have a love affair with Lake Huron. I elect to have supper at the Bay Street Café, which turns out to be a pretty decent choice. I have a plate of fried squid to start and finish with baby spinach salad with scallops in a cream sauce… very delicious low carb options. Service is friendly and efficient and the waitress certainly earns her tip. As a bonus I watch a full moon rise over a hill covered in autumn colors.

Moon rise over hill with train crossing bridge - from the patio of Bay Street Café

It is still light when I leave the restaurant and start my walk back to the motel, perhaps now with a little less spring in my step thanks to a pleasantly full stomach. I pass under the somewhat famous trestle railway bridge that crosses over Seguin River (hardly much of a river, just a short piece of water connecting Mill Lake to Lake Huron), completed in 1907, still very much in service and to my delight get to watch a long freight train cross the bridge. I think I have mentioned that I like bridges and this one is really beautiful. I have noticed that there are at least two railway lines going through the town, so there is about nowhere that you can possibly be very far from a railway line, it seems to be charming, I like trains almost as much as bridges. I have no foreboding.

Trestle railway bridge over Seguin River

After a nice walk, long enough to settle the dinner I get back to the motel and bash out a few paragraphs of this blog on my laptop. Can’t seem to pick up the Wi-Fi so the idea of streaming a movie from Netflix is a non-starter, that really is something Canadian hospitality needs to get better with, good fast internet is not an option anymore, like bathrooms, it is expected. I have a few tots of the Glenfiddich Single Malt 12 years old Scotch and forgive the Town and Country the lousy internet. I’m pretty tired so bed seems like a decent option anyway.

It’s morning and the Sealy Posturepedic moment is conspicuous by its absence, I did not exactly get a good night sleep. Now I do not blame the motel in the slightest, if you stay in Parry Sound this is a given, I just didn’t know it. I was in the depths of a really good sleep, about midnight, when the ‘My Cousin Vinny’ thing happened. The sudden noise was awful, that fucker of a train diver leaned unnecessarily long and hard on his horn, which sent me flying up from my bed in fright, sleep banished… so much for quiet. It may have been a conspiracy, but it felt like there were trains passing through at regular intervals all of the rest of the night, spaced apart so I could just slip into a state of slumber before the next one. Eventually by wrapping my head in a pillow I managed to get some sleep. 

It’s a couple of hours later than intended that I get washed, dressed, pack my stuff up and drag my bleary-eyed persona to the reception room where coffee and muffins are served, included in the reasonable rate. I decline the muffins but the coffee is acceptable and by the third cup my bonhomie is somewhat restored. There are a couple of other guys about my age having breakfast that are also touring the area on motorcycles, we discuss routes… I plan to visit the semi-famous Screaming Heads of Muskoka, and get a suggestion for a few interesting roads to ride to get there and then home. These sound better than the route I had planned, this is really a great little place despite the railways, clean and full of like-minded people!   

On and Off…The Road That Is

Okay, so I am seriously behind with my blog, my apologies. I am going to try to catch-up with a posts that will unfortunately have to sweep over many little adventures, but I must get this more current, soonest. I do have three valid excuses. Firstly I have been having so much fun riding the KLR that given the choice of sitting in front of a computer screen and typing or riding until after sunset, and the sun does set pretty late here in summer, then riding it is. Secondly although summer is supposed to be a slow time in Canada, I have been hellishly busy at work, and as we all know, paying the piper is what keeps the tune going. Thirdly I have spent the last few weeks in DIY hell, hardly riding and definitely not writing. The planned simple little updating of the small downstairs bathroom ended up in complete re-do.

I set out with the idea that I could pull out the old shower, install one of these fiberglass walls and glass door jobs over the existing horrid tiles in the shower area, half tile the rest of the place, pop in a nice vanity, change some light fittings and paint the top half of the walls, trim and doors. Bob’s your uncle, a one weekend job…tops. Ha- bloody-ha, I’ve worked my balls off and still haven’t painted the trim. In project management speak, it’s called scope-creep. The shower I liked and bought came with instructions that did not go along with my idea, it demanded, unreasonably I thought, the removal of the drywall completely and the addition of extra studs and braces. Of course the new drain did not line up with the existing drain, so that cost a whole lot of sweat, tears and plumbing. The dust and mess generated was quite out of proportion to the small amount of drywall removed, which made me the unpopular guy of the moment. Then half-tiling seemed, well half-assed, so it’s now floor to ceiling with a row of little mosaic tiles in the middle to break the monotony. Tiling is a way tougher job than the YouTube videos make it out to be, and messier, much messier, much, much messier. I bought a cheap $100 wet saw courtesy of Chinese sweat-shop labor, which made the tile cutting at least bearable. I’m also a person that does not like to work with gloves on, but when my fingertips got down to raw flesh, I decided to overcome that silly little prejudice. Then we thought that a corner toilet would be just the thing to save a little space and assumed, foolishly as it turned out, that the existing plumbing would work fine…another drain that had to be moved, really nasty this one. Lots of plumbing and all to do with the crappier side of the water system, kept having to remind myself of the plumbers creed, “Shit runs downhill and never bite your fingernails.” Actually by now I was seriously into wearing gloves. Three weekends, including a long weekend and a day’s vacation and nearly every evening later and the job is just about done. Most of the mess is cleared, the new light and extractor fan are still to be installed and as mentioned a bit of painting to do, but I must confess that I am proud and thrilled with the result, just would like a bit of my life back that it cost me.

Anyway this is not a DIY blog, so I’d better move on to the motorcycling thing. Having now tried riding a bit on dirt roads and a brief, unpleasant, but fortunately not disastrous attempt to ride a real trail, I realize that I lack the skills necessary to ride on anything except the pavement (even then I sometimes wonder, which is perhaps why I call this blog the ‘Not-so-Easy-Rider’). I decide to remedy this or at least mitigate it a little and book a one day course with SMART Adventures in Horseshoe Valley, just north of Barrie, http://www.smartadventures.ca/motorcycle.html . I leave home at 7.30 am a.m. it’s a hot midsummer Saturday and even at this early hour there is a fair amount of cottage traffic on the north bound roads, and Horseshoe Valley is firmly in cottage country. Still I get there in time to get the kit on before introductions and a lecture. SMART Adventures supply the full kit, pants, kneepads, top, elbow pads, funky plastic boots, funkier chest armour, gloves, helmet, goggles and a cloth thingy to cover the head, supposedly for hygiene purposes. I hadn’t expected all this stuff, and really hope that the clothing bits have seen a good solid cycle in a washing machine since the last guy wore them, guess a few cooties won’t kill a chap.

The Not-So-Easy Rider in Storm Trooper Disguise 

The morning session is spent on their bikes, in my case a 250 cc Yamaha dirt bike. It’s very high, even more so than the KLR, so it’s a struggle a with my short legs, but once on all is good, well almost, the boots are very hard and I can’t actually feel the gear lever, that’s going to take some getting used to.  We are also shown that dirt bike riding you do seated as close to the gas tank as possible, it feels weird and makes gear changes even more difficult, but as soon as you hit the trail the wisdom of this is apparent, the weight is in the right place and the control improvement is apparent. In my group there is about six of us and the instructor. The initial few hours is spent teaching us some techniques, braking on slippery ground , cornering through soft sand, going over obstacles, controlled slow speed traversing of rough terrain (like ploughed up fields) using clutch and throttle control and going up and down hills. It’s tough and tiring, but a huge amount of fun. After a short water and pee break we spend a few hours on a relatively easy (so I am told) trail through a forest, we also get to do a few circuits on a motocross course, fun, but I do manage to come off. Too much acceleration to get out of a slide around a corner, then when the wheels grip I shoot up the bank as if I’m riding a rocket and the reason for the funky chest armor becomes clear, my ribs hurt, but not nearly as much as they might have. What would such a day be unless I fell at least once?

By 12.30 we are back at the ‘base’ and lunch, which is not included in the $299 I paid for the day. I’d ordered a baby spinach salad with grilled salmon for about $14, not sure where it came from, perhaps from the Horseshoe Valley Golf Club, but it is pretty decent with goat cheese, pecans, dried cranberries and a nice creamy vinaigrette. My companions from the morning do not stay for lunch, apparently they had only booked for the morning session, from my group I am the sole candidate for the afternoon ride. They give me a choice of more of the same on their bikes or milder trails and dirt roads on mine, a difficult choice, it was really fun, although a bit scary doing the real dirt bike stuff, but I want to get a feel for what I can do on the KLR. I chose to ride my bike and also decided to give up the Star Wars Storm Troopers outfit in favor of my own jeans, mesh jacket and beloved softer boots. A youngish couple with two small children arrive and start speaking Afrikaans as soon as they hear my accent – that seems to be the common response here when finding a fellow South African, it’s nice, like showing a membership cards of a small exclusive club, only it’s not terribly exclusive. Their son that is getting lessons on a dirt bike. I shit you not, but kids are learning to ride little 80 cc bikes as young as five.  

Clinton Smout of SMART Adventures 

My mentor for the afternoon is Clinton Smout, an old timer, born in the same good year of 1959 as me. Clinton is a small wiry guy who has spent most of his life riding dirt bikes in the summer and skidoos in the winter, a life well spent I’ll say, damn side more fun that sailing the wide accountancy as I have done, he is also the proprietor of SMART Adventures. As promised we do some light trails in the forest and I get to appreciate that my KLR is not entirely designed for the really rough stuff. It is a load more versatile then a cruiser and can take me places that your average Harley couldn’t dream of going, but I’m not going to ride through mud holes and sandpits, phew that’s a relief, didn’t want to! Clinton teaches me some pretty good tricks to take on steep inclines, up and down, on gravel. We end the afternoon at a café in Craighurst for coffee and a slice of strawberry and rhubarb pie, we chew the fat for about an hour. Clinton is shortly to embark on a motorcycle tour of The Cape Province in SA and Namibia, so naturally I point him at the numerous posts on this blog from that part of the world. I hope he has a wonderful trip… and hope he tries the apple crumble in Solitaire. The day was definitely worth it, but I am still a rank beginner, at least I know a little bit of what I don’t know.

Nice easy trail, perfect for KLR and me

I have joined the ONTARIO FEDERATION OF TRAIL RIDERS, or OFTR, which gives me the privilege of riding trails in designated forest areas, not too many as it turns out and finding the allowed areas seems to be somewhat of a challenge. There are a bunch of clubs that I can join and indeed have joined two, but there seems to be not that much going on for someone that does not want to get into the serious trails, enduro/dual sports riders are definitely the wimps in this game. I have found that I like going down the back roads, just as I like taking the nicely paved twisty roads, it’s about a bit of variety. I know that I can take this bike across a continent, or down one, and deal with the sort of roads I came across in Namibia, at the same time I can ride the motorways and hold my own, albeit with a bit of a sweat if I want to get up to 140 km/h. Which brings me to another little advantage that the KLR has, I find that I am a much more law abiding citizen than I used to be. The Boulevard needed to go 140 before you managed to get much of a thrill, the KLR gives you that at 100, wonderful, my chances of 5 demerit points for speeding are so much diminished!

I do, however, suspect that my membership of the Old Farts Brigade (OFB) has been terminated. To be clear I still am an old fart, there is no choice concerning this, you either are or you are not, and the ‘old fart’ tag you get, like it or not, when you turn 50. Now I know that there are many old farts out there that will protest that this label is not valid and they feel as young as they did when they were 25, but catch your kids in an honest moment and you’ll discover the nasty truth, the day you turned 50 you became one. But being an old fart does not necessarily qualify you as a member of the OFB, you need a grey beard (I’m good with that, have worn a goatee for more than a decade, and it is more salt then pepper), and you must ride a cruiser preferably a Harley, or at the very least a 1000cc enduro. My green and purple KLR definitely does not qualify, it is a young mans’ bike, training wheels maybe. I know that this is the bike I should have bought when I started out, it’s fun, easy to ride and versatile, but not permitted in the OFB.

Deer in Algonquin 

When I bought the KLR it had 18,000 km on the clock, as I put it away this afternoon it has very nearly 24,000. I must admit that it is difficult to account for these kilometers. I have done a few decent trips, but none that involved staying overnight. There was Algonquin, that was 700 km in one day which included a few rides down gravel roads which were great and I did get to see a deer which was exciting. Okay admittedly deer are not exactly an endangered species, for my SA readers, it’s a bit like getting excited at seeing impala in the Kruger Park. Then I have ridden to Wiarton on the

Bruce Peninsula, home of Wiarton Willie the foremost Canadian groundhog that predicts the start date of spring, (just let me catch that little fucker for extending last winter!) In any event that was a pretty decent ride and confirmed my suspicion that there is a lot more to see on the Bruce Peninsula than highway 6 and Tobermory, the peninsula is definitely worth a couple of nights stay over to get to see it all properly. Of course I have ridden all the local routes that I have grown to love, Hockley Valley, Forks of Credit, Muskoka route 6, Provincial road 118, Kawartha Lakes, Kawartha Highlands, Musselman’s Lake and Eudora via the hamlet of Zephyr village. I have varied my old favorite rides by just turning down gravel side roads to see where I end up and one of the best things is I can avoid the weekend cottage traffic jams by riding in the general direction I want to go following side roads, no problem at all and I get to see things I otherwise would not have.


Some of the places I've been:

Kinmount, Kawatha Highlands - Saturday morning fair

Hockley Valley Road

Bruce Peninsula 

Musicians on Sidewalk Washago 

Historic Main Street Schomberg 

Dorset, Muskoka 

Algonquin 

Although I have ridden the route the Boulevard died on (a really lovely route with fabulous twisty bits, follow Sideroad 10 west from Mansfield, careful through the 180 degree corner I crashed on, then turn right on to Prince of Wales Road and then take River Road through Terra Nova) I can’t quite say that I have climbed back on as I haven’t done a group ride again. I decide to sign up for a Wednesday evening ride with the group, The Rolling Thunder Riders, http://www.meetup.com/RollingThunderRiders/. They are a nice group of guys and gals and I get greeted like a long lost pal, instead of the a-hole that crashed the first time he rode with them, I am sure that they are just being polite. The meeting point is outside of Thornton, which is also the ending point where the group have a late supper at a pizza place. Tonight all the riders are on sport bikes or cruisers, except yours truly on the green and purple machine, oh well I should be able to keep up. The leader tonight is Crystal, who founded the group with her husband Josh. Crystal leads the way, a winding route north that eventually goes past Craighurst and Horseshoe Valley, where I did the one day off-road course, and we end up in Orillia where we stop for a break before heading back to Thornton. It is a really fabulous route, but I find that I am not enjoying the ride entirely as much as I should. Somehow the group riding dynamic is making me nervous, as I said once before, riding in a group requires a skill set that I don’t have. It’s to do with concerning yourself with the other riders, where are they and you must ride to accommodate the group, ride at a speed that matches the group, and then there is the slinky effect. It’s not that I ride slowly when I ride alone or get overly anxious on corners, I managed to get over my cornering fears post-accident relatively quickly, but I find that riding in the group it has returned, it really is weird.

It is getting dark when we reach Orillia, and a little later than expected, I make some sums and realize that it will be quite late when supper is over and the weather forecast predicts mist. Several of the riders indicate that they will split from the group on route back. The group is following Old Barrie Road, but I make the signal that I’m leaving as we cross Highway 400, and take the 400, I’m home in just under an hour. I’m not sure about whether or not I’ll carry on with group rides, maybe leave it for the rest of the season and try again next year. It’s nice to ride in a group, the social aspect is good and getting to ride new routes is really great, but then there are aspects that I prefer riding on my own. I like to ride at my own pace, to choose the speed I am comfortable with and when I want to stop and smell the hummus, then a stop. Somehow I have more confidence when I’m riding alone and make fewer mistakes, maybe I’m just a bit of a lone ranger… I tend to be a loner with everything else, so perhaps it’s the same with motorcycling.

Well the riding season is not over yet and officially it is still summer, but the leaves are turning, the days are shorter and the last ride I did I had to stop to zip in the lining of my mesh jacket. Maybe I can still do a decent trip with a stay over, maybe squeeze a long weekend this year still, but I’m not going to do the cross continent ride I had hoped to this summer, oh well c'est la vie, with some luck there is next year.

Life After Death

As mentioned in previous postings I had decide that I would definitely be looking at a different type of motorcycle, not that I have been unhappy with the Boulevard, to the contrary, it has been a wonderful relationship, but now that it is over I want something different. I have grown up a bit in this world of motorcycling since my impetuous decision to buy the Boulevard in the middle of winter 2014 at the Toronto Bike Show. I’ve learned a little, realized that there is more to motorcycling than riding a big heavy powerful iron and had a chance to figure out what I really want. All too often I have had to ignore a road that looked interesting because it was gravel or likely to become gravel and then the thought of taking some of those trails up mountain sides and through verdant forests is very attractive. Maybe one day I’ll get the chance to cross Africa, north to south, a la Ewan MacGregor, then I will definitely need experience on something other than a cruiser.

There are few other things, for one, I’m looking for a motorcycle that I can understand, mechanically that is.  Maybe it’s to fill a hole in my experience that the sheer accountantness of my younger years denied me, but I want something that works a little bit like the teeny engine I had on a model aero plane when I was nine years old. Something I can get my non-mechanical brain around with the help of a decent manual and a few YouTube videos. I want to understand what the engine is doing and why it is making a funny sound, I want to do the services, change the oil, adjust whatever needs adjustment, the inner grease monkey in me has been awakened. I want a bike that is low on pretensions, high on performance, I also want something that is light, agile and I can manage to throw around corners a little.

I have test ridden the Ducati Scrambler (as indicated previously). It is a really super machine to ride, a little more than half the displacement of the Boulevard, but it would totally smoke it, except maybe when carrying a passenger. I really like the L air-cooled configuration, only 10% less displacement than the Harley 883 but the motor is way smaller, lighter and  the L config is more space efficient than the V, allowing for more ‘stuff’ to fit between the cylinders.  I have however decide against buying this for a number of reasons, this is not really a dual purpose motorcycle, this is a bike to ride on the road with, although value for money it is good, it is a lot of outlay in absolute terms. But most of all it is too low for me with the foot controls situated where they are, my slightly arthritic hips ached for hours after the half hour test ride. It also needs a windshield and I like to have saddlebags. Sadly this bike with a windshield, saddlebags and forward controls will look like an Arabian stallion with a plough harness on. There is a lot to like about this motorcycle, decent torque and horsepower, beautifully styled, it is a Ducati after all,  and a totally honest bike, aluminum rather than plastic bits, so it was with regret that I scratched it from the list, but if I wore a younger man’s clothes….

I didn’t manage to test ride a Triumph Tiger, but did sit on one and did a heap of internet research on the bike (or rather bikes as there are several versions). I found it a little too tall for me, I am challenged in the inseam department, but once actually on the machine everything was fine... apart from the fact that I was merely sitting on a stationary motorcycle rather than rolling off the apron and taking it for a spin. I don’t know how actually relevant all the fancy stuff that this bike has… ABS, ride by wires, antiskid and so on, but it does get some very favorable reviews and is a serious dual sport (adventure tourer, as it is called) motorcycle, without a doubt it can handle the trails as well as the motorway. The downside is the price tag, once you have paid the sales tax and the ‘dealer deliver charge’ (what the fuck is that anyway?) and all the other bits and bobs you are looking at a serious investment. Which investment, I have firsthand experience of, can turn into spare parts in the wink of an eye.

My next test ride is the BMW F700GS, which absurdly does not sport a 700 cc displacement engine, but rather an 800 cc one. Also excellent reviews, but not quite an off-road bike, little on the genteel side in the rough, I am led to believe. The folks that seem to know what they are talking about punt the F800GS ADVENTURE for a truer dual bike or better still the R1200GS ADVENTURE which actually does have a 1200cc motor (well slightly less, but in the motorcycle world you generally round up)… I have arrived at the appointed time at BMW Toronto, a very upmarket establishment, befitting the products it pushes, the sales staff are impeccably dressed, and I suspect even the mechanics wear ties. Motorcycles are a few floor up so I ride the elevator, a superior experience in itself. It is a very different showroom to the usual, the bikes are laid out in neat spacious rows, there is no overcrowding and shaved-head, overweight, tattooed dudes are completely conspicuous by their absence. Now I must admit that I am ever so slightly prejudiced against the bike for one reason, the space between the seat and the handle bars is molded plastic that has the appearance of a fuel tank, but actually it isn’t, it a just houses the battery. The fuel tank is under the seat. Now I fully understand the engineering reasons for putting the fuel tank where it is, it lowers the point of gravity, and of course I understand the aesthetic reason for a fake fuel tank, the bike would look ridiculous with just a bloody hole there, but I don’t like the deception. Maybe I would prefer a storage compartment which is obviously a storage space than a fake fuel tank. Anyway I have huge doubts that BMW give a flea’s droppings for my opinion on fake fuel tanks. I fill out the disclaimers and they bring the motorcycle down to ground level for me and I take it out on a loop that includes a decent stretch on the Don Valley Parkway (motorway) and a nice twisty ride through the park area. Needless to say this bike is the sweetest bike to ride I have yet to experience.  It is smooth, responsive, deceptively powerful, light and easy to handle, those German engineers, fake plastic fuel tank and all, certainly know what they are about. The sticker shock is less than the Tiger and I damn nearly buy the thing on the spot. Reason prevails – taste and try as many as you can before you buy.

After the ride I am reluctant to leave all these motorcycles un-fondled, as such, and spend some hour touching and sitting on the inventory. Being bikeless on a lovely Saturday morning renders a chap a little needy and pathetic. That’s when I spot a lone G650GS, pushed a little to the side. This is a 650 cc single cylinder – a thumper, real enduro bike. I don’t get to test ride, but do sit on it and get a feel for it – a thought process is set in motion.

I must give credit where credit is due, Helena suggests that if I am considering something like the BMW G650GS, then I should look at similar motor cycles as a comparison, Suzuki, Honda, maybe the Kawasaki 650 KLR. Internet reviews on the KLR are very positive, a very popular bike. I also discover that there are herds of them available on Kijiji at prices that would not even cover the sales taxes and delivery charge of a BMW. I am a little skeptical, the horsepower and maximum torque are a lot smaller than anything I have considered to date, but this bike does comply with the desire for something I can get my head around the mechanics of, it has a carburetor for goodness sake, even the latest model. I find one that looks interesting, a 2000 year model with only 18000 km on the clock, right here in Newmarket. I make a date with the owner and arrive with my kit, including brand new helmet – helmets are one use appliances, one ding and its toast. The bike has horrible colors (apple green and vivid purple), but besides that it really is in showroom condition. The seller is a policeman, and clearly a man that takes good carte of his stuff, his garage is neat and tidy, he has the bike’s original manual and a book that describes the care and maintenance of the KLR 650 in great detail… and the bike still has two keys.

The Green and Purple Machine 

I take off on a test ride. Man what a surprise, sure it isn’t an 800cc BMW, but that single cylinder motor has guts aplenty and the bike is so light that it needs so much less. Even on my very first ride I can feel the easy of handling and can throw it around a corner or two with no problems. I take it down a gravel road, and though I am a little unsure of the techniques required, it is much more sure-footed than the Boulevard on a similar road. Then we get on Highway 9 for the acid test, how does it manage at 100-110 and even a little beyond? My research indicated that top speed is a tersh over 130 km/h. I don’t want a bike that can only handle side roads, the need to do motorways will come up from time to time. At 90 km/h I open the throttle, to my surprise the motor gives a happy little growl and in no time I’m flying down the road at 120. Now the Boulevard could manage 120 without breaking a sweat and it hardly felt like you were speeding, on the KLR you know it. The wind at that speed is difficult to handle and makes the bike a feel little unstable, but I can manage and I’m sure that the addition of a windshield would make a difference   By the time I get back there is a grin on my face from ear to ear, I know that I’ve found what I’ve been looking for, at least for this year and the next, then who knows – maybe there is still a BMW in my future, as it has been said, 'life is like a box of chocolates.'

It’s amazing, but there has been very few design changes on the KLR since introduced in the late nineties, I believe a bit of an upgrade in 2008 or thereabouts – but really essentially the same machine. The newer ones have a fancier set of instruments, mine has instruments that look like they were nicked from a 1962 Morris Minor, which I find oddly satisfying.

I’ve learned to live without a fuel gauge and honestly don’t miss it, it’s actually more re-assuring to use the trip meter. I have added a time piece ($10 watch from Shoppers Drugmart) and have decided to pimp my ride just a little bit. Because of the longevity of the design there is a lot of stuff out there, unbelievable what you can add onto these things. I came across a YouTube video of a guy that had added so much extras he could just as well have paid for a brand new 1200 cc BMW, now I like the KLR, but it really isn’t a match. Anyway there are three things I need to get – the windshield is a total must have, then there is the seat, the purple is a wee bit too much and even after 30 Km the ass starts to lose feeling, and I need bags. I know that the purists will not approve, but it’s mine so I’ll add these nerd items to make it more comfortable. Intense internet searching has resulted in these items on order, the only issue I have is with the seat, mine is a “C” version, which is a slightly more off-road version, with a smaller fuel tank and a different seat. These were sold only for a brief time in North America and no one will guarantee that their seat will fit, so I go for covering it myself and buying an Airhawk, cushion thingy.

Can go places I could not before   

My purchases have not yet arrived, but I have serviced the bike, well I did at least part of job, changed oil, spark plug, oil and air filters and did all the inspections, but thought it prudent to get a qualified mechanic to do some of the other things like drain and replace brake fluid, adjust the ‘doohicky’ (yes that’s what it is called by all who ride one).  I have of course done a few short rides, but wasn’t keen on going a long distances until the service was done, so now I am raring to take off on a few decent rides, the back roads and maybe a few light trails beckon. 

The After - Pimped my Ride

Death of a Boulevard

I guess it’s time to write about the bad week of smashing up the Boulevard, but have no fear, all is well that ends well. At least carries on well, as nothing has ended, even the Boulevard will go on in some form, rebuilt or chopped up for spare parts.

In truth there were two incidents, not linked other than they happened within the same week, if you count Sunday as the start of the week. I had just joined a motorcycling club, http://www.meetup.com/RollingThunderRiders, and my first ride with them was supposed to be the Cannonball 500, ride (http://www.cannonball500.ca). I set out at 6.20 a.m. on Sunday morning with every intention of doing the 800 km ride, in 12 hours, over some of the best motorcycling roads in the province and winning an ‘Iron Butt’ badge (way better than a Noddy badge). No sooner had I started out when it started to rain, very softly, but enough to make me stop at the gas station a few blocks from home and don the suit, the green rain gear outfit. I was planning to ride up the 400 motorway to the starting point for the group at Barrie Harley Davidson, so wasn’t keen to start off the day soggy and cold. I had barely travelled two blocks beyond the gas station when the Boulevard fishtailed, I could not have been doing more than 15 km/h, one moment I was riding, the next I was sliding on my ass on the tarmac with the motorcycle on top of me. It is said that the most dangerous time to ride is just after it starts to rain, there is just enough moisture to lift the oil and make the road as slippery as oyster snot, no shit Sherlock.

When all the motion came to an end my right leg was trapped between the engine and the road, fortunately it had not yet got very hot so I didn’t get burnt, but it still took me a few moments to wriggle free. It was then that I realized that I was not going to ride much further that day, the pain in the back of my leg (backside actually) was pretty excruciating, definitely a torn hamstring. A car stopped and a guy got out and helped me get the bike upright, more correctly he picked up the bike, the only useful thing I could do was to put down the kickstand, I couldn’t even assume the position to lift it. My Good Samaritan was a motorcycle rider himself so he knew how to do this job, which was a bit of luck – thanks sincerely whoever you are.  It took me another 5 minutes of teeth gritting pain to get my leg over the bike so that I could ride home. Getting off the bike was unpleasant, but nothing compared to the contortions and shooting pains that accompanied de-robing of the rain gear and boots.  It seems that I had taken the brunt of the fall and the Boulevard came off unscathed.

By Wednesday it still hurt when I did things like climb stairs, bend down or walk at any speed above a slow amble, but the pain level had subsided substantially and when I sat on the motorcycle, after a bit of fancy maneuvering,  I could hardly feel any pain at all. I felt strong enough to join the club’s Wednesday evening ride, the route that had been posted looked like a really nice ride, lots of lovely twisties through some gorgeous countryside. Most of the miles I have ridden, I have ridden solo so I was really looking forward to doing a group ride. We met-up at the pre-arranged place and there was general ‘hey fellow well met' stuff. Not all guys and a decent mix of bikes, the ubiquitous Harleys of course, but lots of other makes and types, adventure tourers, sports bikes, even a 250 cc dirt bike. By the time the 6.30 p.m. KSU (kickstands up) time rolled around, the group was about 18 or 19 strong.

Rolling Thunder Riders Meet-up - 'Hey fellow well met stuff' 

It felt marvelous to move out in such a large formation, no longer the lone ranger at the mercy of the cars, but now part of the cavalry and afforded respect and consideration. The group travelled at a fair clip…the slinky effect is a little tricky to deal with and I realized that although not entirely a novice rider, I was a rank beginner as far as riding in a large group is concerned. There are skills I had not yet developed, group riding has its own dynamics and I was wholly unused to it, still I felt reasonably confident I could pull it off. In any event it was a lovely evening, I was doing what I love most, in the company of others that love to ride and we were riding through what can only be described as a fairytale setting, hills and dales, neat little farms and rich forests. I was having the time of my life. We were riding west on Dufferin County road 17 a few clicks passed Mansfield, approaching a U bend at the bottom of a hill when one of the fairytale creatures came out of the forest and crossed in front of me. I did not swerve, it was not close enough to warrant that, but I took the corner too wide. I know I could have recovered from that, I just needed to lean hard and hit the gas with a small boast and I would have been through, but for reasons not revealed to me, that did not happen, instead I looked.  

Yes, damn my eyes, I looked. The most important lesson they taught us in motorbike school (Georgian College M1 Exist Weekend Course) was, ‘look where you want to go, do not look where you don’t’. It is if your eyeballs are steering the bike. This may seem like a load of BS for those who have not leaned to ride a motorcycle, but it is absolutely the truth. The one sure fire way to hit a pothole is to look at it, just as it is to hit a patch of gravel on the edge of the paved shoulder. I looked, I hit that patch, went rapidly from the vertical to the horizontal and the Boulevard’s front wheel struck an upright of the barrier. That is what saved me from serious injury, and the fact that I was properly dressed with mesh jacket, strong high boots, gloves, jeans and full face helmet. Apart from deep embarrassment, a reversal of the hamstring injury recovery and a funny, very sensitive lump on my right thumb, I walked away unscathed. Physically unscathed anyway.

I must admit to some emotionally scathing, my confidence took a serious knock. I even considered, well perhaps not entirely seriously considered, but the thought did cross my mind to quit the whole motorcycling business, you know the thing, it’s a sign, got off lightly this time, next time it won’t be quite so rosy. Then there are the ‘what ifs’, like what if the bike had missed the post and gone under the barrier and it was the soft polony meats of the not-so-easy-rider that whacked into the hard steel. Then I am reminded of one of my late father’s favorite sayings, ‘What if your aunt had balls? She would be your uncle!’ What if’s are just idle musings and as I have zero belief in angels, guardian or otherwise, or any gods or other mystical beings for that matter, reading a sign into any event is just a load of codswallop, whatever that may be. I know that riding a motorcycle is dangerous and that even the most experienced and cautious rider can end up in the morgue from a motor cycle accident, or worse, survive as a deeply disabled person, but the same fate could befall me right now as I type this very sentence. Risk of heart attack, stroke, cancer, kidney failure and the more exotic (Legionaries, Ebola, HIV and so on) purely health disasters that can strike are ever present especially at my age, not to mention all the other risks. I could die from something as banal as choking on a chicken bone, I think I’d rather hit that barrier.     

I often complain about the lack of quality in this blog, I must now talk about finding quality in this experience, and apart from the lack of quality in my own riding, there has been quality aplenty in everything else. From the group that abandoned the ride in order to stay with me until tow trucks and police arrived; to one guy (thank you Shawn) that ordered a tow on his own CAA membership; to a pair of female police officers, off-duty, that stopped and made sure that all was in order and nobody was hurt; to the Dufferin County cop that took my statement; to the tow truck driver that took me home at 2 a.m. and to State Farm Insurance that handled the claim expertly and generously. Honestly I can say that apart from ruining the Boulevard, personal pain and embarrassment and a terrifying few moments this has been a pretty positive experience... fucking weird isn’t it?    

Apologies for the dearth of pictures - the good stuff, pictures of wrecked Boulevard seem to have been erased from my phone, perhaps a good thing. 

Bike Shopping

Bikeless wonder as I am right now, I am doing some expository reviewing of options, the repair prognosis for the Boulevard is not good…estimated damage north of $10,000, which means it’s a write off. I am certain that someone will buy the carcass for next to nothing and restore it to its former glory for less than $4,000, the damage is actually just the front section and of course the fancy, but vulnerable panniers that actually just need recovering with faux leather ($10 per metre). Oh well that’s the way the insurance business works, so now I need to look for a new motorcycle, or get out of the game… I’m going bike shopping!

Bike shopping is not nearly as fun as actually riding, but it has its moments. I am not sure how one did this before the internet, there must have been ways and means, after all humanity did somehow manage to muddle through the last seventy thousand years without Google. Anyway, bike shopping is easier with the internet, you can get so much information. I am positively bursting with my knowledge of relative horsepower, torque, brakes, ride by wire, wet and dry weights, final drives and so on, but in the end it’s sitting your ass on the machine and hitting the road that is the real test. I have some test rides booked.  I have decided that I will change direction completely, I want agile, light, more horses per pound of bike, I want to go on dirt roads, up mountainsides, ride along that forest firebreak… in short I want more fun and less heftiness. I have been considering the adventure tourers, BMW, KTM, Triumph Tiger, even the V-Strom, but then I saw something that I think will suit me, the new Ducati Scrambler… check it out http://scramblerducati.com/en/bike/icon.  When I sat on this bike it felt right, and there is a lot else that I like about it, it’s simple and understandable, back to basics, loads less plastic than anything else I’ve seen except Harley Davidson and it just feels like a bike that is intended to have fun with. I’m arranging a test ride with GP Bikes in Whitby, can’t freaking wait! I will keep you updated.

Anyway, In the interest of keeping this saga in reasonable chronological order I need to go back a few weeks to when the Boulevard was still in one piece, Peter, my heavy (brother–in–law) was still visiting and the pair of us set out on a gorgeous Sunday morning for a day trip to the southern parts of Muskoka. My heavy rides Helena’s 883 and I’m on the Boulevard. I have got used to the image of him in the rear view mirror, his lanky legs up near his ears as he expertly handles the Superlow, I will miss him when he goes back to South Africa. I hope that this trip will make up for the debacle of the previous weekend, Canada and I have got some lost reputation to retrieve, but for once the weather is playing ball.

I have planned a route that will take us up highway 404 to Ravenshoe Road, nice fast stretch to shake out the cobwebs and make sure that we are applying our minds to the task at hand, then up to Udora, to road 23. First stop is for coffee in Port Bolster at Mary’s Café, nice little biker place, but it is early and so it’s just us, they make a very decent cup of coffee and the proprietor is friendly and chatty as always, more so with my heavy, I’ve mentioned that he has the gift of the gab.  

Interesting sign in Udora 

From Mary’s Café we follow the 23 to Beaverton. Out of the corner of my eye I see an interesting building, the Strand Theatre, but before I can think of stopping we are passed and I decide that investigating is to be for another day (I can’t find a website, but it seems to have a FB page Https://www.facebook.com/strandtheatrebeaverton). Anyway, we simply can’t stop at every possible place of interest, we’d not get beyond the limits of York Region. We ride along the shore of Simcoe, not stopping, but enjoying the view, pick up the Trans Canadian Highway at Brechin. The village of Brechin uses bicycles to pretty up the place, these are not ‘working’ bicycles, but ornamental, bikes become flower boxes. Sadly I don’t have my own pictures, but this link will give you an idea https://www.flickr.com/photos/cydnie/9090547018. These bikes are all over the show… nice. We follow the Trans Canadian up to Rama, we take Rama Road, stop at a smoke shop that sells Indian touristy stuff (some of it made in China) as well as cigarettes, cigars and tobacco. I’m a little disturbed to see they are selling hides of white artic wolves, with stuffed heads, glass eyes and all. Why, oh why would anyone want such a grisly thing in this day and age, just fucking awful.

Heavy in Front of Smoke shop in Rama

Onwards and upwards, at Washago we turn right into Muskoka Street, which is the main drag of this little town, it’s a nice little old fashioned main street, about three short blocks. We come to a Y junction, and take the left fork, road 52, I had expected it to be road 6 or Cooper’s Falls Road, but a quick stop and map check confirms that it becomes road 6 as soon as we leave Simcoe County and enter Muskoka. The GPS on my smart phone is such a bonus! This road turns out to be truly one of the most beautiful, if scary roads I have ridden. There are really, really tight curves as narrow as the road to heaven, with way too much gravel on the corners, but the scenery, oh so lovely. After a few kilometers the road hugs a river that seems to be carved out of solid granite, gorgeous, but there is no good place to stop and take in the beauty. A short stop on the verge to grab a picture, dangerous I know, is all we can manage. I think the river is the Black River, but unhappily Google maps doesn’t actually confirm and nowhere is it signposted.

Black River ... maybe?

Road 6 takes a turn north onto Housey Rapids Road and we follow. Our speed doesn’t get much above sixty klicks, but there isn’t too much opportunity to take in the beauty even at this speed, lots of twists and turns and eyes must be kept firmly on the road. There are apparently rapids that can be seen from the road, but I don’t manage to spot them, eyes front. The stretch to reach Doe Lake Road is just over 6 Km, where we turn west, riding to Highway 11. This stretch is still very scenic, but now the road is in excellent condition, wide and clear of gravel, the blacktop is new and free of cracks and tar snakes and enough decent twists to make it a ‘must ride sometime again soon’ number. All too soon we reach Highway 11 and shoot north to Bracebridge, no doubt Peter is getting his tooth fillings shaken loose on the Harley. I must admit that the Boulevard is a bit ponderous on the curves compared to the 883, but it is a lot more comfortable on the motorway. Actually the Boulevard is really fabulous on a motorway, loads of top end torque and pretty smooth riding at high speed.

It’s a little early for lunch, but I’m up for it, I’m not doing breakfast these days, in the interest of losing a bit of the ballast. We stop at the visitors information office in Bracebride and enquire about a good place to eat, preferably somewhere with a view, and ask about the attractions that Bracebridge may offer to someone stopping for a half hour or so. The girl that is manning the desk tries to be helpful, but sadly knows considerably less about Bracebridge than I do, and my knowledge of the place consists of once having ridden through the town, a ten minutes of Google research some time ago and reading the information map, upside down,  pasted to the countertop in front of her. We take a brochure and go outside to study it. It seems that the best place to eat, with the nicest view shares the same building as the information office, but for some inexplicable reason it is closed on this beautiful early summer Sunday, with visitors starting to swarm over this part of the world. Another place that looks interesting, the Old Station Restaurant, is listed as closed on Sundays. ‘Crikey,’ I think, ‘it’s worse than Bloemfontein’.  The Bloemfontein of my youth was an ultra-conservative God-fearing city, it was said that sky divers would not practice their sport there on Sundays as not even parachutes would open on a Sunday.

Falls view Bracebridge 

There are some interesting looking walks that one can do, but we are hot and overdressed for walking, biking jackets and I have the Kevlar jeans on… already sweat is running down unmentionable crevasses. Instead we take a ride up the main street, Manitoba Road, hoping to see someplace with a verandah that looks interesting and is open for the business of feeding the visitors, if not it will be Bracebridge’s loss and Port Carling’s gain. We are nearing the end of the strip when Peter blows the horn, lo, the Old Station Restaurant is not closed at all. The information brochure, it turns out, is more like the dis-information brochure. We park the bikes and find a nice table on the verandah. Peter tells me that he didn’t actually see the place, but smelt the food… the man is hungry. http://oldstation.ca/

The Old Station Restaurant is set a little back from the road, shielded by some trees and a small garden.  The ‘station’ in the name is not referring to a train station, but rather a gas station from way back when pumping gas meant, well pumping gas. Right now it is a cheerful place that offers pretty decent food, served by friendly and efficient waiters on a pleasant verandah in a garden setting…very nearly perfect, especially as we are now sitting there and sipping a cold beverage waiting for food. I have ordered the warm spinach salad and grilled chicken breast (Baby spinach, sautéed Shiitake mushrooms and double smoked bacon with crumbled goat cheese finished with a balsamic reduction). It is really delicious and Bracebridge’s reputation is restored in my book. Peter has fish and chips and seems to be as happy with that as I am with my lunch. All in all, highly recommended. There are some other motorcyclists on the verandah, a couple who arrived just after us on a Goldwing, my heavy starts up a conversation. They are riding to Toronto from somewhere up north, doing the sort of trip that we got washed out of last weekend – luck of the bleeding draw.  We discuss the merits of different roads … they recommend we ride Muskoka road 13 south from Torrance (which was actually on my planned route) and we suggest they ride Muskoka road 6. This chatting to strangers thing is fun, I should try it sometime on my own.

After a reasonable cup of coffee to finish off lunch, rested, fed and just a tiny bit sleepy, we move off in the direction of Port Carling, it’s about 25 km on the 118 west. It’s a nice road for after lunch riding, pavement in good condition, foresty and green, now and then we catch a glimpse of lake Muskoka and loads of twisties, but nothing too challenging, just laid back and mellow. Though it is nowhere near time to stop, we do so at Port Carling, we are doing the tourist thing, and Port Carling is home to the Muskoka Lakes Museum. This is a must see for anyone that's touring through this part of the world.

The museum signpost is a little misleading as it seems to indicate that we should just ride over the edge of the bridge that goes over the canal that links Lake Muskoka to Lake Rousseau, so we manage to miss it and turn down  little road that end ups at a quay on the Lake Rousseau end of the lock. We hang about and take some pictures, it is a lovely spot. Arriving and departing are boatloads of youths enjoying the Sunday afternoon, cottage life is in full swing. We make enquiries about the museum and find out that there is only one way to get to it and that is to walk. It is situated on a sort of peninsula which is a park, no roads to the place. This is ok with me as I changed out of the Kevlar

jeans back in Bracebridge and into standard Levis. Of course a pair of short pants would be better for walking about in, but I have way too much respect for my own skin to ride that under-dressed.

The museum turns out to be a fascinating little place, check it out http://mlmuseum.com/. There is an exhibit of an example of birch biting art, something I have never heard of before. Sorry to pepper this post with links, but this is really interesting, here is an example of this somewhat lost Indian art form, ttp://www.nicholasmonsour.com/blog/birch-bark-biting.html . From the website of the artist Pat Bruderer, also known as Half Moon Woman, one of only three people in the world practicing the art of Birch bark biting: ‘Birch Bark Biting is one of the oldest First Nations art forms. It is done by separating pieces of birch bark and folding it two or more times. You place the bark between your teeth visualizing what you want to create. You begin biting while rotating it with your hand. Originally, birch bark biting was a form of competition to see who would create the most elaborate design. Later they were also used for beadwork and silk embroidery patterns.” The end result looks like delicate lacework, really beautiful.

Reconstruction of living area in log house... looks comfortable and warm

There is of course much else to see in the museum, from Victorian engineering, like hot air pumps and marine motors, beautiful examples of wooden boats and a fully restored and equipped settler log cabin. One gets some idea of the lives people that settled here, very focused on the lakes then, as I guess it still is, this area has almost as much lake as land, and the land can sustain nothing other than forest. The museum is worth every cent of the $2.50 per person entrance fee.

Lock between Lake Muskoka and Lake Rousseau

Walking to where we have parked the bikes we get to watch the lock in operation, moving a boat from Lake Muskoka to Lake Rousseau. It is a fascination operation and reminds me of a wonderful holiday I had with a couple of South Africa friends (Adrian and Bev), many, many years ago on a

barge in the Avon River canal system in England, those friends now live in Mississauga, Ontario. You could barely travel a mile without going through a lock, out biggest fear was to forget to untie the barge when draining the lock and leave it hanging in mid-air. Needless to say that never happened, but I did manage to fall in the water once, man was that cold!

I too was once beautiful (and had some hair)...Avon River, England 1986 

From Port Carling we continue on the 118 west until we reach Muskoka County road 169 southbound, travel that for a bit then at Torrance we take the 13. It’s a gorgeous route with lots of nice twisties , but the pavement is not in a good condition… take them at any good speed at your peril! Still it is a really fabulous ride and clearly the road less traveled by, very little traffic. After a pleasant hour or so we wind our way to Highway 11 (what else), just north of Severn Bridge for the hell for leather dash home… that is until we hit the cottage traffic bottleneck just past Orillia and do the stop/start crawl until Barrie. Here we veer off the motorway to take highway 27, after a brief stop at the LCBO (aka government owned monopoly liquor store). We make it home by supper time.

Muskoka County Road 13, the not so easy rider, no longer quite so beautiful and much less hair.

As I get ready to post this, I must observe, with some degree of sadness, this was the last trip of a decent distance I took with my heavy, and also the last one with the Boulevard. Maybe I’ll ride again with Peter, he is a great guy to ride with,who knows when the opportunity will arise again. I’ll not ride the Boulevard again, that is for sure.