Chez Christina

Saturday’s ride was such a treat. Though it might have been relatively short, at 90 kilometres, it was full of lots of long climbs. Christina and I both set out at 8:00, and ended up meeting almost halfway between Farnham and Mansonville, where the fun began as I worked hard to keep up to her, and she waited patiently for me at the top of every climb. Riding close to the Vermont border, we could see the Green mountains, and Jay Peak ski hill in the distance.

We stopped in the little village of Abercorn, where Christina had read there was a bakery.  It was on an unlikely little street and seemed closed, but inside we found shelf after shelf stacked with packages of cookies. Yes, the ginger ones were amazing. It was a decidedly English bakery, more likely to be found in Elmira than Quebec, whereas the Owl’s Bread Bakery in Mansonville, which we went to later in the day, was truly French.

After having a few cookies, we got back on our bikes, and finished winding our way back to Christina’s, hopping onto gravel roads for the final stretch. I was prepared this time for the hardest hill of the day—the one leading to Christina’s house—which my Garmin told me was a 13% grade. Last time, I got off at one point and walked, fearing I would roll backwards, but this time I kept my weight over my front wheel, and just kept pedalling. I was quite chuffed with myself for making it up.

I am hesitant to make this declaration, lest you all try to book in at Chez Christina, but she truly is the consummate host. She made me feel so comfortable in her space, and she made the best lattes I have ever had (roasting her own beans certainly adds to the charm). She also remembered my favourite ginger cider, the Dirty Mayor, and my love of chips after a ride. Her house is nestled in the woods, and if you don’t feel tranquil in such a setting, you are unlikely to feel tranquil anywhere.

It is a mark of a good friendship that we could pick up your conversation exactly where we left off. We have seen each other in Guelph over the years, but I have not been here for a visit since my last cycling trip. Funnily enough, little has changed. We talked on into the night, then were up at 5:00 to have more lattes, and croissants from the Owl’s Bread bakery. It would have been all too easy to sit there for hours, but we were on the road by 7:00 so as to get a few hours in before the rain began.

After riding together for 40 km, we parted ways just before the skies opened on us both, and thus began a day of contrasts. The rain began just as I turned onto a gravel road, but it was in good shape, with only a few stretches of newly graded gravel, so I kept my cool, and tried to follow the clearest path I could.

The rain stopped after an hour or so, and then the sun was blazing. Time to switch back to my darker lenses and to take off the anorak. I had just stopped in Warwick, to apply more sunscreen when I saw dark clouds moving in from the west. I mean dark, and menacing. With the first droplets, I stopped to put on my anorak, and then it felt like someone had cracked the sky open. and the rain came down hard. It was coursing down the road; it was pelting me in the face. To top it all off, I heard the rumble of thunder, and saw off in the distance, the faintest flash of lightning.

There was only one thing to do, and that was to pedal harder, so I rode through the wall of rain, and I could see beyond, the sky looked lighter. The rain started to lessen, but I could hear rumbling behind me and knew the storm was going to keep coming My goal was to keep ahead of it for the final 30 km to Plessisville. To say I rode with focus is an understatement. My gaze narrowed, and I hammered as hard as I could, making it to town in time to pick up a few snacks before heading to the same motel I stayed at five years ago.

As I rolled my bike into my room, the storm arrived, but I was safe and would soon be dry.

My light blue socks may never be light or blue again, but overall, I would say it has been a wonderful two days. Thank you, Christina!

Brief Exchanges

During this trip, my exchanges with people have been quite brief but memorable, if only because my awareness of everything seems heightened when travelling.

As you know, my knowledge of French is laughable. I would be more able to cope in German, having taken it for two years at uni, but even that is not saying much.

For the most part, as soon as people hear me pronounce bonjour, they switch into English, god love them, but when I went into the SAQ yesterday in search of a local cider, and I responded in English to the employee’s offer to help me (presumably that is what she was offering when she said bonjour followed by some eloquent phrase I could not decode), she just shook her head and went in search of a young male employee who was better equipped to help me, if only to tell me that they had no individual cans of cider.

I appreciate the kindness people have shown in their efforts to converse in English, and I am at least able to thank them for such using my limited French. If only they wanted to hear me sing a song about Henri Leduc, which is the only French that ever floats into my head.

I have certainly had some interesting exchanges. Outside a store in Rigaud, on route from Hawkesbury to V-D on Thursday, an older woman with a heavy French accent asked if the bike was mine, and was it a pedal bike. Yes I said, it is powered only by me. Then she asked if I was a Scorpio. No, Sagittarius, I said, which means little to me beyond the fact that two of my closest pals are also Sagittarius, and we celebrate our birthdays together each year. Ah, she said, then you have to watch out for sciatica. Very big issue for Sagittarius. I reassured her that I was stretching diligently, then climbed back on my bike eager to navigate through the busy downtown, but I confess I did feel a twinge in my lower back as I walked downtown yesterday.

The other exchanges, or more aptly anti-exchanges, have been with the older male cyclists I have encountered on the bike paths. Most have a similar look, riding vintage racing bikes, and wearing cotton cycling caps rather than helmets, looking like riders of Eddy Merckx’ era. They don’t even make eye contact let alone say hello, as they pedal furiously with their bowed legs, perhaps living out races of bygone years. Oh yes, the patriarchal vibe is alive and well here in Quebec.

Well those are my brief musings for Saturday morning. Having fallen asleep before 9:00, I was awake again quite early, though to the sounds of trucks rumbling past rather than to birds gossiping. The skies have cleared here, but it is chilly and windy, so I am going to take a slightly shorter route to meet Christina, which she recommended. It is plenty hilly, though, so she will have to wait for me to catch up on each hill.

Enjoy the weekend everyone. Am missing my Saturday run with my squad. Hope it is sunny, and full of great conversation!

PS am including photo of the croissant I had yesterday. I mean I have to include at least one photo

Up With the Birds

If anyone is interested, the birds in Vaudreuil-Dorion seem to get up around 3:30 a.m., and they have a lot to talk about. So much chatter.

I was reminded of those times at school when an asinine decision was made on high (insert Ministry of Ed, board of ed, school admin as you see fit) which would affect the entire school community adversely. Word would spread like wild fire through each department office, and along the corridors between classrooms.

Once the chatter woke me, I decided I might as well get up, as, having seen rain and wind in the forecast for early afternoon, my goal was to be riding by sunrise. That gave me plenty of time to make a coffee, and to clear my head.

I stepped out into a cool but calm morning, with the first steaks of light in the sky, then got on the bike path that runs along the canal all the way from Pointe-des-Cascades to Cote’s-du-Lac. From there I took the bridge over Lake St Francis, which, mercifully, had a designated cycling lane that was blocked off from traffic.

Ontario could take some pointers from Quebec when it comes to cycling infrastructure. Out of my 160 km ride today, I would estimate that at least half of it was on paved bike paths. Yes , paved. For miles at a stretch. And in each small town, there were comfort stations. So civilized. No need to squat in the forest with the risk of falling over while being swarmed by the same pack of mosquitoes that stole my ID and was busily trying to order new iphones and to book hotels in my name.

When I wasn’t on paved bike paths, I was on roads with a well marked bike lane. That kept my stress level nice and low, which was good, given the bad weather that loomed ahead.

Really, the weather turned out to be fabulous until the final two hours when the rain began, and the wind started making its presence known.

Admittedly by the last hour, I was ready to get off the bike and stretch. I have tried to be more disciplined about stopping to stretch throughout the day, but I just kept grinding today, and my neck was protesting loudly.

I arrived in Farnham at 1:00, thinking I would have to kick around town for a few hours, but the owner was happy to check me in right away. She also offered to move me to a larger room without charge, so I would have space for my bike, but requested that I use only one of the beds. I reassured her that it was my habit to occupy only one bed per night.

I did my best to clean the bike before I brought it in, as she had been so gracious about allowing me to bring it inside, and then it was time to get myself cleaned up.

Feeling more or less human, I took a short walk into town where I found Yamaska Cafe, which was a bit mind blowing. Although the loaves of bread were beautiful, I pulled myself back from the abyss, and limited myself to a caprese sandwich, along with the last croissant of the day, which just happened to be chocolate and almond. The Parisian barista then made me the latte of a lifetime (or perhaps it is just a matter of what I have been calling coffee for the last week). Finally, I was off to Metro to buy some fruit and veggies, and breakfast for tomorrow.

By the time I got back to my cozy room, the skies had darkened, the temperature had dropped, and the wind had declared war on all trees in the area. For the next few hours it poured in earnest, leaving sizeable troughs of water on the road.

Then just as quickly as it arrived, it departed, leaving a world glistening and shuddering at the drop in temperature. I am almost glad for the storm, as it made me that much more happier that I had gotten up with the birds even if I had no idea what they were chattering about.

Now, with one eye closed, I must bid you all a good night.