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.