Riding With My Heavy

If you are South African you may know that I’m talking about my brother-in-law. In Afrikaans the word for heavy and brother-in-law are homophones ‘swaar’ and ‘swaer’, so many the joke that mistranslates this word. This particular heavy is jetlagged and not yet recovered from a 40 odd hour journey across six time zones that included a plane ride from Johannesburg, train ride from New York, visit to Niagara Falls and the drive to Newmarket, nonetheless he is riding behind me on Helena’s 883 Harley Davidson. Peter is a very experienced and keen motorcycle rider, but I hadn’t expected him to come on a ride the morning after arriving, yet he was game for ‘a shortish ride’. As it’s just an ice breaker I take us on one of my favorite evening rides, Orangeville via Beeton, Loretta and Hockley Valley, a feast for the eyes with great curves. (Why does that just not sound like a motorcycle ride?)

Hi & Lo

We stop for coffee at Hockley General Store, a popular spot for motorcyclists, as it’s a really nice day they are out in force, the place is pumping. I guess that this is a fabulously profitable little business, and they make a decent cappuccino. Peter is 6 ft. 4 and his height is mostly in his legs, so he does look ever so slightly comical riding Helena’s 883 SuperLow, a little like a kid that’s outgrown his bicycle and knees come up to ears when peddling. I had of course gallantly offered him the Boulevard, being short of leg I fit perfectly well on the SuperLow, he declined. Peter normally rides a Harley 1200 Custom which actually has the same frame as the SuperLow, with longer suspension and he has forward controls whereas Helena’s has mid. At the Hockley General Store we get a chance to look at everyone else’s motorcycles, always a fun activity if you like that sort of thing, which of course we do.

The ride through the valley is as always exhilarating with its many tight turns, but today I have an extra pleasure, I get to see the valley almost as if I haven’t seen it before. It’s as if I am seeing it through Peter’s eyes, noticing things that I no longer notice when I ride this familiar old route, the sparkling, bubbling river that pops into view every so often, the hills covered in forest, ferns and flowers growing next to the road and the neat little farms. At Orangeville we exchange motorcycles and head back the way we came. Peter does look more comfortable on the Boulevard, I’m fine on the Harley even though the mid controls cause my slightly arthritic hips to cramp every time I pull away from a stop.  It is a rather different ride and takes some getting used to, I seem to get through the gears very quickly, then look for an extra gear when already in fifth, the Boulevard’s fifth gear is almost an overdrive and on roads like this its mostly in third or fourth. The 883 handles well on the corners, can take them a little tighter than the Boulevard, and has plenty of power for the job. We turn south at Airport Road then take Highway 9 for a mad dash home.

I certainly enjoyed riding the Harley 883, but must admit that I enjoy the Boulevard more, probably a case of what I am used to and therefore more comfortable with. Forward controls, definitely more comfortable for me, floorboards instead of pegs also. The handle bars make for a different riding style, the Boulevard has handle bars that you lean your weight on, whereas the 883 you more or less hold on rather than lean… better for the posture I’m sure, but I don’t ride for the sake of my posture. Peter has a similar point to make, but in reverse, he prefers the 883, it handles and is configured more like his 1200 Custom. As they say, ‘whatever blows your skirt up’, I’m not going to argue, riding on the ‘wrong’ side of the road is difficult enough so if the bike is more familiar then that’s going to help.

Geese on Lake Simcoe

I’ve taken the week vacation so Peter and I are trying to get as much riding in as we can manage, while Helena and her sister, Dalene, get to spend as much time chatting as they can, suits us guys as that frees up the motorcycles! The weather, however, is not entirely playing ball, this is the rainy season and is panning out to be wetter than usual, El Nino or something. Nonetheless, we have managed a few decent short rides, Musselman’s Lake and Simcoe shore around Jackson’s point.

The Not-so-Easy-Rider looking somewhat uneasy - Lake Simcoe 

Today we left just after midday. I had planned a good solid ride, through Beaverton hugging the east shore of Simcoe, then head north-east to Kinmount, up county road 503 to Gooderham, south on the 507 to county road 36, alongside the Kawartha Highlands Provincial Park. The idea was to then head to Bobcaygeon, Fenlon Falls and home.

First stop is Kinmount for coffee and discover that one of my favorite little stores is going out of business, the proprietress is retiring. It’s a little general store that serves excellent coffee, wonderful picked eggs, Kawartha Ice Cream (naturally) and great carrot (and other) cakes, pies and sandwiches. The shop sells a fascinating mixture of junk and good stuff, not sure which category I find more interesting. Right now it’s closing down sale, but at least we get to have some coffee, eat cake and pickled eggs, buy some stuff at knock-down prices, not much as we are on motorcycles. Pity, they have a collection of T-shirts in bad taste that cries out to be owned…not actually worn though and a pair of Wellies my size for $8…damn just don’t have space. A wander around town and we do the 20 minutes of tourist stuff that Kinmount offers, then go north up road 503.   

Heavy in Wonderland (Kinmount tourist attraction)

Bridge in Kinmount... I have mentioned how I love bridges? 

Really, they went to Manitoba to escape the cold... really?

This is one of my favorite rides, about four and a half to five hours, very scenic and a little on the edge, seriously good curves, but right now the 507 is in less than pristine condition with still too much gravel on the road for comfort. Peter has been raving about how beautiful the area is, and he is quite correct, I have said it many times, Southern Ontario, in the right season, is gorgeous. Home for Peter right now is not the pettiest of places. It’s where I grew up, the Transvaal Highveld in winter is bone dry, grey as ash, dusty and the air is sometimes thick with the smoke from millions or coal stoves. Of course Southern Africa has its beauty and I wrote at length about it when I was visiting Namibia in December and January (see several earlier posts). It is a very different type of beauty to this, Arrakis vs Caladan to use a Frank Herbert analogy.

We are stopped at the gas station at the intersection of roads 507 and 36, the best part of the ride is over and it’s still only mid-afternoon. It seems a pity to waste the good weather and there is a more scenic, albeit much, much longer route home. I twist Peter’s rubber arm, it is great to have someone like Peter that loves to ride like I do, to ride with. We go back the way we came to Gooderham, this time we can take it a bit faster with a better idea where the gravel is, or at least so we convince ourselves… what a ride, what a ride. From Gooderham we go north to Haliburton on county road 3 and eventually provincial road 118. I realize what a privilege it is to have this somewhat un-spoilt forest to ride through so close to home. The thought leads me to a Chautauqua that has been brewing in my mind…perhaps it’s more of a rant.

Two things came up in the news this week, the one was silly and sad, so made it to international news feeds, the other was important, but so common that it made it to the local free sheet only, on the face of it, it is a local issue, though actually a symptom of a much wider issue. The first was a black bear that was shot and killed by police in a backyard of a home in Newmarket (my home town) and the second was an article about a proposal to ‘Loosen the Green Belt’, or reading between the lines, to destroy many acres of protected forest around our city in the name of corporate profits. As to the first, I will ignore the incompetence of the police and the wildlife agencies who could have captured this creature alive and released it into a less (human) populated area, the presence of a black bear in the area had after all been reported 24 hours before the police shot it. It is profoundly gratifying to know that there are actually populations of black bears, a magnificent creature, living close enough so that one of them could actually manage to wander into someone’s back garden. Secondly, this is an indication that the forest around here are viable enough to not only support squirrels, raccoons, skunks and coyotes, but also bears, not to mention thousands of other species of little creatures and plants that we barely notice in our headlong rush to fuck-up the entire planet on the altar of corporate quarterly results. There is plenty of already degraded land available that is not forest and greenbelt that can be bulldozed over and developers can plant as many cookie cutter houses on tiny lots and develop as many ‘Smart Centers’ as they feel like. Why the hell is it necessary to do this on green belt land? The forests will not stay viable for long if we ‘Loosen the Green Belt.’ The developers claim they need these lands to create employment, when I hear this pleading my BS detector goes off. I have worked long enough with corporates to know that providing employment is not ever a corporate goal, corporate goals boil down to one thing only and that is making profits. Nothing wrong with that goal, just the rest of us, especially regulators, need to understand this fact and deal with it accordingly.

I want to have a police force that are equipped and trained to deal with black bears, because this is something that happens from time to time, because there are forests close by that are home to black bears. I want those forests to be protected completely and whole heartedly. I want people to understand that when the forests are gone, and the bears are all dead, all those corporate profits and increased stock values will mean absolutely nothing. In the words of Joni Mitchell, Big Yellow Taxi:

They paved paradise 
And put up a parking lot 
With a pink hotel, a boutique 
And a swinging hot spot 

Don't it always seem to go 
That you don't know what you've got 
Till it's gone 
They paved paradise 
And put up a parking lot

They took all the trees 
Put 'em in a tree museum  
And they charged the people 
A dollar and a half just to see 'em 

Don't it always seem to go 
That you don't know what you've got 
Till it's gone 
They paved paradise 
And put up a parking lot

Hey farmer farmer 
Put away that DDT now 
Give me spots on my apples 
But leave me the birds and the bees 
Please! 

Don't it always seem to go 
That you don't know what you've got 
Till it's gone 
They paved paradise 
And put up a parking lot

Late last night
I heard the screen door slam
And a big yellow taxi
Took away my old man

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot           

We stop at Haliburton to have something to drink and take photos. It’s getting a bit late and we are far from home, butts are getting sore, it’s been a fabulous ride, however maybe we have bitten a bit more off than we can chew. Peter is still a bit jet lagged, but we have no choice other than to ride on, he’s an old biker and knows the score. A small bottle of Coke each and we’re back on the road. From Haliburton we ride the 118 to just before Bracebridge, one of the nicest roads to ride around here. The blacktop is in near perfect condition, twists and turns, forest and lakes and today the traffic is super light, really perfect. We hit highway 11 and turn south for home. This is a real balls to the wall ride, one of those roads that separate the quick from the dead. It’s a four lane motorway, but it isn’t quite a motorway with odd little roads and driveways coming into the highway with T-junctions. Shops and gas stations right next to the road, sometimes barely ten feet away from traffic whizzing along at 130 km/h... 90 limit be damned. It’s riding on the edge, but to quote the old cliché, if you’re not, then you are taking up too much space. Its little scary, but I enjoy every second.  From Bracebridge to home is 144 km, we do it in less than an hour and twenty minutes. 

The whole ride has been about 500 km, not too shabby for an afternoon ride.