I was really looking forward to getting out of my gear and grabbing some grub in the restaurant at the hotel in Ignace. I chose this place specifically because they advertised a restaurant. However, upon checking in I learned that isn’t the case. Because they can’t get staff, they couldn’t keep it open. Ungh. When I say Ignace doesn’t offer much, It’s an understatement! The fella at the front desk made a recommendation and passed me their menu.

When I couldn’t get through to place an order, the fella at the front desk asked what we wanted, drove down himself, placed the order in person, waited for it to cook, then brought it back. Holy pie, Batman! You really don’t get that kind of service every day!

It looked to be burgers and beers in the sun by the bikes. Not a bad plan for the end of an 816 km day!

As Glenn and I unpacked our bikes, we chatted and laughed about the rain, the fog, and the lack of a restaurant. An older fella, Joe was his name, appeared in the parking lot. He complained about how we were so loud that he couldn’t sleep. He shared he was jumping in his car and carrying on back to British Columbia. I looked at my phone to see it was only 6:15 pm. I really didn’t know what to say to old Joe other than I was sorry to have woken him.

I’m writing this a few weeks later, so some of the details are fuzzy. He opened up his trunk to share some gifts with my new biker brother, Glenn. Joe gave him a faded photocopy of a signed photo of Wayne Gretzky claiming it would be worth some money some day. He gave Glenn another photo too, but I don’t recall what it was. Then old Joe hauled out a photo album of his trip with his daughter to the Cabot Trail. He flipped through the pages and talked about his trip.

As I write this, I recognize now that Joe likely wasn’t concerned about laughter at 6:15 pm below his second floor hotel window keeping him awake. He likely wanted to be part of it. He wanted to share his stories too. He wanted to belong (and don’t we all?). I wish I’d have been a little more aware that day, and less concerned about getting into dry clothes and finding some food.

When I looked out my window later, Joe’s car was gone and he never returned. I hope he made it to his destination and had folks with which to share his stories.