Quebec, Canada

Day 2: Mile 670.

We left Hackensack, NJ at 9 AM after a sumptuous Biali and lox breakfast with Steve and Cinthia.  Steve nixxed my Mapquest directions to Canada, which had us going through the heart of Manhattan.  Instead we took the Tappan Zee Bridge.  They should have called it the Tappan Zee Wallet bridge.  The normal $5 toll became $11.50 when they saw the trailer on the motorcycle.  Charge a 1000 pound bike-trailer combination more than double what you would charge the typical 6000 pound SUV.  Makes sense. 

Anyway, we took the Saw Mill Parkway over some picturesque roads through some of the most beautiful, rustic parts of New York.  Old red-stone tunnels that reminded me of the old-fashioned train sets we played with when we were children.  We eventually got on the interstates 87 and 91, the latter taking us from Hartford Connecticut, through Massachusetts, Vermont and New Hampshire to Canada.  Interstates are usually avoided by bikers, but these roads were lovely.  It was in New Hampshire where we saw our first Moose crossing signs. 

Yesterday’s journey was our longest yet, 430 miles.   That may not seem like much, but a motorcycle takes a lot more out of you than a car.  Vermont was true to its French name, green mountain.  Pine and deciduous trees, the latter just breaking into leaf, dappling the hardscrabble landscape every shade of green and softer textures.  The air was clean—as if it had been scrubbed. Most people don’t pay much attention to air quality, but on the bike you notice. 

The 20^th of May was unseasonably warm with temperatures in Vermont and Quebec reaching 90.  On the bike you notice every degree, whether up or down.  There is a big difference between 86 and 90 on the bike.  We had to stop frequently to rest and hydrate. 

It’s hard to stretch on a motorcycle, and after hours in a fixed position, your body tends to stiffen.  You get these niggling aches in your neck and shoulders.  One´s age declares itself. After hours on the bike, one’s mind starts to wander down its own weird paths.  Names of towns, and signs on trucks trigger memories of old friends.  I thought of girls that I dated in college, and wondered wondered what what happened to them.  Had they married well? Were they still married? Were they enjoying good health or were they declining?  I thought of former teachers who were young adults when I was their student but who were most likely dead now. I thought of my grandparents, whom I barely remembered, who had dreams, and victories and failures, like me, who struggled and overcame, or failed, and who were now drifting out on anyone’s range of memory. I thought of how I would soon join them too--all of these sad memories, piquing the incredible joys I was experiencing on the bike.  I was looking forward to seeing our friends in Quebec, but I didn’t want to miss the joys of time and space I occupied during our journey.

Juanita, inches from me, was seeing everything I saw.  She, too, was lost in her own world.  So we were synchronous travelers in parallel but different universes. She suffered her aches and pains too, and steeped herself in the joy of the ride. She grew sleepy on the back seat and retreated into memories of old songs that wormed their way through her memory. She sang them softly to herself, and heard them pretty and sweet inside her helmet as the wind roared around her. And so the two of us, together but separate, quietly unwound the miles towards our destination. 

Detention at the Canadian border was mercifully short and sweet. The customs agent had the sense of humor of roadkill.  

“Where are you staying?”

“Sherbrooke.”

“How long are you staying?” 

“Two weeks.” 

“Are you carrying any gifts?”

“Two chocolate bars.” 

“You will have to leave them with me.” He did not crack a smile, but he was kidding.  I guess as a border officer, one has to do something to amuse oneself.  

“Any cigarettes, alcohol, or firearms?”

“No.”

“Have a nice day.” We wished him the same and went.

We entered a different world.  Stop signs said, “Arrêt.”  Garage sales became “Ventes de Garaje.”  We could smell the freshly spread manure spread over the newly plowed fields. 

Finally, we arrived at the home of Real (pronounced ray-AL and being the rough equivalent of Roy or Royal in ENglish) and Jose (pronounced Zho-SAY).  A happy ¨hola¨ signed waited for us at their enchanted home in Cookshire-Eaton.

Days 3, 4 and 5.  Mon and Tues, May 21 and 22

Real and Jose’s home was built in the early 1800s. While it has been modernized over the last two centuries, it retains the unique warmth and integrity emanating from its owners. The floors and ceilings are of pine, cut at different widths.  There are nice carvings on the cornices of the windows and lots of antiques.  R and J adorned their home with primitive country pieces made locally or on Prince Edward Island.  Some of the furniture had been painted heavily with garish oil based paints, which Real and Jose spend months removing. Other pieces had their original varnishes, pitted and alligatored with age. 

The house really shows off both Jose’s creative artistic eye and Real´s handiness.  Jose is a well trained and experienced decorative whose illustrations and decorations were scattered all over the house.   Real is a tinker who can fashion anything with his hands and well-equipped workshop.  In the bathroom, for instance, Real created a towel rack upon which Jose painted tromp de l´oeil scroll work painted to match the carvings on the adjacent mirror.  The bathroom features an odd bathtub for two, wedged into a corner. This type of intimacy permeated everything from the gardens outside to the rooms inside—a home built and maintained with love and reflecting the creativity and openness of the owners. 

Last night we went to a local restaurant that seemed to do a very good business.  The servings were generous and tasty but a tad strange for my taste.  I had galvaude, a hearty dish consisting of French fries, chicken, peas, and curd cheese, smothered in thick brown gravy. It could not be called haute cuisine but it was warm food. The coffee was great and refills were free.

Day 4-13. Mile 1670.

Tuesday, May 22.  We have the truck packed and the trailer is loaded with not one but two ATV´s.  We are taking a refrigerator, a freezer, gas-powered 2000 watt generator, 7 gasoline containers, two large propane tanks, a chain saw, and everything but the kitchen sink.  No, correct that.  We ARE taking the kitchen sink.  Still, Jo Ann is worried that the camping will be primitive.  Wait ‘til she sees the tent camping we are going to do on the rest of the trip!

The drive was 800 km during which the heavy trailer swayed to-and-fro frequently.  Mental images of an accident with the trailer and two ATV’s hurtling at us at 100 km/hr were not pleasant.  Still, we managed to get there in one piece.

We drove about 11 hours to Matawa, Ontario, where we spent the evening in a 1 star hotel with a 4 star price tag located on the side of a lake.  We stopped there because we want to get into the camp too late and have to drive through the logging trails in the dark. 

We left Matawa early in the morning and headed up for Temiscaming, a small city in the west of Quebec.  At this point it might be appropriate to say a little about the province of Quebec and its Temiscamingue region.  Canadian provinces are the rough equivalents of our states.  But that would not be an accurate analogy.  First, it must be said that the provinces are anything but united.  The Quebecois people are a tenacious people, fiercely proud of their French heritage and language.  Many are not at all comfortable with being a part of the rest of Canada.  They consider Quebec to be its own country. 

Quebec is 3 times the size of France, 54 times larger than Belgium, and 40 times the size of Switzerland.  Its over 500,000 lakes and 4,500 rivers hold 2% of the planet’s fresh water.  80% of its 8 million inhabitants speak French as their first language and there are another 1 million Francophiles living in the rest of Canada.  Quebec is a harsh environment, with 6 months of winter, during which temperatures usually run from –20 to –minus 40 Celsius.  It can get down to –70 in some parts.  Everything bursts into bloom during the short summers and the Quebecois take full advantage of this in their magnificent gardens. 

The Temiscamingue region, 500 miles to the West of Cookshire, is located in the far west of Quebec.  It comprises about 20,000 km² and is home to four Algonquin communities.  There are a number of vary small towns in the area, including Temiscaming, Ville Marie, and Notre Dame du Norde.  Quebecios are allowed to rent out small camps, spaced at least 1 km from one another.  We had to travel 50 km over dirt roads to get to the camp.  Access to the nearby lakes is via very rough logging roads with deep mud pools, bolders, and fallen trees.  An ATV and a chain saw is recommended. Temiscaming’s 6000 lakes are teeming with Walleye, Great Northern Pike, and Lake Trout. Moose hunting is popular during the 1 week long hunting season in the Fall. 

We arrive at camp and set up.  The camp is a cottage that Real and his brothers built 30 years ago in a day.  It has a tin roof and siding and comfortably sleeps six.  It has a refrigerator, gas stove and oven, a wood stove for heat and a dinette table, and a sink with running cold water.  Real ran a pie from an adjacent stream to a pump that ran off the generator.  Water was pumped into a holding tank that ran on gravity to the sing and water supply for the toilet, located indoors, next to the main room.  Lighting came from AC current while the generator ran and DC current when the generator shit down for the evening.  Outside, there was a small freezer that ran off propane to keep the fish we caught. 

It took an entire day unload the trailer and set up the generators, water supply, and so forth.  During the winter, a tree came down on the clothesline and destroyed the roofing for the firewood.  Also, the  roof leaked and had to repaired too.  This was a lot of work.  We could not go fishing for36 hours.

There are legions of stories about Canadian mosquitoes and biting flies biting insects. Unhappily, they tend to understate the problem.  Real believes likes having a few large tubs to catch rain water to be used in case of fire.  (He does have a nice fire extinguisher too.)  The rain water provides a very happy breeding ground for gargantuan mosquitoes that immediately descended upon us.  One could receive 20 or 30 bites that would leave rivulets of blood streaming down our faces within minutes.  A good mosquito net, covering the face, trunk and arms, is essential.  Tucking ones pants into ones socks and wearing gloves over one’s hands is a good idea too.

I had to learn how to drive the 20 year old Honda 4 wheeler.  It had four or five forward gears and a reverse, but no clutch.  It hand handlebars like a motorcycle, but there, the similarity ended.  The thumb throttle was located near the brake and when you squeezed the break, you had to be careful not to squeeze the gas throttle.  Don’t ask me how I learned this.  The ATV lurches your body over boulders and through mud pools you are certain will cause the vehicle to overturn.  After 15 minutes on the ATV you will be able to identify muscles on your body you never new existed.  I am certain my arms are two inches longer.  Somehow, I managed to survive this and even enjoyed putting this machine through its paces. 

Fishing, at last. 

What can I say?  The fishing was fabulous.  We ran into loads of hungry Walleyes on Lake Villedonne and huge Great Northern Pike on the unnamed other lake,  We trolled for the Walleyes, which took a lure called a Thin Fin and Rapalas.  I caught a 20 inch lake trout on the Thin Fin too.  Northerns responded to casting and retrieving spoons and spinners.  I released a number of fish and lost a couple of huge ones during netting.  Still the 30 inchers that I landed kept me busy.  Real landed a trophy Walleye.  Even Jo Ann caught a boated a nice walleye.  We dined regularly on fish, cooked in a number of ways.  We had some rum, several bottles of wine, and two cases of beer to accompany the fare.  We had more than a freezer full of fish to take home with us. 

Other sights.  The skies were expansive and the pinks and lavenders that came out at sunset were breathtaking.  There were loads of spring flowers, turtles, rabbits, eagles, and signs of moose and bear.  I fail miserably at putting into words the way this landscape engraved itself on my memory.  

I was ready to come back at the end of the trip and looked forward to warm bed and a hot shower. The trip to Temiscaming, with Jo Ann, Real, and Jose will always be one of my fondest memories—a place to go to inside my mind, when I need inspiration and to restore a state of calm beauty.  I hope we can do this again.