Home, healing, and Big Ethel

Well, I am back home at my apartment after precisely 3 months at Garden Villa. The experience of convalescing in a retirement home was an interesting one, to say the least. I thoroughly enjoyed the friendly banter with the residents; the 3-home-cooked-meals every day were wonderful – to the tune of ‘15-extra-pounds-wonderful’; having a cute young nurse wash my back every night  was easy to live with; all in all, it was none to shabby a time at the ole Villa.

But I gotta tell ya’ – it is good to be home! Even if that means climbing 3 flights of stairs anytime I go out (believe me I have learned to both limit and maximize my excursions) and cooking my own meals. Okay, truth be told there has not been a lot of cooking yet – more along the lines of take-out or microwaveable fare, actually. But I plan on taking on a little culinary project this weekend. It is time that I learn how to prepare a good Thai cashew chicken plate. This is a meal that I go out to eat in restaurants at least 3 times a week, so it would certainly behove me to learn how to prepare it at home. Other plates will follow, I am sure.

The physiotherapy is going very well. My right ankle is quite strong and has a good range of motion again. My left is still really weak, and it swells like a balloon after a very few minutes of weight bearing. I am now swimming at least 4 days per week at a City complex, and also using the cardio machines as well. I am getting more exercise now, as a component of my rehabilitation, than I have in years. As a matter of fact this is the first time in my life that I have ever held a membership to a gym.

Just one more silver lining I guess.

I moved back home from the retirement residence on Saturday, August 30.

I brought Big Ethel home on Tuesday, September 2.

Big Ethel? you ask…

 

She is quite different from the black beast that I used to ride. A Suzuki V Strom 1000, she is a bike that offers a much broader choice of riding styles, and environments, than my recently departed cruiser. Big Ethel is more than happy on gravel roads, likes to play in the mud, and is a very willing and adept dancing partner in the twisties. She likes to show off a little, and if not treated with a gentle touch she will stand on her rear wheel with the finesse of a brahma bull, but at the same time this is a quite forgiving lady who wants nothing more than to be taken on long, long adventures through areas most often overlooked by my old cruiser-riding eyes.

I am so looking forward to the time when both of my ankles are strong again. So that the only thing limiting my riding is time. As it is right now my ankles just aren’t up to anything more than a short jaunt. Ah well, when taken in perspective, I am very pleased with my recovery to this point. And it appears to get a little better every day.

Finally, to get down to brass tacks – this particular blog post was completely unintended. I had no plans to write today. At least, not in the forefront of my brainbox. But I got an email from Factory Direct last evening advertising the Dell Latitude 2100 Netbook for a very reasonable $160.00. Always on the lookout for a more motorcycle-travel friendly machine than my 15” Toshiba Satellite, I thought I should try this little machine out. And so far, I have to say I am very pleased. Small enough to fit in my tank-bag, it is a fully functional laptop in netbook sizing. While not powerful nor fast enough for gaming, it will certainly do the job for moto-vlogging / blogging from the road, word processing, surfing and emailing.

And so, that brings us to the end of what really was a rather bland post. Oh well…sometimes bland is all the palate can handle…

I will be posting a little more often as my ankles improve, and the adventure unfolds…

As always, thank you for riding along.

It’s kind of like ‘Misery’, without the sledgehammer……

 

Those are the words that my sister wrote on the cast on my right leg.

Yes. I have been hobbled. And thankfully, that is just my sister’s sense of humour. Because she has been an absolute godsend through this ordeal.

I have to tell you that I have a new found respect and appreciation for anyone suffering a physical disability. Going from fully-abled to having lost the use of my legs – even if only temporary – is a jarring new reality.

The fact that I am able to make the best of it is less a testament to my nature and positive outlook, and more a reliance on the idea that this is in fact, only temporary.

I am not sure where my emotional and mental barometer would be had I lost both of my feet. But I am fairly certain that it would not have me eagerly tapping away on my laptop to furnish you with another post in my blog, feeding my ego and satisfying my urge to write in one fell swoop.

So. Let me try to incorporate a lesson into this, my own one-sided mental discourse with you, my readers.

The lesson that I am going to try to illuminate is one that I feel cannot be taught, spoken of or illustrated enough.

It is the importance, nay, the critical nature, of wearing all of the proper motorcycle gear all of the time.

I was missing one piece of gear when I had my accident. I was not wearing fully armoured leather riding pants. Not even leather chaps. In fact, I was wearing denim jeans. So, lets take a look at what I was, and was not wearing and examine the effects of my choices that morning.

On top of my noggin – brain pan – skull was my Bell Pit Boss helmet. A light-weight helmet designed and manufactured by an industry leading company, it cost about $150.00. .

Certainly not what you might refer to as expensive. And yes, I made the conscious choice to wear a 1/2 lid. DOT approved, this helmet did its job completely. My gray matter remained inside of my skull. In fact, I did not even suffer any bruising, let alone a concussion

On this occasion, circumstance allowed me to save face. Literally.

I will not test the fates in that fashion again, and going forward you will see me in a full face helmet only.

On my torso I was wearing my Scorpion Stinger EXO fully armoured leather motorcycle jacket. Weighing almost 12 kilos, it is anything but lightweight. There is armour in all of the critical locations, including a semi-rigid back plate.

I landed on the asphalt on my upper back / shoulders after colliding broadside with a car at 70 km/h.

My Bell helmet and my Scorpion jacket took all of the impact with the asphalt.

And as I lay here writing this, I want you to know this: the very first thought to go through my head immediately after my body came to rest on the asphalt was – ‘wow, that could have been a lot worse’.

I suffered no bruising to my back or shoulders whatsoever. No concussion. No tenderness to my skull or scalp.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Almost as though I had not been in an accident at all.

As already mentioned, on my legs I was wearing a pair of Jeans. Solid, heavy-weight Levis, but jeans nonetheless.

The left leg of my pants was sliced from knee to shin (as was my left leg) by the top, trailing edge of my windshield.

That is why, dear reader, I will be wearing chaps of fully armoured leather riding pants in the future.

On my feet I was wearing my 3 year old pair of Exustar model E-SBT 120W motorcycle boots. They come about 1/2 way up to my knee, are rigid and very snug. They feel a lot like a downhill ski boot when they are on, which is the way they are designed.

They keep everything in place. So although I suffered multiple fractures in my ankles, there were no green-stick breaks; no torsion breaks; no ligament damage; so ‘shattered’ bones. Just a few clean, aligned fractures that were the result of my ankles hitting my handle-bars at 70 km/h.

Had I been wearing street shoes, or even ankle-high riding boots, I could very well have lost both feet.

I imagine shifting without a left foot is challenging. As challenging as using the back brake pedal without a right foot.

I will wear these boots again. And my next pair of riding boots will be of a similar height, weight and design. No question.

Finally, on my hands I was wearing my fully armoured leather Z1-R Reaper motorcycle gloves. They are far from expensive at only $28.00 / pair, and I admit that after about 18,000 kilometers of riding the stitching was starting to let go on the tip of the thumbs – but they have solid armour on all knuckles and pretty heavy padding on the palms. And in the case of my accident, my hands suffered not even a scratch.

 

I have been guilty, in the past, of riding a short distance in my Nike’s. And only a T-shirt on my torso.

I have taken my jacket off in 30 + degree temperatures and stowed it in my saddle bags while riding through the Laurentians, or down Tatlock road.

I will not do so again.

And I urge you…no, I implore you – please, do not sacrifice safety for comfort. Or worse, for the ‘cool’ factor.

On hot days, if fully armoured leather is just too much for you, then spend a little extra money on a high-quality (and Hi-Viz) convertible, armoured nylon riding jacket.

Joe Rocket, Tour Master, Spartan, Icon, AGV, and Scorpion are just a few of the companies that make a superior product that will help to keep your skin where it belongs – on your body.

The decision to wear tight-fitting, armoured, below-the-knee riding boots is as easy as deciding if you enjoy walking.

We are a class of people who have discovered that we are truly at peace, and truly happy, while pursuing one of the most inherently dangerous forms of self-expression out there. We ride motorcycles. It is in our genes. It is in our blood. It is in our souls.

In this area, we have a single obligation to ourselves, and to our loved ones. To pursue that passion as safely as we can.

Get out there and ride!

Peace.

And just like that, the season is over…

The 2014 motorcycle season got off to a pretty slow start in the Ottawa area. As a matter of fact the first real adventure of the season had been thought out, planned, arranged and organized long before the weather allowed for it to happen. The May long weekend found 5 of us from the Ottawa chapter of the CMC riding to Sudbury to meet up with a couple of members from the London chapter as well as a big chunk of the Sudbury chapter for a ride to and through Manitoulin Island.
The weather on the Friday morning of our departure was cold and rainy, but the conditions improved as the weekend wore on, and before all was said and done we had put 2,100 kilometers behind us and had enjoyed some truly incredible riding.
Manitoulin Island is a riding destination all unto itself, but if you are going to go, leave a little time in your schedule. Because you are going to want to ride highway 6 from Espanola to Little Current more than once. And if you are coming from the east and really want to get as much amazing-riding-bang-for-your-buck as possible then leave time for a little detour on your way home. The Temiskaming Loop is a top-rated motorcycle adventure tour and the scenery is absolutely breathtaking. Though it is approximately a 450 kilometer detour, it is worth every minute of the ride.

Manitoulin Adventure pics here

Alex and I also made another little detour that is now ranked right near the top of my ‘must-ride’ list. Instead of riding straight home from North Bay on Monday morning, we opted to go to Ottawa via Huntsville. Yes, another little detour. I had never been through the Muskoka region before and I now have a much better understanding as to what all the hoopla about this ‘cottage-country’ is all about. Wow. Highway 141 is just gorgeous and it leads you to a little gem of a road – probably the most technical I have ridden in Ontario – known as Peninsula Road, or highway 632. Alex and I rode her length 4 times and I cannot wait to ride her again.
Ride her again. I guess that brings us to the meat and gist of this post. And the reason for such a slamming-of-the-door-title.
You see, I am tapping out this post on the keyboard of my laptop from a retirement residence. While lying in a hospital bed. With 2 broken ankles.
Let me set the stage.
Sunday, May 25, 2014. 26 degrees Celsius and crystal clear with a warm breeze blowing. I put on all of my gear and hit the road at about noon, figuring I would ride to Lancaster to see my buddy Derek and maybe get a ride in his awesome ‘71 Z28, and then head up highway 2 towards Cornwall to see my older brother.
I left my place and immediately decided that it was a zero-slab day, meaning I was not going to ride any 400 series highways at all. The weather was just too nice – the day too perfect – to waste it on a 4 lane expressway.
So, I decided to follow the Vanier Parkway until it became River road and continue along that way until I hit highway 43. Then I would turn left, heading east and ride all the way to Apple Hill where I would grab county road 20 to county road 18 and ride to St. Raphaels, On, eventually turning right on highway 34 and heading south into the town of Lancaster. The town that I grew up in.
Well, needless to say, I never made it that far.
Having just cruised through Manotick – or alongside it would be more accurate I guess, since I was on River Road south – I remember looking at my watch and thinking that I would be in Lancaster between 3:00 and 3:30pm. It was 1:33 and I was just passing Kelly’s Landing.
The ride was beautiful and my soul was singing. I am truly never happier than I am when I am out on my machine, living my life on two wheels.
My grin faded and rapidly twisted into shock and then momentary terror, followed by resignation and acceptance when the car that had been stopped in the oncoming north-bound lane, without hesitation turned left immediately in front of me. Directly across my lane and into my path of travel.
I was traveling at approximately 70 km/h when she turned no more that 25 feet in front of me.
In the instant that I was allowed, every nuance from every motorcycle accident preparedness video that I have watched came into action. I did not think. I actually do not believe that I even reacted. I merely acted, and did the only thing that I had been taught that I can do. I held my course. Kept the bike upright. Shifted my seating angle to a positive upright position and grabbed as much front brake as I could.
The front end dove under braking. The back end got really light. And I just went for the ride.
It was over almost – but not quite – before I knew what was happening.
I was ejected from the saddle. Up and forward, over the handle bars. The inertia of my body mass traveling at 70 km/h arguing with the impact of 500-plus pounds of motorcycle coming to an abrupt halt after colliding with 2530 pounds of compact car.
My ankles lost the argument. As my body was thrown up and forward, my ankles smacked the handlebars of my motorcycle. Throwing me into a forward summersault which had the desirable effect of causing me to land on my upper back, shoulders – and helmet.
I say desirable because I al pretty sure that had I continued in my up-and-forward 70 km/h trajectory I very likely would not be typing this right now. Shattered wrists. Broken knees. Exploded elbows. And a face-full of asphalt would have been the likely end results.
Instead, I have 2 broken ankles. And while certainly anything but fun, and not without a degree of pain unlike any I have experienced before, I consider myself a very, very lucky man.
It could have been so very much worse.
I am recuperating. A day at a time. And have much more to say and to tell you. But at the moment I am tired. And with nothing but time on my hands for the foreseeable future, I do not think I am being remiss by ending this one here for tonight.
Some pictures from an album aptly titled “The Accident” are here

It’s been awhile…

I have been away for quite sometime.

Hmmmm…

There was a time when that meant one thing, and one thing only.

Thankfully, that is no longer the case. Being arrested, locked up, in custody, in jail, going to court, facing remand, pleading my case….

All things that I remember well. And I remain grateful that today, they are not part of my life.

I am also grateful – believe it or not – that they once were a part of my daily existence. The chaos. The uncertainty. The unbelievable amounts of stress. The pain, and heartache. The darkness.

For they all helped to bring me to where I am today. To shape the man that I am now, and the man that I will become tomorrow. To provide perspective. Contrast. Point of view.

I am looking out of the window of my apartment in Vanier, lamenting the mid-March blizzard that has befallen us. Pining for the warmer weather, the melting of the snow, the cleansing rains of spring – all so that I may once again climb into the saddle of my iron steed and commence yet another season of travels, explorations and discoveries.

God I miss my bike.

Yet neither of these two facets of my life are what brought me back to the keyboard.

No. What brought me back to writing this blog is love.

And my absolute joy about being free to accept it. And to give it. To feel it, and acknowledge it. To learn of it, and grow with it.

Susie brought me back to you, my friends and fellow travelers.

You remember Susie. I introduced you to her on May 30 of 2012, just as I was preparing to head off on my Epic Motorcycle Adventure to the Rockies.

During that trip out west, I made a lot of discoveries. About myself and my life. About travelling the open road. About how infinitesimally small we are in the great big scheme of things. About the things that are important to me. About what friendship means to me.

And it was on that trip that I came to realize that I loved this woman.

Susie underwent 39 chemotherapy sessions between May of 2012 and December of 2013.

In December she was told that the chemo was no longer working.

This is the type of news that can, and often does precede the quick downturn and eventual death of stage 4 cancer victims.

Thankfully, Susie has never considered herself a victim. Nor have any of those who surrounded her and buoyed her through these last 2 years.

Susie and I became very close during this time. I expressed my love, Susie smiled and gave me the ‘I am flattered, but…’, and a friendship began to blossom that is quite unlike any that I have had before.
There is a great amount of information available espousing the undeniable benefits of laughter. And the healing power of love.

Susie and I have shared an inordinate amount of time engaged in belly-clenching, tears-streaming, gut-rolling laughter. And she has been surrounded by love every day. From her parents, her brothers and sister, her cousins, her boyfriend, her aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews – just an incredible number of people took the time to make sure that she knew – and knows – that she is loved.

On Friday, February 28, 2014 Susie underwent 9 hours of surgery.

Surgery that at least one surgeon tried to talk her out of. Because it was, in that surgeon’s words – a waste of time. Because Susie was certain to be filled with cancer – both old and new. According to the surgeon.
We protested. We invited the surgeon to consider quality of life aspects that may have been overlooked.

Having been told that chemo was no longer working, quality of life was Susie’s focus.

Several weeks and 9 hours of surgery later, that same surgeon came to address the family members who were present, as well as Susie’s boyfriend Mike and myself.

And the surgeon looked at each of us. Smiled. And said “it is really quite a miracle, actually.”

It seems that they found no disease, only scar tissue.

Susie’s stage 4 colon cancer – which at one point had metastasized and spread to her lung, liver, abdomen, lymph nodes and ovary – was no where to be seen.

Through 39 chemotherapy sessions this woman kept telling everyone that she was going to be fine.
Through more than half a dozen CT scans. Countless blood tests. Twice weekly visits to the Ottawa Integrative Cancer Center. Hair loss. Weight gain. The never-quite-gone looming darkness and fear of the disease.

Through all of it Susie kept her smile. Shared her laughter. Loved and received love.
There is an undeniable and incredible healing power that comes from within all of us and that is all of us. It is the one thing that can connect us to all that is and all that ever was. For thousands of years we have tried to ascribe ethereal identities and nomenclature to it. We have written rules to be abided by and oaths to be given. We have taught and been taught that it is a power to be deigned upon the deserving. The worthy. The righteous.

It is the power of love.

It is free. Just open your heart.

I discovered on my trip out west in 2012 that I was capable of loving another person as I do myself.
The greatest gift that I have ever received.

Matched very recently by a team of surgeons who said “she is doing great. It looks like she is going to be fine”

“I have always known in my heart that I was going to be okay” Susie said just the other day.

None of us is certain of what tomorrow holds. But today brought the promise of a tomorrow.
That is more than enough.

You are undeniably the strongest person that I have ever met Susie.
I love you. And am so very grateful to have you in my life.
Joe E.

Best Laid Plans, Really Great Roads…and Thanksgiving

I had a plan.

Really.

I did. I formulated it almost two weeks ago.

For the Thanksgiving long weekend, I decided that I was going to go on one last long-distance motorcycle adventure before the season rolled to a stop….drew to a close….came to an end….

You get the picture.

I have not yet gone on a long distance ride in an easterly direction. So, naturally, I decided that I was going to ride to Gaspe. And to the Bay of Fundy. And back. In three days.

I wisely booked the Friday of the long weekend off, allowing me to be back home on Sunday evening, and giving me a full day of rest on Monday before returning to work on Tuesday morning.

I planned on leaving early on Friday morning, and riding all the way to Gaspe – or as close as I could make it – before once again – and for a final time this year – setting up my Hennessy Hammock and sleeping in the great outdoors. I would then spend Saturday touring the area, getting side tracked at every available opportunity, and eventually begin the ride home either late Saturday afternoon, or early on Sunday morning.

The weather forecast, when I originally dreamed up this cockamamie scheme, was lousy. Rain, and highs of 7 or 8 degrees were what I could expect, according to the most maligned of public whipping-posts, the weather forecasters, of two weeks ago.

I was not to be swayed. Every time that a friend or colleague asked me what my plans were for the long weekend, my reply was a grin, and ‘riding to Gaspe – you?’

A ‘good lord’, and a shake of the head was the response that I most often received.

I think that a good many people may perceive me to be slightly crazy.

And that’s okay. Kind of gives me a little leeway to, well, be a little crazy.

The weather forecast, as you are not doubt very well aware, changed. As it sometimes does. And quite drastically, too. Highs of 20, 21, and 23 degrees. And lots of sunshine.

Thank you, oh wise weather sage, for being so wonderfully, beautifully wrong.

So. A good plan. A researched route. Likely fuel and food stops laid out. Weather that was too nice to even wish for. A finely tuned and eager steel steed with a freshly changed oil and filter.

Why, then, are you reading this now? As early as Saturday night?
“He must be blogging from his phone”.
“He decided to bring his laptop and is sitting in a Tim Horton’s somewhere north and east of Quebec City”.
“He decided not to hammock-camp after all”.

No. Nope. And unh-uh.

As is so often true, and as Robert Burns so cleverly penned, the best laid schemes, of mice and men, often go awry…

And though my plans most certainly did change, I cannot say that I am disappointed. Nor left wanting. For I was needed here. To be a friend. And to offer company, distraction, humour and understanding. As the case may be.
You see, Susie continues to valiantly – and successfully – wage her battle against cancer. She has had 36 chemotherapy treatments. Yet she is still able to soldier on, wear a smile, offer a kind word, and quite nonchalantly tell you that she is going to be fine.
All the while, friends who are also suffering from this despicable disease are dying around her.
And so it was that Susie found out, early Friday morning, that she had lost yet another friend and fellow cancer-fighter on Thursday evening.

The Gaspe adventure became very unimportant, very quickly.

I spent all of Friday with Susie. Watching. Listening. Learning. And thanking God that I am able to be ‘that person’ for her.
By days end, we had joined with my other best friend – James – and headed off for that ultimate form of distraction – a Hollywood blockbuster and butter-soaked popcorn.
Tom Hanks does not do bad movies. And ‘Captain Phillips’ is on par with his best. An excellent film, full of tension, that keeps you interested right up until the closing credits.
It was a great end to a wonderful, though at times emotional and heavy day.

Driving home, I figured that I could still squeeze one heck of a long ride out of the long weekend. Maybe just not all the way to Gaspe.

How about Val D’Or?

Yeah. Why not? Seemed logical to me.

And then I received a phone call from another friend, sharing some of her recent good news and asking me what my plans were for Thanksgiving. To which I replied that I had no set plans, other than taking a nice long motorcycle ride.

At which point I was invited to Thanksgiving dinner. On Sunday. In Cornwall.

A pretty lady. Turkey. Stuffing. Need I say more.

Yes – I admit – I am shallow as a puddle at times
.
So I arise bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning, all set to head out on the road to Val D’Or – which, not coincidentally, happens to be the birth place of my father – and I started thinking about all that I have to be thankful for.

An hour later I was on my bike, heading to Chesterville, to be with my mom.

I stayed through lunch, repeatedly bugging mom to eat a little more of this, or finish the last two bites of that, living my childhood all over again, yet in reverse, and realized that this was always going to be part of my Thanksgiving weekend. Even when I did not yet know it.
We had a great visit – and I am going to do something for which I will likely get a smack – and post a pic of my beautiful mom, right…..
….here.I love you mom.

As you have already gathered – my riding plans changed yet again. And this time, I got smart. I did what has always worked for me in the past.
I made no plan. Picked no destination. Checked no maps.
I just filled up the tank, and followed my front tire, allowing the bike, and whimsy, to take me on the adventure that I was meant to ride.

And oh, what a ride it was.

I headed across the river, into Quebec, and followed the 50 to Montee Paiement. I had not travelled this route yet this year, and Montee Paiement always brought a smile to my face and a twist to my wrist last year, so off I went, scooting along her curves, over her hills and through her valleys.

This is a route that is definitely not for the faint-of-heart, or brand-new-to-riding type of motorcycle rider. The asphalt is old and cracked. There are potholes. And bumps. And lots of road-snakes. But man oh man what a ride. Montee Paiement ends at the 366 – a route that I absolutely love, and have written about prior – so it was with a smile from ear to ear, full of anticipation, that I swung left and headed north on Route du Carrefour. The asphalt is smooth. The curves are frequent, but not overly technical, and the hills come at you like whoop-de-doo’s on a motocross track. Add in the blazing colors of the fall foliage, the just perfect temperatures and the warm golden glow of the autumn sunshine and you will begin to understand how easy it is to lose yourself, becoming one with your machine and the road and all that surrounds you, dancing the beautiful dance.

In no time at all I was at the 366 / 307 junction. And this time, instead of heading south on the 307 as I usually do, I headed north yet again. On a route that I had only been on once before. The 307 north, Route Principale, is another wonderful motorcycle road. It will challenge even the most seasoned of riders, and the scenery through which the ride takes place is breathtaking. The one and only time that I had been on this route previously had been during a group ride to Paltimore earlier this season. I vaguely remembered some of the sights along the way, and vividly remembered some of the pucker-inducing curves – yee haaaa!!!
I rode on past Paltimore, all the way up to Val-Des-Bois, stopping intermittently to snap a few pictures, and feeling absolutely at peace again. At Val-Des-Bois I crossed the steel trestle bridge and opted to ride the 309 back down to Gatineau. Which turned out to be a perfect choice, as the 309 is every bit as scenic as the 366 – 307 run is, yet it is far less challenging. The curves are long and sweeping, and the hills are likewise long and shallow, as opposed to the staggered hairpins that are the order of the day on the 307.

I highly recommend this route to everyone who rides. If you love riding your machine and challenging the road, the bike and yourself, then the 366 north to the 307 north to Val-Des-Bois is a must ride. And if you really like ‘em twisty and hilly, get off the 50 at exit 145 and ride Montee Paiement to the 366. You will not be sorry.

In the end, I only racked up about 350 kms – including the ride to see mom – but as it turned out, it was exactly the ride that I needed.

As I am often apt-to-do, I snapped quite a few pictures along the way. Most can be seen right HERE if you are interested.

Now, I have to make my dinner. Pulled pork sandwiches. Home made baked beans (thanks Al). Cole slaw. And bakery apple pie.

That and Netflix sounds like a perfect end to an amazing day.

Oh, and one more thing.

Fuck cancer!

Thanks for riding along,…

The last long-weekend ride of the season

The labor day weekend is upon us, and for those of us who eat, breath and sleep either riding or thinking about riding motorcycles, that means planning that one last, long adventure of the riding season.
Having decided to take Friday off as well, I was able to think a little bigger than some about just where this ride - this adventure - might take me. Mentioning the idea of planning an adventure at the Monday night meet and greet brought forth an added bonus - the piqued interest of another member.
brian2tall and I had ridden together several times in the past and have a similar personality, so the idea of making this a shared adventure all of a sudden became quite appealing. Brian and I came to no decision as to where we were going - not even whether we were heading east towards the townships or west towards Turkey Point - but that was secondary. We were going on a ride. A long ride. That was all that mattered at that point.
Two hours after leaving the meet and greet, after spending about an hour researching great motorcycle routes, I knew where we were going. And a few minutes later, so did Brian, as well as everyone else in my Facebook universe.
I had stumbled across a blog written 4 years earlier by a writer for a motorcycle magazine. In that blog the author vividly and enthusiastically described an adventure that he had been a part of, on a 750 ACE, no less. This adventure took him on a long run through Algoma county, and in recounting his adventure the author made mention of Ontario highway 129, which he referred to as "Ontario's Tail of the Dragon"
And that was all it took.
Those of you who ride are likely already aware of the legendary Tail of the Dragon at Deal's Gap. For those of you who do not ride, check out any of the hundreds of YouTube videos. Then you will understand why I had to come out to Thessalon, Ontario to ride the 129.
And if you have google-mapped Thessalon, those of you who do not ride are by now convinced that I am completely crazy.
You see, highway 129 is a full 700+ kilometers from Ottawa. 1400 kilometers, there and back. To check out a highway I had never heard of before based on a reference made by another rider. Whom I had never heard of before.
Brian was in. And as simple as that, the adventure began to take shape.
I have to give credit to Brian. He wanted to go for a good long ride. And it had to be one that could be completed in 4 days. Other than that, the details were up to me. So, figuring that Wawa is in the same vicinity (kind of), I decided that we would stretch this ride out to over 2000 kilometers. Ottawa to Thessalon to the 129 to Chapleau, to Wawa, to Sault Saint Marie, to Thessalon and back home. In 4 days.

We left Ottawa at approximately 0900. Fully aware that we were riding head-on into a huge storm system that was forecasted to dump over 50mm of rain in Wawa, carrying torrential rains all the way from Manitoba to North Bay.
"I get wet every time I shower" I had quipped to our 1st officer at Mondays meet and greet when he pointed out the extended forecast. 5 hours of riding in some really heavy rain later, I was eating my words and praying for sunshine.
My prayers were answered just before Blind River, and Brian and I stopped to strip off our rain gear, allowing the sun to warm the chill from our bones and the wet from our clothes. We spent the last hour of our riding day relishing the warmth, a renewed step in our dance, and finally entered Thessalon around 7:30pm. I snapped a few pics of a glorious sunset (sorry, I won't be able to post pics until I get home - I am blogging from my phone) and then enquired as to a recommendation on lodgings from a couple who were walking hand in hand enjoying the beauty of a late-summers eve. They directed Brian and I to carry on another 20 kilometers to Bruce Mines, Ontario. To the Bavarian Inn. And it is from a soft, comfortable, dry bed that I tip-tap-type this post. And it also from here that I now bid you...
Good night. It was a long day. It was a wet day. It was a day spent riding a motorcycle. Which means it was a great day. Tomorrow, we ride the 129.
Thanks for riding along friends,

Riding, rally, and time travel…

 

Friday morning was so much nicer than Thursday morning. I was up early enough to watch a glorious sunrise over Lake Erie, enjoyed a breakfast of French-toast and coffee at the Sunset restaurant, and leisurely made my way further west along the waterfront trail. The ride from Turkey Point to Long Point is beautiful. A quiet little two-lane full of twisties and small dips and rises, it is a few minutes of pure riding pleasure.

All along the lakeshore, the scenery is beautiful, and one could easily spend a day exploring some of the small towns along the way. Port Rowan, Clear Creek, Port Burwell, Port Royal, Port Stanley, on and on traveling through some of the most scenic and picturesque little towns you are likely to see anywhere.

The locals told me that the ride from Turkey Point to Sarnia is roughly 2 1/2 hours. Being very good at finding the longest distance between two points, it took me closer to six. And I loved each and every minute of the ride.

I finally pulled onto the 402 from Port Stanley and headed toward Sarnia, thinking that if I did not hit the big highway I would surely end up traveling the more scenic waterfront trail until sometime in November, and well, I had to be at work on Tuesday, so...

I headed up the 402 and pulled off when I saw the sign for Grand Bend. A few people had mentioned that this was one spot that I had to stop, the scenery being quite exceptional in the form of bikini wearing sun worshippers. So I decided to make the detour,....

A few minutes of riding up highway 21 brought me up behind another pack-laden rider. Naturally assuming that he too was headed for the CMC Rally, I fell into an easy-paced staggered position to his right and carried on.

When we passed the sign indicating that the town of Forest was a mere 24 kilometers away I realized that my being distracted by thoughts of sun-bronzed beach babes had actually caused me to get off the 402 precisely where I needed too. See, the rally that I am attending, while hosted by the 016 Sarnia chapter, is actually being held in Forest.

And then, synchronicity being what it is and all, I pulled up alongside my fellow traveller at a stoplight and was greeted by the broadly smiling face of ‘Pusher’ – a fellow member of the Ottawa 016 chapter – with whom I had just had dinner at a meet and greet 2 weeks prior.

We cruised into the sleepy little borough of Forest and found our way to the fairgrounds, where perhaps 40 or 50 members were already lounging around fully equipped travel trailers, motor homes, RV’s and a few tents. We registered, shared some traveling stories with new friends, and then took to taking care of our own lodgings for the night. Pusher headed off to Sarnia, and I went to a local pharmacy to introduce myself to Debbie.

See, the CMC is a family oriented riding group of approximately 5,000 members across our great country. And family is always there to help...

In this particular instance, a couple of members from the host-chapter, the 016 Sarnia, opted to open their home to anyone who needed a placed to rest travel-weary bones. And I, being no fool, opted to accept their gracious offer.

Debbie and Ewen were spectacular hosts, offering a warm bed for the night and a hot shower in the morning as well as entirely enjoyable camaraderie and conversation. Ewen rides a beautiful Triumph Bonneville, and we managed to get out for a short scoot together, if only from his house to the fairgrounds where the rally was held. I truly hope to be able to return the hospitality one day!

I went back to the rally for breakfast Saturday morning – mingled with a bunch of my fellow Ottawa 011 members and several new friends from other chapters – and then....yes, it was time to go. I had remained virtually stationary for long enough – and Manitoulin Island was only a few short hours away.

The rest of the weekend was a whirlwind tour through the Georgian Bay – Manitoulin Island area, and I cannot stress this enough: if you have not yet had the opportunity to ride Manitoulin Island and to sail the Chi Cheemaun ferry, find the time to do so. The ferry acts as a sort of time-travel machine, taking you back some 20 years, and allowing a glimpse of what life was like at a slower, less digitally-enhanced pace. Manitoulin Island is the living definition of ‘laid-back’, and visiting her by travelling her arteries on a motorcycle was an experience I shall fondly remember, and repeat as needed.

I spent Saturday night camping in my Hennessey Hammock at a small but extremely well appointed camp ground that is less than a 1000 metres from the ferry landing, staring up at the most brilliant carpet of stars I can remember seeing since I was on the Mediterranean Sea, oh so many years ago. A hot shower at the campground, and a delicious breakfast at a small diner directly across the street set me off on a great start to an amazing day of riding. I covered the island, seeing all of the recommended bays, inlets and overlooks, and then headed north towards Espanola at about 2:30 in the afternoon.

Hennessey hammock camping

The ride home was a sort of ‘remember when’ all of its own, as I had made the same run last year on my way back home from the Rockies. Espanola – Sudbury – North Bay – Deep River – Pembroke – Arnprior – Ottawa, all in a little less than 7 ½ hours.

Some pics from the rally can be found here.

And pics from the journey are found here.

My apologies for taking a week to get this post up – I was riding when I could have been writing...

As always – thank you for riding along...