Blue Skies

Here’s one thing I concluded today: you can tell a lot about a community’s needs and desires through its billboards. For example, I saw a sign promising me the dock of my dreams.  I didn’t even know people dreamed about docks, or about having the perfect dock, but up here docks are clearly a big deal. (The best was a real estate sign asking: have you ever received unsolicited dock pics? Now that is clever.  Am full of regrets for not taking a photo of that sign.)

As I rode through Algonquin Park, the signs were all about canoe rentals, paddling excursions, outfitter gear, and even promises to deliver a canoe to my campground. Uber Eats land this is not.

Another conclusion I reached today, and just about every other time the weather has shifted from horrendous to stupendous, is that the weather has the power to transform my state of mind. On some level, I was prepared for another day of rain and mess, but when the day offered sunshine instead, I was elated.

In fact the day offered a whole lot more than just sunshine, as the ride from Dwight to Whitney was one of the best ride I have ever had. The shoulder was wide, the hills were challenging, the traffic was minimal, and the wind was often at my back. It was a perfect opportunity to listen to some tunes( Gordon Lightfoot’s Carefree Highway of course), and to pedal without interruption.

The only break I took was to take photos at Smoke Lake, where a formation of rocks juts out into the lake. Just as I finished taking photos of myself squinting into the sun, I heard the voices of two men, father and son as it turned out, walking towards me on the rocks. I offered to take their photo, then learned they had come to Smoke Lake on paddling trips many times when the son was a child. We stood and talked about back country camping, dealing with misadventure (when their food barrel got stuck in the upper branches of a tree), and how nice it was to be coming through the park before it got busy. On such a beautiful day, I was not in a hurry, nor was I stressing about how many miles I still had to go. What a difference from Saturday when I was too cold to stop at all.

That short exchange helped me up the final climbs before rolling into Whitney, which I reached nice and early, giving me lots of time to get groceries, and of course a cider.

I had hoped to have my dinner outside, given my motel backs into the rapids, but given how quickly the black flies greeted me, I have contented myself with a view of the water from my kitchenette.

The early evening light is beautiful, the winds are low, and I am feeling pretty lucky to have had such a perfect day.