El Niño

El Niño, in case you don’t know, is a band of warm ocean water that develops in the central and east-central equatorial Pacific in a cyclical pattern that effects weather patterns all over the world. In South Africa where I grew up, El Niño meant drought and very hot summers, it still does, and this year is one of the driest and hottest on record, I can believe it, I felt it when I was visiting a few weeks ago. I believe that here in Canada the strong El Niño contributed to the wet fall and so far mild winter, and to a small, but gratefully received Christmas present for me. Yup, you guessed it, I’m spending my Christmas afternoon riding the KLR instead of sleeping off too much turkey. Thank you Jesus…in case you also didn’t know the term El Niño refers to the Christ Child.

Since the Muskoka trip I have indeed not managed to do any longish rides, but finished off the season with a few pleasant local rides… a loop through Terra Nova, few times to Port Perry via Uxbridge, once around Lake Simcoe, a few times to Musselman’s Lake near Stouffville and a loop or two through Zephyr and Udora. All together I guess I have managed about 14,000 Km this season, about half on the late and lamented Boulevard and half on the KLR. The accident in the middle of the season sort of put a kybosh on my plans to do a cross continent ride, so maybe that’s on the cards for next year, we shall see how things turnout.

Near to Terra Nova - one of the last rides in the fall. 

Anyway, just before leaving for South Africa for the brief visit, I decided to winterize the bikes in the reasonable expectation of icy cold weather laced with snow and the occasional ice rain storm.  Previously Helena and I had stored our bikes at Barrie Harley Davidson, but this year we decided on a DIY job and save us the $600. There is more to the decision than a bit of Scots canniness, it goes with my decision to take personal control over at least the basics of the maintenance. A few moments with Google and I knew what the procedure was, and a trip up to Royal Distributors to buy a few bits and bobs and I was ready. I gave the KLR a full service, including oil change, new oil filter, spark change and doohickey reset and Helena’s Harley got a similar treatment. Filled up gas and added fuel stabilizer, cleaned both bikes, oiled the KLR chain, wiped all exposed metal parts with a clean oily rag, hooked up drip charges to the batteries and put dust covers over the bikes. To keep them warm I put the bikes on rubber mats and switched on the cheap electric oil radiator, I’d purchased from Walmart, to a low heat setting.

Winterized bikes, the camo motif is a bit much, but if I ever need to hide away in a forest... 

I felt ready for the cold that quite frankly hasn’t yet descended. Sure we have had a few days of sub-zero temperature, Fairy Lake (the little artificial lake that is the center piece of the park close to my home) has achieved a skin of ice for the odd few days and there has been a dusting of snow a couple of times, but honestly there has been nothing to write home about. Even the Canada geese are still hanging around, they really should have deserted us by now. Not that I am complaining, the Canadian winter is not the prime reason I live here, but it is odd that it has so far been largely absent, worrying a bit actually. I know that this is an El Niño effect, but I am sure that the effect is magnified by the worsening global climate change. Last week I saw a video of a lake that slid over a cliff, I kid you not, the lake slid down a hill and disintegrated over a cliff, this was somewhere in northern Canada where the permafrost has recently become a little less permanent and so trees topple over and lakes fall over cliffs.  I don’t need any more convincing that our species is driving the mother of all extinction events on this planet, and our species won’t survive that. I don’t think that we should abandon efforts to prevent the cataclysm, but I harbor a strong doubt that we can stop it. Our problem is that there are just too many people and too much greed and I am as bad as the next guy. I have begun to think that this planet will be so much better off when the last human has breathed its last breath.

That all said, it’s Christmas day and it’s 8 degrees centigrade and almost wind still, so I have pulled the cover off the KLR, unhooked the battery charger, double socked, put on the Kevlar jeans, mesh jacket scarf, bright green wind resistant rain gear, boots and so on.  The sausage dogs look at me in wonder and doubt, nothing would lodge them from the sensible thing they are doing ‘ballasbak’ in front of the fire. ‘Ballasbak’ means baking your balls, or taking it easy, not that they actually have balls after a visit to the vet a few years back.  

Ballasbak

Merry bloody Christmas and off I go. I head west into the watery sun, it’s barely past midday, but the sun is low in the sky and all the shadows it casts are long and have an eeriness to them. The village of Kettleby is as quiet as a church on Tuesday morning, in front of some of the houses there are groups of cars parked, I guess that ham and turkey feasting is going on inside, but outside nothing stirs, just me riding through. Pottageville is the same and Schomberg, if possible is even quieter, its many restaurants are all closed – weird I would have thought that there is at least some demand to be fed commercially rather than bother with all that cooking. My family have given up on all that, too much effort, which is why I’m able to be where I am instead of stuffing my face with the obligatory festive fare, yay freedom.

From Schomberg I go north, following dirt roads in the general direction of Cookstown. I am contemplating going through the forest area around Terra Nova, but I notice that the temperature is dropping quite noticeably the further north I go. Just past Cookstown I chicken out and decide to go south again, I aim for Beeton via dirt roads. Beeton is a repeat of all the other villages, dead as a doornail, I turn west again, Loretto then Hockley Village. Now that I’m on a well-travelled motorcycle route it is evident that I’m not the only dude taking advantage of the day, not nearly as many bikes out on this road as you will see in summer, but a lot more than I would have thought for a winter day, we do the wave rather more enthusiastically than normal, it’s a ‘what the fuck we are actually riding today’ sort of wave.

Green Christmas 

Long eerie shadows, just past noon 

This, as I have said before, is a terrific road to ride and the watery sunlight, relative cold and general bleakness of the scenery takes nothing from the pleasure of carving through those bends. By the time I get to Orangeville it is almost 4.p.m and the sun is seriously low, shining right into my eyes, and the temperature is falling fast. I have started to lose feeling in my fingers and toes, toes isn’t an issue, but I’m worried about the fingers, I still need to use them to get home, the case for heated grips or gloves is made abundantly clear. I turn around and head home the way I came, weaving through Hockley Valley Road, now with the setting sun at my back. At Highway 10, Airport Road, I decide to go south to Highway 9 to get home quicker, but end up unable to resist a small detour along Coolihans Side Road, if ever I manage to buy that small holding this is where I would like to buy. Back on Highway 9 I ride like the demons of hell are just behind me, which in a sense they actually are, assholes in large pick-up trucks that drive like the road belongs to them. I’m home before dark, but it takes a painful half hour for the fingers and toes to thaw.

Hockley Valley Road Christmas day 2015 

Tomorrow I’ll re-winterize the KLR, I suspect that this was the last ride of 2015. No doubt the Canadian winter will arrive soon and we’ll be having to cope with a few feet of snow. This is the last post for the year, and I may not post again until the spring. 

The Screaming Heads of Muskoka

I cannot believe that I have got so far behind with this blog, sorry, sorry, sorry… real life has got in the way. Since the last post I have spent a week in South Africa, with an additional 70 hours of flying and transit time, and the climax of a very busy project at work. Bum excuses I know, but true nonetheless. The trip to South Africa was wonderful and perhaps I’ll write about it in due course, if only to dispel the winter blues that are coming my way.  The trip included a few profoundly proud moments for a parent, I watched my daughter present her absolutely fabulous fashion collection on the runway and graduate with a BA in Fashion Design. Man, do they grow up so fast, the years speed by so quickly, it was only yesterday that I held her tiny body in my hands and rocked her to sleep. Anyway allow me to cycle back in time to mid-fall and the trip to Muskoka.

 

Paying a visit to the Screaming Heads has been on my bucket list ever since hearing about them a few years ago. I recall after seeing pictures of these sculptures for the first time, thinking that these heads are protesting something, something about the way we are ‘managing’ things. It turns out that I was right, artist Peter Camani, an ex-school teacher has created these sculptures and opened his farm to the public to view them in an attempt to protest against the environmental degradation we humans visit upon the planet in the pursuit of the good life as defined by Walmart et al. I get it completely, sometimes I feel that I can scream along with them.  I guess that if things carry on the way they are heading there will come a day when we will all be screaming and not in protest, but in real anguish when everything of consequence goes tits up thanks to our consumerism. I must admit to not knowing the answers, but I do know that current received wisdom is driving us, lemming like, over the abyss. I know that the western ideal of rampant unchecked capitalism is as flawed a system as central planning. I know that when CEOs of companies earn salaries north of a million dollars a year (in some cases many times that) or people can spend a million dollars on as frivolous a thing as a wedding celebration, whist millions of people starve, there really is something that stinks about the way things are organized.  I know that as long as the system can only function if there is constant growth and rewards cost cutting at the expense of the environment or at the comfort of our fellow creature (calves in feedlots, broiler chickens, pigs in factory farms, wild animals deprived of habitat and so on) we will doom our own species to a horrible end. 

On a more cheerful note, it is a gorgeous morning and despite the efforts of the employees of CN (for the benefit of non-Canadians, CN is The Canadian National Railway Company), I am feeling pretty good (see http://www.not-so-easy-rider.blogspot.ca/2015/10/planes-trains-and-motorcycles.html). I have a decent ride ahead of me for the day and that is always guaranteed to make me cheerful. I wipe the KLR down with a cloth I brought along for just that, drying off the dew, and I carry out the daily safety inspection. I've learned to do that before setting out on a longish ride, I know one should always do it, but I must admit to not being quite as fastidious when I’m just doing a short spin. Today the inspection reveals that I am indeed low on engine oil. These motorcycles tend to burn oil when you push them hard, I hadn’t thought that I had done terribly long stretches at 100 km/h plus, but then it is coming up for the next service. My host had mentioned that there is a Canadian Tire service station on the road out of town, for sure they will have the right grade of oil and with a bit of luck they will stock the motorcycle version… memo to me, carry a liter of the stuff in the saddle bags on long rides in the future.

I pack up, settle the modest account and head out, first stop Canadian Tire, fill up gas and top up oil, indeed they carry exactly the oil I want, good ol’ CT. Joseph Street becomes Parry Sound Drive which in turn becomes Highway 124. I go under Highway 400 and follow the 124 for about 8 km, then turn northwards into Lorimer Lakes Road. A few kilometers on the road forks and I take the left fork which goes by the silly name of ‘Bunny Trail’. Silly name, but gorgeous road, the blacktop is in perfect condition and the curves are plentiful and not so tight that you can’t take them at a decent speed. I encounter one heart-stopping moment, the road has no markings, which should not be an issue as drivers are after all supposed to be adults, but one asshole in a big ass truck nearly forces me off the road. I think every motorcyclist has had a few of these moments, I can recall at least three, when suddenly there is a car on your side of the road bearing straight down on you. This particular prick decided that the whole fucking road is his side of the road. I head for the very edge of the pavement and the truck swerves back to where he should have been. The incident is over in perhaps two seconds and as there is nowhere safe to stop and let the adrenaline dissipate, I just carry on, albeit at somewhat of a slower pace and soon settle back into enjoying the ride.  

Bunny Trail

Eventually Bunny Trail meets up with Muskoka Road 520, another great motorcycle road to ride in this lovely county. It’s a reasonable distance to the turnoff to the Screaming Heads, the Lord of the Rings sounding ‘Midlothian Road’. Indeed by the time I reach this point I am getting fairly hungry, but the chance of finding somewhere to eat seems low. The road is pleasantly twisty but not in great condition so I take it easy, which turns out to be a good thing, Midlothian Castle, as the farm is called, is easy to miss. Once in the grounds it is apparent that it is somewhat busier than expected, there is a sort of New Age market on the go, as well as a disk golf tournament. I manage to get a semi-reasonable cup of coffee from a stall that sells organic cookies and such like, but as I have sworn off eating carbs, I give the eats a miss.

Now disc golf is worth a small digression. I am deeply shocked to discover so many adherents in one place, at least 20, and one of them tells me that 100 more are expected, there is a major tournament on the go. For the uninitiated, disc golf is a form of golf played with Frisbees, I kid you not. The players throw Frisbees instead of hitting golf balls and finally toss the thing into a basket at the end of the ‘hole’. There is a park near to where I live that hosts disc golf every Sunday in summer. Every Sunday the baskets are placed out, but I have seen no more than three people actually tossing the Frisbees from tees to greens and into baskets over the past several summers. I never thought that this was an actual sport with actual tournaments, but here in the most unexpected place is a bunch of enthusiastic guys and gals throwing Frisbees and walking around with special bags to hold the discs. Still I suspect that disc golf won’t be an Olympic sport any time soon.

Midlothian Castle is indeed an unexpected place and the screaming heads are something to see, definitely worth a visit if you find yourself in this part of the word. The expression of anguish is so clear it is palpable, they are warning us, but I guess we will just ignore these, like we ignore all the warnings. The heads are not all in the same place, and I wander around to see them, taking care not to get in the way of a Frisbee. I would have liked to have experienced the place with less people around, I think a grey rainy morning with no one about would have been a more appropriate setting, still it was good. I take my leave, wave to the disc golfers I’d been chatting to and head down Midlothian Road the way I came

Midlothian Castle

 Few of the screaming heads 

The Not-so-Easy Rider, picture courtesy of an avid disc golfer

I'd also scream if I had a gong hanging from a nasal orifice 

My route takes me to Burk’s Falls. I’m quite hungry, but don’t want to waste an hour at a restaurant so it’s Tim Hortons and a large coffee with cream that takes the edge off. I take Highway 11 south bound for a few kilometers until turning right onto County Road 518, heading west to Orrville. Another fantastic road to ride a motorcycle on, sweeping curves, excellent pavement and the beauty of Muskoka in the fall.  At Orrville I discover a great little coffee shop / bakery. They serve me a platter of cheese, Salami, olives and ham accompanied by an excellent cup of coffee. There is not much to Orrville so it’s surprising to find something like this there. The baked goods look very tasty, but as I mentioned I have sworn of the carbs to reduce my waistline a bit. While sitting on the veranda having lunch I research using the map app on my phone, I’m looking for some off-the-beaten-track roads to ride, maybe some dirt roads. I decide on a route that will take me south on Star Lake Road, then onto Turtle Lake road, then onto the oddly named Tally Ho Swords Road and end up on Highway 141.

 Orrville Bakery

This turns out to be dirt road most of the way, through some very lovely areas. Lots of lakes and forest (lots of cottages too). The KLR feels sure footed enough on the gravel, but I keep the speed down, don’t go above sixty and take the corners a little like a grandmother. I enjoy the change of pace and the feeling of freedom and adventure, it’s very tame I know, but still, a little way into that dual sport / enduro territory.    

Highway 141 takes me to Highway 400, thirty odd kilometers south of Parry Sound. I have spent the morning riding a loop. It was great fun, but now I head for home, about a two hour ride on the busy as hell highway. It’s the cottage traffic, Sunday afternoon Muskoka empties back into Toronto. I’m sad now, as I know this is the last longish ride of the season, the rainy season is here and winter is approaching and I must winterize the bikes before leaving for South Africa. I’ll still ride a bit for sure, but won’t be venturing far from home.  

Muskoka has beautiful fall colours, but this park around the corner from my home is also stunning