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.