Part XVIII "Epilog"

Saturday, September 24/11



A couple of days have passed since I unloaded the bike for the last time on this tour. While I miss the daily movement and rhythm of the road is also nice to be home. It's taking a few days to come down and I find I'm sleeping more than I usually do. I better get ready for it's back to work on Monday morning bright and early!

Looking back, this trip was a major Bucket-List item for me. When I had the original idea to do this ride a year prior to leaving, I had a vague plan of riding across the continent. A few weeks before I left I still had only a vague idea of the route and as I explained in the opening chapter I was only going to plan a few days in advance. This method worked most of the time. Keep it loose and you will find the way.

Since I've been back I've had a few people ask me would I do it again. I'm still not sure how to answer that, however; if I were to take on another cross country trip there are a couple of things I might do differently. One item that comes to mind is I would start earlier in the summer. Perhaps start in June and go through to August and not wait until starting in August as I did this time. Granted the weather was, for the most part, excellent, I was leaving more to chance by returning in late September. Next time I wouldn't camp as much. It's too much gear to lug around and I was getting tired of the constant loading and unloading. Strip away the tent, sleeping bag, inflatable mattress, cooking gear and food and I've lightened the load considerably. The bike would have been a lot more aero-dynamic and the fuel consumption would have improved as well. Yes, I know motels are expensive, but I'd make the trade off for the longer travel days and lighter loads.


One other thing I might change is have someone else come with me. The company would have been great and having another person's input and different point-of-view would have added a new value component to the trip.


Another question I have been asked is what was the best moment? What was the worst moment? What was the best road? Where was the best food? In fact I had pondered these questions throughout the trip. So to address these biting issues I've prepared a brief list of The Best & Worst Of". Okay. Here we go.


THE BEST MOMENT:
This had to be when I reached the top of the Bourne Bridge spanning Cape Cod Canal and I saw the sun sparkling like diamonds on the water. I had fulfilled a dream of riding across the continent from the Pacific to the Atlantic. A short time later I also reflected, "Damn. I have to go all the way back again!"


THE FRIENDLIEST PEOPLE:
Tough one as there are two shining examples. This is a dead even tie, but wait, there is a way to separate them. Not too hard to do as one group is in the U.S. and the other is Canadian.

The friendliest people on the U.S. side are in Tennessee. They go beyond friendly and have to be some of the most hospitable people you will ever meet.

On the Canadian side Cape Breton wins hands down. Everyone has a welcoming smile and greet you like you're lost family. Go there and you'll see what I mean.


THE BEST ROADS:
Another toughie as there are several. Some have great sweeping bends while others are more demanding, tighter conditions and lastly there is the overall surface condition of the roads. This award has to be shared so included in this list, in no particular order are:


The Blue Ridge Parkway. From North Carolina to Virginia. Great surface conditions with wonderful views of the Appalachian Mountains. The Parkway twists it's way along a ridge above the towns and valleys. The one drawback is the 45 mph speed limit. Other than the odd ranger I never saw any enforcement so draw your own conclusions. Also there was lots of wildlife, mainly deer and Wild Turkeys.

The Cabot Trail, Cape Breton Island. Big wide sweeping curves with stunning views of the Atlantic coastline. The surface had a few issues right at the beginning and again at the end of the trail but overall you can see why it's in the top motorcycle destinations in the world.

U.S. 212. Little Bighorn, Montana south-east to Sturgis, South Dakota. This is a lonely stretch of highway passing for the most part through high prairie and wooded mountains. The surface is good and there are a few small towns along the way for fuel and refreshment.

Great Smokey Mountains National Forest, Tennessee and North Carolina. This road was an absolute joy to ride. I was on it fairly early in the morning so it was misty and eerie. Tight twisting bends and dramatic elevation gains make this road a "must-do".

Here are a couple more well deserving roads.

Devil's Triangle, Oak Ridge, Tennessee. Tight, technical riding through thick bush and small open pockets of farmland. This is Eastern Tennessee hillbilly country and I thought it was wonderful. Oh and mile for mile Tennessee had the best road surface conditions. Bravo!

Hwy 9 East from Bangor Maine to Calais Maine. Smooth riding with elevation changes through forests and farmland. Minimal traffic make this a very enjoyable ride.


THE BEST FOOD:
This one is purely subjective but for my money Cape Cod seafood is out in front on this one. The week I was there I ate scallops, swordfish, tuna steak, cod, halibut, crab cakes, clam cakes oh and a visit to a barbecue smokehouse.
Mmmmmm

As far a home cooking goes, my friends Kathy and Trey in Knoxville receive "The Eaters Choice Award" for a Southern delicacy Chicken Fried Steak which was wonderful. I'm going to make it at home but it likely won't have that Southern flair that y'all put in it!


THE BEST CUP OF TEA:
I have to mention this as I'm pretty particular about my tea and unless I make it myself it's usually lousy. In this case I was pleasantly surprised to the quality of this cup of tea and the unlikely location. I got this cup early on a Saturday morning, when stuck in traffic I pulled off into a parking lot for refreshment. The winner is, are you ready for this....Dunkin' Donuts in Eastham, Massachusetts! The gal actually boiled the water, put the bag in the pot and then poured in the boiling water. She offered me milk, not cream, half and half or milky dust. It was a wonderful cup of tea and clearly the winner of this prestigious award.


THE BEST CAMPGROUND:
No-brainer here. This was a lovely campground on the Blue Ridge Parkway near Linville Falls, North Carolina. Clean, friendly scenic and cheap. What more can you ask for?

 THE BEST "WELCOME TO" SIGN:

After passing through 6 provinces and 23 states I saw more than my share of "Welcome To" signs. Most were large cheerful billboards and some were pitiful little pieces of plywood. Shame on you again Nebraska. Worse yet was Quebec who didn't even bother to erect a welcome sign. Tu n'as pas honte Quebec!

There was one welcome sign that was head and shoulders above anyone, anywhere, anytime. If fact no one was even in their league. And the winner is.........NOVA SCOTIA! What an excellent sign and the visitor centre was above and beyond any other Province or State. Not only did they post a billboard they built a lighthouse and provided a photograph area where you could pose for the folks back home. Well done Nova Scotia!

THE LOWEST POINT OF THE TRIP:
There really wasn't a low point per se. It was a bit annoying when I lost my turn signals and instrument gauges but it all worked out. I got the instruments back and used hand signals for left hand turns. No big deal really. The entire trip was upbeat and exhilarating.

DAMAGE REPORT:

This trip was not without mishap. Hey things break, fall apart and get lost. Here's a rundown of my damage and loss experience.

• Broken thermos. (Day 1)
• Lost cap from new, replacement thermos.
• Rain jacket. It blew off somewhere in Illinois or was it Kentucky?
• Unbreakable camp bowl breaks when it falls on the ground.
• Turn signal switch goes kaput leaving me with only a right hand signal.
• Crotch rips out on a pair of blue jeans. A quick patch and sew remedied this little annoyance.
• New tires in Knoxville. This was expected so it's not really damage.
• GPS power unit decided to die in Nebraska and had to be replaced with an entire new unit. Ouch!
• Two pairs, count 'em. two pairs of bi-focal sunglasses gone. One pair broke and the other mysteriously lost..
• Tank Bag zipper teeth don't like to mesh nicely anymore.
• 18-55mm lens not aligning properly and has a definite clunk in it.

To my family, friends and neighbours, thank you so much for reading along with my blog as well as your comments and emails. I really appreciated your participation as it kept the blog alive. I had a wonderful time writing and sharing this experience with you.


Special thanks go to my fiance Lori Ducharme for the nights we would Skype; it kept you that much closer. 'love you Belle! Thanks to Trey and Kathy Sansom for your kindness and hospitality while showing me around Eastern Tennessee. You guys are great! Thanks to Mike and Carol Buckton and family for sharing a week's vacation with me in Cape Cod. See you at Christmas? Thanks to old buddy John and Brenda Hawes for the dinner and the laugh down memory lane. Many thanks to Helen and Dick Shannon, my Mother and Step-Father for the warm welcome. It's too bad we didn't have more time together. A big thank you has to go out to Allen Stowell and Mike Silver for riding along with me on that first morning. That was a most brotherly gesture on your parts. Thanks as well to Jesse Allred for the company from New Haven to Fall River. I hope our paths cross again. Ride safe Amiga.

So here I am at the end of this particular part of the tale. The trip may be over but the journey continues. Stay tuned as I'm hatching a plan for perhaps another tour late winter or early spring 2012.


Until the next time. Ride safe, but ride.

Steve Buckton
Steveston, B.C.

Part XVII "Bringing It All Back Home"

Tuesday, September 20/11

Morning in Hardin, Montana was a great deal nicer than the evening before! The sky was clear, the air had just a touch of the scent of autumn making me feel very much alive and content. The adventures of the day before now seemed lessened in the stillness of the new day. Looking back to the near frightening miss during yesterday's maelstrom I recall Neil Peart saying in his motorcycle book "Roadshow: Landscapes & Drums" "Adventures suck while you're having them." How true a statement is that!

The B.C. gang in the same motel were gearing up for the day the same time I was and we chatted some more. One of the couples took off for an early morning date with the local Yamaha dealer for some brake pads while the Harley guy killed time cleaning and polishing his ride.

I'm out of there pretty quick and heading West. Today's plan is make it to Spokane about 930 kilometers away. For all of you readers who have ridden, driven, cycled or walked across Montana, you are more than aware it is a huge state and you will spend most if not all of your day traversing one end to the other. The upside is the scenery is wonderful with undulating plains, forested hills, cascading rivers and rocky mesas and buttes jutting out of the land. The landscape changes along the way like a slideshow as it cycles from one vista to another and back again. Montana is a long haul but I've always enjoyed every mile of it.

I fuel up in Billings and continue on. It is fairly cool so I wore my rainsuit for the extra windbreaking protection it offers. All-in-all I was quite toasty and enjoying the morning's ride! Billings was behind me. Livingston was next followed by Bozeman and then on to Butte and Missoula where I grabbed a tea and a bite to eat. The day was slipping away and I still had to enter Idaho, cross the Panhandle, make Coeur d'Alene and finally the last sixty kilometers to Spokane. The Idaho Panhandle offers up some wonderful scenery although the road was under "destruction" for the large percentage of the trip. Another reason I was humping it a bit today was I wanted to take advantage of the good weather and get through the mountainous part, including The Continental Divide while the sun was shining and the roads were dry. The last situation I wanted was a freak high-elevation mountain storm tossing down some early snow or disguising some treacherous black ice on the asphalt. Never fun at the best of times!

 

Idaho Panhandle

Rest stop in the Idaho Panhandle

The weather holds and I'm in Spokane checked in and heading off for a beer and a bite at the sports bar next door. I'm just in time to watch the Dodgers edge the Giants so that is just the final sweetener on a wonderful day.

Tomorrow is the homestretch and I'm getting eager to get home.


Wednesday, September 21/11

Up and at'em!

The hotel is providing a free breakfast service so I take full advantage of the large tables of offering and chow down for the day. Again the weather is sweet and sunny.

The route I plotted for today will take me from Spokane north-west along Highway 2 up to Grand Coulee another "local" destination I've never been to before. Norm Ingram and I have kicked around the idea of a ride to Grand Coulee several times, however; it has never come to pass so I figured today was my chance. The ride from Spokane through Davenport and on to Wilbur is a nice up and down cruise through rolling farmland with virtually no traffic except for the odd farm truck when you get close to one of the villages along the way.

 Highway 2 in North-West of Spokane

It's not far now to Grand Coulee where I fill up at the top of the hill and begin the snaky descent down the valley to the dam and the Visitor Centre. The visitor centre is a good one. Very tactile with lots of hands on exhibits which are great for children. The centre features lots of photographs, film footage and audio clips from the construction years of 1933-1950. In it's day Grand Coulee Dam was the largest construction project of it's kind. Maybe not such a big deal by today's standards but you must consider the technology and construction methods available in the early 1930s compared with today's tools, methods and practices.

Grand Coulee Dam

The leg from the dam to the border crossing in Osoyoos is not far but the ride was one of the nicest in the last few days. Riding up to join Hwy 97 you pass through fairly dense pine forests where the road winds and twists with the contour of the land. The sun was warm and I could smell the fragrant scent of hot pine wafting in the air. This is one of my favourite outdoor aromas and I breath in as much as I can. Once on Highway 97 it's orchards all the way to the border and continuing on north through the length of the Okanagan Valley.

Similkimeen Valley on Hwy 3, heading West to Keremeos, B.C.

The border crossing is quick and uneventful and I'm in B.C. turning west for the last 350 kilometers home. I've always enjoyed Highway 3 and today was no exception. In no time I was through Hedley and fueling up in Princeton. After that it's an hour and a bit to Hope and then another 130 kilometers to Langley as I'm heading to Lori's house. The Trans Canada Highway was the same as I had left it nearly five weeks ago and by 4:30 I rolled into the Lori's garage where she's waiting with a big smile.

I get off the bike, we're laughing and I say, "I did it!"

Part XVI "Rollin', Rollin', Rollin'"

When I awoke the next morning the first thing I noticed was the sun shining through the cracks in the drapes. After the continual rain yesterday this was a welcomed blessing. I took a cup of tea outside and sipped it while loading the bike. The sky was clear and the air fresh. It had all the makings of a fine day of riding.

A quick fuel up and I'm on I-90 heading west. South Dakota is a pretty state with lots of contrasts. There are the wide vistas of rolling plains, the desolation of the Bad Lands and the mystery appeal of the Black Hills. All are pleasing to the eye and certainly enjoyable to ride through. All along the highway are the signs for Wall Drugs, a huge drugstore emporium dating back to the early 1930s. I visited Wall Drugs once before back in the mid 90's so it was well time for a return visit. When I eventually got there I found a parking place right by the front door. Lucky me as this place is a huge tourist draw. The store takes up an entire block on the main street and has several entrances. Originally a simple drug store it now has many shops within the store. Western wear, leather goods, glassware, camping equipment, rocks and gems and the usual T-Shirt and art shops. Oh and there still is a drugstore section so you can actually get a prescription filled.

                                      The famous Wall Drugs.

                              Inside one of the mall lanes at Wall Drugs

             I can always use a new pair of Western boots, but I just didn't have the room
                   

Once back on the road I set my sights on making Montana, perhaps Billings, by nightfall. I head off onto Hwy 85 at Sturgis and shoot North on US 212. I rode this remote highway earlier on the trip heading East. It was such an enjoyable road through the high plains I decided to do a replay in the opposite direction. After Sturgis it's a quick run to the Wyoming State Line. You are only in Wyoming for about forty or fifty miles and then you enter Montana. Along the way there were lots of antelopes grazing on the prairie grass creating the odd photo opportunity.

                                              There's a storm brewing.

I came to the top of a rise and looked out over the valley where some nasty looking weather was brewing. Entering the valley I pull into the small town of Ashland and decided it would be prudent to don my rain gear. Once decked out I ride less than a quarter mile and see the trees on the side of the road in front of me are bending over nearly in half. There is a huge cloud or red dust roaring through the trees and houses hurling debris across the road. It hits me hard on my right and I almost lose the bike right there. Struggling to keep it upright the wind is pushing me across the the road. There is a car approaching towards me and I'm helplessly being shoved into it's oncoming path. This is scary stuff indeed as now I've passed in front of the car and heading for the ditch trying to simultaneously stop the bike and remain upright. The wind is pushing harder now and I'm trying to look away from the ditch and hard to my right to force the bike back to the right side of the road but to no avail. At the last second I get another blast of wind and magically a driveway is there and I go with the wind and turn left into it. My heart's pounding and I come to a stop but the wind is continuing to blast it's way across the road. I manage to turn the bike so the wind was at my back hoping the narrower profile will enable me to stand upright and not take the blast broadside. At this point I have nowhere to go except hunker down over the tank and let the wind, dust and now bullet like rain drive into my back. This lasts about another ten minutes and there is a slight lull. I seize this opportunity, wrestle the bike around and make a mad dash for some shelter in the town. The first place I come to is a cafe / convenience store so I get around the back on the lee side of the storm and park. Let me tell you friends and neighbours my hands were shaking and my heart was pounding like a drum. The scariest part was being driven across the path of the oncoming car and I realized how close I'd come to what could have been a very bad situation. Once inside the cafe I wait the storm out for about 45 minutes. The sky lightens up and the winds abate considerably. I decide now is the time to get out of Dodge while the getting was good!

                                              Rather ominous. This doesn't bode well.

The wind had let up considerably, however; it is still gusting and pushing me around but nowhere to the extent it was and I can keep the bike on the road. The rain is still biting so it's visor down and keep low to the tank. I have about an hour and a half to get to Little Bighorn where I know there is a service station, a casino and maybe, just maybe, a motel. By the time I get to Little Bighorn it's dark, cold and still raining hard. Oh and of course under those circumstances there isn't a hotel. There is a hospital and I shudder thinking back to the incident in Ashland, thankful I wasn't a guest of that establishment. I suck it up and hunker down for the sixty mile ride to Billings. About fifteen miles into it I see a sign announcing the town of Hardin was approaching. More signs appeared boasting of the casinos, gas stations, eateries and lodging that could be found in this fair town! This is great news as frankly I wasn't looking forward to riding all the way to Billings.

I shoot off at the first exit, see a well-lit friendly looking establishment and book in for the night. Ironically there are two other bikes parked there, both with B.C. plates. I run into the riders a bit later on and we chatted about the storm. They were a couple of hours ahead of me so they didn't experience that initial blast that I got. They were hammered nonetheless going through the same mountain stretch as I had ridden. There were four of them, two men and two woman all from Fort St. John. They too had been out to the East Coast and like me were making their way homeward.

The B.C. crew were heading to the casino next door and asked if I was going to go too. I declined, opting for a hot shower, a bite to eat and a cozy bed. Besides after this afternoon's adventure I thought I'd pretty much played my luck for the day!

Good Night!

Part XV "Homeward Bound"

Saturday, September 17/11

Good morning. Today I departed Georgetown, Ontario just before 7:00 AM and bee-lined it down Trafalgar Road to the 401. After some deliberation I opted for a route through the U.S. so I could skirt the Great Lakes from the south.

Riding time was great with a small delay at the Sarnia / Port Huron boarder crossing due to traffic volume. Once I got to the barrier it was a friendly Good Morning, a cursory glance at my passport and I was on my way. At this point in the trip the routes home, both via Canada and via the U.S. are cases of "Been there, done that" so I'm running fairly quick and a tad eager to get home so I can enjoy a few days of R&R before going back to work.

Michigan is flat and fast but the roads suck. Potholes, washboard heaving, sunken truck ruts. They have it all. I got fed up and hopped off the "slab" for some parallel running county roads just to lessen the constant thumping on both the bike and me.

After an afternoon of this abuse I was soon in Indiana passing through the cities of Michigan City and Gary. The stretch through Gary is very industrial with foundries and refineries lining both sides of the road. The road is fast but there was lots of construction areas where everybody still drove fast. Again, "When in Rome do as the Romans." Within half an hour I'm entering Chicago and getting ready for the last big city experience of the tour. Here's a tip for anyone considering driving through Chicago on any of the north/south highways. Bring change. Lots of change as the entire length of I-90 and I-94 are rife with toll booths. Some tolls are sixty cents while some are fifty cents. There's an eighty cent toll; there are a couple more that cost a dollar each and one is a hefty $3.50. When it's all added up you will need about $8.00 - $10.00 from the south end city limit north to the Wisconsin state line. The tolls really aren't the issue as the roads are in great condition and I assume the tolls go towards keeping the maintanence up; it's the constant nickle and diming it takes to collect the tolls. Why not just have a flat rate that takes you from one end to the other? Pay it once and keep moving, not the constant scrambling for change and crumpled dollar bills. Do it once and get it over with!

Riding through Chicago I had a close call and was almost side-swiped by a merging motorist. Not much to say other than he wasn't looking, didn't appear overly concerned and sped off into the distance. It did leave me, however; a tad shakey as this was the closest I came to getting smoked on the trip so far.

I'm pretty much bagged out at this point but I keep pushing north to Rockford, Illinois about and hour and a bit north of Chicago. That was another 900 km+ day.

Time for bed.


Sunday, September 18/11

Guess what? It's raining and I mean raining. It's coming down briskly as I load and suit up. Rolling up the on-ramp and into the traffic the visibility is poor with the cars and trucks throwing up lots of spray. Luckily I have a good rain suit so I am oblivious to the car-wash conditions.

There's not much to talk about other than it rained through Wisconsin and all of Minnesota too. The only highlights were crossing the Mississippi River and entering South Dakota when the rain stopped, the sun came out just before it went down. I pushed on another 100 km to get another 900+ wrapped up. I scored a motel in Mitchell and calling it a night.

That's all I have to say so good night.

Part XIV “Three Provinces In One Day”

Wednesday, September 14^th, 2011
Fredericton, New Brunswick.

Morning came early and I awoke not fully aware of where I was. Drawing back the drapes I was surprised to see it had rained in the night, quite heavily judging by the size of the puddles in the parking lot. The rain had stopped but the skies were still ominous and it looked chilly. I decided to wear my rain gear as it would keep me dry from the road spray as well as provide an additional layer of wind break on what was likely to be a cool ride. Now, so far I hadn’t had one rainy travel day and while it certainly had rained earlier, it appeared I was going to dodge a bullet and lay claim to another dry riding day. My rain free record was intact!

Rolling up the Saint John River Valley some of the trees had just started to turn but nowhere to the extent I was expecting. Evidently it hadn’t been cold enough and without the overnight frost the leaves were still very green. The scenery was very pretty all through the valley and when I stopped for lunch the sun was out, the clouds were gone and the day was smiling. It was still a tad cool so I stayed with the rain suit for the rest of the day.

After a while I start to yawn and before you know it I’m nodding. This is not a cool thing to do on a motorcycle so I start scouting out places for a quick nap. I’ve done this many times before and I typically locate a safe, quiet spot, lay on the ground and grab some shut-eye. There is not much to choose from so I force myself to stay awake and I pull into the truck-stop at the Quebec border. I ride to the far back corner, park the bike, lay on the dry grass and I’m out like a light. Most of these wayside siestas last about thirty minutes and I get up refreshed and roll. Not so the case today. I wake up and it’s been over an hour and a half. Ninety minutes I’ve been passed out on the lawn! The once empty parking lot is now full of trucks, none of which I heard come in. Feeling in somewhat of a daze I get up and walk around to try and wake up. I’m soon back on my feet and officially enter Quebec.

The next stop is Riviere du Loup on the St. Lawrence River approximately fifty miles north. I roll along passing small neat , tidy farms, villages of white clapboard houses and the everpresent church with a cross on the spire, all the while dodging road machinery, flag-guys and holes. Big holes! On the edge of Riviere du Loup I spot a Tim Horton’s and immediately call Tea-Time. Inside I place my order, in French I might add, chat briefly with the kid at the counter. No English is spoken and I mark my first encounter in Quebec a success. All through Quebec I strive to conduct all my business in French and only got stuck a couple of times where my less than perfect grammar couldn’t measure up to my much better vocabulary. All-in-alI I found the people were not rude or discouraging. They sensed my effort and would often rephrase a question to help me rather than switch to English and give me the easy way out. In the end some folks were complimentary to my efforts and it all worked out fine.

During the tea break I meet another couple on a Harley Dyna. Lucas and Jenny hail from Bayfield, Ontario and like me have been on a long distance tour through the Maritimes. They too enjoyed Cape Breton and agreed it was well worth the long ride to get there. We take off and I see them a couple more times along AutoRoute 20.

Hammer time and I’m rolling west or in this case Ouest to Quebec City and then Montreal. At the Quebec line I gained an hour as I was now back in the Eastern Time Zone. This time was money in the bank and after some quick, in the head, cyphering I realized that Ontario was within grasp and certainly reachable tonight providing I didn’t waste any time. Another advantage would be as in the case of New York City, I’d be passing through another big city after dinner, in the evening, when the commuter traffic would have subsided. This proved to be a good decision as I went through Montreal without a hitch and was soon out on the West Island sprinting for Ontario. The GPS was programmed for Cornwall and I watched as the kilometers counted down and in what seemed no time at all I was in Cornwall. The first hotel I came to was full. Oh no I thought. Not again. I’m tired, of course. I’ve been in the saddle for just under one thousand kilometers and here we go again! I pull into the next hotel an Econolodge and it looks empty, whereas all the other hotels are full. Knowing it’ll probably be a flea pit I have no choice but to check it out as it’s likely the last game in town. The lobby is kind of shabby and dimly lit. On the greasy looking couch there is a gal that looks like she may be, you know, “working”. The bleached out blonde at the front desk clerk is leering at me, almost daring me to stay there. The clientele is sketchy and look like they may be renting rooms by the hour. In the hallways you can smell the lingering ghosts of every cigarette that was smoked there. Once in the room though, I’m surprised to its cleanliness and fresh smell. I can deal with this. I’ll lay low and make sure the bike and the door are double locked!

I manage to cook up some rice and beans in the microwave, thank you Mountain Equipment Co-Op for your freeze-dried culinary delights and get on-line and get my fix. I have a real computer Jones and have a hard time going a day without checking and writing emails as well as weather reports and other information sources I tend to frequent. Skyping with the Lady for a while and I’m going down for the count. We sign off and that’s about all I remember.

See you tomorrow.

Thursday, September 15^th, 2011

Cornwall, Ontario.

Again I wake up befuddled and yank open the drapes. Does this routine sound familiar? I am shocked to see pouring rain. Not just a few showers but a downpour right outside all over my motorcycle! That’s not fair! I’ve been on the road for a month and have not been rained on once. Nary a drop. Looking at the sky it’s obvious this is not going to let up in the next few hours so I sigh and kiss good-bye to my perfect record. A quick check of the Weather Network and Environment Canada web-sites and I see the storm is centrally located right over Cornwall. Gee, isn’t that where I am? The weather radar does however depict the storm continuing East and all is clear after, Kingston about an hour away. This is the price I pay for crowing about the fabulous weather I’ve enjoyed on this trip. A little dose of reality never hurts so I suck it up and pull on the rain suit.

I need fuel and some air so a quick stop at the Petro-Canada across the street and I’m on my merry way. Toronto is 430 kms away so I figure with stops I’ll be in Georgetown by mid-afternoon. As promised, the raid lets up just as I get to Kingston so I say thank you to the women and men of Environment Canada for being correct in your forecast. The ride down the 401 is neither exciting nor boring; it’s simply a ride along the 401. Quick and efficient. Plain and simple. The En Route Travel Stops are a marked improvement and a far cry from the old Esso Voyageur stations I remember from the past. They have a decent selection of eateries and at one point I stop at one with a Timmy’s and grab a bagel and of course a cup of tea. I also take time to call my Mother and arrange some accommodations, call the Suzuki dealer to arrange an oil change and call an old friend from the past to arrange a get-together.

Soon I’m nearing the Eastern outskirts of Toronto and the traffic and the speed picks up. Soon we’re going warp speed ignoring the posted 100 kph. Oh well I figure, when in Rome….. It’s not long before I’m passing the airport and rolling along to my exit at Trafalgar Road. Once off the 401 I take a moment to shuck my rain suit, make a washroom pit-stop and chill out from the cross-city tear.

I arrive about 20 minutes later and settle in for an evening with my Mum and Step Father.

The next day, Friday, is set aside for getting the bike’s oil changed at Brampton Powersports. Fast, efficient, courteous and well-priced. What more do you want? Check them out if you’re in Brampton, Ontario and your Suzuki, Honda or Yamaha needs a doctor.

I get the errands done, go visit my brother, get the latest two blog postings finished, edited and ready for posting, kick back and head out to have dinner with John, an old pal from eons ago and his wife Brenda at their home in Brampton.

Tomorrow I’m heading back to Vancouver. I’ve looked at a couple of different routes and it appears the most efficient and the fastest is via the U.S. West from Georgetown, cross into Michigan at Sarnia / Port Huron, west to Chicago and then it’s a straight shot either on I-94 to I-90 in Montana, U.S. 212 from Minnesota all the way to Idaho or even old Hwy 2 a bit south of and parallel to the Canadian Border. This looks like I have a decision to make once I get to Chicago. We’ll have to see how it all unfolds.

Tomorrow morning! Bright and early! I’ll be there!

We’re heading for home!

Part XIII “Cape Breton Island”

This morning I had breakfast courtesy of the hotel. I really like the “free” breakfast that comes with most rooms these days. I can only assume that the economy and the competition being what it is the hotel companies try to add as much value to their accommodation offering as possible. This morning I was joined by a vacationing senior couple from Alberta who had just returned from Prince Edward Island. We chatted while we ate and we both hastily packed up when we saw the time was getting on.

The ride to Antigonish, where I refuelled, was uneventful. Traffic was light and in short time I  was soon approaching the Canso Causeway connecting Cape Breton with the mainland. It is a short run across the causeway and then you climb a small hill and you’ve arrived. I do admit to feeling some excitement as Cape Breton was a major destination on the Bucket List. So far I had already accomplished two other “must do’s”, Knoxville and Cape Cod. Visiting Cape Breton was a large part of why I wanted to do this trip in the first place.

The road had already begun to twist and wind its way north to Sydney where I planned to stop for lunch. The road skirted the shores of Bra D’Or Lakes where the wind was brisk, producing lots of whitecaps on this large body of water. The air was warm, in the mid-twenties, so the riding was extremely pleasurable.

Once in Sydney, I grabbed a quick bite to eat, fuelled up and I was off and heading out on Hwy 105 for the start of the Cabot Trail. Now this famous route is why I came this far as it ranks in the top ten list of motorcycle destinations in the world. This is approximately a forty kilometer ride to the Trail Head just south of Indian Brook. About two thirds of the way there you come to the small village of Englishtown where you have to catch a ferry across St. Annis Bay. There is an alternative land route that takes you around the bay but it is about thirty-two kilometers longer and besides I can never resist a boat ride. This ferry ride would prove to be the shortest ferry ride I’ve been on including some of the Fraser River ferries back home in British Columbia. They trip to the other side took maybe three minutes; just long enough for the ferryman to collect $5.25 for the fare. While waiting for the ferry I met another couple, Ray and Wendy, out for an afternoon ride on their new, fiery red Harley-Davidson Street-Glide. They were friendly, chatty folks, as are most of the Maritimers. As we rode along we both stopped and looked at the sights together. Once we got to the National Park entrance, I was in the line paying my fee and they sailed through the “pass-Holder” lane. I never saw them again, however; Ray and Wendy if you’re reading this, I enjoyed meeting you very much and wish you a safe journey wherever your motorcycle takes you. Email me if you ever decide to come to B.C.

                                               Ray & Wendy

For the most part the road was in good condition with only a few construction or repair sites. Along this Eastern shore you follow the coast sometimes at sea-level while other times you’re twisting and climbing up to 247 metres in elevation where the ocean vistas are breathtaking. The sun continued to shine and the temperatures went over twenty-five degrees C. Up near the top of the Cape there is the small community of Cape North. I stopped to take a few photos as this was the furthest point from Vancouver and also the “official” starting line for the long trip home.

The clouds darkened a bit and threatened to rain but it never came to be. I was zipping along quite happily, pausing for more photo opportunities along the way. At one stop I was taking a few shots when this car pulled up and two couples got out. I asked if they’d mind taking my photograph standing with my bike on this cliff top. They obliged and we chatted a bit. They spotted my out of province plates and asked where in B.C. I was from. I replied Steveston, in the South-West corner of Richmond and inquired where they were from. It turned out one couple was from Vancouver and the other was from Tswassen; both locations minutes from where I lived. I laughed at the irony as it was only a short while ago I was standing at my furthest point from home and next I meet people who lived so close.

Glancing at the clock it was getting on to 4:00 PM and I had two choices. I could twist the throttle a bit more and ride back to the causeway which meant I’d be hotel shopping later into the evening or I could ride to the next town, in the daylight, grab a motel and find a seafood restaurant. An early night would also afford me an early departure and I would have a second day on Cape Breton. I could get in some journal and Skype time so the decision really was a no-brainer as far as I was concerned.

Once in the small town of Cheticamp I found the Ocean View motel right where the GPS said it would be and it kept its end of the bargain with the ocean views. Checked in, unpacked and headed off to hunt and forage for some dinner. Less than a kilometer down the road I see the sign for Laurie’s Seafood Restaurant. How convenient is that? Once inside I’m greeted by this friendly (who isn’t friendly on Cape Breton?) young gal whose introduces herself as Joanne. She’s really chatty and I welcome the lively conversation as we yakked about the Cape, the menu, the trip, the wine list, the specials any and all. I told her about the blog and she is interested so I write down the address and within minutes I knew it had been checked out as she had a comment and question pertaining to the most recent posting. She wants to be mentioned in at as the “Best Server on Cape Breton Island” and to tell all my readers who come to Cape Breton to drop into Laurie’s Seafood Restaurant in beautiful downtown Cheticamp and ask for Joanne. Well friends and neighbours I couldn’t agree more so Joanne, it was indeed a pleasure meeting you. Thanks very much for your friendly conversation and great service! Oh, and Joanne, you still owe me a dessert or did you really eat it?

Meanwhile back at the motel, I read and write for a couple more hours and I feel my head starting to nod. I take one last quick walk outside along the water, head back inside and called it a day.

Next morning the squawking gulls served as my alarm clock, I hit the shower and then soon packed up and ready to roll. A fellow motorcyclist, Bob, from Edmonton, drops by and chats for a few minutes. He was part of a group of four people with two bikes on a similar multi-week tour. They had been to Newfoundland and enjoyed it very much. I envied them as there was no way I was going to make it to the Rock this trip. Right after Bob left, another fellow, Wayne from Alabama, stops by. He’s a rider/tourer back in the U.S. and quite interested in the V-Strom. We yak motorcycles for a while and I tell him it was only a couple of weeks ago I was down in his neck of the woods and riding the Blue Ridge Parkway. Wayne has ridden it too and we have something else to talk about! This is one of the benefits of motorcycle touring. You meet some of the nicest, friendliest people and I enjoy all the folks I’ve met. Thank you.

Down the road apiece I’m a tad peckish and I spot this roadside café. The door's open, I hear music inside so all appears good. I step inside and say hello to the gal at the counter. Once again, I encounter a warm, friendly Cape Bretoner who likes to chat. Unfortunately they do not serve your traditional breakfast, however; she did have some biscuits, jam and cheese and could whip me up a plate of that. Could I get a pot of tea to go with it? You betcha… and I’m sold. She’s talking while making the tea and we discuss a cross-Canada trip she and her boyfriend had done. Now this was true coast to Coast and they started in Cape Spear, Newfoundland and drove all the way to their final destination in Torfino B.C. She knows a lot about the local area and all the famous people living there or from there. For instance did I know that Farley Mowat has a residence on Cape Breton? Yes I was aware of that, but I didn’t know where. She was quick to tell me it was just up the road in Cheticamp. Well I’ll be! That was where I had stayed just last night. Now I’m a big admirer of Farley and his wife, Claire’s work. I fantasized meeting him in town, and popping over to their house for a whiskey or two. Farley would read my blog and later post on it, “Steve. I really enjoyed reading about your trip. Keep up the good work. Your friend, Farley Mowat.”  I was gazing off contemplating this scenario when hot tea on my lips jolted me back to a painful reality.

The road was lazy and meandering and I relished every mile down the West side back to the causeway. Once across I bade farewell to Cape Breton Island and vowed to return someday. The Cabot Trail was nice, but to me the highlight of this part of the trip was the scenery and all the wonderful people I met along the way. It was a sad good-bye, but I throttled down as it was a three hour ride to Moncton and the long ride home. At the Nova Scotia-New Brunswick border, I stopped at the Nova Scotia visitor centre as it was closed when I went through the previous day. I bought a soda and a couple of things and returned to where my bike was parked. Next to my bike were now two other motorcycles. I checked out the license plates and lo and behold they both sported B.C. tags. I chuckle and decide to wait around to meet the riders. A few minutes pass and these two guys, about my age, wearing motorcycle jackets come ambling across the parking lot. We introduce ourselves and it turns out Jim and Ken are from Burnaby and Surrey respectively. Another encounter produces two guys who live not far from where I do. Very funny! Jim and Ken were long distance warriors too having been on the road for the last month, the same length of time as I had, Their routing was different to mine so we compared notes and gathered for photographs at the “spare no expense” Welcome To Nova Scotia highway sign. Have a safe trip guys. It was great meeting you.

I decide to make a run for Fredericton as my hourglass for the trip now had more sand in the bottom than in the top. From this point on I had to pick up the pace and be very selective what I did and where I went as I to stay focused on getting home in time to…..er…..to…….ahh…. GO BACK TO WORK! There, I said it and it left a sour taste in my mouth. Oh well, get to Fredericton and I know how to kill that.

The ride was pretty quick along Hwy 2 and but I still arrived after dark feeling very tired. If you recall, a few posts back I made the observation, the more tired you are the less available the hotels are. Well tonight was no exception and I wasted a lot of time looking for a place only to be denied at the front desk. I finally locate the Lakeside Inn which still had a couple of rooms vacant. I score one on the ground floor with a space to park my bike right in front so I could drag all my gear inside.

Once inside I cook up some freeze-dried curried chicken and rice, pour a stiff one, update my journal and complete the editing on a blog entry and post it. Phew! What a day! Needless to say I’m pretty bagged out so without further ado…….lights out!

Part XII "North By North-East"

Saturday, September 10th
Brewster, MA

All too soon and it's time to go. After the morning preliminaries, shower, load the rest of the gear on the bike and I'm good to go. Good to go at 9:15 AM. What a slacker! The family gathers around and we say our goodbyes. It's been a wonderful week together, although it is unfortunate we live so far apart. To the next time we meet.

It's rather cool this morning so I opt for a fleece over my regular riding shirt. The traffic is light as I make my way along RTE. 6 to the Sagamore Bridge. Once over the bridge I point Buddy Black north to Boston. We're moving along at a brisk pace and soon I see the exit for Plymouth. I'm hungry and crave pancakes so I say to myself I wish there was an IHOP or similar close by. Well lo and behold not 200 meters later and there is a sign denoting what services are available at the next exit and wouldn't you know it there is an IHOP! I call this serendipity and peel off onto the exit ramp. Making a left hand turn and I notice my left signal light is acting strange. I haven't seen this before so I cancel the switch and try again. All appears OK  and I think no more of it. After parking I do, however; take a moment to shift my gear around thinking that perhaps the load has pushed down onto the rear left signal and disturbed the wiring. Once in IHOP I order the short stack and a pot of tea.

I'm back on RTE. 3 and nearing Boston which I whizz through as there is next to nobody on the road. Going through Revere in the North-End, a woman in a car comes screaming through on my right, cuts across in front of me missing the front wheel by maybe 3 meters. Well my heart leaps and I lay on the horn which has all the attention getting power of a Fisher-Price toy. It is virtually useless and she continues on. I speed up, draw alongside and oh yeah, she's on the phone. Thanks for almost killing me!

New Hampshire comes and goes quite quickly and then I'm in Maine, the last state I will likely be in on this trip. While lane changing I'm noticing the signal light is acting up again; in fact both signals are going haywire. Sometimes they come on, sometimes they don't. I'm trouble-shooting this problem in my mind as I ride along. I look down and this time I have no gauges! No speedometer, no tachometer or temperature and worst of all no gas gauge. Doing some fast math in my head I worked back how far it was from the last fuel-up. This was still well within my travelling range so I know I'm not going to run out of gas. If worse comes to worse I can always track distances on my GPS and use hand signals so it is more of an annoyance than a show-stopping problem.

Knowing there is a service centre coming up, I'll pull in and start trouble shooting the problem. I figure it's likely a fuse and maybe they will have some at the service stop. To get to the fuse panel it means unloading a few things to get to the seat. The fuse box is conveniently(?) located under the seat and eventually I manage to wrestle if off and poke around. I check the manual for the fuse diagram, locate the one protecting the signals and instrument cluster. Well I was correct in my assumption because it is indeed blown. I walk over to the service booth and lucky for me they have fuses. I grab two 15A and also a 20A and still get change from a dollar. Yes I know replacing a blown fuse with a higher rating is not a good practice but I wanted to hedge my bets until I got this remedied. My mind also told me that fuses blow for a reason and this was only a symptom, not the problem. Once the fuse is popped in I fire Buddy Black up and presto, all is functioning, even the signals. While I'm doing this little procedure a guy on a BMW GS1200 is parked alongside and we're chatting as motorcyclists do. We yak about bikes and trips and routes and roads, the usual banter. Tom is heading to Bar Harbour and invites me to his place if I'm stuck for a place to stay. This is just another example of the camaraderie you encounter in the fraternity of motorcyclists. I make a note where to find him, at the Jack Russell Tavern in Bar Harbour should I be in that area.

The bike appears to be fixed so I saddle up and head North once more. About four or five kilometers up the road I signal for a lane change and there is no signal. I push the switch a few times and try again. No go and the instruments die. Pulling over I have to go through the whole procedure unloading the luggage, replacing the fuse and reloading the gear. This routine has grown very old very fast so I vow to use hand signals until such time as I can get this issue fixed. I turn my iPhone onto Data-Roaming, dreading the cost and search out Suzuki dealers in the vicinity. Bingo, there's one in Buxton, just a tad South-West of  Portland and a mere 37 kilometers from here. I punch the address into the GPS and make a bee-line to the dealer. Once off the highway it is a rambling ride through rural Maine and I'm enjoying the sights and smells of the countryside. The dealer, Reynolds Motorsports is right where the GPS said it would be. I pull in and see where the service department door is and park. At the counter I'm greeted by Eric and tell him the problem and do they have time to take a look at it. A quick check of the log reveals yes, they do have time, so give I him the particulars and wheel it into the shop. I unload all the gear and dump it on a picnic table in a covered breezeway. I set up house with my book, and computer to which Eric provides the pass code for their wireless router. A while goes by and the tech comes out and tells me it is likely a relay that has failed. The next question is, "Do you have it in stock?" He replies, "No." and my face falls. He quickly informs me don't worry. This relay is common in several Suzuki models and they will cannibalize a new bike in the showroom and get me on my way. Well this is indeed great service so I happily return to my book.

Another half hour goes by and Eric breaks me the bad news. The relay didn't solve the problem. They have traced it down to the switch on the handlebar. This time they don't have a replacement either in the parts department of on a similar bike in the showroom. Basically I'm hooped but at least I now know where the problem lies. The guys at Reynolds Motorsports bent over backwards to help me and to which I say thank you. Now I know what the issue is I'll use hand signals and arrange for a replacement unit in advance once I get back into Canada.

Back on the road I decide to run up to Augusta, the state capital and call it a night.

A few emails, a journal update and some Skyping with Lori and I hit the hay after a long tiring day.


Sunday, September, 11th
Augusta, ME.

I'm awake before 7:00 and look out onto another nice day. It dawns on me this is the 10th anniversary of 9/11 so I hold my own moment of silence in respect to all the poor souls who lost their lives on that tragic day.

It's a quick run up to Bangor all along singing "King Of The Road" with it's line, "Third boxcar, midnight train. Destination Bangor, Maine" at which point I veer off making my way to Hwy 9 which is a cross country highway straight to Calais, although they say Callass, and the New Brunswick border crossing.  Hwy 9 is an absolutely wonderful ride and I'm very relaxed looking at the forested and almost mountainous landscape. It is about a ninety mile ride to Calais which passes in fairly short order. Once in Calais, I hit the Duty-Free shop and make my way over the border. Crossing from Calais, Maine to St. Stephen, New Brunswick was likely the easiest border crossing I've had in quite some time. The Custom's Officer, a young woman, was friendly  and spent more time asking questions about my trip than anything I had to declare. When I pulled up I handed her my passport and an itemized list of my purchaces but she just glanced at it and talked about the ride; a far cry from the rude encounter I had in Sweet Grass Montana a month previous.

                                                 Highway 9 in North-Eastern Maine.

Once clear of the border it was smooth sailing along the shore of the Bay Of Fundy. What remarkable seashore scenery and the road was top notch. Now my understanding is the winters in New Brunswick are fierce with lots of snow right? Well how is it they can build a wonderful highway that withstands the winter elements yet in Britich Columbia, the banana belt of Canada, where the winters allow for golfing, the roads are disgraceful? Utter crap compared to New Brunswick and add to that Alberta where the winters are equally as ferocious yet the roads are far superior to B.C.'s. I'm at a loss.

                                             Freighter in The Bay Of Fundy.

I skate through Saint John and soon I'm in Moncton and in need of a cup of tea. A quick look around and I spot a Tim Horton's just off the highway. My first meal back in Canada was a Tim's steeped tea and blueberry fritter! Welcome home! So I'm sitting or standing in the parking lot at Tim's and people keep coming up to me and chatting. They see the BC plate and their curiosity is provoked. This is not a problem by any stretch of the imagination as these kind folks are very friendly and genuinely interested in this guy on a laden down motorcycle who's come all the way across the country. Even a local RCMP officer, getting gas and a donut, go figure, stops by and says hello. Evidently he took some RCMP training in Comox and tells me how much he enjoyed it there. This is a great welcome home, where folks come up to you, extend a warm handshake, slap you on the back and call you 'bye. The Maritimes is famous for it's friendly people and my first encounter proved it all true. Once this trip is over I will provide an epilog to the blog where I intend to list the "Best Of" and the "Worst Of" everything and everybody. I ask you to stay tuned for what promises to be a riviting, in-depth analysis of the tour.

                                                Crossing into Nova Scotia.

Losing an hour as I'm now in the Atlantic Time Zone, time is of the essence so it's throttle on and I'm heading for New Glasgow, Nova Scotia. Crossing the Provincial line I stop at the fancy Welcome Centre only to find it has closed for the day. Too bad as it looks like a good one, perhaps on the return leg? I'm running late tonight, much later than I usually do for it's soon dark and getting cold. The speed limit is 110 and I'm sitting on 120 with no problem at all. There is a marked increase in police presence and they are roping in many an offending customer. A couple of hours later the tank is getting low, really low, dangerously low. I've punched in "fuel" into the GPS and it has responded with several options. I start hunting them down and every one is closed. It's 9:00 PM on a Sunday night in rural Nova Scotia so it's understandable, however; not funny. My gauge is doing it's "Final Warning" routine and I have to make a quick decision. I can waste time and precious fuel chasing down a gas station or I can beetle it into New Glasgow, which is not that far away, find a motel and deal with the fuel crisis in the morning. I opt for door number two, set a course for the town and in what seems like no time at all I espy a Comfort Inn with a gas station, albeit a closed gas station across the street, Oh and there is a Timmy's right next door to the hotel. Now how good is that? About as good as it gets in my books considering the circumstances!

At check in the young woman gives me the "Motorcycle Rate". Now this is a new one on me but I'm not going to argue with her. She explains it's late and the hotel wants to draw from the large quantities of bikes that pass through the area. I tell her it's a great idea and she slaps a whopping discount on the room. She hands me the pass key and soon I'm unloading and dragging my gear inside.

It's late. I'm cold and tired. I have a hot shower and a warm refreshing beverage so it's not long before it's light's out and I go to sleep thinking about tomorrow's ride with Cape Breton waiting just around the corner.