Atlantic Canada Part 2

I didn’t want to own up to the diesel episode, but as it might save someone similar or worse, I thought I’d share. Late Wednesday afternoon the rain lets up and I decided to fill up the gas tank in the interest of getting away early in the morning. The gas station is on the quaint old fashioned side, with gas pumps that look a little like refrigerators, and a convenience store called ‘Quickie’. I don’t know about you, but I’ve always thought of a ‘quickie’ as something entirely different… anyway, they had two pumps, one has ‘regular’ on both ends, and the other has ‘premium’ on one and ‘diesel’ on the other. The KLR operates perfectly fine on regular, I know this, but still I always use premium in the hope that it keeps the engine cleaner and gets me that extra 2% of performance. So I pull up to the second pump... and reach for the yellow hose. Five litres in and it dawns on me that yellow is for diesel and red is for premium gasoline… shit, fuck, bugger. It could be worse, like I fill up and don’t notice, but it is not good. The lady on the cash tells me that she saw me reach for the diesel pump and thought that she had never seen a diesel bike before. Well me neither! Anyway she phones someone that has a workshop and ‘Dave’ agrees to come to my assistance. Dave smelled a buck to be made, but my choices are to dump the fuel out on the road and risk prosecution, call CAA and wait three hours or go with Dave. In the meantime, I get cracking with removing the gas tank, that starts with the silly plastic side panels, then the seat, only then can the tank be unbolted and lifted off, after removing the fuel pipes. The KLR comes with a small tool kit, when I work on the bike I don’t use it as my socket set is better to work with, but the toolkit actually has all the spanners that you need to do just about anything on the bike. When Dave arrives I am about to unbolt the gas tank, so it’s a matter of moments before he disappears with the tank, back to his workshop. One of the yokels, an old guy with a wife beater on and tattoos, keeps me company, he knows a lot about bikes and gives me a rundown on dirt bikes, road bikes and crossovers like mine, it’s nice, I learn a thing or two. Soon Dave returns with the empty tank and I can start to put it all back together. Dave asked for $40 for his trip to the workshop and back, and gets to keep the diesel gasoline mix, no doubt it’s useful as a cleaning agent or possibly he can cut it with more gas and use it, there were at least 15 litres of gas in the tank before the diesel.  As I said, could have been worse.

My plan is to set-out at the crack of dawn and cover 800 km to get inside New Brunswick. Ho, ho, ho, of mice and men. I manage to sleep like a baby, waking up crying every couple of hours. Ok, no crying, just waking up, so I set the alarm an hour later to compensate. For some reason it takes me forever to get myself towards myself and the bike packed and on the go. Today is not about scenic rides and nice twisters, I need to get across Quebec to start the adventures in Atlantic Canada, this means highway riding, tough all day, balls-to-the-wall riding. Just to set the record straight, I normally love riding in Quebec, it has some truly awesome biking roads. I also love travelling in Quebec period, it’s like travelling through a foreign country without the inconvenience of travelling in a foreign country. All this BS about the Quebecois making life tough for Anglophones, never experienced it. I can’t say my French is terrible, it’s completely non-existent, sadly, but I have always found the Quebecois to be friendly and helpful. Perhaps I can’t understand when they call me an ass-hole, but that’s ok, what the mind can’t conceive the heart does not grieve. I am not entirely a monoglot, my second language is Afrikaans, in which I am almost fluent, but it seems that my language learning years are in the past, I have tried to learn French, and failed miserably. The other thing I like about travelling in Quebec is the chance to say the few French words I do know, with my best French accent, bonjour, s'il vous plait and merci. In that order, with some English bits thrown in, for example ‘Bonjour, tin of diet Coke s'il vous plait…merci. Gets me whatever I need in Quebec.

Getting past Montreal is an ordeal and it seems that the greater Montreal area goes on forever, of course it does, Montreal was the biggest city in Canada until relatively recently when Toronto overtook it. It is a great city to visit, but not the sprawling industrial/warehousing bits I’m riding through. Actually a lot of southern Quebec, the St. Lawrence Valley is like this - populous, fertile farmlands and industrial. I’m on the Trans Canadian Highway again and I can’t say that it is a load of fun, lots of travaux, still I’m racking up the miles and the KLR is not faltering. Quebec City looms. I’m exhausted and my backside is shouting, ‘uncle’. I stop at a roadside stop area just outside Quebec City. I have passed many of these, it’s nice that Quebec provides for the traveler, better than Ontario, I may add. Short note on the backside, usually I am able to change the way I am sitting, moving back and forward on the seat helps, but now with all the luggage I basically have only in one place that I can sit in, right up against the gas tank. The ass numbing effect is extreme, believe me, 200 km is the upper limit before a stop is mandated.

Quebec City has been left behind quite some time ago. The odd glimpse of the St. Lawrence is of a steadily widening expanse of water, it is now more ocean than river.

View across the St.Lawrence  

The highway is mostly cutting through forest and I can see mountains in the distance, the Appalachians start here. At close to 600 km for the day I am running out of steam really fast, and there is rain coming in, the turnoff for St. Jean-Port-Joli appears, so I take it. Excellent choice as it turns out, nice little place. I find a motel, book in and get supper from the local supermarket, cheese, ham and pate, actually enough for breakfast and lunch as well. Across the road from the motel is a park, so I take an after dinner stroll there, which turns out to be a wonderful experience, they have a sculpture exhibit, with some interesting and rather suggestive examples. The view across the St. Lawrence is wonderful and the town has created a lovely little walkway with intelligence rather than heaps of cash, it is just so nice.  

Sculptures in the park  

Nice walkway

Anyway, tomorrow I will be up and away at the fart of sparrow, well so says the plan, I’m aiming to sleep on Prince Edward Island tomorrow night, and that is 700 km plus away.