Man For All Seasons

The thought has struck me that I have managed to ride more than once during each season of the year over the past year. Spring, summer and fall are expected, but I did ride in Ontario on Christmas day and technically it was still winter in Savannah, albeit on the cusp of spring, when I rented the Harley Softail. I guess Savannah doesn’t really count as it was T-shirt and shorts weather most of the time I was there. The long and harsh winter here in Canada is the bane of the lives of anyone that loves to ride a motorcycle. Anyone else that likes outdoorsy stuff as well I suppose, but winter does allow me to do other things with the time that I would otherwise fritter away with riding my motorbike and writing blogs about it. That is the theory anyway, and now that the riding season has started I look back on the achievements of the winter compared to the plans I had in November and frankly I despair for myself. The book I was going to write hasn’t progressed beyond 40 pages, the carpentry projects I was going to tackle floundered, the house interior did not get a single lick of paint, I did not even read the books I had intended to. Goodness knows what the fuck I’ve been doing with all my time.

Here in Canada we are living through a paradox that we are not entirely happy with, a mild winter followed by a shitty spring. It’s as if the mild winter has seriously overstayed it’s welcome, like a guest that has drunk too much of your booze and simply doesn’t get the message that it’s time to bugger off home. We have a few warm days, then the temperature drops to zero or even below. Two weekends ago Sunday was warm enough for Helena and I to take a ride together, now Helena just does not ride if it’s too cold, so it was actually pretty decent, still cool enough to need to be well wrapped up on a bike though. We went north to Terra Nova, not far from the spot that I wiped out on with the Boulevard, actually went passed the scene of the crime… very slowly around that particular bend. We had a reasonably decent cup of coffee at the Terra Nova Public House, before heading home. They do a prime rib roast dinner every Sunday evening, it’s a nice little pub, so I’d like try this out one Sunday evening, possibly just drive up in the Dodge Caravan. Boring I know, but I don’t like to ride at night in these parts due to the abundance of small forest animals that can wander across your path and create an issue for you and themselves – also I don’t ride with alcohol in my blood. It would be difficult to enjoy an evening in a pub and not have a glass or two of something stronger than Diet Coke. Maybe I’ll invite someone that can be the DD and then I can imbibe enough to make everyone much more interesting… but not enough to convince myself that I am interesting or can actually dance the fandango.

Anyway, that’s just all speculation – today is the last day in April and the weather is playing ball for a change, a glance at the forecast tells me that this is just a blip on an otherwise wet and overcast spring pattern we are experiencing. Tomorrow is not going to be pleasant so it’s a matter of use it or lose it, I decide on the former, and rush through my Saturday chores. Just a note here on my screwed up generation, when I was a kid my dad did not have chores to do, I did, now having reached the age when I start to get senior discounts I still have chores, WTF went wrong? No matter, by noon I’m all chored out, its KSU (kick stand up) time and I’m out of there. I have set out with no real idea where I’m going to ride to, normally I have some sort of plan, If I’m riding with Helena or some else then I plan the route as carefully as possible, but when I’m riding alone it’s a little loosey-goosey.

 I find myself heading north on side roads west of Highway 27, mostly gravel roads through farming areas. Preparations for the coming growing season are well underway, fields are plowed, some even planted. I notice that the sod farmers are already rolling up the first batch of the season. Indeed, I have noticed that the temporary garden centers that appear in the parking lots of grocery stores are in process of going up, gardening has started despite the lousy weather. The rule of thumb is not to start planting seedlings until Victoria Day - May 23, possibility of low overnight temperatures. Helena violated this rule a few years back and we ended up frantically digging up hundreds of seedlings one evening and bringing them into the house to escape the frost. Canadians seem to be big on gardening even though the gardening season is even shorter than the motorcycling season, my personal contribution to the garden comprises of one day a year to repair and re-commission the sprinkler system and I look after the composters. Gardening isn’t entirely my bag, baby. Luckily Helena is an enthusiastic gardener.

Our Garden in Summer - Fruits of Helena's Labor.. and my compost 

Riding in this area this time of year reminds me strongly of the Natal Midlands in winter. It’s something more than the rolling hills, mostly grey and brown fields, olive green patches of forest, tidy farms and an occasional patch of green, it’s in the light and angle of the sun. A wave of nostalgia hits me, which is a little ridiculous as I have, all told, probably spent less than three weeks of my whole life in that area and most of that just driving through on my way to the Natal Coast. Nostalgia is a really an odd phenomenon, it’s just a trick our minds play on us, false memory syndrome for the most part. I think my nostalgia is for the time that I knew that if I wanted to I could drive a few hundred kilometers and be in the lovely Natal Midlands in just a few hours, though that never actually happened on a whim like that. Of course the Midlands are not all that lovely in all of its parts, hidden in the hills are thousands of hopeless shanty settlements where possibly millions of people live lives mired in poverty and sometimes tribal violence. The reality of the other side of the African coin.

 Shades of Natal Midlands 

Anyway, as I get close to Barrie I drag my mind back to the task at hand and decide to take Highway 400 north through the city, past my Alma Mater (Georgian College weekend M1 exit motorcycle license course) and up to Horseshow Valley and Craighurst. I make a mental note to register for the M2 exist course, I’d like to do it this spring. It was my intension to do the course last summer, but the episode with the Suzuki Boulevard and the steel barrier got in my way  http://not-so-easy-rider.blogspot.ca/2015/08/death-of-boulevard.html, at the time the incident freaked me out a little more than I cared to admit.  I am over that, I still like to go fast now and then, but I don’t take a corner faster than am confident to do so. I have, however, improved on my cornering and maybe even have regained confidence beyond the Boulevard crash point, certainly the KLR is a much more maneuverable bike.

The short stretch on Highway 400 is fun once the City of Barrie is in the rear view mirrors and road works are behind me. The pavement is in super condition on this stretch, nicely redone in the past year or two. The KLR has no problem doing highway speeds and I can totally hold my own in the motorway traffic, surprisingly going from 120 km/h to 130 to overtake takes only a couple of seconds, more to the surprise of the motorists than to me.  This is actually quite a gutsy little machine, it would totally smoke the V-twin 900 cc Kawasaki Vulcan, the first motor cycle I owned. It does, however, burn oil at sustained speeds over 120 km/h so I try to avoid long distances on the motorway, but the odd 30 or 40 kilometer stretch playing a bit of Russian roulette in the high-speed motorway traffic just adds to the excitement of being alive. There is a line from the movie ‘The World’s Fastest Indian’ where Burt Monro (Antony Hopkins) says that he lives more in five minutes riding his motorcycle flat out than most people manage to live in a lifetime.

I’m not trying to break any land speed records, but I do get what he is talking about, the feeling of pushing the envelope, that’s what is so alluring about riding a motorcycle. I’m certainly not looking for death, but I have reached the age when I have realized that immortality is not an option, actually if it were to be available it would not necessarily be a good option, so if my end were to come riding my bike that would be acceptable. My children have reached the age that they are, or should, be independent, I would be missed I’m sure, but nobody will go hungry as a result of my demise. The one thing I worry about is getting into an accident that leaves me seriously impaired, mentally or physically, much rather I be a total write off.

On that depressing note I take the turn-off to Craighurst and Horseshoe Valley. This is where I did the one day course last year on off-road/dirt bike riding with Clinton Smout (see http://not-so-easy-rider.blogspot.ca/2015/09/on-and-offthe-road-that-is.html ). This really is a lovely area to ride through, but first things first, I am starving now and a stop at Loobies Restaurant in Craighurst is in order. This is a place worth stopping at and spending more than the 45 minuets I have budget for. Last year Clinton bought me a coffee and slice of strawberry rhubarb pie at the end of the course at Loobies. Today I order the Canadian hamburger, sans the bun, with creamy coleslaw, I’m still eating low carb. They serve this on a bed of lettuce and tomato, beef patty, cheddar cheese and bacon, very, very tasty and the coleslaw is delicious… the coffee is not too shabby for a place like this, especially with a good helping of cream.

After lunch I follow Horseshoe Valley Road, aka Simcoe County Road 22 in an easterly direction until 5^th Line N, which I follow south. The sign says ‘Rough Road’ and they are not kidding, this is the type of road the KLR was designed for, gravel, very loose and plenty of soft sand, steep up and down hills. Enough to get the feeling of adventure touring, without really adventure touring, it’s nice. I see there are lots of trails around here where OTRF (Ontario Trail Riders Federation) members are allowed to ride – I haven’t renewed my membership for this year, mainly because I found that I didn’t really ride the trails very much. I like to ride the gravel roads, but the hard core trail riding is just not for me, perhaps had I started doing trail riding when I was much younger the bug might have bitten, right now I find it a little too energetic for my taste. I probably ride 95% on pavement, I need to figure out more routes that include more gravel, at least so that I can justify the semi knobblies I have on the bike.

5th Line N

This area is nicely forested with a mix of evergreen and deciduous, the deciduous trees have not yet got their spring leaves so the forest maintains a bare sort of beauty. I’ve said before that spring is the ugliest season in Southern Ontario, at least until the leaves appear and the ferns and flowers erupt from the earth. However, I have to admit when you are inside a forest different standard prevails – it remains lovely through all seasons, just the nature of the lovely is different. Slightly to the north of here is the Copeland Forest, though I have seen it from Highway 400, I haven’t yet been there.  I believe that it is really gorgeous, a small piece of the deep woods that remains from the great forest that blanketed the entire eastern side of this continent. It’s a popular place for walking trails, bird watching, horse trails and riding mountain bikes, I don’t believe you can ride a motor cycle there, but that’s ok with me, we need tranquil places that anyone can go to and commune a bit with nature is peace and quiet. The forest I’m riding through seems to be partly Simcoe County forest and privately owned land. I notice that there are Skidoo trails here… mmm maybe I should consider that for a winter thing to do.

All too soon the gravel road ends at the intersection of 5^th line and Bass Lake Side Road, it’s paved from there on to where it meets up with Lake Simcoe. I turn left, there are a few nice little twisties on this road before it ends in a T-Junction and I make my way south to Old Barrie Road and through the small city of Orillia. Orillia is the second largest city on the shores of Lake Simcoe, not a very large city I will grant you, but a city nonetheless with a population over 30,000 and growing. I always fancied that it must have been named after some or other hot Iberian babe, but apparently ‘orillia’ just means ‘lakeshore’. Which is not a bad name for a city that borders on two lakes, Simcoe and Couchiching. There is evidence that this area has been settled by humans for at least 4,000 years, with the setting of fish traps in the narrows between these two lakes as the main attraction for settlements here. In fact, it is this narrows that the name Toronto comes from, which was the original name for Lake Simcoe, so perhaps Orillia has the real rights to this name. Of course the Indians that last held sway over this point on these waterways are no longer here, they, or their descendants are instead running a casino a few kilometers to the north on the east shores of Lake Couchiching - Casino Rama where some idiots regularly pour a decent proportion of the bi-monthly income into slot machines.

As I cross over the narrows and join up with the Trans-Canadian Highway I see that both lakes are well and truly thawed, ice fishing is done, normal fishing and boating activities are well underway. Oh yes, I like it. I may well be a man for all seasons, but bring on summer!  

It’s getting late so I stick to the main routes and I’m home in an hour and a half, in time walk the dogs and enjoy a sundowner on the deck, albeit with a thick sweater on.

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