When I went to bed at the Aberdeen Motel, I figured I’d book it to Pembroke the next day. The weather radar showed nothing but rain and I was about done with getting wet.
When I woke up, however, it was such a gorgeous day that I decided to take the scenic south shore instead. It meant a longer day on the bike, but the Cabot Trail was a relatively short day. It was about five hours on the bike with my jaunt down the Meat Cove road and a frustrating detour before getting to my room.
Detour, you ask? Well, as I toodled down the road after my post Cabot Trail meal that day, I came to a crossroad. Petunia was telling me to go left, but it was blocked by a big truck and a big dude was turning me away. I asked how I might find my way to the Aberdeen Motel. He had never heard of it. How about Baddeck? He told me to go back the way I’d come and turn right at the big read barn.
Now friends, we all know I can get lost in my head on a bike and I miss things sometimes, but I KNOW I had not passed any big barns, red or otherwise, on this road. I turned around and found a quiet and spacious church parking lot to see what Petunia had to say. For the past hour or so Gretta (my Garmin) seemed to think I was bah-ha-ing through no man’s land, so she was no help. So far Petunia’s only advice was to turn back, but I was pretty sure the truck and the dude didn’t give a rat’s ass that my phone was insisting the blocked road was my only route to my room.
It was getting late in the day and with Petunia offering no alternate routes and Gretta convinced I was off-roading, I started to freak out a little. It seems like a small issue, but I still wasn’t back to my pre-shit-show self yet. If you’ve been following my story, you have been reading little hints about my last gig. For the past 16 months I’d been leading a team of wonderful trainers and developers for my client’s ERP project. I loved the work. I loved the people, and I felt like I was making a difference. But leadership was toxic, accustomed to bullying middle management, and made haphazard decisions without a thought to downstream impacts. It really was a shit show. Without going too much into the muck and the mire of it all, I can tell you it was an incredibly stressful place and I was burned out. Hence my decision to take time off. My contract ended and the next day I was on the bike. So yah…burnout impacts one’s ability to have faith in themselves at times. This was starting to feel like one of those times.
So there I was, forcing down the anxiety as I sat on Jules in that church parking lot. I was feeling the whole fight/flight/freeze stuff, so it took a concerted effort to regroup and remind myself there was no blood on the ground. Time to assess. The only value Gretta brought to the situation was the fact she was always tracking where I’d been with a thin blue line on the map. I zoomed out to find my line from the day before. I remembered passing by the Aberdeen after saying goodbye to Mom and Peter, so that was my best bet for finding my bed for the night. Sure enough, I could see yesterday’s line. OK, I had a plan now.
I canceled Petunia’s route, and carried on to the next road that Gretta’s display showed connecting to yesterday’s blue line. A couple of turns later, I DID see a big red barn. Big dude was sort of right, but there was no way I’d have found that barn with his directions. It took an hour to travel this detour, but I was so relieved to find the Aberdeen! I tucked into a spot in front of the office and wiggled out of my lid and jacket. It had been been so hot each afternoon that it was always a welcome relief to shed some layers!
The Aberdeen was an odd little place. It’s the low-roof, row of rooms motel that I really enjoy, but was eerily quiet when I rolled in. The office door was locked and a piece of paper taped to the window advised to call a number for more information. “More information?” I muttered. How about ANY information, like how do I check the hell in? I call and someone eventually opens the office door.
I get checked in and unload my gear and my take out supper for the evening. The tub was calling my name, but upon further investigation, I could see a soap scum line from a previous guest. Even a shower was unsettling as I wasn’t keen on setting my naked toes into who knows what may have been sitting on the bottom of the grimy tub.
Ok, I got a bit side tracked here and haven’t even gotten to my glourious ride down the south shore!
After saying goodbye to Mom and Peter at the Cove Motel, I headed out to ride the Cabot Trail. It had been years since I’d last done the trail, and I was excited for the ride. It turns out Erin didn’t have my number that day; she’d blown out to sea. I really could not have asked for a better day. There was no wind and the traffic was light. I’d heard from others it is best to do the trail counter clockwise and that advice did not disappoint! As Jules and I rounded the curves I had glorious views of the coast line, the blue waters of the Atlantic, and the nearly seamless meeting of sea and sky.
Early on I came up behind a trike and a bike. Although I hesitated, I finally decided to pass. I often feel it’s rude to pass my fellow bikers, but today Jules was raring to round those curves just a little bit faster. When I pulled into a lookout to soak it all in, the folks I’d passed pulled in behind me. It’s been weeks now, so I have forgotten their names, but we had a great chat about the day and the sights.
I was impressed to learn they’d both been riding for only about a month. They live on Cape Breton Island, so it makes sense they do the trail often. It was his 11th time (remember he’d only been riding about a month) and he was shooting for 15 for the season. I was so happy to spend the time hearing about their experiences. Listening to a new rider talk excitedly about their experience allowed me to be a new rider all over again too for a moment. We each leave a piece of ourselves behind, and these two left with me the joy and wonder of feeling the wind in your face for the first time (or first eleven times).
I carried on. Rounding a curve once I’d passed the eastern coast of the Trail, I came across a side road. It was paved, so I thought, “Why not?” I’ve come a long way on this trip. Yes, a lot of miles, but even more so spiritually. I’m not so hesitant when it comes to exploring. This is who I USED to be. Before the fuckery of a work bully, the lack of competent leadership in an all-around toxic work environment. That shit put Deanna on pause. This trip has brought out the real me and I felt a spiritual awakening of sorts. Recognizing that growth was empowering and piled on the joy of this adventure.
The road was narrow and winding. With a much slower pace, I could enjoy the easy curves of the Meat Cove road. I chose not to go to the campsite as I’d been there years before. If you’re in the area, you really should check that out. My memories of Meat Cove are the spectacular views out over the cliff and the incredible slope I camped on. Instead, I drove until the road ended, then turned back. I parked by some dry-docked fishing boats to have a snack and some water.
As I stood there munching my apple, I felt such a sense of peace. I did take the road less traveled and I was treated to a fun little ride. I was really beginning to enjoy the solitude of a solo adventure. Besides. I was in no hurry. Not being in a hurry is a marker of personal growth too. For the past two years, everything seemed to be an emergency. This is in stark contrast to my standard “…if there is no blood on the floor, it’s not an emergency…” response to matters at work. Toxicity tends to breed that sense of urgency. Gross.
Before I was ready to jump back on Jules I watched a duo on adventure bikes, and then a group of 4 on street bikes ride by. When they returned from getting to the end of the road, the adventure riders gave me a great big wave as they continued past my little stop. When the street bikes went by, the fella bringing up the rear slowed right down and looked over at me. I know I’m making it all up in my head, but I imagined him thinking, “Man I’d like to just stop and take it all in too, but I gotta keep up with my mates so I’d better not stop.” I smiled and gave him a big wave. He grinned and waved back. I was so grateful for having grown comfortable with my own company. This is not saying anything against those who travel with friends. I was merely noticing another change within myself.
When I returned to the Trail, I started to look for a restaurant that overlooked the sea. When I’d last been on the Trail 25 years ago, I remember sitting in a small cliff-side diner eating fish n’ chips while looking out over the ocean. By the time I zipped past exactly what I was looking for, it was too late to turn in. I figured it just wasn’t meant to be. All those years ago, it was a special memory. You can’t go back, they say, so I was ok with not overwriting with a new, and perhaps lesser, memory. I did, however, stop at a gift shop with a banner advertising “Bikers Welcome” Perfect! I’ll get my sticker for my trunk. Yes, I’m a sticker on the luggage kind of gal!
After taking in another viewpoint and rounding the first curve of the other side of the trail, I couldn’t stop the tears. I enjoyed the Trail up to this point, but the views heading west took my breath away. The joy, the awe, and the gratitude for this experience spilled over my cheeks in much the same way they did in Peru. THIS is why you do the Cabot Trail counter clockwise! I felt a little sorry for the fellas for whom I took a group photo at the last view point. They had just come this way, but traveled clockwise and would have had to look over their shoulders to see what I’d just experienced. I hope they had the time to go in the other direction too.
Here are a few of my own pics from the Cabot Trail. I didn’t stop on the west side. I was too busy loving the view from my saddle.
I did manage to find a spot to eat in Cheticamp; L’abri Restaurant et bar. They made a beautiful seafood chowder which I quite enjoyed while looking out over the water.
I took a quinoa salad to have for my supper back at the Aberdeen Motel as there wasn’t a place to eat within walking distance. I slept well at the Aberdeen, but if you’re considering it, just know the pictures online and what you will actually see don’t…match. Still, it was a cheap night and I brought my supper with me sooooo……
After breakfast I loaded up to head to the ferry from PEI to Nova Scotia. The night before, Sam gave me sound advice to drive through some beautiful areas on my way to the boat. It was a lovely day for a ride and I was grateful to see more of PEI before catching my ride to the mainland.
Again, timing was on my side! Although I was a little concerned when Petunia took me off the highway and the boarding time was leaving little runway four extra touring, I reminded myself I could just catch the next sailing if I missed this morning’s departure. The ride was beautiful, traffic was virtually non existent, and it turned out that I had 20 minutes to spare when I arrived at the terminal.
I chatted with three other bikers from Quebec while waiting in line. She was traveling with her 70 year old dad and her boyfriend. Although the boys didn’t speak English, they were full of smiles while she and I swapped stories. She told me she was tired of having to do all the planning of routes and rooms on her own. It was hard, she explained, to have to figure out this trip without any help I just smiled. It’s exhausting at times and although I’ve had my own stresses over these decisions, at least I didn’t have to plan for others too. It was another reminder as well, that this adventure is helping me grow and stretch in ways beyond what I’d imagined.
I chose to take the ferry off PEI, rather than go back over the bridge, to save myself a couple of hundred kilometres. I was headed next for the Cabot Trail and wanted to get to a good sleeping spot before riding the trail the next day. While on the boat, I heard from my sister-in-law that my mom-in-law was staying close to the trail head. It had been 2-3 years since I last saw Mom, so I looked up the Cove Motel in Aulds Cove and booked myself for the night. Perfect timing again as I’d gotten their last room!
When I finally pulled in, I saw Mom walking towards me in my mirror. I couldn’t get out of my lid fast enough for the hug I knew would fill my cup to the point of overflowing through my eyes. Seeing her always does that to me! It’s what makes goodbyes so hard too. Although I left her son more than a decade ago, she’ll always be Mom to me. I love her to the moon and back and once again I cursed the map makers for making Nova Scotia so far away from Alberta.
Hurricane Erin was expected to hit land that night/next day. By the winds I battled from the boat to the Cove Motel, I half expected Erin to pick me up and carry me out to sea! I booked myself in for a second night as I wasn’t interested in having Erin blow me off a cliff on the Cabot Trail.
The Cove Motel is a very pretty place, the room was comfortable, and the restaurant was second to none! It was about 80 k to the trail head, but that felt like nothing at this point in my journey.
When I said goodbye the next morning, I still felt a bit weepy, even though I knew I’d see them again in a few days. I’m very blessed to have people I love and that love me back on the other side of the country!
After perusing the waterfront in Charlottetown I walked back from the Memorial for Irish Settlers in quiet reflection. I passed a busy street full of people dancing to live music where two establishments were jam packed with party-goers of all ages! The John Brown Grille on Victoria Row was certainly the place to be that night!
There wasn’t a seat to be had outside, but I found a stool up at the bar inside. I sipped a beverage, watched the ball game, and listened to the music outside. As much as I would have rather watched people dance and enjoy themselves, the ball game was a welcome treat! Soon, I struck up a conversation with the lad sitting next to me.
Sam and I had a lovely chat! He shared stories about local areas that I should check out and had tons of thoughtful questions about my travels. Visiting with young Sam felt a lot like visiting with my own young son. When Sam shared he was the designated driver for his girlfriend and her friends, he expressed concern about his phone having died and not knowing how to get in touch with her.
I had just the thing for Sam. I pulled my battery pack from my bag so he could charge his phone. He was thrilled to be able to contact his lady again. Sam sat a while longer and we continued our wonderful conversation. When he got up to leave, he thanked me again and advised he thought he had enough juice now to find his party. I told him to keep the charger. I hadn’t really needed it yet on this trip, so he may as well take it with him so he could be sure to catch up with his lady. Sam was incredibly grateful and it felt good to help this guy out. I can order another and have it sent to me anywhere on this trip. Sam needed one now.
Before he set off to find his love, he told me I should check out the speakeasy upstairs. He told me the password and instructed me to press the buzzer in the alley next to the bar. Off Sam went, and my heart felt full. I miss my son heaps and heaps. Although Sam was no substitute for my boy, I felt hopeful I could have easy conversations like this with him upon my return home.
Sam, if you ever remembered the name of my blog, I hope you read this some day. I am grateful for the visit we had. I enjoyed your thoughtful mind and you filled my cup with your time that evening! I wish you and your gal a happy move and hope you get out to see the world the way you described!
After I finished my beverage and paid my bill, I wandered outside to find the alley. I’m not going to lie, my friends, I felt like I was skulking about in a VERY conspicuous way! Sure enough, there WAS a buzzer on the side of the building!! I was giddy with excitement! I eagerly pressed the button.
Nothing.
I pressed again and said the password at the same time.
Nothing.
I laughed out loud and with a twinkle in my eye, I wondered if Sam had been pulling my leg. OK, no, I didn’t really think that was the case. He was too sweet a kid to do something like that. I assumed I heard no response because the music was so loud. Never one to give up, I sauntered over to the front door. Again feeling rather conspicuous. I approached the fella at the door and say,
“Sooooo…..is there REALLY a speakeasy upstairs?”
“What’s the Password?” (he sort of barked).
Well let me tell you, did I light up at that! I gleefully share the words with confidence. He motioned for me to follow and follow I did! He spoke nary a word and his stride was much faster than mine. We went to the back of the bar. He led me up a set of steep stairs. I chased him across the rooftop. He opened a heavy door and I found myself in a sitting room of sorts with a pretty sofa. When my eyes adjusted to the very dimly lit room, I noticed a few others standing quietly off to the side. My guide opened yet another heavy door and all my senses exploded with delight!
Soft lighting. Soft laughter. The smell of sweet perfumes and nutty liqueurs. Pretty furniture that seemed to be straight from Al Capone’s favourite digs. The bar was beautifully crafted dark wood and as my fingertips grazed the edge, I could feel the efforts put into its polishing. The top of the bar was lined with rock glasses, tinctures and all sorts of mixes. The wall behind was filled with bottles, jars, shakers and various and sundry tools of the trade. I couldn’t help but grin my great big, Deanna grin. This was fabulous!
I took a stool at the bar and was further delighted when I was greeted by a bartender in period dress with a glorious mustache completing his look. I ordered an Old Fashioned (of course). He mixed. He shook. He stirred. He added eye-droppers of this, and drabs of that. Given that bourbon is presently pretty hard to come by, he had his own special blend to reproduce the caramelly-smooth flavour with smoky notes that only comes from charred oak barrels. He took his time and when my lips met the first taste, and I poured that sweetness over my tongue, the wait was worth every minute! Perfection. Even the subtle notes from the orange peel tasted better here!
I spent the next hour enjoying my drink and chatting with the bartender and the person one stool down. It was a wonderful way to spend my evening and an unexpected delight to cap off my day of exploring.
By the time I made it back to my hotel, however, the front door wouldn’t open! I trotted across the street to the font desk to find out how the heck to enter the guest room building. I assumed my card had come into contact with my phone or something, rendering it useless. Nope. Not the case. “Take the tunnel,” says the front desk clerk.
“The tunnel?” says I. My evening was still producing some fruitful exploring!
Apparently the guest room building is no longer accessible after 10:00 pm so guests must take a tunnel under the street to access the guest building elevator. It turned out to be a handy way to avoid morning traffic when I headed for breakfast the next morning too.
OK so full disclosure here. I have searched the website for both John Brown’s AND Reddin’s and I still haven’t found the secret sign up for their secret newsletter to get the secret monthly password to get access to the secret speakeasy. Perhaps one of you will figure it out? You can read more about it here.
Charlottetown is a very pretty city! I stayed at the Charlottetown Inn & Conference Centre as it was within walking distance of the waterfront. I loved walking through the neighbourhoods to see the pretty homes and massive churches. The waterfront, the lively streets, the weather – everything was beautiful! I walked and walked for hours.
When I came across the red 2025, I too stopped for a photo. Selfies just don’t cut it sometimes, so I happily handed my phone to another lone traveller for a proper photo.
After the photo, and a brief chat with my photographer, we kinda stood there awkwardly. Traveling alone has so many wonderful aspects, but sometimes it’s nice to just have a conversation. I wondered if he was going through the same thought process, “I could hang with this person for a little while, but what if I decide ten minutes into a conversation that I want to carry on again? What will I miss out on if I stop exploring on my own? What might I gain by talking with a stranger? Is it worth the hassle?” It was kind of like that time on the ferry from Levis.
We said goodbye and set off on our separate ways. Except we were headed the same way; to look at the display of padlocks above. Awkward…Then we both set out to walk the boardwalk. Awkward again. Not loving the stalkery feeling that was settling on my shoulders, I veered off so I felt less like I was following him. Eventually I chose a waterfront restaurant for a bite to eat. When I saw my photographer walk by and we made eye contact, I called him over to visit. Enough with the weirdness. I decided that if he didn’t want to have a visit with a stranger, no harm, no foul.
We swapped stories about our travels and the joys of solo adventures for about an hour. It was nice to have more than just a passing chat with a fellow traveller. Soon I’d had my fill of my mussels and was ready to move on. Brian had texted to let me know about a memorial erected to honour Irish settlers of PEI and I was eager to check it out. We bade farewell and carried on with our own exploring. This time our paths truly did diverge.
With Brian’s info and Google Maps, I was able to find the memorial. I was so grateful to have him send me these things! I never would have known it was there. I was especially interested in this memorial after my solo motorcycle adventure in Ireland nine years ago. Brian knows me so well!
The memorial was modest, but had such a powerful impact on my heart. A celtic cross stood tall, looking out to sea, over a circular display of flagstones. Each stone was engraved with the name of the county from where the settlers hailed and was imported from that county for this memorial. I was thrilled to see County Mayo was amongh the stones! I wondered if any of the settlers represented by this stone were related to my own family from Mayo. Had any of my relatives sailed into the harbour over which I now looked?
I stayed a good long while reflecting on my Irish adventure and my current one. I thought about my quest for a sense of belonging. I thought about Maslow. I thought about how far I’d come. I thought about how I’d completed what I set out to do. I thought about how that feeling of lonliness no longer weighed on my shoulders. It was not lost on me that for years I had this pull to go to Prince Edward Island and that I found myself sitting at a spot where perhaps my own distant relatives landed in their own journey to PEI.
As I sat there enjoying the view of the harbour and the setting sun, a couple approached. They asked what the monument was so I shared what I knew. I felt this strange sense of belonging with that exchange. The lady eagerly looked for a stone that connected her to the monument too. The exchange was only fleeting, really, but it felt like I was part of something bigger than my adventure.
When I left Summerside, my intention was to ride around the coast. I chose my motel rather poorly, however, because they didn’t offer any type of breakfast. This put a kink in my plan…
The morning was hard for me. Without any food on board, I noticed a BIG difference in my decision making abilities. I slowly packed, unpacked, re-packed, loaded, unloaded, searched for missing items, unpacked to find, then repeat this whole ritual. I needed food because I was fading fast. I checked Google maps for options and finally set out about 90 minutes after I started my packing fiasco.
I must have gone up and down mainstreet four times before I decided to give up on the resaurant. I changed tactics and searched for a grocery store instead. On the way I saw an A&W and happily parked. A&W does a great bacon and eggs platter and that was EXACTLY what I needed!
Well holy pie! The place was just as much of a zoo as the fuel stop outside Riviere du Loup! I was about 6th in line. I can wait. I watched every bacon & egg platter go to either the wrong person, someone get a meal while their partner was missed, or some other fuckery. Everyone was ordering the same meal and bickering over which was theirs. When it was finally my turn, I opted for a sausage and egg breakfast sandwich instead. Not really what I wanted, but at least no one else was ordering so there would be no mistaking it as mine.
Still not enjoying any executive functioning, I stopped at the grocery store anyway. As I packed my Babybel cheese and my apples, I slowly started to come around. It’s funny how in the busy hub-ub of normal living I never really recognized how low my blood sugar gets in the morning. Bike trips open our eyes to so much more than just beautiful vistas.This is one more thing I’ve learned about myself. Jules doesn’t work on an empty tank, and neither do I.
I set Petunia and Gretta up to take me to the Anne of Green Gables site before checking out some coastal views, and eventually Charlottetown.
Super cool to see the same trunk in Anne’s house that I have at home!
The morning I left Levis was yet another scorcher and I had 560 km to go before my next stop. I opted to stick to the Trans Canada towards Rivere du Loup. Traffic was light-ish once I got about a half hour out of Levis. There was a bunch of constructoin in the Rivere area and the detour prevented me from finding gas. I was getting pretty nervous as I watched Jules’ fuel level rapidly decline. These knobby tires are not only wickedly loud on the highway, but they also do nothing for fuel efficiency!
Thankfully an exit sign advertising fuel appeared when the detour rejoined the highway. I’d planned to stay a while to have a bite and a rest, but what an absolute gong show at this gas station! It seems the detour convinced everyone and their dog to fuel up at the same place. Circling back to the parking lot after I gassed up was out of the question with eleventy two campers, motor homes, and equipment-laden trucks, so I booked it down the road. Not finding a suitable stopping spot, I decided to just hit the gas station again. When I got back, it was relatively quiet so I wheeled in to the parking lot.
Thinking I was just going to have a ten minute stop for snacks was naive! No sooner had I opened my trunch case than the place was once again a zoo. I swear every traveller on the Trans Canada that day converged on this fuel stop! I waited 30 minutes just watching people come and go. It was a clunky waltz of people parking cock-eyed, backing into paths of others, and basicly utter chaos. I wasn’t the only one waiting it out either. I chatted with a couple from Ontario who had no hope of backing up their car to leave.
With all the entrances blocked by truck and trailer combos, there was no point jockeying for position now. When the next lull came about and the Ontario couple out of my path, I jumped back on my bike and hit the highway. I was surprised my Type-A self had been content to wait so long! When I neared Edmunston, New Brunswick, I hauled off for a real meal. This too was a long stop, but I still had a boring ride ahead before getting to Fredericton. A good meal would do me well.
I quite enjoyed the rest of my ride, but was happy to arrive with enough sunshine to sit outside my room and lay my gear in the sun. Much of my gear, including my “rain gloves” (yeah, so not rain proof) were still wet from my ride to Terrebonne. Supper was pretty lame; frozen dinners from the front desk. At least I was able to park right in front of my room’s patio doors and do some laundry too. I put on my little humidifier in hopes of knocking out my sore throat before heading to PEI.
With relatively dry gear and a bad cough, I set out in the morning from Terrebonne headed for Levis. I had it in my mind that driving to Quebec City would be a goat show, so I aimed for south of the St. Lawrence River instead. When I reached Trois Rivieres on the #40 I headed south on the #55. I was squeally excited when I saw the bridge ahead to take me over the river. It was a gorgeous day and I loved looking out over the edge of the bridge. Motorbike travel offers unique perspectives you just don’t experience inside a car or the cab of a truck. You see different things, you get the smell of the air, the crispness of the morning, the sun on the cheeks. It all made for a glorious day.
Soon after the bridge I headed east again on the 132. THIS is what I’d been waiting to experience! The Trans Canada has been the only road since leaving Kakabeca falls, so riding through very old, very beautiful townships was exactly what I was hoping to experience. I stopped for fuel the first chance I had. As soon as I hopped off the bike, and older fella welcomed me to Quebec. He and his wife were full of smiles and congratulations for having travelled so far and were impressed that I was doing it alone. To be honest, it hadn’t felt like a big deal. Not yet, anyway.
When I planned to take the 132, Petunia kept insisting I make a jog south. Forget that, Petunia! This road was amazing. The homes were beautiful. I was alongside the river, and was finally enjoying some twisties! She was persistent, but I am the master of my journey so on I went. While I was busy soaking up the views of the river, I missed the very large “Don’t-continue-down-this-road-or-you’ll-have-a-helluva-time-turning-around-when-the-road-ends-you-dumbass” sign. Yup. Completely missed it. Ok, that’s a lie. I just figured it wasn’t a serious road closure sign because it wasn’t actually blocking the road. Yup. I’m that person.
When I did finally manage to get turned around, I wheeled into a church parking lot to get serious about finding an alternate route. It was a beautiful view!
I set out again, but came to yet another road closure. This time I tucked in against the barricade to look at the map. Before I could get moving again, though, a local cut the corner pretty close. I had to jump back into the ditch and Jules was about 2 inches away from losing her side case. Ok, time to get outta Localsville and get moving.
This time I spied a detour sign and eventually found my way back to the 132. This whole “Took a wrong turn” had zero negative impact on me. I guess that means the healing is well underway. A week ago that would have been upsetting and would have left me feeling stressed out and lost. Maybe now it was a non-issue because while choosing a new route, Brian texted. He was suggesting the same route I’d already selected, but it was comforting that he noticed I was kind of going in circles. It was even more comforting when his suggested route was the one I’d already decided on; I felt validated. I shared my location when we parted ways so he would know how I was doing and where I was. It’s not only safety-smart, it’s been great when I need a virtual tour guide! He’s been wonderful in helping me find hotels when I’m too tired and frustrated to focus here and there too. Even when he’s not with me, he’s with me.
Off again, I spotted a sign for a lookout. I hung a sharp left and wound down a very steep and twisty road. Before Peru, this would have felt sketchy to me, but now it was nothing. It was a pretty little spot with old boats in back yards, a dock filled with young kids fishing, and tons of birds. After a short stroll, Jules and I were back on the road.
Stopping for photos of an incredibly tall and exquisite church meant chatting with other riders from Quebec City. The thing I adore about solo travel is how easy it is to chat with others. We’re all on a journey in life, and we all have our own roads to travel. Yet, there is a certain ‘special-ness’ to chatting with other motorcyclists We were instantly friends, even if for only those few moments. They let me know that the 138 on the other side of the river is an equally scenic and twisty ride.
When I got to Levis, I chose a hotel that was one of the first I’d seen. I was still not feeling awesome and my cough was only getting worse. I texted my virtual tour guide to help me find a hotel because aside from feeling sick, the heat was melting my brain. Plus also, I needed food and I have a hard time making decisions when I need to eat. With only a hard boiled egg that morning and an apple when I stopped for fuel, myt blood sugar was low and I was getting goofy. Brian made some suggestions and I found the Grand Times Hotel.
I wasn’t stoked about another $300 night (my choice, not Brian’s), but I didn’t have it in me to look elsewhere and I wanted to get to old Quebec City before the day got much later. I dumped my gear and checked out how far away the ferry terminal was to the old city. Given that I’d popped my Uber Eats cherry back in Terrebonne, I figured it was time to give Uber Drive a try. Why have I never used Uber before? Well, I live on an acreage where the nearest town has a population of less than 10,000 so Uber just doesn’t exist in my community back home. Turns out it will still be a long while before I try it out. With an hour wait time and a price tag of $78, I decided to walk.
It was a smokin’ hot day and after 30 minutes on my feet and another 35 yet to go, I grabbed a water at a Tim Horton’s. Although I saw some beautiful homes on my walk, I also walked through some pretty sketchy areas too! After a gazillion stairs, and a VERY steep street, I finally made it to the ferry terminal; just in time too! We set sail shortly after I boarded and I was happy to take a seat after that 13 km walk in the heat!
As we neared the Quebec City shoreline, I joined the masses to get just the right shot of the Hotel Frontenac. A woman about my age asked if I’d take her photo with the hotel now looming behind her. It was a very strange moment. I considered asking her to join me in exploring as I sensed she wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet either after we chatted.
It was a battle of thoughts in my mind. It would be wonderful to make a new friend, but we’d only be friends while in old Quebec City. Was it worth it? What would I miss out on by exploring with someone else? But what would I gain? Did I feel the burden of lonliness? A quick check-in with myself said no. I opted to wish her a good evening and set out on my own. We may have had a lovely time together, but I really was pretty hungry.
After a beautiful meal at Alphonse, I set out exploring. There were people asolutely everywhere! I was surprised by how much I’m leaning towards solitude these days. Those who know me know how much I love busy, lifely places with plenty of opportunity to engage with others. I did some poking around the shops, then headed up the hill to see the hotel and the remnants of the original legislature buildings.
Three hours later I was done in. The 13 km walk to get to the ferry, then up and down the cobblestone streets, tons of stairs, and steep hills, I’d had enough. Laden with a few souvenirs for loved ones, I took the Funiculaire du Vieux – Quebec (Old Quebec Funicular) down and headed for the ferry back to Levis. My timing was fantastic as I’ had enough time to buy a gatorade, use the facilities, and walk right on to the boat.
I wasn’t interested in the long uphill journey back to my hotel, so I jumped in a cab. I no longer recall the driver’s name, but we had a wonderful chat about how it came to be that he chose Quebec City when he emigrated from Tunisia. We laughed the whole drive. I mean really laughed! This was an individual who was truly a happy soul. I thought briefly about what I may have missed by not making friends with the woman on the boat, but that was fleeting. I replaced those thoughts with a reminder of what I’d gained by jumping into this particular cab and having such a joyful conversation with another happy soul.
After 6 or 7 days down time in Deux-Montagnes, I was eager to be back on the road for that good ol’ wind therapy; the sun on my cheeks. But that’s not how my first day back in the saddle went.
I set out waving “See you Soon!” to Rob and Tanya and immediately missed my first turn. As I rolled up to that first stop sign, I spotted the sunglasses I’d borrowed from Brian perched on top of the stuffed moose I picked up in Moose Jaw. Good grief! I seem to regularly have issues with sunglasses! This is why I missed my first turn. Sunglasses now in place, I did have a chance to cruise the lovely streets of Rob and Tanya’s neighbourhood as I made my way back to the route. Everything for a reason!
I’d put on my rain pants before leaving as the sky was pretty grey. It’s much easier putting them on BEFORE it rains. I’ve driven through some pretty nasty weather, so the grey clouds weren’t a detterent. Optimisim is a bitch sometimes because I was on the highway for only a few minutes when the sky opened up to teach me a lesson about planning. After navigating off the highway to a parking lot, digging out and putting on my rain jacket and rain gloves, I set out again in what was now pouring rain.
Quebec highways are not the perfectly smooth and fabulous roads in Peru, let me tell ya! Nope! I was doging gobs of ashphalt, deep ruts filled with rain, and heaved lanes. Although it was Sunday morning, I was also coping with rush-hour levels of traffic and the showers of rain they spewed from their tires as they passed me. Within minutes my boots were soaked from what felt like dragging them through a lake behind a jet boat. I couldn’t see the dials on the bike, I couldn’t see Petunial’s navigation, I couldn’t see my GPS, and was basically NOT having an awesome time. If it hadn’t been for Petunia’s voice through my helmet, I’d have gotten even more lost in Terrebonne than I already was. I’d only made it an hour down the road, but had to concede defeat to ol’ mama nature and find a room.
After waking up to chills at 3am the night before, to say I felt like a bag of smashed assholes as I rolled into the hotel parking lot was no small exaggeration. Off my bike. Squish, squish, squish into the hotel lobby. As I stood there dripping and coughing while waiting for travellers to check out, I was crossing my fingers they’d have a room I could check into right away; it was only 11:00 am.
“The only room I have is a king jacuzzi suite” says the gal at the desk. I hated the idea of dropping over $300 to dry out after only riding an hour down the road, but I was grateful for the room. No sooner had I run myself a hot bath, than the sky broke and the sun shone through. At least Jules could dry out too.
So I’m a country mouse, my friends, living on a lovely acreage in central Alberta. I don’t spend time in the cities really, and even the local pizza joints 10 minutes from home don’t deliver to me. The idea of Uber Eats and the like have always seemed something other people use. I think nothing of jumping in my truck to drive the 10 minutes into town for food at home. But this soggy rider had nothin’ left in the tank to find lunch this day! Even if it WAS only across the street.
I broke my Uber Eats cherry on a place that was about a 4 minute walk (that I didn’t have to make) from my hotel. With the warm bath out of the way, my gear drying on the AC unit, I curled up in bed for a bowl of veggies, feta, and quinoa while I binged on Netflix. When I was hungry again, Uber Eats brought me fettucini carbonara and ministroni soup from a place that was also within walking distance. Walking is for putzes. Or energetic people with dry boots.
When I arrived at Tanya and Rob’s place, I was greeted with all the love I felt when Tanya and I first connected last fall at my place in Alberta. After she and her brother Chris went home following Bruce’s service, I was left to grieve alone. To be honest, I didn’t know how to do it. I stuffed all the feels right down to my toes and carried on with my life. Or so I thought. I went to Peru for a few weeks and rode the snot out of a rented KLR. Winding through the Andes, falling asleep to the cacaphony of the Amazon jungle and looking out over Machu Pichu made me feel alive, but it did nothing for my grief.
Burying myself in a contract that had me sitting at my desk in my acreage home office for 10-16 hours a day kept my mind busy as hell. Navigating the toxicity of the fuckery of that gig didn’t leave room for grief. Even if it had, I still wouldn’t have known what to do with it. About four months after Bruce’s passing I learned my very first best friend in the world, my sister, had a C-word diagnosis. This, piled on with the love of my life not feeling his awesome self was enough to crack that outer stoic layer of my professional self. I’m human. I lost my shit at work. I ugly-face fell apart in a video meeting and the response was humanity minus eleventy million percent. Zero compassion. Massive judgement.
I’d tried to outrun all of this when I set out on this cross-Canada trip, but about an hour past Ottawa, I realized I wasn’t running from. I was running to. Tanya and I sat outside in her garden and grieved together. We laughed together. We swapped stories. Sometimes we sat in silence (for a moment or two, which is a lot for the two of us!). Little by little, the grief found its way out of the recesses of my heart and into a little box to be carefully stowed on a shelf in the back of my head. I’ve been able to pull the lid off here and there, but now it’s Bruce’s smile I feel, not the emptiness in my heart.
Chris picked me up for lunch a couple of my days in town. It was so wonderful to get to know him better. Although we didn’t grow as close as Tanya and I had when he was in Alberta, our friendship is now solid. When we spoke on the phone the other night, my heart filled with joy knowing he is my brother from another mother. Blood is not a pre-requisite for family.
Other highlights from my time in Quebec include a walk on the beach with my friend and colleague living nearby, a night out in Montreal, and getting Jules a new chain and sprockets. Eating a smoked meat sandwich at Schwartz’s was a special treat! As Rob and I sat there, I imagined Bruce there with us. It was always one of his favourite eateries, I hear, and I wondered if he’d ever sat where I was planted.
Having Curtis come up for a visit was like icing on the cake! We walked barefoot on the beach and it was good brain therapy feeling the hot sand between my toes.
Leaving Rob and Tanya’s was a bit of a heart puller, but knowing I’d soon return made leaving a little bit easier.
The Happy Canuck 