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!