Atlantic Canada - Part 1

So I’m finally setting off on the much planned and thought about road trip. Ok to be honest, more thought about than actually planned, as the plan is relatively simple. Head east through Quebec into New Brunswick, cross over the causeway to PEI, go around PEI, ferry back to mainland, go around Nova Scotia, ferry to Newfoundland from Sydney, tour around NF, ferry to Labrador, loop around into Northern Quebec, past Lac Manicouagan, that funny eyeball/sphincter of a lake, then home. I honestly don’t know if I’m going to manage the entire thing, but as I have nought to prove, I’ll cut out whatever I feel seems necessary. As it is I am two days late with setting off, and I have a suspicion that progress over the next two days will not be spectacular, thanks to the weather, my trip has coincided with hot dry weather turning into hot wet weather, I have no clue how far I will get.

My original intention was to leave on Sunday morning, but Sunday morning arrived with no sun at all, it pissed down solidly from 7 a.m. without let-up for nearly the whole day. Now I have a philosophy about riding in the rain, I’ll do it if I need to, but not really a fan. Setting out on a long ride in the pouring rain is just not on the bucket list, you can call me a whoopsie if you want, but I postponed. Monday was dry, humid and hot, but at least dry, so I gathered all my stuff together and packed the bike, got all kitted up, got on the bike and turned the engine over... nothing beyond a choked eh, eh, eh. Fuck, I couldn’t believe it, my battery was as dead as a doornail. Casting my mind back, I realize that the symptoms of a dying battery had been evident a while ago, but I had ignored or perhaps not recognised the issue. Of course, frustrating though it was, it is way better to have the issue before you go on a trip than to get stuck in the middle of nowhere with the eh, eh, eh. So I unpacked the bike and got out of the gear, by then I was so soaked in sweat that I needed a complete change in clothes, underwear included. Got in the car and drove up to Canadian Tire where I waited the customary half hour at the battery counter for service. They had three options, the piece of shit that would last a few weeks, but very inexpensive, the fully sealed, fully charged ready to go, most expensive and the middle of the road option that required the addition of acid and a charge. In the interests of getting cracking I opted for the top of the range, but the one they thought was in stock wasn’t, and the nearest store that may have one was 40 km away, so I ended up with the middle of the road option, and another day postponement.

Packed and ready to go

So here I am, Tuesday morning, the bike is packed with luggage, toiletries, tent, self inflating mattress, sleeping bag, rain gear, water, stove, pots and pans, engine and chain oil, some emergency food, Red Bull and a few other bits and bobs. I’m wearing a back pack with a computer, chargers, sandals and slippers (yes, I have my moccasins, the most comfortable items of footwear known to man) and warm gloves. After a fond farewell to my wife, the dogs and even my neighbours. I turn the key and the KLR roars into life, maybe a muted roar, but none of the eh, eh, eh stuff and I pull away on my adventure. I feel just fantastic, I expect to run into some rain a bit later, but for now it’s dry, It’s hot, it’s so humid you can almost swim in it, the clouds are low and gun-metal blue, but so far no rain. I head east through the farmlands, the cornfields are head height, sure I know that they are just growing inputs to feedlots and chicken batteries, or worse bio-fuels, which are not in the least bit ‘green’, but it does look nice. This time of year the fecundity of the world is just so fantastic, it makes one forget about all the negatives that are going on in the natural world. Oops, gone off subject. Heading east to Port Perry, Lake Scugog and the Trans-Canadian Highway, this is the area where Neil Young grew up, second ugliest of the old time rockers, just beaten by Keith Richards, just. I’m free and the airflow has finally cooled me down, I find myself singing, badly of course, but who cares, there is only me inside this helmet.

The road is busy, but it isn’t too bad, traffic is moving above the speed limit and the road has enough double overtake sections that you don’t get too frustrated stuck behind trucks. Personally I don’t feel frustrated at all by even several kilometres of slow travel, I’m on holiday, taking in the sights, and Highway 7 has plenty to offer. Farmlands have been left behind, I am in the Canadian Shield, it’s forests, rocky cuttings and lakes, I have written previously about this road, it’s perhaps not the greatest motorcycle road, but if you want to get to the east quickly, without riding a motorway this is about all you have. I have lunch at Havelock, Tim Hortons chicken wrap in the interests of time, I guess there are a few of those in my future, small black coffee keeps the calories down. The clouds are now unmistakeably menacing, and I don the suit, in protest. I guess I could make a whole philosophical point about putting on the rain suit before it rains, but yes, put the fucking thing on before it starts to rain. That is the smart thing to do, and I have learned the hard way, but on a day like this it’s awful. It’s beyond hot, it’s wearing the Michelin man outfit in 30 degrees C, sweat runs down the back, and from the armpits and other unmentionable places, most unpleasant

The thing about riding in rain, is that even a light rain is experienced by a motorcyclist as heavy, because you are riding into it at the speed you are travelling, so relative to the pedestrian the chap on the bike is encountering many more raindrops per second. Now it is possible that this issue influenced Einstein’s thinking (I doubt it), but you had better have your rain gear on even for a relatively light shower. With rain gear I include trousers, jacket and booties. The last of these, unless you have boots that are genuinely waterproof is important, it takes no time at all for your boots to become bags of water. For my part I have not found affordable boots that are comfortable, protective and waterproof. So my compromise is $20 pair of booties that cover the boots and are truly waterproof. Pain in the ass to put them on, nonetheless I leave Havelock with full rain gear on, including booties. It does not take long for the rain to justify my decision, so undaunted I ride on through the downpour to Perth. Nice little town, named after the Scottish town, not the Australian city, I imagine. It endeavours to have a connection to the Scottish town, I notice a few wool shops as I go through, it reminds me of the Scottish town of Moffat, where I bought woolen scarves and toffee a few years ago. Anyway I don’t stop at Perth, but do turn off the Trans-Canadian Highway, to follow highway 43, which follows a more direct route to Montreal. I have doubts that I’ll make it to Montreal today, but let’s see how far I get.

Rideau River

As it turns out, Merrickville on the Rideau River is where I decide to stop. I spot a place to stay, the Balderchin Inn and they have a room available.  The room is fine, bit on the baroque side, and the fake flowers above the bed are a little more than necessary, it’s respite from the rain and the internet connection totally sucks.

I am getting the KLR settled for the night when a few ladies come out of the pub to have a smoke, ‘I wouldn’t park there if I were you,’ one says, ‘transport trucks can’t make the corner, no one from Merrickville ever parks there.’ I move the bike a few spaces along, local knowledge is worth so much, thank you ladies of the cigarette.

Tucked in for the night

They sit in a car to stay dry while having a smoke. I too was once a dedicated smoker so I don’t judge, I’m just glad that one can now enjoy a meal in a public place without someone’s smoke ruining it. I see that Halifax is introducing a smoking ban on all municipal property including parks, roads and sidewalks. A bit harsh perhaps, but I must marvel at how the zeitgeist has changed, at least as far as smoking is concerned. A mere forty years ago people smoked about anywhere, aircraft included, I’m all for Halifax, might get rid of the cigarette butts that end up on the roads and sidewalks. I, who once tossed cigarette butts from the car window (yes I was an extreme asshole), have developed a hatred of cigarette butt litter.

Some pictures of the Merrickville:

The Balderchin Inn

The morning arrives and it’s raining steadily, not very hard, but no let-up, pretty much in line with the forecast, Montreal is expecting to have some heavy downpours and I’m not into encountering torrential rain while trying to make sense of the screwed up routes all signposted only in French, around the city.  I make an executive decision to stay here, Thursday, the weather report claims, will give me a clear run to New Brunswick. So I go back to bed, I must admit it is a pretty comfy one, and have a lie-in, why not, I’m on holiday. When I finally emerge I take my little fold up umbrella (purchased in Quebec City two years ago when I was attempting a similar ride and got rained out) and set-out to discover Merrickville. There are tons of antiques and arts and crafts shops and no shortage of cafes and restaurants, I assume it’s a bit of a tourist village, but with the rain they are staying away today. It’s a relatively old for Canada, established in 1793, a guy called Merrick, loyalist that left the USA during the War of Independence built a grist mill on the river and the village grew up around that. It’s a picturesque place. At the top end of the main business street there’s a small park called ‘Vimy’ park, dedicated to the soldiers that died at Vimy Ridge, a hundred-and-one years ago. The park also contained a WWII twenty-five-pound gun.

25 Pound Gun

I trained on this artillery piece, at the tender age of seventeen, and actually saw action on the (now) Namibian/Zambian border with it. It was an odd moment to see one standing in the park, instantly took me back to the misery of military life for a conscript. Those days I was tougher about doing things in the rain, or rather my sergeant was.