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.