Welcome to Webbwood, Population 488

The ferry ride from Tobermory was worth the mere forty bucks and the foresight of booking. The bikes all went on first and we were directed to a few spots reserved for bikes that came with steel hoops anchored on the deck… tie bikes up, for the use of.  Hessian ropes provided, but no assistance, something about liability, you tie it and the bike falls over it’s  your problem, they tie it then damages becomes theirs. So the lawyers now make sure that those that can watch those that can’t try and fail, somewhere our values are screwed up. Two young guys behind me were in trouble, the art of tying stuff had been lost on them and no matter what they try their ropes hang uselessly slack. This old man ties their bikes for them and shows then the trick of tying a loop in the rope and threading the end through the steel hoop then back through the loop, pull to tighten and tie. High fives from the young ones, those bikes are going nowhere even if we capsize. I always knew those two years in the army would teach me something useful.

 Waiting to board 

Tobermory Harbour

I’d expected something smaller, but this is a pretty large vessel, two decks for vehicles, and two for passengers, with several lounges, bar areas, restaurants and outside decks and some gaming machines.  The view is something else, we pass small wooded islands and for a time hug the shoreline. I sit outside mostly, the bow side is windy, but the stern is protected from the wind. I chat to a woman that rode onto the ferry on a BMW, I’d noticed a tent and sleeping bag fastened to the back. She is seventy if she is a day, she tells me she is riding to Vancouver from Montreal, and this is day three. Wow, gutsy lady. Leaving the ferry was fun. They lowered the gate, and let the bikes off first, so we rode off the boat almost directly onto highway 6 – a fleet of strangers going like the clappers down the road.

The ferry

We don’t stay together for long, but for a time it was nice to have some companies to ride with. Manitoulin Island is apparently the largest fresh water island in the world, nearly 3,000 sq. Km, though it’s almost as much lake as land. I guess the black flies are pretty damn fierce in this part of the world, but I am going too fast to be bothered by them.  The twisties are fabulous, well compared to where I come from, I’ll go ten Km out of my way to get to ride a decent S bend. Its late afternoon, but the sun still rides high, the road is reasonably empty, I settle into the ride and into today’s Chautauqua. Nothing very deep or serious just something that bothers me.

Billboards are okay in towns and cities they are not okay in pristine forest, or even farmlands… give me wind farms rather than billboard. You’re in the zone, the road is twisting its way through a heaven of green trees, up hills and down, ponds lining the roads are covered in water lilies, and ducks are swimming. You round a corner and right there is a bloody great big sign that Tim Horton’s has an outlet 25 Km ahead, or the Espanola sports a Chinese eat-as-much-as-you-can buffet eatery called The Red Dragon, all terribly useful information I am sure, but could this not wait to be announced from within a  built up area? Amongst these signs are many that feature stylized bibles, crosses and hands pressed together with promises of immortality and threats of nasty ways to spend all that spare time if you don’t pay heed. Now don’t get me wrong here, the godly have as much right to peddle their snake oil as anyone else, but I wish that when they beg their deity to give then blind faith, could they perhaps ask for a little bit of good taste as well.   

I reach Espanola, where I have a reservation for one night. I looked it up ‘Espanola’ means ‘armpit’ in English… actually it doesn’t it means ‘Spanish’, ‘Axila’ means ‘Armpit’, so I think the city fathers need to change the name to ‘Axila’ to more accurately portray the town. Ok I am being unfair, I did not do my research and because Axila, sorry I mean Espanola, turns out to be a polluted mill town when I was expecting a quaint, nicer version of Beeton nestled between lakes and hills in a forest is actually my fault. I stayed at the Clear Water Inn, also my bad, I didn’t see the Motel in the name. It is actually in a lovely setting and the Clear Water Lake it gets its name from is quite something, but the most that can be said is that it’s clean. But no worries, clean really is all I needed and the manager did direct me to an unexpectedly good Italian Restaurant, The Cortina, in the middle of Axila…er Espanola.  

The Clear Water Lake

The  Jewel of Axila

Next morning (that is this morning), somehow it feels like a long ago, I hit Highway 17 going west. Busy, but a good road and very scenic. The first village is Webbwood that has a fancy looking sign that reads ‘Welcome to Webbwood, Population 488’… really 488, not 489. Why not a round 500. I started to wonder (ok this is a nonsense Chautauqua), if they have designated someone as the sign updater, not a full time position I’m sure, maybe just an honorary position like an occasional town crier. I imagined him (it must be a man somehow) sitting down to a pint in the pub and his mates say to him, “Have you heard, Molly Smith popped this afternoon, lovely little girl.” He gets up , bicycles home, gets his little pot of sign paint and brush, cycles out to the signs, makes it 489. Cycles back home, puts the paint away and goes back to the pub. He is about to tackle the pint when they carry on, “… and a sweet little boy, Molly always wanted twins”.