Atlantic Canada Part 4

Yesterday when I left the ferry I headed south, mostly on motorways as I was heading for Halifax and didn’t want to arrive too late. I had it in my mind that I ought to see Halifax again. My one visit was several years ago when we were holidaying in the Bay of Fundy and we did a day trip to Halifax, it was raining and I have a vague recollection of an interesting bridge that we crossed to get to the downtown area. I’m not entirely sure why I had this desire to see more of the city and in any event getting acquainted with a city takes a bit more time than I have available, so I’m not left with real impression, other than there is still an interesting bridge, and the part of the downtown that I saw is less interesting and a bit grubbier than I like. Perhaps the problem is due to Uber, or the lack thereof. I had found cheap lodgings (as I am want to do) a few kilometres from the city centre, got myself cleaned up and summonsed an Uber to take me downtown. Rather attempted to summons an Uber, guess what, Uber does not operate in Halifax. The motel gave me the number of a cab company, but they were not into answering their phone, so I got kitted up and rode into town – over the interesting bridge – parked the bike and wandered around for half-an-hour, but my desire to ‘hang out’ had left me. I rode back, stopped at a supermarket and got some ham and cheese for supper, which I ate in my room, oh lonesome me.

Part of the reason for the Halifax stop was to ride Highway 7, and that at least justified the decision. As I right this I have a really super day of riding under the belt. It was about 10 a.m. when I pulled away, I had waited for a light rain to stop before packing the bike. It was misty, but pleasantly cool, I have struggled a little with the heat and humidity, so this was a nice break, but I knew that it would rob me of some of the great views I had hoped for. Nonetheless, the mist added some extra magic and riding through the forestry bits and hills was something I won’t easily forget. One thing I can say about Halifax that even only a few kilometers out from the center you are already in the countryside, so I doubt that too many people have a really horrible commute. If I were to work in Halifax, then somewhere around Highway 7 about 10 Km out would be the pace to live. Highway 7 morphs into a motorway, the 107, but offers the option of turning off and carrying on with Highway 7, which I do. The road is wet from the mist and I know from bitter experience that this is when a road is at it’s most slippery, it’s really greasy, so I am riding with care. Mist notwithstanding, and some bad patches of blacktop, this is a great motorcycling road. Lovely sweeping curves and fabulous scenery. The road is following the coast line, which is not long even beaches, but is broken with dozens of narrow inlets, which makes for some spectacular sights that even the mist is unable to hide from me.

I make a stop at Sheet Harbour, by now I’m reasonably hungry and need to make use of the facilities. I spot this ‘Information Centre’ and turn off. What a little treasure, old fashioned, but spotless toilet, a neat picnic area, the information center is manned by two youths (one male and one female, but I will still say ‘manned’), neatly dressed including fancy tartan ties - wish I had taken a picture – and they really know their stuff. There is also a museum of sorts with a higgledy-piggeldy collection which makes for a fascinating fifteen minutes. I eat my packed lunch, left overs from last night’s supper, and carry on. The mist starts to lift and I can pick up the pace a tad, it’s just such an awesome ride, I’d recommend to anyone to try this one. There are a few motorcycles out and quite by chance three of us end up riding as a group. It’s nice, we stick together for almost 30 Km then all stop at Sherbrooke for gas, where we get to meet and chat. Highway 7 leaves the coast at this point and goes inland, but there is an option to carry on with a road that follows the coast. The lassie at the information center told me that the coast road is quite bad, and the clouds seem to be threatening rain that way, so I take the inland route, I should get to the starting point of the Cabot Trail by 4.30 at the latest. As it turns out I decide to stop about 20 km shy of the starting point for the Cabot Trail.

Great little Information Center - Sheet Harbour 

Nova Scotia, New Scotland, sometimes even more Scots than the old one, especially here where I have stopped for the night in Cape Breton. I’m staying in a village with the unpronounceable name, for me anyway, of Whycocomagh, which seems to be part of a larger municipality of Inverness. I don’t think it gets more Scottish than that, I have seen signposts in English and Celtic, and the local supermarket has some signs in English and Celtic. Apparently this branch of Celtic is called Canadian Gaelic, and is spoken as a native tongue by 300 people and total speakers is about 2500, according to Wikipedia anyway, so it’s not about to become the lingua franca, and I don’t have to learn the three key words needed to get by, hullo, please and thank you. Nova Scotians have a distinctive accent, it’s sort of standard North American with added Scots. I have passed a sign that read, ‘If it’s not Scottish, it’s crap’. Not sure what that referred to, but it does illustrate the point. It’s a bit like the English speakers in the Natal Midlands in South Africa that used to refer to England as ‘home’ but some of them had never set foot there.

I can’t say it has been a tough ride today, pleasant and interesting. Looking forward to the Cabot Trail.

Bald Eagle I spotted in the tree, then it flew off

Atlantic Canada Part 3

It’s damn tough to try to keep the blog posts current, so I hope my few readers do appreciate the efforts. Please leave comments, it would be nice to answer any comments or questions that you may have. 

New Brunswick is underrated and utterly beautiful. I hear so little about New Brunswick, (is there an old one, other than the one in Ohio?). Instead of dashing through this province I think I should have decided to spend the entire trip here. There are mountains, forests, lakes and oceans and without a doubt fabulous biking roads, I am putting a trip to thoroughly explore New Brunswick on the bucket list. Unfortunately, today I am just riding through, I suspect that is what most people do, pass through to get to the coast. Which takes me to my first complaint, I’m riding on the Trans Canada Highway, through the most gorgeous countryside, yet this province has provided ZERO, and I mean ZERO places where one can stop and rest and take in the view. No rest stops, no scenic outlook points, nothing. WTF, this is perhaps the loveliest province to drive through and the only places to stop for a rest are god-awful gas stations without a single tree to break the horror of the tarmac. Really, a leaf out of Quebec’s book is called for, actually the cousins down south do this really well. I am sure that I am not asking for billions from the provincial budget, just some creative thinking, a place to stop that has a view, with a picnic table and a chemical toilet would be a great start…and a few employees that travel around and tidy-up after the idiots that are unable to.   

So I ride through New Brunswick and stick to the Trans Canada, it’s not overly busy and the blacktop is in reasonable shape. New Brunswick is a really bilingual province, so everything is signposted in both languages, it’s nice, the rest of Canada should make more effort, guess me included. The other nice thing is a slightly more sensible speed limit, 110 km/h on the motorway, makes me more inclined to obey it. Actually as the day goes on and it gets hotter and hotter I find myself slowing down a bit and riding between 100 and 110, in sympathy with the KLR’s overworked 650 cc motor. It’s not really designed to be hammered at 125 in boiling heat all day long, so far it’s given me everything I have ever asked it for, but perhaps I am asking too much today. I’m also getting into a rhythm of stopping about every 100 km, even if it is only to stretch the legs for a few minutes and have a drink of water or Red Bull, the bony old backside is managing better this way, but as already complained about, all stopping has been at gas stations.

Finally, I reach Moncton and traffic is quite busy, the road to the PEI bridge is very busy and has some pretty rough patches. I am tired and the last stretch has me counting down the kilometers. I resolve to find a place to stay immediately upon crossing the bridge into PEI. For the benefit of my non-Canadian readers that stands for Prince Edward Island. It is a province of Canada, and an island in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, it has a population less than twice that of the town of Newmarket where I live, so I guess the provincial status is historical rather than practical.

Confederation Bridge

The bridge that connects PEI to New Brunswick called the ‘Confederation Bridge’ it’s about 13 Km long, impressive, but a mere plank across a puddle compared to the Danyang–Kunshan Grand Bridge in China which is almost 165 Km long. I must admit that one of the reasons for including PEI on the agenda was to ride over this bridge. It was fun, but honestly, not something I’d bother with again. Now that one in China… except it’s a rail bridge only. The ride today has been just north of 700 Km, and frankly I am done for, I find the nearest and dearest motel (it’s not too dear, but a lot for the basics that it provides) and get done for the night.

 

Morning arrives and I’m faced with some choices, tour around the island or move on. I decide to ride towards Wood Islands, where the ferry to Nova Scotia departs, and make up my mind along the way. I can’t say that I’m disappointed in PEI, because I really had no expectations, if I was to do a tour of Atlantic Canada, then that had to include PEI, right? It’s nice enough, and would be a great place to rent a cottage on the beach and chill out for a couple of weeks with friends or family, but from a motorcycling perspective, it’s ok, just not spectacular. Very rural, bits of forest left here and there, but mostly farming, and then mostly potatoes. Interesting, the spoil is red, just like the farming areas around where I grew up in the (then) Transvaal Highvelt. The rich red soil, lots of iron oxide. I decide to head for the ferry, potato fields are indeed a spectacle, but there are just so many that one needs to see.

I just manage to miss a ferry, so have a couple of hours to kill before the next one. There is a couple, about my age, they are riding on a Harley and we get chatting.

The couple from Saskatchewan 

It’s amazing the ice breaker that motorcycles are. Its also notable that it’s mostly my generation that are touring around on motorcycles, sure I see lots of young people riding, but it’s mostly sports bikes, naked bikes and café racers, short distance bikes that they favour, it takes an old geezer to want to ride 6000 km. The couple are from Saskatchewan, now that is a damn loooong ride. They are heading more or less in the same direction I am, so I may bump into them again, nice people. Another old guy on a big BMW GS, (like the one Ewan MacGregor rode) arrives, I met him earlier at the motel, he’s from North Carolina. He advises me to do the Cabot Trail, that definitely is on the list, weather depending, start Sunday or Monday. He says it’s best to go clockwise, so I’ll give that a try.  

Bikers chatting, waiting to board ferry

Not so Easy Rider with Bike tied don

View from ferry  

Live music.. he was actually quite a decent musician

Arriving in Nova Scotia

The ferry ride is nice. I like ferries as much as I like bridges, maybe more. This one has something I’ve not encountered before, live music. It’s awesome.  

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.   

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.  

Canada Day Weekend – Phew What a Scorcher

Here is Southern Ontario we can go from one extreme to the next. Snow in May and brutal heat in the first weekend in July. Which is the Canada Day weekend, 151 years since we became a country, albeit a vassal nation for Britain, at least back then. I think we are a little bit more independent now, even grown up enough to have a spat with our other boss, the cousins down south. Things are a little edgy here right now, being attached at the hip to the crazies is not a comfortable situation to be in. In a way it may not be a bad thing for Canadians to figure out that having all of our eggs in the USA basket is not a clever thing. It’s a rude awakening to discover that the special relationship is not that special and we are not actually a pseudo state of the Union. So my Canada Day message to my adopted country is; seek markets elsewhere, forget Florida (at least for a few winters), buy Canadian where you can and cherish and nurture our liberalism and respect for others. The conservative victory in Ontario was bad enough, the fact that it was lead by a Ford is a worrisome indication that we too are an inch away from Trumpizium. Ok, so I’m blogging about politics, sorry, I’ll get onto motor cycling shortly. The world is going to hell and there is no way we seem are able to stop it. I have an image of mushroom clouds all over the globe and the chief god is watching with the apprentice god standing next to him and the chief god turns to the apprentice god and says, ‘You are so fired, Yahweh. I warned you that leaving the monkeys in charge was a seriously bad idea.’     

Okay so onto motorcycling, lets enjoy things whilst we still can. I have been doing plenty of this activity, albeit not today, even though its Saturday of the Canada day weekend and it’s windless and not raining. This seems to be the ideal day for it, but 45 degrees (with humidex) is why I grounded myself, that and the effects of a shingles vaccine I had yesterday, I actually feel quite off-color. I do however plan to ride tomorrow, I’ll get up early and get in a couple of hundred Km's before it gets too unbearable, tomorrow is forecast to be a repeat of today.

It's 8 pm and it has 'cooled' down to 42 degrees (with humidex)

So if you have been following this blog at all you’ll know that I have mostly been a bit of a lone ranger, and that hasn’t entirely changed, but I have been doing some group rides. My neighbours, Murray and Janice have invited me along on a few rides with them. (Murray – see http://not-so-easy-rider.blogspot.com/2014/07/thank-you-murray_22.html). I was quite apprehensive about doing group rides, pretty much the last group ride I did was on the ride that killed the Boulevard. http://not-so-easy-rider.blogspot.com/2015/08/death-of-boulevard.html. However, Murray is a seriously good rider, very experienced and a good group leader. He plans the route well, knows when to stop for a break and doesn’t push the pace beyond the capabilities of the weakest rider (sometimes this has been me), yet does push you to up your game. After a few rides group rides with Murray, I do feel slightly more confident.

Michel, Murray and Janice - at the end of the ride - coffee at MacDonald's in Beaverton 

A few weekends ago, we (Murray, Janice, a couple of other riders and me) rode up to Huntsville in Muskoka where we had lunch at a restaurant called ‘3 Guys and a Stove’. Now this sort of name has been done to death (5 Guys Burgers and Fries, 2 Guys and a Truck, 2 Gals and a Chap – actually that last one isn’t a real thing, just that bucket list item), nonetheless the lunch was pretty darn good, and the menu was definitely worth another visit http://3guysandastove.com/pub/All-Day-Menu.html. After lunch we went north on Highway 11 to Emsdale where we picked up County Road 518. This was the northern most point of the ride, now it was homeward bound. I’ve ridden this road before, so was attuned to the fun that was coming. This is one of the best motorcycle roads that I have had the pleasure of riding (http://not-so-easy-rider.blogspot.com/2015/12/the-screaming-heads-of-muskoka.html). Mostly long sweeping curves that you can take at a decent speed, but occasionally they throw in a tight one to keep you on your toes. The whole route is through Muskoka forest, just so gorgeous it takes the breath away. We stop at Orrville for a coffee and cake break at the Orrville Bakery, which is a great little place. I pass on the cake, but go for the coffee, it is that time of the afternoon that one actually needs a nap, but failing that a shot of caffeine helps. They have a proper barista machine so the usual pee bewitched drip coffee is nor served (hooray), triple shot Americano does the trick.

From Orrville we make our way down to Bala, another one of my favourite spots, and gateway to county road 13, better known as Southwood road. There are few roads that challenge quite like this one, very twisty and very technical, tight cornering and lots of gravel. Actually I have already ridden this road this year and the amount of loose gravel is way less than it was a few weeks before. Murray pushed the pace and it really is a challenge to keep up. I have a few sphincter tightening moments when the wheels slip on loose gravel on some of the corners, but this is the type of road that the KLR is designed for... or so I tell myself. We head down Highway 11 for a short distance until Washago where we take County Road 169 and then wind our way home on the eastern side of lake Simcoe. Total distance for the day 560 km, quite a respectable ride for a Saturday.

I have done a few other rides, so far this season I have managed over 5000 km, so it’s been pretty good, however I have been building a pergola over the deck, which has been fun, but has cut a little into the biking time. The project is nearly done so I’ll be getting back to riding, weather permitting. I have put in vacation to do a two and a half week ride – my original intention was to ride to the Grand Canyon, but in line with the thoughts expressed in paragraph one, I have changed my mind. It will be the Canadian Maritimes, PEI, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Newfoundland and Labrador.

Pergola Project (not quite the Alan Parsons Project)

Happy Canada Day.

Cheers

The Spring is Sprung…NOT

After getting in a couple of rides in March, I had been optimistic about Spring. April, I was sure, would be seeing me with my ass on the seat of the KLR plenty of times. Alas, that has not yet come to pass. This weekend we are almost housebound by a ‘historic ice storm’, in the words of the Weather Network. I say almost, because I have ventured out in the Dodge Caravan, fortunately still with winter tires on. The roads were very slippery, ‘it’s greasy out there’ as some people here in Canada would say.

Real greasy out there 

It just looks like snow 

 So far, we have been lucky, we haven’t had any power outages here in Newmarket, but I believe that about 15 000 homes and businesses in the Greater Toronto Area were not quite so fortunate. However, the day is not out, and freezing rain is falling as I type these words. Freezing rain is more interesting than mere ice pellets that came down yesterday, turning the world white and making it look like it has been snowing. For the benefit of readers in warmer climates, freezing rain is when the rain is in a liquid state, but only just, and about to solidify, which it does on impact with the ground. Not only the ground of course, trees, electrical cables, pylons, cars, everything. The aesthetic effect is fantastic, turns the landscape into a smooth white crust, it almost looks like a white plastic sheet. Things like branches of trees get a coating of translucent ice, looks wonderful, but there is a serious downside, branches break off trees, whole trees can come crashing down and damage to the electricity grid is almost inevitable. That’s life in Canada, the weather is more interesting here than anywhere else I’ve lived, I have even seen a tornado from reasonably close-up, well as close to one that I would like to be.

Weather is always the subject of conversation here, more so when it’s unseasonal. Yesterday I overheard a discussion between a customer and the cashier at the supermarket that this is proof that global warming is not happening, just a hoax perpetrated by the liberals. The conversation included statements that, its just ridiculous to have this sort of weather in April, almost as if the ice rain is the fault of the liberals as well.  Oh dear, there is confusion between weather and climate and the concept of global warming/climate change. I am not a meteorologist, but if I interpret what I hear from the actual meteorologist about this particular weather occurrence correctly, the high amount of moisture in the atmosphere that is turning into icy precipitation, may well be related to warmer oceans. And warmer oceans are a direct result of global warming. Global warming does not automatically mean that we’ll be having shorter and less cold winters and warmer summers here in Ontario, it means that weather incidents are going to get more extreme – the climate is in a state of flux.

The consequences of climate change are likely to impact everyone’s lives and some people in a dramatic and horrible way. The Puerto Ricans know what stronger and more frequent hurricanes can do, the Bangladeshis know about rising sea levels, the folks from Cape Town know what it is to face the prospect of the water supply running out and the motor bikers in Southern Ontario know about shorter and washed out riding seasons. Okay, so the last example does not belong with the others in terms of severity, but it does impact me personally. I think that over the next few decades we are going to feel more and more the consequences of what we have unleashed and fewer days to ride my motorcycle will seem like a childish concern amidst the crop failures, hurricanes and drowning coastal cities. Nonetheless, it pisses me off that it cuts down on the truly great days to ride and I really wish I could blame this on the liberals, or anyone. The truth is I am to blame, as much as anyone else. If you are leading the life of a typical ‘western’ middle class person, then your carbon footprint is responsible for the climate damage we have inflicted. I have put ‘western’ in quote marks as this does not only apply to what we think of as ‘western’ people, but to anyone that follows the consumptive life style of the west.

I have managed some travelling since my last post, but sadly none of it on two wheels. Another trip to Savannah, but this time I didn’t have enough time to rent a motorcycle (see http://not-so-easy-rider.blogspot.ca/2016/03/savannah-georgia-usa.html). The weather was also not conducive to motorcycling, but still had a pretty decent time.

Downtown Savannah- squares and interesting buildings  

I met up with my elder sister, and brother-in-law who was there on business. Savannah is a lovely little city with great restaurants, museums, lovely buildings and the famous Savannah squares, made more famous by Forrest Gump and possibly by Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Apart from River Street, which is substantially devoted to kitsch, the downtown area is rather artsy with the ubiquitous presence on Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD).

Purveyors of fine (religious) kitsch

I like it, way better than the wasteland of car dealerships, strip malls and McDonalds that surrounds the historic downtown like a rash. This sort of thing appears to be unavoidable in North America, as bad here in Canada as in the USA, probably world wide.

Aside from exploring downtown Savannah, we did a dinner cruise on a fake paddle steamer, which turned out to be a lot of fun, and visited the only tea plantation in the USA, which was also fun and very interesting. I discovered that green tea and black tea come from the same plant, thereby filling an apparent glaring gap in my education. The difference is that black tea has been oxidized and green tea has not.  I also discovered that there is a tea that’s in-between black and green, called oolong, which is partially oxidized. I’m a huge fan of black tea, start off the day with a large mug of the stuff with cream, and keep on drinking it throughout the day, green tea is…well sort of iffy. I haven’t tried oolong yet, but it is now at least on the bucket list, right up there with deep fried scorpions and a threesome.

Fake Paddle Steamer

 My eldest sister is a recent convert to the vegan brigade, so we ended up eating at some interesting restaurants. As an ex-vegetarian (ate eggs and dairy) I know that it’s mostly easy to get a vegetarian meal, but vegan options are not easy to find, damn nearly everything has at least some dairy or egg in the ingredients. There are a few vegan restaurants in Savannah and we had a particularly good lunch at one (Fox and Fig), nonetheless I must declare that vegan cheese is not hugely delicious. I am ambivalent about the whole vegan ideal, yes, I want to put an end to the horrors and cruelty we inflict upon the poor animals that become our food, yes, I fully understand that veganism reduces the negative effect we have on the environment.  I think it is a fact that the lower down on the food chain we eat, the less damage we do to the biosphere and plants are pretty low on that chain. I’m just not convinced that a vegan diet is healthy for humans, mind you it’s probably healthier than the crap the average North American eats, all that freaking corn syrup and shit that is listed as an ingredient on nearly every processed food item.

So here we have a post on the ‘Not-so-Easy Rider’ that hardly mentions a motorcycle and does not describe any biking trips at all. Sad state of affairs, hey. Maybe next time it will be better.

Need For Speed

It’s 6 degrees C, sunny and no wind. I don’t know what the Weather Network is reporting as the ‘feels like’ temperature, and I don’t care, it feels like ‘jumping on the KLR and having a ride’ temperature to me. Naturally I spend a frantic forty-five minutes looking for my bike key, which includes tossing my bedroom in a way that would make your average FBI agent jealous. Finally, I assemble my thoughts and work out that if the key isn’t in my biking jacket pockets, desk and every other drawer that it could be, not on the floor beneath all the furniture, then it quite possibly will be in the pocket of my riding trousers…DAH! A few minutes later I’ve got the cover off the bike, unplugged the battery charger and got the motor running on the choke. No fuel injection here, just a good old-fashioned carburetor. Actually, even the brand new 2018 models are not fuel injected.

My Dinosaur

Yes Kawasaki are still producing the KLR 650, but I suspect that it may not be for that much longer. I love mine, but I must admit that it is a bit of a dinosaur, but then I suspect so am I. (I’ve been called a Typosaurus Rex because of my two-finger typing.)

Technically it’s not yet spring, only a few days away, so I feel really privileged to be getting another ride so early in 2018. Winter isn’t really about to release its grip on us, tomorrow morning is expected to be -13 degrees C. The season hasn't started yet, so I’ll just grab my chances as and when the occasional nice day happens, and hope that these happen on weekends. Nonetheless spring is in the air, if I were a younger man my mind might be turning to where younger men’s minds turn to in the spring, instead the little bit of testosterone I have left is making me twist the throttle more than I should. I have a need for speed today. I’m not in the mood to explore little side roads and amble down dirt roads, I want the pavement and I want to be moving at a decent clip. Ok, this isn’t a sports bike, so I’m not going to go roaring down the road doing 200 km/h, even if the KLR could, I don’t think I have THAT much testosterone. I head west on Davis Drive, aka Highway 9 at 100 km/h plus, the limit is 80, but I’m travelling no faster than the general traffic speed, well perhaps just little. Inside a cocoon of riding jacket with lining, thick sweater, jeans and riding trousers, double socks, lined boots and insulated gloves, I don’t feel any cold over my body and most of the extremities, however an icy zephyr sneaks in under the helmet and freezes my chin and cheeks. Jesus, it’s cold, but that’s just tough, I haven’t felt this good for ages.

I head north on County Road 27. My plan is to do one of my favourite shortish rides, it’s a nice ride for a summer evening or a breakfast run on a Sunday morning, Orangeville via Beeton and Hockley Valley, farmlands and forests. Once I turn off County Road 27 there is very little traffic, I open up a little. There is nothing quite like speeding on a well-maintained pavement, empty of traffic, with the farming smell of silage and cow shit in your nostrils. Its mostly straight with some hills, but the road does a few nice 90 degree turns before Hockley Village. Nice sweeping corners that you can take at good speed for a few nice cheap thrills. The really good twisties are between Hockley Village and Orangeville which makes this route so popular with motor bikers, at least in the summer, so far, I seem to be the lone ranger today.

Hockley General Store

I stop at the Hockley Valley General Store for coffee, and a chance to warm up. It’s nice and sunny so I stand outside and soak up the sun while sipping on a triple shot Americano. It’s been awhile since I’ve been here, so it’s like visiting an old friend you haven’t seen lately. Another biker stops, he is also riding a KLR, much newer than mine and so covered in extra crap that it takes a really good look to figure out that it’s actually a KLR. We chat a bit, or rather he tells me about his many, many other bikes and all the stuff that’s been fitted to the KLR and that next year he’s going to get winter tyres fitted, like his mate in Quebec. Alrighty then, time to move on and take the twisties. I like to talk bikes and bike stuff, but this one-upmanship shit doesn’t interest me, some bikers are full of it.  

Lots of stuff

  

All goes well until about half way when two cars enter the road a few hundred meters ahead of me and proceed at a nice, easy Sunday afternoon pace, damn, my run is ruined with no chance to overtake. At Orangeville I stop and plug in the heated grips, my hands are starting to turn into blocks of ice. I decide to go home the way I came, this time I have an empty road all the way back to the General Store, bloody marvelous. I see a few other bikers are stopped and the KLR guy is still there, chatting to them, perhaps it’s a ‘my dick is bigger than yours’ discussion. I don’t stop, just nod and ride past.  

As the afternoon draws out it gets colder, but my enjoyment doesn’t diminish. Like my last ride there is still snow on the ground and the ponds are mostly frozen. If anything, the countryside is greyer and drabber, but if you look closer you’ll see that there are buds forming on the trees, and here and there something green seems to be pushing its way through the dry brown grass. Yup spring will soon be sprung.

Grey with snow patches and frozen ponds

I notice that the odometer is about to turn over to 43,000 km. Hey that means I’ve done about 25,000 Km on the KLR. I don’t think that’s too shabby, considering that I’ve had it since August 2015 and last year I lost over six weeks of prime riding time. Let’s see what’ll happen this year.

Winter 2018

It’s the middle of February, and hence just past the official middle of winter, but from where I sit winter doesn’t start with the winter solstice and end with the spring equinox. I measure it by when I winterize the motorcycle, to when I have my first ride in the spring, probably about mid April depending on the weather. With the climate in a state of flux who knows when I’ll do that first ride. Actually, it’s almost warm enough to ride today, a whole 3 degrees C, and tomorrow is forecast to hit 13, albeit with rain. I am sure there will be a few daring characters riding today, not for me, the roads are way too dangerous. Ice patches persist and the gravel that lurks on corners and bends makes for scary riding. Nonetheless it’s nice to have a bit of a thaw and get that spring feeling even though I know that all too soon the temperature will fall, and the snow will be back on the ground, at least my thoughts have turned to the coming riding season and that has cheered me up.

Winter 2018

Maybe the thaw isn’t the only thing to blame, I made the effort to attend the Toronto Motor Cycle show at the Exhibition Centre on Saturday. This is the same annual show where I lost my mind a few years back and impulse bought a Suzuki Boulevard (the one I killed barely a year and a half later http://not-so-easy-rider.blogspot.ca/2015/08/death-of-boulevard.html). No such foolishness this year, although my mouth watered for some of the machines I got to sit on. That’s the fun part, walking around and sitting on all the bikes you want to. Sure, I’d love to get a new bike, maybe a Triumph Tiger, or a Ducati Scrambler, Suzuki V-Strom, BMW GS, Kawasaki Versys or even Honda’s Africa Twin, but then do I want to be paying off a bike right now? I know the answer to that. I also know that I’m still in love with my old ugly KLR – the simplicity of the engineering and total absence of electronics somehow makes me happy. It may happen, but so far, the KLR has not let me down despite it’s venerable age of 18 years... do motorbikes age in dog years, I wonder?

Last year was not a great riding year for me, my accident put somewhat of a dent in the whole thing and too much rain marred the part of the season that I wasn’t hobbling around on crutches. Last year I had an ambitious plan to ride to Grand Canyon and Yellowstone, which did not happen thanks to the aforementioned accident, so I am now making some initial plans for the coming summer. One of the problems that such a trip involves is that you need to devote at least three weeks, because the round trip is close to 9000 km. On a trip like that 500 km a day is about the most you want to be doing, after all it’s about the journey and not just reaching a point on the map. I had made some inquiries about shipping the bike home from the west coast of the USA but came up with blanks. At the bike show I discovered that Air Canada are in the business of flying motor cycles across Canada and even to Europe. A bit of research with Google has indicated that I could probably rail or send the bike home by truck from inside Canada at a cheaper rate than flying it, which makes the trip a bit more viable. From home to Grand Canyon and to Vancouver via Yellowstone is about 6 300 km – a tough two-week ride, but doable. Some other options that are under consideration are a round trip to St. Johns coming back through the States or Trans-Canada Highway to Vancouver Island or a ride around the Great Lakes. I’ll decide in the next few months.

I hope I can pull it off this year, last year I had done my planning and even got the KLR really sorted to deal with the trip, new brake shoes and disks, front and back, new chain and sprockets, replaced the doohickey and installed a 26-litre fuel tank. All of this just gathered dust in the garage while I convalesced with a busted ankle.

It wasn’t all bad as I got to discover my home town from a very different angle, admittedly Newmarket isn’t Grand Canyon, its sidewalks aren’t the Interstate and the mobility scooter isn’t the KLR, but it had its moments. I am certain that if a mobility scooter becomes a permanent feature in my life the fun aspect would disappear fast, but it was just going to be a few weeks. Initially I rented the thing so that I could still ‘walk’ the dogs, but that didn’t work as well as hoped, one of the dogs was freaked out by it and spent all the walks that we did whining and barking. In the early stages I was not supposed to put any pressure on my left foot so getting in and out of our van was a little challenging, as was doing any shopping on crutches. For a short time, the mobility scooter became my principle mode of transport.

Riding the Scooter, wounded ankle, wounded knee

The thing had a speed dial that went from tortoise to hare, hare was surprisingly fast, faster than a brisk walk even on a fairly steep incline, which is why these things can terrorize pedestrians, another fun aspect of the adventure.

I had not realized it until then how important it is to make things mobility scooter friendly. It was great that the sidewalks are paved nearly everywhere so I could get just about everywhere I wanted to go and soon figured out the best routes to take. The scooter did not have suspension so although the sidewalks are paved they are very uneven, a lot of jarring went on, especially when I was going at ‘hare’ speed down an incline. Most shops and some restaurants were geared for these vehicles with ramps and enough space to maneuver, but not all and the absence of a ramp to get inside a shop, especially in the old downtown main street cost a few establishments my custom. No biggy I am sure, but $30 worth of concrete may get them some customers they are now missing out on. Note to motorists: - at traffic lights look out for mobility scooters especially when doing a left turn, I had a few close calls. Funny that until you are sitting on a mobility scooter you don’t notice quite how many people are using these things, I’m sure some are just fat and don’t like to walk, but there are plenty of folks that can’t otherwise get about.

The other thing I discovered is the power of the disabled. People are nicer than you think, strangers helped me to get items from shelves, insisted on allowing me to be served ahead of them and made no complaints when I blocked an aisle. I could even be rude and use the horn to clear a path and nobody said a damn word. I certainly would not choose to be disabled, and when I finally could walk without crutches it was a massive relief, but there are some compensations.

Of course, getting back on the KLR was the best feeling ever, and still having a little left of the riding season was a small mercy for which I gave thanks and made the most of. Here’s hoping for better luck this year.

Pre-posting Update

Time has moved on since I penned the first draft for this post. It’s now the first Sunday in March. It’s a gorgeous sunny day, but 4 degrees C below zero, feels like -10. (I wonder how they measure ‘feels like’, maybe someone pops outside, naked, and reports how cold it feels like). Last Sunday it warmed up to a balmy 9 degrees above and was also sunny, so I pulled the cover off the bike, togged up warmly and got my first 2018 ride in. Despite a 35 km/h wind with gusts up to 40, it was a good ride, albeit a mere 120 km. The KLR does struggle a bit when the wind blows strong, being light and tall. On a stretch going north on Highway 27 it felt like the wind was going to blow me right off the road. So, I ended up sticking to side roads and dirt roads where the traffic was light to non-existent and I could ride slower without pissing off too many motorists.

The roads were not really in a condition that riding at a reasonable speed was safe anyway, thankfully there was no ice as the temperature had been north of zero for a few days, but plenty of gravel and lots of wet patches from melting snow. Dirt roads were wet and slippery, but that’s OK, made for some extra fun with not much real danger. The scenery was interesting, very drab, all dark olive green, grey and brown. Not enough snow on the ground to give it that winter wonderland look, but still beautiful in a somewhat stark and harsh way. All the pools and ponds in the forests were frozen solid, even the small lakes were still frozen with just a few patches of water here and there. It’s not spring yet, but spring is definitely in the air, even the Canada geese are back. Nice to see them arrogantly waddling around, I guess they got tired of the gun toting rednecks down south taking pot-shots at them.

I don’t know when I’ll get another chance of a ride, but so far it looks like spring may well be arriving early this year, unless I’ve just gone and jinxed it. Can’t wait to fritter away all my free time riding the KLR.