Thanksgiving

When planning out the trip, it had not been intentional on my part to arrive home on Thanksgiving Sunday, but it certainly was a bonus to do so. In essence, though, the last day of every bike trip I have completed has been a day full of gratitude for arriving home safely.

My final day happened to be the worst in terms of weather, but even then it was no great hardship, just a light rainfall for the first few hours, meaning squeally brakes, and getting sprayed with mud. A woman could do a lot worse.

On the upside, but for a few dog walkers and one or two other cyclists, I had the trail to myself all the way from Port Dover to Cambridge. I took a side trail to downtown Waterford that was well worth it, as the Waterford Ponds were quite pretty.

I got off the trail again in Paris for my final bakery stop; it was a little too rainy for a photo shoot of my apple fritter, but take my word for it, twas delicious, especially so, knowing it was the last of the trip. Like the closet sentimentalist I am, I afford such moments added meaning.

In Cambridge, I took the bike path along Franklin, not scenic but safe, and then cut up to Townline. From there I was onto my usual backroads that brought me in to the southend of Guelph, and soon enough I was flying down good old Edinburgh Rd. Coming into my neighbourhood always fills me with joy, whether it has been a three hour ride or a 13 day trek.

Once home, I capitalized on the endorphins still coursing through me, and washed the mud off my packs and bike, before putting all of my gear away until my next trip.

The highlight of the day, though, was not arriving home, but rather celebrating with my sister, Sarah, and my mum, at my mum’s new townhouse.  As many of you know, my mom had a bad fall back in April, and has spent the last six months returning to her former level of health and fitness, which has been no small feat. Her preparation of Thanksgiving dinner reflected the incredible progress she has made since that fateful day in April, when one step down changed everything. Sitting at dinner last night, the three of us had much to be grateful for, and we toasted each other in return.

Waking this morning in my wee house feels lovely, as I have no need to pack up or to map out the route ahead of me, but of course I can’t wait to go for a run on the trails. I mean, I am still me after all.

O Canada!

I was lucky enough to begin the day with a healthy tailwind out of the north, and clear skies above, making my first few hours on the bike such a treat as I headed south and got on the Erie Canal Trail again.

Then it was time for the return trek over the Prace Bridge. There is something about arriving back in Canada by bicycle that makes the homecoming feel a little more significant than if arriving by car.  Perhaps it was because of the simple effort involved in riding over the bridge, but I felt such joy and of course some relief in being home, so to speak.

When riding to the US, there was an office for pedestrians and cyclists to report to, but when I went to a similar office on the Canadian side, I was greeted with a sign that said join the line for autos. Ugh. The lines were all quite long, so I rode over to the first line, and asked the second driver in the line if I could go ahead of him rather than retreat to the end of the line. It was two youngish looking men who glanced at each other for a time before nodding in agreement. They weren’t overly gracious, but I was happy to accept their begrudging permission. When I got up to customs, a lovely young officer said next time just cut to the front of the line, but I could imagine the protest I might encounter if I were to do so.

Once I assured her I had not purchased any tobacco or alcohol, I was on my way, which was just as well, as I had only ridden 60 km at that point, and still had 120 km to reach Port Dover. Yes, I was home in the larger sense, but really quite far from my home for the night.

120 km may strike you as further than necessary to reach Port Dover from Fort Erie, but I had mapped out a route that was largely on trails and back roads to avoid the inevitable traffic on a beautiful fall day.

I started by retracing my steps on the Friendship Trail, all paved, from Fort Erie to Port Colborne, where I arrived to find the drawbridge up. While waiting, I chatted with a friendly couple who were also waiting with their bikes. With her hair covering and her dress, I had guessed her to be Mennonite, and upon talking further, they mentioned they were from Elmira, and had driven down with their bikes. Suffice to say they were not old order Mennonites, as they were both riding e-bikes.

Once the ship went through and the drawbridge was lowered, we parted ways, and I started winding my way towards Port Dover, enjoying the golden light and a tailwind. What a treat.

I rolled into Port Dover and found my accommodations, the Erie Beach hotel and restaurant, a block away from the beach. For the first time in the trip, I felt a little under dressed, as the place was swarming with people in their Sunday best. To be honest, I also felt flung back in time, as both the hotel staff and the hotel itself seemed frozen in time. Perhaps in the 50s or 60s. The gentlemen on the front desk were very solicitous, assuring me I could keep my bike in my room, and providing me with a big bucket of ice since there is no fridge, nor microwave for that matter, in the room.

Once I had unpacked and showered off a day’s worth of dust, I wandered up to the Terrace Room, which provides casual dining and takeout. The fish and chips dinner was generous, and as good as it looks. Actually it was better than it looks, as fish and chips just do not take a good photo.

I inhaled that dinner, suddenly realizing how hungry I was, then pretty much collapsed in a heap, falling asleep almost immediately. Perhaps that is why I woke at 2:00, and had to listen to a few podcasts before falling back to sleep.

With no microwave in my room to make coffee this morning, my only option was Tim’s, which even at 5:30 was abuzz with customers.

As I write, I am waiting for sunrise, though with the cloud cover and drizzle, the sun might be a long way off.

I am going to take the rail trail as far as Cambridge, and then will ride back roads from there. It is a route I have ridden quite a few times, so it may not be that exciting, but having my own wee house as my end point is exciting, as is the prospects of having Thanksgiving dinner with my sister and mother. At the risk of flinging about cliches, I have so much for which to be thankful, including 13 days of riding in my favourite season of the year.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone, and as ever, thank you for following the blog, and for responding with your generous emails. They mean more than you know.

Apples and Cookies and All Things Round

I am drawn to round things; there is a sense of generosity to them. Bicycle wheels are beautiful, as is the sun.

Yesterday’s ride was infused with roundness. That is not to say there weren’t moments with a strong wind blowing at me, and moments of grumping and lamenting the wind’s tugging at my handlebars, but the blue skies above and apples in the orchards seemed to be enough to balance the forces working against my forward progress.

In the name of honesty, I will disclose that the day began with a challenging coursing of a bridge on which no pedestrians or bicycles were allowed. Unfortunately the signage indicating the restriction was halfway down the ramp, and by then I was sailing along and could not go back, so I gritted my teeth and rode across the Irondequoit Bay on the 104, and then got on the Irondequoit bike trail that took me along the lakeshore.

From there I rode on the Lake Ontario State Parkway, which is a four lane divided highway that sounds like it should be busy, but which was all but empty. It was beautiful. I stopped at Hamlin State Park, which was huge, and also empty but for a few people walking their dogs on the beach.

With the wind rising off the lake, I decided to cut south to Route 18, which I stayed on for the rest of the day. The road had very little traffic and a much lower speed limit, so it was quite peaceful but for the winds gusting across the open fields. Still the orchards, of which there were many, were very cheering, and I confess I stopped and picked one apple.

I guess Adam and Eve could give me an earful on the dangers of picking just one apple, but I am glad I did, as it fuelled me through the final hour to Wilson, where I stopped to get groceries and met two wonderful women running the charming Cookie Cottage. The front of the long narrow store was filled with kitsch trinkets, so I entered with some trepidation, but at the back of the store was an industrial sized kitchen and shelves upon shelves of cookies. I was in knots trying to decide what to choose. I narrowed it down to three, selecting molasses, peanut butter, and hot cocoa (one of the women’s favourite). I barely made it out of the store before biting into the molasses cookie which, at 4 in the afternoon, was still warm. How glorious.

It was just what I needed to finish the last half hour to Lakeview motel and cabins, where I had rented what turned out to be a very charming cabin complete with a wee kitchen and bathroom. What are the chances the owner would be from Canada, and a competitive cyclist back in the early 70s? He was originally from Germany, I believe, but came to Canada in the 60s. Clearly he passed on his athletic genes to his children, as he told me his daughter played volleyball for an American college, and his son played football for Edmonton Elks for 8 years. I learned all this while he checked me in and walked me over to my cabin, in which he had generously turned the heater earlier in the day. A little too generously.

As you can see in the photo, the door is wide open. That’s because the cabin was about 100 degrees. However, with the door and windows open and strong wind blowing off the lake, it cooled off quickly enough, and I had a great night with a cider I had saved from the night before and a salad and pasta from Wilson. Oh and two more cookies.

I went to bed listening to the wind gusting away, relieved to know that it was coming out of the north and that I will have it at my back as I head to the border this morning.

My destination tonight is Port Dover. Yes it is west of Guelph, but I wanted to stay somewhere charming on my last night of the trip, and I plan to have a delicious perch dinner. Fish and chips may not be round, per se, but there is something round about all comfort foods, isn’t there?