A Trail Like No Other

When I opened my curtains this morning, I was greeted by a pink sky, and bluish silhouette of the hills on the north shore. A good sign, it seemed, for the day ahead, but before I recount the day, I have a few confessions to make, dear reader: a) I completely skipped stretching before hopping on the bike, b) I had puck-sized chocolate chip cookies for breakfast, and c) throughout the day, I entertained ungenerous thoughts about New Brunswick’s lack of charm.

Okay, now that I have cleared my conscience, I can move on.

As I had said in yesterday’s post, I love the route from Rivière du Loup to Edmunston, because it is entirely on trails. However, last time I rode it, I started on the trail at 3:00 in the afternoon, and was hellbent on making it as far as Cabano before dark, which I didn’t quite manage, rolling into town, instead, just after dusk, and having to ask someone for directions. A woman came to my aid, and walked me to the hotel, happy, she said, to practice her English.

What are the chances that I should meet another helpful stranger near Cabano who was also eager to practice his English? Well I did. The trail is closed for construction outside of Cabano, and the only way around is to get on the Trans Canada, which, of course, in Quebec, is prohibited for cyclists. I knew about the construction in advance from a fellow Guelph rider who is one day ahead of me, and who had texted to explain, so when I reached the trail closure sign, I didn’t stress, but instead called the posted number, and a man from the highway crew, Charles, said no problem , he would pick me up in 5 minutes. He was tall, with a beard, and looked every inch an outdoorsman. He lifted my bike easily into the back of his pickup, and laid it down gently, then drove me to the other end of the trail construction. It took only a few minutes, during which time I asked him all kinds of questions about life in Quebec. He did not study English in school, he said, but rather had learned from playing Xbox, and from watching movies and listening to podcasts. Impressive to say the least. After he dropped me off, I shook his mighty hand, and then started on the most beautiful stretch of the trail, along Lake Temiscouata. Unlike last time, when it was shrouded in early morning mist, today it was glittering under a cloudless sky.

I had lots of time to take videos and to stop at lovely outdoor toilets, though I was quickly reminded that the downside of riding on the trail in June vs September is the bugs. More specifically, the mosquitoes. It seems that being stationary for more than a minute leads to a group text going out to all mosquitoes sharing key information: middle-aged(ish) woman on trail, sporting scents of sunscreen, topical pain ointment, and just a touch of deodorant. Skin seems a little tough, but still punctureable. And so they came, a small cloud of them, looking for blood, inspiring me to get pedalling.

The lake ends before Degelis, after which it is straight and flat trail all the way to Edmunston. I was riding on fumes, and could have eaten my last Cliff bar, but I wanted to stop at a little market on the west side of Edmunston, so I could have one of their divine egg salad sandwiches, and their avalanche of maple cake. Now the sandwich may not be worthy of a photo, and I was too hungry to take one anyway, but the cake, well that’s a different story. I have had it before: sponge cake in layers, with maple icing in between, and then a topping of cut up pieces of cake, with maple drizzled on top. Thank you French Canadians for your delicious sirop d’erable concoctions. So divine.

I got back on the trail, and took it right downtown to the Morel Executive Suites where I am staying tonight.

I didn’t want to  pay to stay in a big hotel near the casino, and I found this suite instead. It did not disappoint. It is the  apartment equivalent of the funky eyewear I saw in Quebec. It is beautifully designed with excellent appliances, including a washer and dryer, and even a wee box of Tide. Be still my heart.

I immediately threw in a load on speed wash, then climbed into the shower to clean off a thick coat of dust, and the odd bug carcass.

Getting out of the shower, the laundry seemed to have stalled out at the wash cycle. I had put in all of my clothing, excepting a t-shirt, underwear and socks, so I was a captive until this laundry finished. I texted the owner to get suggestions, and he said it was a slow machine, and to give it time. After another 30 minutes, and by now hungry and antsy, I texted again, and he offered to come over and troubleshoot. Sure okay. Now I had to find more clothes, so I put on my light jacket and wrapped a towel around my waist. Voila, I was presentable. The owner, Denis, clearly lives nearby, as he was there in minutes, and after putting the machine on a rinse and spin cycle, it started to make happy, gurgling noises, and I was back in business.

Now I was going to wait to have my maple bonanza after my sushi, but I was so hungry, I ate the whole darn thing, and then once I was outfitted in clean attire, I walked less than a kilometre to the Sushi restaurant, and bought a proper poke bowl. Just as well there are no IGAs ahead of me, as the disappointment might be too great.

Now I am clean, and full, and busy planning for tomorrow. It is going to be hot again, so I will start as soon as the sun is up. Last time I rode on the Teams Canada, and had no issues, but I will take the quieter roads to Woodstock tomorrow. May I find more spots like the Morel suites, so that I no longer feel inclined to lament the lack of charm in NB.

To Dine or To Dash

I had planned to enjoy my free breakfast, and then to be on the road by 7:00, but since I fell asleep in front of the tv last night at 9:00 p.m., with the pressing question of Who Shot JFK, and then woke at 3:30 a.m., with the question seemingly still unanswered, I decided to rethink my options, especially as the winds would be most favourable in the early hours.

I imagine there will be some difference in opinion over my decision to choose dashing over dining. While some of you might say hell yeah, you’ve got to capitalize on a sweet tailwind, I suspect many more of you would be aghast at the notion of passing up a free breakfast. (Don’t make me name names.) Would I pass on lattes and croissants at Christina’s? Of course not. But could I live without a bowl of Raisin Bran, and a day old bagel from the Day’s Inn? Certainement!

I had wandered by the breakfast room last night, in hopes of finding some milk for my coffee, but that seems to be kept under lock and key. The best I could forage was two packages of instant oatmeal, which I will use for my breakfast tomorrow.

I had a good portion of a raisin and apple baguette left from Monday’s breakfast, so I made a banana and jam sandwich, had a coffee sans milk, and waited for sunrise.

Here are the upsides of cycling at 5:00 in the morning: the roads are empty, the sky is continually changing, and it is quiet enough to hear the birds. With the generous tailwind, I managed the fastest pace of the trip.

I stopped only to shed my leg warmers, to take a bathroom break, and to photograph some of the charming homes along the route.

I can’t recommend this portion of route 132 enough. It runs along the shore, through farm land, and then it actually dips below sea level along the flattest road I have ever been on, before climbing again so that the last 10 kilometres into Rivière du Loup offer beautiful views of the St. Lawrence from above.

It felt funny to be done my ride for before 11 in the morning, but it was a short(ish) day of 130 km, and I was averaging 25 km/hr, so it really didn’t take long.

I stopped in at the motel where I had booked a cabin, and the manager very graciously said I could leave my bike at the office, and then check in at 12, as opposed to the usual 3:00 p.m.

I marched off to the IGA in my biking shorts and running shoes, free of all self-consciousness, since I knew no one, and, more to the point, I was too hungry to care.

Have I mentioned how good the IGAs are here in Quebec? They have endless options for prepared foods, and I was thrilled to find bagels with smoked salmon and cream cheese, which I ate at a nearby picnic table, thus avoiding the lowly act of consuming one’s lunch in the parking lot. Believe me it took some restraint to wait until I reached the picnic table.

With 5% of remaining battery, I then navigated my way to the rather dark and cavernous Brulerie Ange & Demon. It had more of a tattoo parlour than a cafe vibe, but I discovered they roast their own beans, sell top of the line espresso makers, and make divine lattes.

By the time I wandered back, I was able to pick up the key for my charming cabin. I have cheerful red chairs on a wee front porch, which is where I am presently, composing this post. Looking up I can see the St. Lawrence in the distance, and am enjoying the chatter of birds all around me.

Tomorrow is another short day, and it will be almost entirely on the trail from here to Edmunston, one of my favourite parts of my trip back in 2021, which brings me to my final reflections of the day, regarding nostalgia. To be honest, it if I were at home and writing on my laptop, I would insert the following section earlier in the post, to maintain a more coherent narrative structure, but as I am on a porch in Quebec, I am just going to leave it where it is. Forgive me my English teacher friends.

Feeling nostalgic this morning, I asked Siri to play some 70s songs, a few of which really made me smile, thinking of my younger self loving songs like “It’s a Heartache,” by Bonnie Tyler: “It’s a fool’s game,/nothing but a fool’s game,/standing in the cold rain,/feeling like a clown.” I wanted to say, Bonnie, just get out of the rain, take control of your life, but I am sure my younger self would have stood in the cold rain too.

As I was hitting the flats, which I could remember so vividly from my past ride, Karen Carpenter started singing “Yesterday Once More.” Together we crooned, “Every sha-la-la-la,/every wo-o, wo-o still shines./Every shing-a-ling-a-ling/that they’re startin’ to sing’s/ so fine.” There I was, my younger and present selves merging under the seemingly endless sky. I think that moment will stay with me for a long time.

Now it is time to say adieu, treasured reader, as I am once more at 5% battery, and must head inside to charge my travelling typewriter.

This Is The Day

Many of you will know the song, “This Is The Day” by The The, from 1983, and have no doubt sung the line, “this is the day, when things fall into place.” Well if yesterday was a day when things fell apart, with the rain, wind and threat of thunderstorms, today was indeed a day when things fell into place.

Although the day started very chilly, and even offered a brief shower mid morning, by noon, I was riding under brilliant blue skies, through beautiful farm land.

I headed north to RTE 132 about 30 kms west of Montmagny, and with the wind picking up, I was flying. What a contrast to the last time I rode into Montmagny, when I was battling a fierce headwind and was limping along from town to town, trying to will myself to go further.

Today, I arrived at the hotel so early my bathroom floor was still damp from a recent cleaning. After a quick shower to remove the grime (why did I bring pink socks you might well ask), I walked down to the IGA for another salmon poke bowl (highly recommend; made fresh daily), some fruit, and of course a cider.

Walking back to the hotel, I took a wrong turn and found myself on a narrow street with funky shops and a lovely cafe full of women who were all well heeled, as my mom would say, and who were sporting funky eyewear. You certainly can tell a lot about people from their glasses, and I have to say the French tend to have stylish eyewear, or at least this crowd did. In my usual fashion, I muddled through a request for an iced latte, splicing together French and English.

What could be better? I had a walk through some cool neighbourhoods (check out this extraordinary mural) while sipping on a wonderful latte, with the sun blazing overhead.

Tomorrow I will ride to Rivière du Loup, which had always been one of my favourite places to stop on the way out east. This time, I am staying in a chalet as they call it, with a little kitchenette and a view of the St. Lawrence. A woman could do a lot worse. I continue to be blessed with beautiful moments each day, but today was just jam packed as everything fell into place.