camping

Solo on the Trans Quebec Trail

/ 650thumper / 4 Comments

It wasn’t the tour I had planned, but the best adventures rarely are.

The original plan was finally to ride The Blue Ridge Parkway down into West Virginia and then take the MABDR and NEBDR back to Canada. Followers of this blog will know I’ve been trying to do this bucket list ride for the past several years, but something always gets in the way. This past season it was the ridiculous rhetoric coming out of President Trump’s mouth about Canada being the 51st state. Statements like that are disrespectful toward all Canadians at best and mildly threatening at worst. Despite how much I was looking forward to that tour, I decided to exercise what little agency I have as a Canadian by participating in the boycott.

I got to thinking that, while we don’t have BDRs here in Canada (yet), we do have the TCAT (Trans Canada Adventure Trail), and it’s the same idea. I thought I might do the section named The Forest that goes from Baie Comeau, Quebec, west to Kenora, Ontario, so essentially across the two largest provinces in Canada, mostly off road. The TCAT takes you through some very remote regions and would have been quite a challenge, especially solo.

Why solo, you ask? Well, it wasn’t for lack of trying. I put the word out to my riding buddies, but there was none who could get away from work and family commitments for the length of time I was considering, and others who could but had other stuff get in the way. I’m used to touring solo, although this would be the first time solo off road, which is never advisable. It’s always better to ride with a buddy, but if I got into trouble, I had a Garmin inReach Mini to help get me out.

Then my riding buddy Riley reminded me of the TQT, the Trans Quebec Trail. Same idea but closer to home and, more importantly, with an accompanying app. The concern I had with the TCAT is whether the tracks would be up to date. I’d come across this liability before when doing a section of it south of Calabogie, Ontario. A bridge was out but not indicated in the tracks I purchased, and this led to being stranded on a hydro line overnight. However, the TQT has an app and users can report a problem easily in real time, so you know the route is kept current. The app also includes information on gas stations, restaurants, campgrounds, accommodations, hospitals, and more, taking a lot of the burden out of this aspect of touring and providing some support and peace of mind. That decided it: I’d ride as much of the TQT as I could.

On the shakedown ride, the Tiger started having intermittent starting issues—not the usual slow-crank kind but a new no-crank kind—nadda, nothing. After a few minutes, it would crank and fire fine so the problem was clearly heat-related. Given where I was going, I decided to rig up a jumper cable from the starter terminal to up under the seat by the battery. If the bike started acting up in the middle of nowhere, I could bypass the ignition system by touching it to the Pos terminal of the battery.

My departure date arrived and I was loaded up and ready to go. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts to avoid a duffle bag on the tail, in the end I needed it because I was trying hammock camping and needed the room for an insulation pad that goes under the hammock. The duffle, however, was very light, containing the pad, my sleeping bag, and a few other items. It looks worse than it was.

Safety chicken with his seatbelt on a little too tight.

I bombed down to Magog where I planned to pick up the TQT—2 hours of highway riding east of Montreal. It was hot, very hot, maybe not by Nevada standards but enough to make my phone battery overheat. When I reached the route, it took me some time to orient myself with the app. That involved some starting and stopping at the side of the road as I fiddled with my phone, and on one occasion, the bike wouldn’t restart, the same problem I was experiencing before. I figured it was because the lithium battery in the bike, like in my phone, was overheating, a problem I’d experienced before with another lithium battery. Using the jump wire, I found that the starter cranked just fine but the bike didn’t start. It was like it wasn’t getting any fuel. Not good. (At the time, I guessed that the ECU must need power to regulate the fueling, but I discovered much later that the issue was actually a loose wire into the fuel pump relay.) With the entire three weeks of remote riding ahead of me, I decided to err on the side of caution and return home.

The next day I started out again, this time with an old AGM battery in the bike. I rode again hard down to Magog, then stopped and started the bike several times, stressing the bike to test it as best I could before committing to the tour. It seemed to be starting fine now so on I went.

With these glitches behind me and the bike running great, I could finally enjoy the ride, and enjoy I did! I’ve never been east of the Townships up into the Mégantic Mountain Range but this region is beautiful. I passed through rolling hills and farmland in the valleys. The riding is not technical but mostly hard-packed dirt and gravel, which is good if you’re fully loaded.

Farmland near Dixville, Quebec.

The Tiger is perfect for this stuff, and since putting a Mitas Enduro XT+ on the front, the front end is planted, giving me a lot of confidence compared to when I had an Anakee Wild washing out on me.

As you can see, I was climbing up into the mountains as I headed northeast. The time came to start looking for a camping spot for the night. This is where the app is really helpful. It automatically detects when you are on the route and brings up sidebar information like next gas station, nearby attractions, and other options. One option is Campgrounds, and pressing it brings up nearby campgrounds relevant to your geolocation. I saw there was one a few kilometres away and pressing on it gave me the option to navigate there in the app of my choice. Nice! I might be explaining this slightly wrong, but trust me, it’s easy, and the next thing I knew I was pulling in to Camping Mont-Mégantic.

It was starting to rain so I quickly strung a tarp over the picnic table and made my dinner.
My drinking buddy likes to sing but doesn’t have much of a voice.

When the sun went down, it wasn’t long before I was in my hammock, enjoying listening to the rain on the tarp.

The next day started with a ride down into the lovely town of Lac-Mégantic. If that name sounds familiar, it’s because the town is the site of one of the worst industrial disasters in Canadian history. I soon found the memorial at the place where the accident occurred.

The inscription is a little difficult to read in the photo above so I’ve transcribed most of it below.

On the night of July 6th, 2013, a 72 wagon train carrying crude oil derailed in the middle of Lac Mégantic. The resulting explosion claimed the lives of 47 people and destroyed half of its historic town centre. The crude oil seeped into the sewage system, contaminating many other buildings and a total of more than 100 shops and offices disappeared. You are now facing the point of impact.

It was a moving and reflective moment, and I will admit, the feeling that came to me at the time in addition to sadness was anger, not at the oil industry or the railway workers. The accident was just that—an accident—and I’m not going to fault anyone for being human. No, my thought went to environmentalists who think they can solve our oil dependency by blocking pipelines. As I write this, about one third of global energy consumption is oil, and while it’s slowly dropping, we are still very much in need of moving oil across geography. Blocking a pipeline from being constructed, however well intentioned, does not erase the need. The oil is simply moved by freight instead, sometimes through populated areas like Lac Mégantic. Oil passes less than a few hundred meters from my house.

I don’t have the space here or the expertise to wade into the renewable versus fossil fuel debate. What I will say, however, is that blocking pipelines is short-sighted. A pipeline like the Trans Mountain Pipeline is an easy target, the proverbial line in the sand, but getting Alberta’s oil to global markets means Canada is less reliant on The United States as its sole buyer and can demand international market prices. More importantly, according to one study by the National Bank, getting China and India off of coal will reduce more CO2 emissions than what Canada produces as a whole. In fact, transitioning China alone off of coal will eliminate 8 times the amount of CO2 that Canada produces.

Of course, none of this was in my head as I stood at the site of the disaster and tried to imagine the devastation that the explosion caused, but I was thinking of the Quebec Government’s opposition to the Energy East pipeline proposal. Recently under increased demand for inter-provincial cooperation and trade, there has been a softening. The issues surrounding proposed pipelines are nuanced and complex, but my hope is that decisions are made based more on pragmatic calculations than political ideology or regional interests.

As I stood on the platform, a train carrying oil slowly passed through town, and it seemed to me that families came to witness it. The train was somehow central to this community, part of its collective memory and culture. The marche du vent is a walk that serves “as a guide for understanding a town in the process of reinventing itself,” and I was glad that a moment of reflection at this historic site was a part of my adventure.

I climbed back onto the bike and burnt some more fossil fuels. At times, the route narrowed to single-lane road so I had to keep my speed down and ride right.

I stopped in Saint George for lunch, then continued on northeast through the Beauce. This region is surprisingly still part of the Appalachian Mountains and the route seemed to zig zag back and forth across mountain ranges, providing a lot of fun riding and some spectacular views.

Somewhere around Frampton, QC, looking north toward Quebec City.

My planned destination for the day was just south of Rivière du Loup, where a friend has some property, but my progress was slow. You can’t really get out of 3rd gear on these roads, nor would you want to. In some sections, the route narrows further and becomes sandy, and there were other delays.

As the afternoon progressed, I had a decision to make: whether to start looking for a campsite or to bail on the TQT and get to my buddy’s property where he said I could pitch. I was curious to see his property and the log cabin he was building there, and I was ready to get out of the forest and nearer the coast, so I decided on the latter. 90 minutes of highway riding later, I was there just as the light was beginning to fade. Unfortunately, I happened to be there in one of the rare times that he was back in Montreal.

Bagged curry and beer dinner in the fading light.

In the morning, I could see that Mark had the foundation poured. He now has the walls up and the roof on, hydro in, and windows and doors installed. That’s pretty impressive for one summer’s work, given that he’s virtually working alone with only his wife to help and provide food services. The only thing he didn’t get to was the chinking, so that will have to be done in the spring. (He has the cabin insulated though.) If you want to see how he’s done most of this construction and other work, check out his YouTube channel, Fierce Tartan. There you will see the nearly-finished project and how he managed to lift those huge beams into place on his own.

The workshite. As with most construction, it’s pretty messy and all comes together at the end.

I decided to stay a second night so I could rest a bit and enjoy the area. I went up to the local public beach for a swim, then rode into town to buy a cheap polar blanket because, even with the insulating pad, I wasn’t warm enough at night.

The camper’s bathtub.

I had mixed feelings about bailing the day before. I tend to get goal fixated and not riding all the TQT to RDL felt like a fail. Honestly, what concerned me was the ZEC section I was heading toward, just south of La Pocatière and Kamouraska. ZECs are nature reserves and there really isn’t anyone in them this time of year when it’s not hunting season. The route skirts the US-Canada border east to Pehénégamook before turning north toward Rivière du Loup. That section looks really interesting as it follows the Notre Dame Mountain Range but would have to wait until I could return with some riding buddies.

Atlas throttle lock needed adjustment. Every tour requires some parking lot maintenance.

After a McD’s breakfast, I followed my nose and found what I was looking for—a sunny, grassy, spot on the shoreline where I could read and nap in the shade. This is technically still the St. Lawrence River but you can see there is a tide. The water begins to become brackish, and just east it widens into the gulf.

After two days of boreal forest, this is what I was craving and was happy that the route east follows the shoreline a short ways before turning inland again. The next day’s riding took me through more small towns, some with unusual attractions.

Can Castle in Saint-Jean-de-Dieu. 27,927 cans used to make this castle. Apparently somebody counted.

But mostly it was more and more forest on gravel roads, and some of it quite remote.

The northern gate of Reserve Duchenier.

The route now was taking me deeper into the bush and at the same time it began to rain. I decided again to detour off and go back to the coast. By the time I reached Bic, just west of Rimouski, it was pouring so I decided to splurge on a room for the night. Okay, call me a wimp, but one of the gifts of ageing is good judgment.

  • Auberge des Iles du Bic
  • My room
  • Lobby

The Auberge des Îles du Bic was constructed in 1840. Rates were very reasonable and came with breakfast. The owner let me borrow the outside tap to hose down my bags before bringing them into the room.

The next morning I went exploring. I’d heard about Parc national du Bic and I was hoping to get a campsite there. Unfortunately, the campground is popular and they had no open sites. A neighbouring private campsite wasn’t very nice, and I was having trouble finding trees near the shore to string a hammock. At the same time, I was coming to some conclusions about the tour thus far.

For one, I wasn’t enjoying the solo touring as much as I had in the past. The shakedown ride with the boys on The Timber Trail in Kawartha Lakes was really fun and I was missing that camaraderie. Or perhaps I was now used to having Marilyn riding pillion. When I’d toured solo before, it was on the street where you run into people and are approached in coffee shops and gas stations. At any rate, riding solo for hours during the day through remote forest was lonely.

I also found that, while the off-road route involved potentially more interesting riding, I had to ride conservatively because I was alone. I didn’t feel comfortable venturing hundreds of miles into a nature reserve alone, and I was having some difficulty finding wild camping or campgrounds where I could string my hammock. Aside from the last few hundred kilometres into Rivière du Loup, I’d accomplished my primary goal of riding the TQT from Magog to Rimouski.

It was sometime around then that I decided to change my plans for the remainder of the tour. I would visit a good friend in central Nova Scotia instead and spend the following week touring that province’s western coastline, a region I’d never fully explored before. It would mean more asphalt and more tourists, but also more cafes, bookshops, and microbreweries. I will definitely be back on the TQT next summer and hope to go further, into Gaspesie and over the Chic-Choc Mountains. Next time I will come with friends.

Foreboding skies over Parc national du Bic.

Do you have any thoughts about my decision? Itchy Boots and Lyndon Poskitt and many other ADV riders ride solo. Am I getting old and soft or old and wise? The solo versus group tour debate is an interesting one. What is your preference? Drop a comment below and click Follow if you want to hear how the rest of the tour through NS goes.

Where has the summer gone, 2025 version.

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Port Joli Beach at Thomas Raddall Provincial Park, Nova Scotia

The annual wistful synopsis of the summer.

Here we are, at the beginning of autumn. There’s still plenty of good riding left in the season, but the days of summer vacation and touring are already behind us. As usual, I haven’t posted much over the summer since I’ve been busy riding, reading, travelling, troubleshooting, and generally staying away from sitting at a computer, the occupational hazard of my job.

This summer I tried to balance travelling and resting, my two favourite activities. Okay, resting isn’t really an activity, but napping is. In the past, I did a little too much of the former and not enough of the latter and ended up going back to work in the fall not feeling rested. This year, I did a smattering of shorter trips, one longer trip, and a whole lot of resting. I’m a year away from retirement so consider this good practice for the future.

My eldest sister, Susan, and my dad, 96 years young!

The summer began, as it usually does, with La Classique Moto Fest, the big ADV rally here in Quebec held each year over the May long weekend. If you missed my write-up about that event, you can find it here. Then when I was free and clear of all work duties, I made a trip back to Ontario to visit family, and in particular my dad for his birthday. He’s now 96 years old, so I like to get back to see him at least a few times a year. That was followed by my annual literary pilgrimage with my writer friend, Harold. We usually visit the gravesite or home of a famous writer, and this year we planned to get to Orillia and Stephen Leacock’s house. We stopped in Kawartha Lakes, Ontario, in Lanark County at Silent Lake Provincial Park and never made it much further. The historic residence of the author of the enduring Canadian classic Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town will have to wait another year.

While I was there, I scouted the campground for a return trip with some riding buddies the following week. We stayed two nights and rode most of The Timber Trail. I did that Highlands loop solo last fall and, although a few of the boys were on street bikes this time, I knew most of the dirt and gravel roads would not pose them any problems. Yes, even an R1200RT and a Honda ST can do much of this loop, albeit slowly and when dry. It’s not only big bike but also street bike friendly.

That was the shakedown ride for my summer tour and a good time to find out that I had some intermittent starting issues. After stopping for a short break, my bike wouldn’t crank. At first I thought it was a switch (sidestand, clutch, starter?), then a relay. Once home, I changed the starter relay under the battery, then the battery. I ended up doing my tour without incident but had more starting issues once back home. After more troubleshooting, I think I’ve traced the problem to a loose wire into the fuel pump relay. Perhaps it was the relay itself, and I’m still not 100% sure I’ve solved it, but for now the bike is starting fine. You gotta love intermittent electrical issues.

Looking for a short in the wiring harness.

I’ll be writing about my tour over the winter months when I’m off the road, but suffice to say it was one week of the Trans Quebec Trail from Magog to Rimouski, and one week doing The Lighthouse Route that follows the southern and western shores of Nova Scotia. Watch for those posts soon and click Follow if you want notification when they’re posted.

Crossing the Laurentian Mountains on the TQT south of Quebec City.

The summer was capped by another short trip with the boys to the Calabogie, Ontario, area to ride The Pickaxe Loop. I don’t take many photos on these group trips because who wants to ask four guys to stop while you snap a few photos, but here’s one from our final night at Black Donald Tent and Trailer Park, cooking under a tarp in the rain.

L to R: Danny (Triumph Scrambler 1200XE), Steve (Honda ST), Mike (BMW 1250GS), and Riley (Norden 901).

Amid it all, I’ve been dealing with an oil consumption issue with the Tiger. If you read my post on the piston soak, you will know that I had a lot of carbon in the cylinders and I think the oil retention ring was stuck. I used Seafoam and a water treatment to clear a lot of it out in June and the bike seemed fixed. But as the summer progressed, it started to burn oil again—not as much as before, but still about 400 mL over 1,200K (745 miles) on the Pickaxe trip.

The moral of the story is don’t mess with OEM set-up on the engine!

Just the other day I was doing some research on what causes carbon build-up and something caught my attention: “When it comes to the mechanical operation of the engine, air to fuel ratio inconsistencies also plays [sic] a key part in the development of carbon buildup.” Just the mention of air to fuel ratios got me thinking about my Unifilter prefilter that was an early mod I did on the bike. The OEM air filter is under the fuel tank and so kind of a PITA to access. The prefilter replaces the snorkel under the seat and not only reportedly catches 95% of the dirt but is easy to remove and service.

I remember having a nagging concern when I installed this. Don’t I now have two air filters, and what might that do to the air-fuel ratio? But it’s a popular mod and so I dismissed the concern, reassuring myself that the ECU would adjust, as it does for temperature and altitude. Now I was returning to that mod and suspicious it was the cause of my carbon build-up. Isn’t running the prefilter essentially like running a dirty main filter? A quick Google search indicated that, indeed, running a dirty air filter can lead to carbon build-up!

So last weekend I removed the prefilter and reinstalled the original snorkel. The bike seems to start faster, idle smoother, run better, and have more power. I now think the bike was choked all this time! The moral of the story is don’t mess with OEM set-up on the engine! I’m now completely stock with a Triumph air filter and a Triumph oil filter. I’ll be doing another piston soak and engine clean toward the end of the season, and in the meantime I’m adding Seafoam as a fuel additive to start the cleansing. I want to start next season with a clean engine in the hope that it will stay clean.

With the bike running great, I’m looking forward all the more to the fall riding. If there’s a silver lining to the end of summer, it’s the cool, beautiful riding of the autumn, especially here in Canada when the leaves begin to turn colour. I’ll be leading a club ride down through the Eastern Townships at the end of September during the height of the fall colours, and the following week I’ll be participating in the appropriately-named Fall Colours Ride in Barry’s Bay, hosted by Rally Connex. 10 guys in the same cabin is surely going to be an adventure in itself.

How did you spend your summer? Drop a comment below, or at least tell us your favourite destination. What was your best moto moment? Unfortunately, I don’t think WordPress permits photos, but you can always try, or post a link to your own online photo host.

Silent Lake at dawn

Lots more to come in the months ahead, but for now, let’s get out there and enjoy the autumn riding while we still can.

Review: Hennessy Jungle Expedition Hammock

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The biggest drawback of hammock camping has nothing to do with the hammock

The first time I tried hammock camping it was with a little recreational hammock, the kind that pack up to the size of a mini-football. I’d bought it with the idea of using it around camp on off days to lounge and read and nap, but not necessarily to sleep in. When I decided to see if I could use it to replace my tent while mototouring, I bought an Aquaquest 10×10 tarp to go over it and a cheap ($17.99) zippered bug net off Amazon. I figured I’d dual purpose the ratcheting straps I now carry when I tour; they are good for bike recovery but I’d also use them to string the hammock.

It took me 1.5 hours to string that hammock first time. My camping friend made a point of noting it, thank you. Okay, the ratcheting straps didn’t work, and I never did figure out how the little bug net was supposed to work with the hammock. I got eaten that night but recognized the potential of hammock camping, so when I got home I bought a Hennessy Jungle Expedition hammock.

The nice thing about the Hennessy is that the fly, ridgeline, bug net, tree straps, and hammock are all included and integrated in a system that is easy to set up and works very well together. There’s even an optional insulated pad for cooler temperatures. I camped exclusively with the Hennessay over a tour of two weeks in July through Quebec and Nova Scotia and found it comfortable but with a few drawbacks.

Hennessy Hammocks

Tom Hennessy began sleeping in a hammock while camping with his family in the 1950s and has been making them for over 60 years. His first was bought at an army surplus store for $3 and he loved it but decided he could improve on it. He began a series of over 50 prototypes that eventually led to the patented hammock that went on the market in 1999. Since then, he’s continually tweaked the design and added some extras. I get the impression Mr. Hennessy sometimes lies awake in his hammock at night trying to figure out how to make it even better.

Features

Hennessy hammocks are asymmetrical. The hammock and tarp are not diamond shaped but are more like a parallelogram.

This allows you to sleep diagonally in the hammock. The problem with conventional hammocks is that you end up like a banana squeezed in the shoulders and hips and with no room to move. The Hennessy strings from opposite corners like a conventional hammock but has tie-outs at the other two corners that you stake to the ground (or can tie to neighbouring trees). The result is more like a floating 1-person tent than a backyard hammock.

Illustration credit: https://hennessyhammock.ca/

The fly is also asymmetrical so matches the shape of the hammock and attaches to two hooks on the ridgeline. At first I removed it each time I broke camp, but eventually I decided to keep it on. That’s a personal preference. Maybe if it were wet I might remove it and store separately.

Hennessy hammocks also have a unique entrance system. Instead of entering from the side, you enter through a slit in the bottom and the hammock snaps closed beneath you under your weight. Apparently this system is better for avoiding mosquitoes. It seemed a bit too vaginal for my liking so I decided on the side zip entrance which was introduced by popular demand. It’s easier to set up your bedding and I imagine to exit for nighttime “excursions.” This is a matter of personal preference and I wasn’t able to try the classic model but was happy with the side zip.

Here is a helpful comparison chart of all Hennessy hammocks showing entrance type.

The integrated ridgeline is made of high tension cable with a plastic coating. This ensures a consistently straight and strong ridgeline across the top of the hammock regardless of how you’ve strung it. On the ridgeline inside the tent is a sliding net bag for personal items like glasses, wallet, phone, etc. and the ridgeline can also be used to hang a lantern or water bottle.

photo credit://https://hennessyhammock.ca/

Finally, all Hennessy hammocks have very strong mesh that is impermeable to mosquitos, black-flies, and even tiny no-see-ums. There were a few times when it accidentally got caught in the zipper and I feared it would be torn, but when I forced the zipper open again the mesh was unfazed. It’s strong!

Stringing the hammock

The cordage is permanently attached to the hammock and Hennessy provide plenty of it, but you want to find trees that are fairly close to the length of the hammock because, unlike the ridgeline, the cordage stretches. I once had to string the hammock using most of the extra cordage and found myself almost touching the ground no matter how tight I strung it.

Hennessy have a recommended lashing for stringing the hammock. You can use a knot like the Siberian Hitch but you run the risk of it getting hard to undo, especially under weight if it gets wet. The lashing is easy to do and is plenty strong enough. Apparently it will also preserve your cord better than knotting.

Instead of ratcheting straps, the Hennessy comes with tree straps, which are a similar type of wide (1″?) nylon webbing. Using them protects the trees; paracord digs into the bark and can damage a tree. Depending on how thick the trunk is, you might have to wrap the strap around twice.

You want the tree straps about eye-level and the same height so the hammock is level and your feet are slightly off the ground when you are seated upon entering. Instead of bringing gear into a tent, I stored it under the hammock and it never got wet. If you are dry, your gear underneath you is dry. This is a change from tent camping and took some getting used to but the same precautions apply: nothing smelly near the sleeping space except your boots which, if they’e anything like mine, after a week of touring act as a deterrent to any sentient being rather than an attractant.

photo credit://https://hennessyhammock.ca/ Helmet, boots, and gear go under the hammock at night.

My hammock came with free Snakeskins, an optional extra that slides over the hammock when packing up to protect the hammock in your pannier and to keep it dry. (I got them free for signing up for Hennessy’s newsletter.) They stay on the ridgeline and slide up to the ends when the hammock is in use and slide down (like a long nylon sock) for packing. At first I thought they were a bit gimmicky but ended up finding them helpful in facilitating set up and take down. I had it so I only had to pull up the stakes on the tie-downs of the hammock, pull down the snakeskins, and unlash everything from the trees. It took maybe 2 minutes. Alternatively, you can leave your sleeping bag in the hammock and stuff everything in a bag when breaking camp and use the snakeskins on the tarp to protect your gear if the tarp is wet.

You can see the snakeskins in use at the very end of this video of Tom demonstrating the classic model.

The Jungle Expedition model

I got the Jungle Expedition Model because it has the double bottom where you can slide a blanket or the optional Radiant Double Bubble Pad. I knew enough about hammocks to know that you don’t get the insulating properties of a mattress as you do in a tent and that the down of your sleeping bag compresses underneath you and loses its R-value, so there is a tendency to be cold. The Double Bubble is like those fold-out reflective screens you put in your car windshield to protect your upholstery from the effects of the sun. In fact, Tom suggests this for those who don’t want to buy their custom one. You just have to cut it to fit.

I decided to get the Hennessy Double Bubble pad even though it would mean I’d have to take a tail duffle. The Hennessy ones have clips sewn into them that attach to hooks in the compartment underneath and keep it from moving out of position. If the Double Bubble pad is not enough, the SuperShelter 4-Season Insulation System has been tested in the Arctic and, as the name suggests, can turn your hammock into a 4-season hammock.

I was trying to pack small and light and so did not buy the SuperShelter. In the end, the Double Bubble was not quite enough for some of the 12C (54F) nights and I had to pick up a cheap synthetic blanket and slide that in too, plus wear merino wool and a wool sweater to bed. Maybe I wasn’t stringing the hammock correctly because I found it did not retain body heat as well as a tent.

Pros and Cons of hammock camping

Aside from the cold, the biggest challenge of hammock camping was finding the right trees. Many campgrounds clear cut their sites or leave only some coniferous trees on the perimeter. Where this was most apparent was near the water, when I was up along the coast of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. I never had to sleep on the ground with the tarp strung off my bike but I came close a few times. Overall, I think the hammock is not practical for motorcycle touring. For that, where the geography is so varied, a self-supporting tent is still the way to go.

The other disadvantage I found with a hammock is that it is more difficult to get undressed (or dressed, as needed) in it. You need to be a contortionist at Cirque du Soleil to get out of your pants or put on a sweater. I guess you have to do all this outside the hammock, but then there’s less privacy. Similarly, getting in and out of a sleeping bag is more arduous, and if you are using a bag liner, that’s even more complicated. In the end, except for the really cold nights, I opened up the bag and used it more as a blanket over me. For the same reason, a mummy bag doesn’t work very well in a hammock and negates the ability to stretch out or be active in sleep. There’s also less room in a hammock to put anything like a book, and what you do bring into the hammock and cannot be hung on the ridgeline ends up underneath you (including said book).

On the plus side, my back was happy throughout the tour and it’s getting fussier in my older age. I also didn’t have the annoyance of a loud inflatable mattress or the sliding around (and off it) that happens with my particular one. When I got home, I bought a self-inflating mattress that is quieter for tent camping and can slide into the bottom of the hammock for cold nights. I’m curious to try this combination when the conditions are right.

I never once got wet, and I had some stormy weather through a couple of nights. Most people are nervous about this, but rest assured, the tarp is impermeable and covers you and your gear sufficiently. In fact, a hammock is arguably less susceptible to wet because it’s off the ground.

The Hennessy Jungle Expedition is a good choice for motocamping when you can be sure to find appropriate trees and when it’s not going to be colder than, say, 15C (60F) at night. I imagine it would be great for travelling through the more temperate United States, but here in Canada, where even midsummer the temperatures drop at night, you aren’t saving any space because you’ll have to bring extra insulation.

But get everything right and the Hennessy will produce a very good sleep, better than sleeping on the ground, regardless of how good your mattress is. It definitely has its place amongst my camping gear and will be my preferred choice for car or canoe camping and some motocamping if it’s not going to be cold.

The 2025 Season Begins

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Photo credit://Sentier Trans-Québec Trail

Preparing for my most ambitious ADV tour yet.

“April is the cruelest month,” T. S. Eliot wrote as the opening line of his iconic poem “The Wasteland” (1922). Clearly, he had never experienced a Canadian March. As I write this on March 25th, we are 10 days into the new riding season, yet no one is riding. It’s 2C (36F) and the sky is a slab of grey slate pissing cold rain that turns to ice in patches on the treacherous sidewalks. Brown, dirty snow still sits at the sides of the roads and in patches on lawns, slowly melting over weeks to expose winter garbage and dog shit lying underneath, and the grass, when it finally pokes through, isn’t really grass but mud and last year’s soggy, decaying leaves. Eliot’s poem captures postwar disillusionment and his nervous disorder, but it might equally describe the mood of Canadian bikers in late March.

Nevertheless, we continue to plan and prepare for the season to come in a kind of blind faith. Yesterday I did a practice pack of my gear. I’m trying a new gear set-up and have the ambitious plan of eliminating my tank bag, tail duffle bag, and hydration knapsack. I want to ride this year without the extra weight either on the bike or my back. To do that, I had to be as ruthless as Ezra Pound was to Eliot’s manuscript.

Gear

I replaced my tent and mattress with a hammock and bug net. I’ll be touring midsummer so I’m going without a hammock underquilt. I also swapped my MSR Dragonfly stove and 2L Billy pot for an Odoland isobutane stove and pot, but I’ve added to my kit a Bushbox twig stove. I’m not sure which will become my primary stove, but the idea is to use the twig stove when dry wood is readily available and the isobutane when it’s not. And as a back-up to the back-up, just for its simplicity and ease, I’ve also picked up a Trangia alcohol burner. This fits nicely inside the Bushbox and can burn isopropyl alcohol, available at any pharmacy. Can you tell I’m nervous about giving up my Dragonfly?

My camping mates will be happy to know that I finally retired my toy hardware store hatchet and bought a Gränsfors Bruk Wildlife Hatchet. I don’t know why I suffered as long as I did. I’ll be using this around camp to prepare firewood and split firewood into twigs for the Bushbox. I’ll be travelling solo so edited out of my kit the second plate, cup, and cutlery, resulting in my cookware now being considerably smaller and lighter.

When I did The Timber Trail at the very end of last season, I found my Wolfman Expedition tank bag too big and heavy, making the Tiger more top-heavy at slow speed than it already is. It also worked better on the 650GS with the fuel cap on the side of the bike and not under the bag. It would have been possible to move the essentials to my hydration knapsack, but I want to eliminate it too. Water is heavy and the knapsack restricts airflow through a jacket. Mine also interferes with my neck brace. (If it goes under the brace, the brace sits too high; if it goes over the brace, the brace digs into my shoulders from the extra weight.) Instead, I’m going to try a fanny bag with only a few essentials from the tank bag: aux port to USB adapter, some electrical cords, a Leatherman Wave, tire pressure gauge, 8mm socket and micro-ratchet for my pre-load adjuster, and my monocular. I think fanny bags are nerdy, especially if worn in the front (i.e. the scrotum bag), and I wouldn’t be caught dead in one anywhere but on the trail, but one might be the answer to staying cool and unencumbered on the bike. If they find me dead somewhere on a trail this summer, at least my reasons for wearing one are now known.

As for water, since I won’t be needing to bring a fuel bottle for the Dragonfly stove, my bottle holster is free. I’ve moved it from the back of a pannier to the front left side and will try the Simple Modern Insulated Tumbler with Straw and Lid for sips when I can. It’s only 28 mL so I’ll also be carrying an MSR 4L Dromedary to refill it as needed. Marilyn and I took the latter through Newfoundland but never used it much, so I was ready to retire it from my kit, but I’ll be doing some pretty remote riding midsummer so will strap the Dromedary onto the bike along with a 1G Giant Loop Armdillo bag to extend my range to around 400 km (~250 miles).

Giant Loop Armadillo Bag

After the practice pack last night, I can confidently say that almost everything fits into my Enduristan Monsoon Evo bags. I’ve added two Enduristan Fender Bags onto my panniers, into each fits perfectly a 10×10 Aquafest Safari Tarp. (I’ll be taking two—one for over the hammock, one for shelter.) My tools and tubes, as always, will go in two Giant Loop Possible Pouches that I strap to the crash bars at the front of the bike. I say “almost” because I will still have to have a small Enduristan tail bag on the rack at the back for my rain jacket, windbreaker, and down vest—my layering system to deal with temperature changes. I can live with that.

Finally, I’ve added to my gear to prepare for the risks of off-roading. I have a Knox compression suit and recently purchased the chest protector upgrade that doesn’t come standard with the shirt.

Knox Venture Shirt
Chest protector upgrade

I swapped out Level 1 armour for Level 2. I also recently replaced my ageing Arai Signet-Q helmet with a Contour-X. I know, I know: why didn’t I get an XD-5 or similar adventure helmet? Well, I already have an adventure helmet, the LS2 Pioneer, and this will be my touring helmet. The peak causes wind noise and I was looking for the most comfortable, quietest, safest helmet on the market, and the Contour-X fits me like a glove.

Route

I’m sorry, my American friends, but I’ve decided that I can’t do this summer my planned ride of The Blue Ridge Parkway south and the BDR’s coming back. This will be the 3rd time I’ve postponed this ride, and I don’t do it lightly. I was looking forward to exploring the Appalachian Mountains and challenging myself on the MABDR and especially NEBDR, but after much deliberation, I’ve decided to join my fellow Canadians and stay north of the border this summer, that is, the “artificially drawn border.”

What makes this decision especially difficult is that I have always found Americans extremely friendly and helpful, and I recognize the difference between Americans and their government. But lately we Canadians have been hearing of visitors having their phones confiscated at the border and searched, and some Canadians detained, and even some anti-Canadian sentiment from certain states that shall remain unnamed, so I don’t feel entirely safe to visit while tensions are this high. I’ll be travelling solo in remote regions so am especially vulnerable. It’s really unfortunate that it’s come to this and I hope our good relationship can be restored quickly so I can complete that bucket list ride.

Instead, I’ve decided to do some of the Trans Quebec Trail. This is a system of trails throughout Quebec. Initially I was going to do a section of the TCAT (Trans Canada Adventure Trail) called The Forest that runs from Baie Comeau, Quebec, to Kenora, Ontario, but that gps track isn’t always kept up to date. My Calabogie Misadventure ride a few years ago was largely a result of the track not being kept current; my riding buddy and I didn’t know that a bridge was out and were forced back out onto a gnarly hydro line. The big benefit of the TQT is that there is an accompanying app that is user-submitted; if there’s a problem on the track, one can immediately report it with the press of a button. The app also shows campgrounds, gas, groceries, attractions and more, so I feel I can ride with a lot less stress and simply explore, as I like to do, finding the essentials when needed. Thanks to Marc Chartrand and his team for putting this route and app together.

I plan to pick up the track south of Montreal and follow it east to Rimouski and beyond, perhaps into the Gaspé interior. Then I’ll cross the St. Lawrence River (uh, by ferry) from Matane to Baie Comeau and come back by the north shore, up through northern Quebec with some of the most remote riding I’ve ever done. It loops over Lac Saint Jean, where Marilyn and I visited last fall, but on dirt roads this time. Apparently about 90% of the route is dirt and gravel. You can see the entire trail and photos at the STQT Facebook page. I don’t know how long this will take me and I don’t have a definite schedule, but that’s the kind of adventure riding I like. With the app and riding solo, I can play it by ear and simply explore at my own pace. Teachers’ benefits.

Training

To prepare for the off-road element of this tour, I’ve decided to do some more instruction this summer. When I got my licence in 2016, I did some classes to get a Level 1 foundation, but it’s been several years since and I’m ready to improve on those skills. I’m going to look into the Level 2 class with Académie Ridaventure. Their Level 2 class covers such things as water crossings, clearing obstacles (logs, large rocks), and brake slides. I think it’s always good to develop your skills, and I feel I’ve plateaued recently.

I hope to do a semi-private Level 2 class.

“Ah spring!”

There’s another poem I know about spring. Unlike Eliot’s 434-line masterpiece, this one contains two words: “Ah spring!” I know it by heart. It’s been a brutal winter with record snowfall in Montreal and frigid temperatures for months. No January thaw this year. But we’ve finally arrived at the cusp of spring and the riding season.

If there’s one positive of the off-season, it’s the opportunity to “reculer pour mieux sauter,” as D.H. Lawrence said, step back to jump forward. It’s a time to dream and plan for adventures to come. I’m ready; the bike is ready. It may not be the cross-country tour I did in 2021, but in many ways it feels like this tour will be my most ambitious and the one I’ve been working towards since I began riding in 2015. It’s the kind of ADV remote touring I wanted to do on the cross-Canada tour but didn’t have the time. I discovered then that this country is so large that you have to explore it one province at a time, and I guess I’ll start with the one I’ve called home now for 35 years.

What are your plans for the season? What changes have you made to your bike and kit to prepare? Drop a comment below. Whether you are an armchair adventurer or a seasoned traveller, despite what Nature presents us today, it really is a special time of year. Keep the faith, my motorcycle friends: we’re almost there.

The Wish List, 2024

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As I tell my students, sometimes less is more.

This Christmas I ask for only one thing: that my students stop cheating using AI. It gobbles up my time preparing for the meetings and zaps my morale when they deny it all the way through the appeal process.

Accordingly, I’ve begun this post with an AI-generated image. Whatever generator WordPress uses apparently doesn’t know what an adventure motorcycle is, just as ChatGPT doesn’t really know how to write an insightful analysis of a short story. In both cases—looking at the photo and the essay—it’s pretty obvious they’re fake. What is that square thing on Santa’s lap? Is it supposed to be a present, and if so, why is it on his lap when he’s got all that room on the . . . hay bale? And somebody needs to tell Santa that Sorels don’t provide much foot protection when he lowsides in the snow.

We live in a world where the real and the natural occupy an increasingly small part of our lives. That’s one of the things I love about adventure riding—its ability to help us get away from civilization and screens and the news (and students) and take in, as the saying goes, The Great Outdoors. This year my wish list does not contain mods and accessories for the bike but mostly camping gear. I want to downsize my gear and be more comfortable around camp.

Cookware

If you read my post on motocamping gear, you’ll know that I use an MSR Dragonfly stove and a Zebra 3L stainless steel Billy pot as my motocamping kitchen. This is the same gear I use canoe-camping, but now I’m ready to go even smaller. When I’m canoe-camping, it’s usually with my son and, uh, we’re in a canoe, where there’s lots of space, and weight is only an issue on the portages, but when I’m adventure touring, I’m usually on my own and less is more, so to speak. Space in the panniers is at a premium, and I feel every extra pound on the bike.

For this reason, I’ve decided to get the 9-piece Odoland Camping Cookware set.

No affiliate links, no sponsorship.

I came upon this little unit via Adam Riemann’s video on his gear. I’ll probably leave the cup and fold-out base at home, and I’ll probably substitute the folding cutlery for real stuff. I’m not that minimalist. (While I’m trying to reduce weight, I won’t be cutting my toothbrush in half anytime soon.) This kit will cut down my cooking gear considerably.

It means switching from liquid fuel to butane, which I never thought I’d do. Liquid fuel has a lot going for it: no canisters to buy or dispose of, the ability to refill at any gas station, and as an emergency supply for the bike. But the Dragonfly is loud and slow. You can get a Dragon Tamer by BernieDawg, but at 82€, that’s almost the price of the stove, and it doesn’t seem to speed it up, just silence it. An 8 oz cylinder fits nicely inside the Odoland pot with room for the burner on top, so it’s very compact. I like Adam’s suggestion of wrapping the canister in a goggle bag to provide some padding. The entire kit is, incredibly, only $38 Canadian, so I hope at that price it isn’t, in the immortal words of my late mom, “cheap and nasty.” ADV touring is hard on gear, so it has to be tough.

Whether I take a separate frypan and plate remains to be decided. Maybe I’ll go hardcore and try to get by just with this.

Ditch the Tent and Mattress

Speaking of hardcore, I’m seriously thinking of switching to a hammock system for sleeping. I was talking to my brother-in-law about a canoe camp he did north of Lake Superior—5 nights using a hammock—and he swears by it now. He strung up a tarp overhead, just in case of rain.

This would allow me to leave behind my tent and mattress, which together weigh 7 lbs. More importantly, my tent doesn’t fit in a side bag, so I have to strap it on top lengthwise or across my tail rack in a duffle bag. I’d love, I say love, to be able to do without a duffle bag up high on the back. (BTW, I’m ditching the tank bag too.) With weight down low in the panniers and only a few small bags with tools and tubes up front, the bike would be a lean mean machine, helping me to do the kind of riding I want to do, especially now that the Tiger’s suspension’s been upgraded. It’s not quite a rackless system, but something resembling it.

I’ve slept in a hammock before and froze my butt off. Okay, it was at Yukon River Campground, so not the best place to try. One of the issues with hammock camping is that the down in your sleeping back gets compressed underneath you, and you don’t have the insulation of a mattress to keep you warm. You can get a hammock quilt and string that up underneath, but they are heavy and bulky, so you lose any savings gained in weight and space.

Yukon River Campground

My other concern is that there may not always be two trees to string the hammock. I’ve been at sites before where this was the case, and I’m imagining, say, being out at a campground on the Outer Banks— basically a sand bar on the eastern seaboard of North Carolina—where they’re aren’t any trees. Would I be able to sleep on the ground and string a tarp off the bike in case it rains? What about bugs? Night visits? Privacy? You don’t see any RTW riders using a hammock.

Well, there’s only one way to find out. After some initial research, the SunYear hammock is on my wish list.

The SunYear is made of parachute nylon, and if someone is trusting it from ten thousand feet, I’ll trust it from 2 or 3. As you can see, it comes complete with a bug net and a tarp. A nice feature is the triangular shape of the tarp for some privacy, not that I care.

But before I go investing in a new set-up that costs about the same as a new tent, I’ll try a shorter trip using my existing hammock and see how it works. Alternatively, I could just buy a separate bug net and tarp if that works out. And for stringing it, I’m thinking I’ll carry a couple of ratcheting straps for bike recovery (a lesson learned from my last trip to Vermont) and they will work just fine to anchor the hammock without damaging the trees.

What do you think? Am I crazy? Have you tried hammock camping? How did you find it? Great recent development in camping gear or latest fad? Leave a comment below.

Shelter

Without a tent, a reliable tarp is all the more essential for rainy days around camp. When Riley and I had rain in Vermont last August, we strung his tarp up over the picnic table and were happy.

I was so impressed with his tarp that I took a picture of the logo. I later looked it up online and nearly shit my pants. I didn’t know that a tarp can cost $260. I usually get mine from the dollar store. Okay, they smell of plastic off-gassing and are as loud as my Dragonfly stove, so I’m ready to upgrade. When it’s your home away from home, a reliable tarp is worth its weight in gold. A good one will also pack up small.

I haven’t decided on the size yet, but I’ll want something big enough to shelter from driving rain. The only question is: Aquaquest or cheap Chinese rip-off?

$200 for the Aquaquest 10’x13′ or $53.99 for the best-selling Kalinco 10’x15′?

A new lid

Two items that never made it off my wish list last year are a new helmet and shorty levers. I’ve had the same Arai Signet-Q since I started riding in 2015. Don’t tell the cops. You’re supposed to change it every 5 years by law. That means I really should either get a new one or move to New Hampshire.

Last year, I was looking at the Arai Tour-X5. Arai make arguably the safest helmets on the market, but as every Harley rider in a skid lid will tell you, safety is over-rated. More importantly, there’s fashion. But seriously, other factors include comfort, weight, ventilation, and a big one for me, wind noise.

The Arai Tour-X5. Sadly, still on The Wish List.

Recently I was intrigued by what Chris (Chap in a Cap) at MotoLegends was saying about flip helmets. He argues that modular helmets should be considered the true adventure helmet, and the only reason most ADV riders have a helmet with a peak is for fashion. “Get over yourself,” he says elsewhere.

One thing I didn’t know is that, according to Chris, a flip helmet is the quietest type of helmet, even quieter than a full face. I thought that the hinge system created some wind noise, but perhaps that was just the case with the early modular helmets. It’s not just the absence of the peak that makes it quiet but also because the neck opening is smaller. With a flip helmet, you naturally lift the chin bar to put it on, so the neck opening can be smaller and less wind enters the helmet from underneath.

I’m sold. I have to admit, I’m interested in the idea of having the quietest helmet possible. As some of my readers know, I’m completely deaf in one ear so have to protect what’s left of the other one, and even with earplugs, which I always wear, the wind noise can be loud on the highway with a bad helmet like my LS2 Pioneer.

Champion Helmets, who do the most comprehensive and reliable testing in the industry, in my opinion, put the HJC RPHA-91 not only as the quietest helmet on the market but also the best overall modular helmet of 2025. The Shoei Neotec 3 was a close second. Schuberth helmets don’t fit my intermediate oval noggin, and Arai, well, Michio Arai doesn’t believe in flip helmets. So I think either the HJC RPHA-91 or the Shoei Neotec 3 is in my future.

The HJC is about half the price of the Shoei, but honestly, for something as important as the helmet, it will probably come down to which has the best graphics.

Back to Levers

The other item that never made it off my 2023 Wish List are shorty levers. What I did instead was move the levers perch inward on the handlebar as per another of Reimann’s suggestions, so I was pulling with two fingers but on the end of the OEM levers. This seemed to be the best of both worlds: I could use two fingers but still had the leverage of a full-length lever.

The downside to this set-up, I discovered, is that the front brake master cylinder is part of the lever assembly, and now it’s so far in it’s slightly tipped because the bracket is on the slope of the handlebar. The mirrors are also part of the same unit, so their position is affected. I can see okay, but all things considered, maybe it’s just easier to get shorty levers.

Last year I had the Vortex levers on the wish list. This year, it’s ASV, but don’t be surprised if they, at over $400 a set, are on next year’s list too.

Vortex
ASV

So if you didn’t think I’m crazy for giving up my tent, you probably do now. What can make someone pay that kind of money for levers, especially when you can get cheap Chinese ones on Amazon or eBay for $35? Probably the same thing that would compel someone to pay $260 for a tarp. It’s the quality of the product, and in this world, you usually get what you pay for, despite proclamations of cheapos to the contrary.

Aside from being unbreakable with an unconditional 5-year crash damage guarantee, the ASV levers apparently have excellent feel, if you believe comments on forums. That’s a result of the pivot that has precision-sealed bearings, the only lever on the market for my bike with a bearing pivot. ASV also have a micro-indexing adjuster with 180 increments, so you can literally dial in each lever to your exact preference. The C-series have a matte finish and cost a little more than the polished finish of the F-series.

I really don’t know if I’ll get these, but it’s nice to dream. Isn’t that the purpose of a wish list?

One More Thing

“Oh yeah, one more thing.” That’s what Steve Jobs used to say to introduce the most exciting new Apple product at the very end of his keynotes. I’d love to get a new jacket, one made for cold weather. I’d love to get a Rukka jacket, any Rukka jacket, but preferably one with a down-filled liner. I’m tired of freezing on early- and late-season rides.

My warmest jacket is the one I bought off eBay for $55 US when I started riding. It’s a Joe Rocket with textile front and back and leather arms and shoulders. It’s my warmest jacket because it has a quilted liner. My other two jackets are hot weather: the Klim Marrakesh, which is mesh, and the Traverse, which is a Gore-Tex liner.

Again, the option here is premium or budget-friendly. I’ve been hearing a lot about the MSR Xplorer jacket from Rocky Mountain ADV and it might work with some good heated gear inside.

Rukka Rimo-R for $1000
or MSR Xplorer for half the price?

One of the most viewed posts on this blog is the one on how to make your own heated jacket for under $50, and it’s a good option for commuting. However, the cheap Chinese controller is fragile and doesn’t hold up to the demands of adventure riding. I’ve already broken and fixed it a few times. The other thing I don’t like about the jacket is that it’s a rather thick, puffy jacket, that doesn’t pack well, so it’s either the homemade heated jacket or a wool sweater, but not both, and for around the fire, I’ll take wool any day.

My friend Riley of The Awesome Players posted a video of a late-season ride he did on which he was wearing a Warm and Safe Heated Jacket. He later texted me that he also has the baselayer, and so I looked into it.

Warm and Safe Heat Layer Shirt

I like the idea of a base layer. It just makes sense to have the heat next to your skin instead of having to penetrate layers of thermal clothing first. Other people like the flexibility of having a light heated layer that you can easily remove if it warms up.

The company has over 25 years of experience and R&D. Each product connects to a heat troller that controls the heat. Instead of just three settings like with the controller on the Chinese-made pads, the W&S troller has a dial, so there’s a lot more variability. Okay, Warm and Safe don’t win the award for the most imaginative naming, but some of their gear also make it onto The List.

Conclusion

Well that list ended up being longer than I anticipated. As the instructor of my motorcycle course said first night, “This sport is harder on your wallet than an ex-wife.” Thankfully, my marriage is still strong, although would be considerably weaker if Santa fulfilled all my wishes.

And as I usually do at the end of these fun Christmas-themed blogs, I have mixed feelings about being so materialistic when wars are continuing in other parts of the world and some people lack heat, food, shelter—the basic materials of life. I don’t feel I can do much or anything about that, but I can help those closer at home in need. This year, Marilyn and I have decided to give a significant donation to a food bank. It will be a drop in the bucket, but it will be our drop, and I hope it provides a little relief to someone in greater need than me. With inflation and current food prices, the need is greater than ever.

The Wish List posts come at the perfect time of year, just after the bike is pulled off the road for four months by law here in Quebec. They help me though the transition to no riding by thinking of the rides being planned for next season and the gear that will make them all the more enjoyable. I’m still planning to do the tour that has been postponed now for two seasons—down the Blue Ridge Parkway into West Virginia, maybe over to the The Outer Banks, and back up via the MABDR and NEBDR.

What are your plans for next season? Drop a comment below and don’t feel they have to be anything as ambitious as mine. I’m always interested in hearing from my readers.

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah to all my readers, and safe riding in 2025.

Riding the NEBDR with some Awesome Players

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It wasn’t the tour I planned for the summer, but it was eventful.

photo credit: Riley Harlton

The initial plan for my big tour of 2024 was to ride The Blueridge Parkway down to West Virginia and then come back on the MABDR and NEBDR. It would have taken me probably close to a month. But then those plans got kiboshed by unforeseen circumstances and for a while there it seemed I wouldn’t get away at all. In the end, I managed to spend four days in August touring Vermont with Riley and Marc from The Awesome Players Off-Road MC doing Sections 4 & 5 of the NEBDR.

We decided to do a spoke-and-hub type trip, using Silver Lake State Park in Barnard, VT, as our home base. This meant not only that we didn’t have to move camp each day but also that we could ride for a few days without luggage. I’ve stayed at that campground several times and it never disappoints. The general store in Barnard has gas and makes a great breakfast sandwich.

We decided to ride Bailey-Hazen down. B-H is an old military road dating back to the war of independence (1776). It’s primarily dirt and gravel and runs from Montgomery Centre down through Lowell, Albany, Craftsbury, Greensboro, Walden, Peacham, and into East Ryegate. I’ve ridden it a few times but never the hero section. In fact, the last time I rode B-H, I attempted the hero section and had to turn around. It’s basically an ATV trail filled with babyheads, and I was alone and on street tires. It’s definitely a challenge.

So I was thinking of that section as we rode down toward the border and thinking of it some more as we approached Montgomery Centre. (The hero section is early in the track.) This time I had Michelin Anakee Wild tires on and there were three of us, but I was fully loaded with all the camping gear. Riley and Marc have a lot more off-road experience than me and the last time I rode with them it didn’t go well. You never want to be the guy holding everybody up.

We headed up the nasty little hill climb and I got loose a few times but kept it upright. Riley said later that he was thinking I must be happy not to be on the Beemer and I was. The Tiger is definitely more capable with the 21″ front wheel. There was a crew working on the trail and soon we hit some deep gravel they were spreading and that was interesting. But somehow I made it to the top without dropping the bike and felt pretty good about that. Unfortunately, things were about to take a turn for the worse.

For those unfamiliar with Awesome Players lingo, a douche rope is a fabricated rope with a steel karabiner on one end and loops along its length for handles. It’s used to pull out the douche who is stuck in mud or, in my case, whose bike is down a ravine. I don’t know why I was going so fast, except I guess because adrenaline was pumping through me and maybe I was over-confident, having just done the tough part. I think I also relaxed my concentration. You can see my front tire slip out on the muddy downhill corner which threw my balance, and then I was struggling to keep the bike on the trail. Riley thinks I hit a false neutral because you can hear the bike rev a few times but I think I just panicked. Fortunately, what I lack in riding skills I make up for in tree avoidance technique. When I saw it coming up fast, the bike went one way and I the other.

I’m breathing hard into my helmet because I was in some pain and thought at first I might have pulled an Itchy Boots and broken my collar bone. But in the end, it was just a separated shoulder and, a month later, I’m almost fully recovered. The tendons have healed and I’m just working on strengthening and stretching the scar tissue. It could have been much worse. If the bike had hit the tree, I imagine there would have been structural damage and it would have been a write off. In the end, it just made for a few uncomfortable days around camp and especially trying to sleep in my tiny tent.

I was pretty mad at myself, as you can hear. It was an auspicious start to the tour and I was living up to my reputation. But here’s the thing I’ve come to realize after reflecting on the crash over the past month: crashing is not only an inevitable part of off-roading but part of learning. In fact, Brett Tkacs lists dropping your bike as an indicator that you’re improving your riding skills, which at first seems counter-intuitive, but when you think about it, if you aren’t dropping your bike once in a while, you aren’t pushing beyond your limits where both sh*t and learning happens. I’m pretty familiar with riding on dirt and gravel roads but haven’t done much trail riding. By contrast, Riley and Marc have been doing trails for years, so I knew that riding with them would be a learning experience.

Their experience was essential to getting my bike back on the trail. They had the gear and know-how. Here’s Marc explaining the procedure.

video credit: Riley Harlton

Once the bike was taken care of, we had lunch and I took a bunch of meds for the pain. I wasn’t sure how it would go on the bike but it was surprisingly okay; the shoulder is relatively immobile while riding, and it was actually off the bike around camp that I felt the injury most.

When we headed off again, I decided to let Marc go first and went slower on the downhill.

That’s my windscreen rattling; I lost some hardware in the crash that I replaced at the next rest stop. Later, Riley lead and I followed his line.

Bailey-Hazen actually isn’t a technical road, aside from a few bits. This clip is more indicative of what most of it is like—hard-packed dirt lined by trees and periodically opening up to nice views of the surrounding hills. It’s a fun ride and appropriate for big bikes.

The next day we headed south on Section 4 of the NEBDR but not before the amazing breakfast sandwiches of the Barnard General Store. There we met Bethel, who was visiting from California and had rented a Ténéré 700 from MotoVermont. She was enamoured by the general stores and bucolic countryside of Vermont, and who wouldn’t be, especially if you live in Superslab City. (I might have this wrong, but I think she said she lives in Los Angeles.) We shared stories over breakfast of falling in mud puddles and down ravines. It’s always nice to meet fellow bikers; there’s definitely a bond between like-minded people enjoying the freedom and thrill of motorcycling. Unfortunately, she was heading north to return the bike in Burlington and we were heading south.

If you know anything about the NEBDR, you know that it’s one of the harder BDRs and that Sections 4 and 5 are the toughest sections, so we were expecting some challenging terrain. I was trying to figure out where the by-passes were because I’d already decided I would take them with my gimpy shoulder; I just couldn’t risk another fall. But to our surprise, the section was relatively tame, more of the same winding dirt and gravel roads. When we finally stopped for coffee and a pastry at Sweet Birch Coffee Roasters and Bakery in Wallingford and Marc got out his map—yes, his paper Butler NEBDR map—we realized we had done all the bypasses. It seems that the most recent gpx tracks (March 2024) had the bypasses as the default and you had to load the harder sections separately if you wanted them. When I downloaded the tracks, there was much description of flood damage, so I suspect the organizers decided to steer riders away from those Class 4 roads for now. It worked out for me, but I think Marc was disappointed.

Despite that, Section 4 has some very nice riding. One of my favourite roads was the Forest Service Rd. 30.

Lower Podunk Road is also sweet, as is Hale Hollow.

Sorry about the bad angle of the action cam. If it’s not the wind deflector that obstructs the view, as was the case with my Newfoundland footage, it’s the bad angle unbeknownst to me. I’ll eventually get it right.

We ended up in Readsboro before high-tailing it back up to Barnard on asphalt, stopping en route for groceries and beer.

The next day we headed north on Section 5 and decided to split up so Riley and Marc could get their Class 4 fix. Unfortunately, while doing the harder section north of Stockbridge that follows the White River, Marc suffered the same fate as me. He said it was an easy section but he got target fixated on a rut and was thrown violently off the bike, separating his shoulder too! Now there were two of us gimpy. Even before his accident, he had decided that he was going to head home a day early because camping was not agreeing with him. That’s a polite way of saying he’s a wimp. No, seriously, some people are campers and some are not, and to his credit, he at least gave it a try. He said he enjoyed the campfire and time around camp, but I think he wasn’t sleeping well.

Even experienced riders periodically take a tumble. We’ll blame this one on sleep deprivation. photo credit: Riley Harlton

So after riding the exhilarating Lincoln Gap Road, we said our good-byes and Marc headed north on the 100 back to the border. It was already mid-afternoon and rain was in the forecast, so Riley and I decided to call it a day too. We picked up steaks and potatoes and, being the final night, some port. As we rode back to Barnard the rain started and never really stopped the entire evening, but we strung a tarp over the picnic table so all was well.

A tarp, woollen hat, Rugged Brown Ale, and bluetooth speaker. What more do you need? photo credit: Riley Harlton

For the ride home, we figured we’d ride the Puppy Dog Route, which passes through Barnard and goes right up to the border. I’ve ridden it a few times and it’s an easy dirt route, but I’d only ever done it when dry. After the heavy rain of the night before, it was greeasy! We were crawling along in 1st gear when I stopped and asked, “Do we really want to do this?” Riley agreed that it would take us forever, so after a few miles of that we hit asphalt and stayed on it, but the drama was not over yet.

As we rode toward the border, the rain got heavier and heavier. When we crossed the border, it became torrential, and as we came over the Mercier Bridge it was apparent that there was major flooding, including on the main highway. Traffic had come to a standstill, so we had to find another way home and that included some deep water.

154 mm of rain fell on Montreal on Aug. 9, shattering all records.

When I got in, Marilyn was none too pleased. She’d texted early in the day that we should just come straight home, but I didn’t know why since the rain wasn’t that bad in Vermont. Little did we know that Montreal was in the midst of more extreme weather and that many people were either stranded or had basement flooding. Apparently 80% of the basements in Dorval, the city next to where I live, were flooded.

A pretty hard crash, two, in fact, some challenging riding, extreme weather—this ride had it all and was the true adventure I needed before heading back to the doldrums of work. It also gave me a taste of the NEBDR and how difficult, maybe foolish, my original plan would have been to ride the entire thing alone, fully loaded, including the Class 4 roads “as a challenge.” The riding on the NEBDR is enjoyable and as challenging as you want it to be. We’ll see how I feel next summer but at the moment I’m feeling like I can skip the Class 4s if I’m alone.

The best part of this ride actually wasn’t part of the route at all but reconnecting with The Awesome Players. When I tried riding with them before, I just couldn’t keep up on the big GS when they were on smaller bikes. Now that I have the Tiger, I’m willing to try again. It’s the kind of riding I’ve wanted to do for some time but most of the riders I know don’t do dirt. I know I’ll be a little out of my comfort zone but in a good way, and there isn’t a better bunch of supportive, fun guys to ride with than them. You only have to watch a few of their videos to see what I mean.

But that will be probably next season, to be honest. Next week is the Ride for Dad to raise funds for prostate cancer research. It’s a great cause, and you can contribute to my team’s campaign here. Anything helps and is greatly appreciated.

After that, Marilyn and I are riding the Saguenay Fjord, which neither of us has seen, and I’ll be changing tires and windscreen for that tour so I don’t know if I’ll be back on the dirt until spring. Look for an upcoming post on Saguenay/Lac Saint-Jean, and a few more rides through the glorious fall season here in Canada when the leaves turn colour. Who knows: maybe I’ll even make it down to Vermont again before the snow flies.

At Silver Lake State Park. Norden 901 Expedition, Tiger 800XC, and Yamaha T7.

The Ottawa Valley Overland Route

/ 650thumper / 4 Comments

My friend Ray and I went looking for adventure and got more than we bargained for.

When I got back from Newfoundland, it was the end of July and I was already starting to think about teaching. More accurately, I was beginning to dream about teaching. (My school begins mid-August, unlike most universities that begin after Labour Day.) I get these dreams toward the end of summer. In them it’s the first day of the semester and I’m not ready—my outlines are still at the printers, my textbooks aren’t in, I’m running late and can’t find something I need in the office, and when I arrive to class, a senior respected colleague is sitting at the back, having decided to audit my course. That kind of thing. I thought I was the only person who got them, but apparently they’re so common among teachers that they’re called Teacher Dreams. Anyway, I was already getting them so decided I’d put off that second planned trip to The States and the BDRs until the following summer and use what little time there was left in my summer vacation period to do shorter trips.

I asked my buddy Ray if he’d join me in doing a local overnight adventure ride. Ray likes the big gleaming classic bikes and rides an Indian Chief Vintage, but we won’t fault him for that. He’s also got a 2003 KLR in army green and joins me on off-road adventures when he’s feeling especially masochistic. We’ve had some adventures in the past, usually involving a hydro line, water, mud, and something semi-legal, so I think he was a bit reluctant. But I assured him I’d find something mellow this time, and like the good sport he is, he agreed, so I started researching the ride. The idea was for a relaxed dirt and gravel ride that had some nice scenery in the mix.

My first choice was The Bytown Adventure Loop and went as far as to pitch it to my editor at my paying gig, northernontario.travel. It’s always nice to ride, even better when you get paid to do it. The Bytown Loop was announced a few years ago to great fanfare, including a whole YouTube video to present it, and it looked pretty perfect for our purposes—big-bike friendly, close to home, with food and accommodations available should we want to avoid camping and cooking. Easy peezy. The only problem is that I couldn’t find the GPS files anywhere. You can see my query on the YouTube page, with no response. Same when I asked the channel owner directly. Hmm . . . seems like a lot of work went to waste at the final stages of development or there’s something I don’t know.

A little more sleuthing brought me to GravelTravel and he has lots of files available for a small fee, including the TCAT, and another that caught my eye, the Ottawa Valley Overland Route. It seemed similar to The Bytown Loop so I checked it out on YouTube. The videos I saw looked pretty mellow—apparently a large section of it is on abandoned railway line, which is usually flat, straight, and easy. Forums did not reveal anything concerning. In fact, I saw one post asking if it could be done in a non-modified AWD car, so I thought we’d give it a go. It would mean camping and cooking, but to be honest, I prefer that to venturing into town. I bought the files, reserved a campsite at Granite Lake, about halfway through the loop, and bought Lanark County trail passes for Ray and me.

The route is listed as 2-3 days. We were going to do it in 2, which was a bit ambitious since it would take us 1.5 hours to get to Merrickville, where we would pick up the route. To make matters worse, no sooner had we begun when we had a delay. We had done some service on Ray’s bike earlier in the summer and as we rode toward the Ontario border I began to doubt that we had re-oiled his K & N air filter. I remember washing it, and setting it out to dry . . . but not oiling it. You really don’t want to run those filters dry at risk of damaging your engine, so when we reached Alexandria, we pulled into a Tim Horton’s and discovered that yes, it was dry. Thankfully, the ubiquitous and life-saving Canadian Tire there had a K & N maintenance kit so we oiled the filter and let it sit while we had our coffees. It was a small delay, but on a tight schedule, every unplanned stop costs you dearly later on.

Arriving in Merrickville in time for lunch at Bob’s Fresh Cut Fries.

Merrickville is a charming historic village with more heritage buildings for its size than any other town in Ontario. I’ve written about it as a favourite destination for bikers here, but in this case we were just passing through. Soon after lunch, we picked up the OVOR track and, to my great surprise, almost immediately hit mud.

I didn’t have the tires for mud. I still had on Dunlop Trailmax Mission tires from my tour, so I stopped to assess the situation. I was also thinking of Ray, to whom I had promised an easy ride. I waded in and it wasn’t deep, just a bit slippery. I looked at the map and it appeared to be a short section. Now in this situation, Clinton Smout advises to let your buddy go first, but since I’d got us here, I figured I was the test probe. Ray got out his phone to catch any action.

On the Rideau Trail north of Merrickville.

“It’s not bad”? Soon I’d be eating my words when my tires caked up. Some of this easy trail wasn’t so easy.

The Tiger doesn’t have much low-end torque and I have to keep the revs way up whenever off-roading or it stalls. Soon after this ride I did my valves and all the exhaust valves were tight. I’m hoping that opening them up will help with the stalling. A little further on we turned left onto some two track, crossed a swamp, and popped back out onto gravel.

Once back on the road, it was smooth going again up into Carlton Place, another pretty town that was on my Top 5 Ottawa Area Destinations list.

You can see me glance at the hydro line as we crossed beneath. Premonitions of things to come?

We filled up in Almonte before heading down into the bush south of Ottawa. The highlight of the day was riding the Lanark County Trail System south of Ottawa.

California Road in Lanark County.

I was loving this and could have done it all day! The Tiger is in its element here and the Tailmax Mission tires are fine for this stuff; the back end slides out but consistently. We stopped for a photo out over White Lake during the golden hour and the ride was now everything we were hoping it would be. We had a little ways to go to get to our campsite and were looking forward to the steaks I had packed in one of my panniers.

Sadly, the fun would come to an end too soon. We crossed a hydro line, then rode the line for a few hundred metres before exiting onto another gravel road. Unfortunately, what we didn’t know is that the bridge crossing the river that feeds into Duncs Lake was under construction and was out. We got off our bikes and surveyed; sometimes you can find a way through even if it’s closed (the semi-legal stuff I alluded to earlier). In this case, that wasn’t possible at all, and we happened upon a workman finishing up his day and he confirmed what we already knew: end of the road. (What was especially frustrating is that they were building a new road called, appropriately, The New Road, and it was smooth sailing on the other side. We looked at our map and figured we were about 2 kilometres from Highway 511 and the best bet was to return to the hydro line and follow it out to the road.

Hydro lines. When you’re stuck in the bush, they’re a lifeline to civilization, a man-made geometrical order imposed on the chaos of wilderness. But they can also lure you into that chaos, the fisherman’s line drawing you into dark waters. And speaking of water, what I’ve found is that they almost inevitably involve some of it at the low points as the terrain rises and falls. A ride along the primitive access trail of a hydro line is a rocky descent to a water crossing to a steep rocky hill climb to a moment of respite before another descent, and on, for hundreds, thousands of miles if you want, from dams to urban centres, traversing great swaths of Canadian boreal forest.

We got through that without incident but by now it was getting late, we were getting tired, and our off-road skills were suffering as a result. I offer these two videos for your amusement, at our expense.

Ray took his own tumble and decided, while down there in the tall grass, to take a little nap.

In the first video, you can hear concern in my voice. I was worried that we would come upon a crossing that was just too deep to cross and that would block us from the highway. At this point, I was getting some serious arm pump and had pretty much given up on making it to Granite Lake and our planned campsite. We’d figure out where we were going to spend the night once out of the bush.

But we never made it that far. At one water crossing, I got hung up on some rocks and dumped the bike. I hit the kill switch before it dunked but the bike wouldn’t start once righted. After trying for a while, I left it sitting there while deciding what to do.

Eventually, we ended up just pushing the bike out by hand and it was surprisingly easy. But it wouldn’t start, no matter how many times I cranked it. Thankfully, Ray got across without incident. I have to say, the KLR really showed its capabilities on this ride. Where I was struggling on the Tiger, Ray was getting over stuff using the tractor factor of the KLR.

I figured the Tiger was hydrolocked, but to get to the spark plugs on this machine you have to remove a lot of plastics and lift the gas tank. I didn’t want to start that work with 30 minutes of light remaining, so we made the decision to camp on the hydro line. I left my bike where it was, Ray rode his up to a clearing on the line, and we set up our tents there. I fired up my stove and cooked us the steaks. We had a little something from the liquor store in Alexandria, and I had a pipe and Ray had a cigar. It wasn’t exactly the campsite at Granite Lake I had imagined, but we made the best of a bad situation.

Still smiling, despite the bugs and our situation.
Not smiling.

That night in my tent I had a restless sleep, worried that I might not have packed the spark plug socket. I wasn’t sure because it’s such an involved process to access the plugs that I might have concluded I’d never be lifting the tank trailside. But thankfully I had, and after morning coffee and porridge, we started tearing apart the Tiger.

In this photo, you can see a section of hose coming out of the bottom of the tank. That is a hose I carry for emergency syphoning should someone run out of gas. We found that when we lifted the tank, gas flowed out of the overflow drain. I’ve had that tank lifted before and it’s never done that. It was a clue that I should have paid more attention to.

We took out the plugs and they looked dry. We turned the engine over and no water came out of the plug holes. Next we thought that maybe the air filter was soaked and choking the engine. Unfortunately, Triumph put a weird 7mm hex screw on the airbox and I didn’t have that socket on me. I pride myself on being prepared but I came up short on this occasion.

We decided that I would ride Ray’s KLR out and up to the Canadian Tire in Renfrew. Why me? Ray said I had more experience off-roading and would have a better chance of getting out. There was some really gnarly terrain and a pretty significant water crossing, but I made it out, again, impressed by the KLR’s capabilities off road.

Shortly after I started heading up toward Calabogie, the skies opened up and it started to rain cats and dogs.

Wishing I’d zipped up my vents earlier.

It was weird weather. In Renfrew it was dry with blue skies. Little did I know it was still coming down hard back on the trail. Canadian Tire had the 7mm deep socket, and while in town I picked up lunch and water and gassed up Ray’s bike. I was planning for the worst case scenario.

As I rode south on the 511 toward the trailhead, I rode back into the torrential rain. It was bad! In fact, unbeknownst to us, this extreme weather was causing major flooding in nearby Ottawa and back home our wives were concerned. I got to the trailhead and started heading back in, but before I reached the bike, who did I see walking out but Ray. He was soaked to the skin and looked pretty miserable. Our “easy ride” had turned into 24 hours of hell, stuck in the bush in extreme weather. I was never going to live this down.

Ray had determined that the trail was now impassable and that I might be waiting for him at the highway. I guess he doesn’t know me as well as I thought. No extreme weather was going to prevent me from getting back to my bike. But he looked cold and miserable and it was teeming, so we agreed to abandon the troubleshooting and get a room in Calabogie. There was nothing more to do but turn around and splash Ray, who couldn’t get any wetter, then double him out to the highway.

“Hop on. This part is pretty tame.” Camera shuts off by itself at the worst time. Sorry about that.

Unfortunately, he had started walking without his helmet, so I doubled back, tidied our gear, grabbed his helmet and jacket, and returned to ride us up to the Calabogie Motel.

It was sunny in Calabogie but probably still raining 20 kilometres south on the trail. I didn’t feel very good about leaving my bike on the trail overnight but tried to put it out of mind. We went for dinner at The Redneck Bistro.

The next day we were up and out early, eager to get the airbox open and hopefully solve our problems. I’d been communicating with my buddy Riley from The Awesome Players, who has more experience with bikes than me. He too was confident that when we got it open, we’d find a soggy filter and after drying everything out the bike would fire right up again.

The trail was still waterlogged and I was worried about doing the deep crossing again. We didn’t need two hydrolocked bikes. But the KLR is a beast, and I told it so.

Things went a little sideways on me there but we got safely across. I left his bike at the top before the gnarly stuff, then walked down to the bike. With great anticipation and suspense, I got out the new 7mm socket and opened the airbox . . .

It was dry, bone dry. I was deflated. Ray had been walking in from the road and soon arrived. We continued our troubleshooting but were running out of ideas. We tested the plugs and there was spark. We took out the filter and the Unifilter prefilter. We checked all the fuses. The one for the auxiliary socket was blown and we thought we’d solved it then, but after replacing it, the bike still wouldn’t start. We looked down inside the throttle bodies for water. We inserted twisted paper into the throttle bodies and it came up dry. We put a drop of fuel from my stove bottle into each throttle body and still it did not fire! Not even a cough.

As a last resort, I walked up to where there was reception and called Riley to see if he could think of anything I hadn’t. He asked if I could hear the fuel pump cycle on with ignition. I did. He said he’d consulted with Player Ivan and it didn’t make sense: we had fuel, we had air, we had spark—the bike should run! We were all stumped, and with it already getting on the afternoon, I decided to throw in the towel. I didn’t want to spend another night on the hydro line and knew there were limits to what I could ask of Ray. Riley offered to trailer me back to Montreal if I got the bike out of the bush. So we took Ray’s bike again and rode back into Calabogie where I found someone who does trail rescue. It cost me a pretty penny but I was out of options.

Throwing in the towel.

Back in Calabogie, Riley and his brother arrived and we loaded both bikes onto their trailer and headed for home.

With Riley (right) and his brother Kelly. I owe these guys one large favour! photo credit: Ray Bourgeois

I will admit I was feeling more than a little deflated on the drive back to Montreal. It reminded me of when the water pump went on the 650GS while at Dirt Daze and, for a moment, I considered selling it for something more reliable. Perhaps Riley knew what I was thinking and told me about Super Dave’s mint 1200GS he got for a song.

And I was disappointed in myself. How could I ride into remote areas if I couldn’t be sure to get myself out? It felt like, after all my preparation over the preceding years to learn about bike mechanics in order to do that kind of riding, I’d been tested and had failed. I also felt bad for Ray, who had suffered hypothermia and water-damaged his phone. When I got back to Montreal, I stuck the bike in the shed and couldn’t bring myself to touch it for a few days.

When we are at our lowest, it’s our friends who lift us back up, people like Riley who drove out from Montreal to fetch me, and my buddy Mike who came by to shake me out of my doldrums and help troubleshoot the bike. He noticed almost right away the presence of water around the fuel line in the way the fuel was beading on parts, and we decided to drain the tank. I make home-brew beer and had an empty carboy to use. This is what we found in the tank.

Gas on top, water on bottom. Several litres of dirty water in the gas tank!

Gas and water are insoluble and water is heavier than gas. This is a 23 litre carboy so I estimate that there was at least 3 or 4 litres of water in the bottom of the tank, and since the fuel pump draws from the bottom, the bike wasn’t getting any fuel. No wonder it wouldn’t start!

How did the water get in the tank? The fill cap seal is good, so it didn’t get in there. The bike was running fine up until it wasn’t, so I didn’t get bad fuel in Almonte. No, the only theory that makes sense is this: at the river crossing, the engine and tank were hot. When I dunked the bike, the tank cooled rapidly, creating a vacuum, and water was siphoned up through either the tank overflow or breather tube that was hanging in the water. It would only take a bit of water to foul the injectors and prevent firing, but with this much water in the tank, now I think the bike was drinking water the entire time it was in the river.

I’ve posted this theory on ADVRider to see if anyone else has experienced it and no one said they had, but I did find some threads on ATV forums supporting it. There’s supposed to be a check valve that prevents water or sand entering and also serves as the tip-over sensor. It’s a simple ball bearing valve, but I haven’t been able to locate it on the Tiger. The solution, I think, is to reroute the tubes to a higher point. This is what the ATV guys have done. You don’t want to just cut the tubes because you don’t want fuel draining onto a hot engine, so I’m thinking I will run them back along the frame toward the rear of the bike and have them drain somewhere safely behind the engine.

I’d be very interested to hear what others think about this. I’m surprised more bikes don’t have this problem, which makes me wonder if it’s particular to the Tiger or my bike. I’ve seen guys completely submerge their bikes and they don’t get any water in the tank, so what goes? If you have any ideas, drop a comment below. I’ll be getting out to the shed in the coming weeks to do a bunch of work on the bike in preparation for the season, and I understand there are some water crossings on the MABDR.

Anyway, Mike and I removed the fuel pump and squeezed as much water out of the filter as we could, then let it dry and reassembled. We purged the fuel rail and I changed the spark plugs. With clean fuel, the bike reluctantly started, first on two cylinders, then three. I added some Seafoam to a tank of gas and gave it the Italian tune-up all the way to Cornwall and back. Now it’s running great again. I also put in some cheap oil for a few hundred kilometres, then drained and refilled with the good stuff, just in case some water got in the oil. The bike is running fine now, especially since doing the valves. I feel better for having an explanation for what happened and am no longer thinking of selling it.

Some people say that the essence of adventure riding is adversity. We watch Itchy Boots riding through Nigeria and Cameroon with their bad roads, bad gas (if you can find it), security check points and security risks and are impressed by her courage. On the other hand, there are lots of people in my club who just want to ride and skip the adversity. I remember Ray once said at a club event that “riding with Kevin makes you feel alive,” and I’m reminded of what D. H. Lawrence once said along the same lines, something like, “Only once you’ve accepted death can you truly live.” I’m paraphrasing, but I think I know what he’s on about: if you don’t face risk, you are only existing, not living. I don’t go seeking danger—I love life too much—but neither do I let “what ifs” stop me from living the life I want to live.

Memento mori. When I’m old and feeble and no longer able to ride a motorcycle, I’m sure I’ll be thinking wistfully of Ray’s and my Ottawa Valley Extreme Weather Misadventure.

Pin marks where my bike crapped out. You can see the trail along the hydro line. It ducks into the forest and exits onto the 511 just south of the line. The big water crossing is just left of the circular lake.

The Homestretch

/ 650thumper / 1 Comment
Marilyn and I got a kick out these signs. The NL potholes don’t compare to Montreal’s.

After a night crossing on the ferry from Newfoundland, I decide to ride The Cabot Trail, then stop at friends in Nova Scotia and Maine before the final push home.

The night crossing was terrible! I think it ranks up there as one of the most miserable nights of my life, such as once on a day trip in Germany when I missed the last train back to Munich with no cash in my pocket and too young to have a credit card so had to sleep on the street, or when I once slept in a trailer with a door that didn’t properly close, in June, in Canada, and got eaten alive all night by mosquitoes. The snoring was like a thousand mosquitoes entering my sleep to feast all night, or an over-sized dentist’s drill boring through my ear-plugs. I tried slumping in my chair, both sides, slouching, curling into a fetal position across two chairs (and an armrest), lying on the floor, trying a different floor . . . nothing worked. Eventually I gave up and went for breakfast in the dining hall.

This was the only enjoyable part of the entire crossing, during which I struck up a conversation with a young man at an adjacent table. He was from Cape Breton and had recently started working on an offshore oil rig. It was interesting to hear about that experience and life in Cape Breton. The story I kept hearing during my travels from him and other locals is that the Maritime winters are not what they used to be. Very little snow and many have sold their snowmobiles. Fishermen report of increased fog. Great White sharks have been spotted in the waters off Ingonish, etc. etc. Yeah, we know, you must be thinking—the planet is getting warmer. Duh! I only mention it because Marilyn has always said she wouldn’t retire to the Maritimes because she couldn’t take a Maritime winter. Thanks to global warming, the east might be back in the cards! (However, as I write this, it’s just received a record snowfall).

When I said I was headed to Baddeck on a bike, he suggested I take the 223, the Grand Narrows Highway that goes up through Iona. Nice tip! Here’s a taste.

It’s like that the whole way—twisty right along the shore of Bras D’Or Lake where it juts up into the Narrows. The pavement is a little broken but not bad. Keep in mind that I’m operating on one hour of sleep and that brush on the right that comes up close to the road is always a red flag for me, so I’m holding back. I would have my fun later in the day on the Cabot Trail.

After arriving at Baddeck Cabot Trail Campground, one of my favourite campgrounds and my second stay there this trip, I set up camp before hitting The Cabot Trail. Yes, the definite article deserves to be capitalized because The Cabot Trail is an iconic ride. I’ve done it before on my 650GS but wanted to do it again on the Tiger. So after a quick nap, I headed off.

I told myself, given my sleep debt, I’d just cruise it, but it wasn’t long before I was lured up into the adrenaline zone—until the bike twitched on a tar snake mid-corner. Never a pleasant feeling and I decided to cool it down.

The real fun was riding out to Meat Cove. The road is twisty and undulating and broken in spots, and then it turns to dirt. It started to rain, which made it more interesting. The dirt section had recently been graded so there weren’t any potholes or washboard to worry about.

This is exactly the kind of riding the Tiger is made for—twisty asphalt and light off-roading. I was having fun, once I got the damn ABS off. (I wish it were easier on the Tiger than having to navigate down through menus.) Unfortunately, I didn’t get footage of the best riding into the campground because the camera turned off for some unknown reason, but trust me, I was power-sliding the rear wheel out over the cliff-edge on those left-handers. 😉 Maybe it’s best that the wife doesn’t see that footage anyway.

I was pretty annoyed when I discovered the camera had stopped. To be honest, I’m not happy with much of the footage from the tour, so I’m definitely going to change how I work with the camera. Maybe I’ll use the phone app so I can see when and what I’m filming (or when I’m not filming), and maybe I’ll use the loop setting in which the camera constantly records over the same bit of memory card until I stop recording. The only issue with loop mode is it drains the battery fast. Voice commands don’t work with wind noise at speed, and I don’t want to be fumbling either with the camera or the phone, but I’ll experiment in the spring and come up with a better process. If you use an action camera, I’d be interested in hearing about your experience and set-up.

Anyway, back at Meat Cove, I arrived amid a torrential downpour, much to the amusement of hikers who were laughing at me while waiting it out in their SUVs. I didn’t care. A hormone concoction of endorphins, dopamine, adrenaline, and testosterone were coursing through my veins. It was time for a fresh lobster roll at the Clam Chowder Hut and the bragging rights photo.

Some bikes can’t make it in to Meat Cove but the Tiger sure can.

There’s a lot more of The Cabot Trail I could show but this is already going to be a long post, and there’s no shortage of footage available online. It’s always a great ride, and I’m glad I made the effort to do it again while I was near. I ended up doing the complete loop and was back at camp in time to enjoy a campfire and some of the bourbon I’d picked up earlier in the day.

My destination the following day was Urbania, Nova Scotia, just south of Truro, where some friends of mine live. I met Sharon in 1986 when I was an undergrad, so our friendship is long! I’ve admired her dedication to her writing career and teaching work and watched her fall in love and marry the man of her dreams, move out of the GTA (Greater Toronto Area) and into their dream home built largely by her equally talented husband, Kevin. If any of my older readers remember the Canadian 80’s band New Regime, well Kevin was the lead singer, among other accomplishments. This would be my first visit to their new place and I was looking forward to it. They have several acres of property that back out onto the Shubenacadie River.

The current was especially powerful after the rains the previous night.

The riding in Nova Scotia is excellent and probably worthy of a separate post, but I’ll just say here that Old Highway 4 from New Glasgow down to Bible Hill is about as good as it gets for a secondary highway through non-mountainous boreal forest. It was the original primary east-west highway until the Trans Canada was put in, and you can take it all the way to or from Sydney, Cape Breton. I followed it for much of the day and only jumped onto the Trans Can toward the end as I was racing against a system of precipitation that was moving into the area.

As I rode up the driveway to Sharon and Kevin’s, it started to rain. And it rained! There was a massive thunderstorm during the night and, in fact, major flooding in Halifax. We actually received an evacuation notice during the night because we were near a dam that was at risk of breaching. (Whatever . . .) My timing was lucky: I was happy to shelter in place under a solid roof with good friends. The extreme weather also got me thinking that you can’t escape climate change. Forest fires out west, ice storms in Montreal, flooding in the Maritimes—wherever Marilyn and I end up for our retirement, we’ll have to deal with some form of extreme weather.

The next day Sharon and I walked her property down to the river. One of the gems of their property is a tree they call Grandfather Ash. Unfortunately, since I visited, this magnificent tree was severely damaged in Hurricane Lee last September.

Despite the extreme weather, the visit was restful and restorative. The energy on their property is quiet and calm, and I hope my retirement home is as lovely. I keep talking about retirement because it’s very much on Marilyn’s and my minds these days. I’ll be teaching for another two years, until June 2026, and then we’ll be moving out of Quebec. I could write a lot about my frustrations with Quebec politics, economics, and sociology, but let’s stick to adventure touring. The short of it is we have to decide whether to move out west to where Marilyn has friends and family (good riding in The Rockies!) or out east to where we’d be closer to my friends and family. Either way, it’s going to be difficult leaving the friends we’ve made here, but I’m not going to think about that now. Thankfully, we have a few years to decide and emotionally to prepare.

After a few days visiting, I had to tear myself away and get back on the road. I had two more nights planned and wanted to get over the border into Maine the first night. I headed back to the Trans Canada on the beautiful, winding 236.

I had to get around the Bay of Fundy and took the highway as far as Sackville, then split off onto the 106 because I prefer secondary highways. Soon after crossing into New Brunswick, as I came through Dorchester, I saw a giant sandpiper at the side of the road.

“Shep” the sandpiper

I’ve seen the giant goose in Wawa and Husky the Muskie in Kenora, so I thought I’d stop and take a closer look. Even more impressive was the Bricklin parked in the lot.

Bricklin was a Canadian car manufacturer located in Saint John, New Brunswick, in 1974-75. With the help of provincial funding, they built about 3,000 cars, but problems with reliability of the acrylic body panels and other issues drove the price up and the car company soon went bankrupt. The car has a Chrysler slant 6 engine, a Datsun tail, and other parts from Chevrolet and Opel. It’s crowning feature are the winged doors that open upwards. I got talking to a young lady out front and accidentally mistook it for a DeLorean, which must happen a lot. The DeLorean is another long-nosed, snub-tailed, winged car of yesteryear, made famous by the Back to the Future movies. This Bricklin’s in great shape, obviously without a spot of rust on it, and no blistering that plagued the early models.

I’ve said it before, this is what I love about solo touring. I can stop whenever something catches my eye, meet people, and explore. It turns out that I’d stumbled upon the Dorchester Jail, the second oldest jail in Canada and the only privately owned provincial jail and Canada. It’s also the only privately owned Death Row in Canada and was the location of the last double-hanging in New Brunswick—the Bannister Brothers. That reminds me of a skull I once saw at Eldon House in London, Ontario, that was from the first hanging in Canada. Actually, it was the first two hangings because the rope broke on the first try, which leads me to wonder if the executioner apologized to the murderer for having to put him through his execution twice. Hmm . . .

Dorchester Jail

I’ve never spent a night in the clink but if I ever want to, I know where to go. The jail has been converted to an AirBNB and you can enjoy a night in a cell for a moderate price. I don’t know if that includes use of the courtyard during the day because there was at the time of my visit another interesting vehicle there beneath a cover.

This bad girl (the truck, not the woman, who graciously lifted the cover to show me) had a bit more rust on her than the Bricklin. Love the tractor tire front bumper, almost as good as the Bricklin’s featured “energy-absorbing” bumpers.

Also of interest was this metal arch that was constructed from horseshoes, locks, car parts, tools, chains, and prisoner shackles. And amid it all—I don’t know if built or placed—was a bird’s nest.

This place was a feast for eyes, but I had miles to go before I sleep so had to push on. I soon was passing through Saint John, NB (not to be confused with Saint John’s, NL), stopping only to fuel up and caffeinate up because it looked like it was going to be a late arrival at my destination, Cobscook Bay State Park in Maine. By the time I arrived at the border, it was already dusk.

Are you nervous when crossing borders? I’ve crossed the US-Canada one so many times I don’t get nervous anymore, but I’m always cautious about what I say because I know the power these officers have. I knew they were going to ask me the usual questions and was prepared. Our conversation went something like this:

Customs Officer: “Where do you live?”

Me: “Montreal.”

CBP Officer: “What is your purpose entering the US?

Me: “I’m on my way back from Newfoundland and just passing through.”

Officer: “Are you travelling with anyone?”

This is where things started to go sideways. I had pulled up alone so wasn’t expecting this.

Me: “Well, I was travelling with my wife, but she flew back early from Newfoundland for work and I’m riding back alone.”

Officer: “Are you meeting anyone in The United States?”

Another unexpected question. Now I should know better than to say more than is necessary, but I’m honest to a fault. I did, in fact, have plans to meet up with a reader of this blog who lives and rides in Portland, and we thought it would be fun to get in some riding together while I was passing through. So I answered honestly. I thought, better safe than sorry.

Me: “Actually, I’m meeting a fellow rider in Portland, and we’re going to go for a ride together. She’s a reader of my blog.”

This answer did not seem to help, and now I was beginning to feel more sorry than safe.

Officer: “What is your relationship with this person?”

He clearly wasn’t familiar with motorcycle culture. Or blogging.

Me: “I write a blog about my motorcycling. I’m meeting someone who is a reader of my blog. She lives in Portland and, since I will be passing through, we thought we’d meet up for a ride together.”

Officer: “So, it’s . . . like a date?”

I felt like I was digging myself in deeper. He clearly had missed the reference to my wife. Some jokes came to mind that might have lightened the moment, but I know enough never to joke with these guys. Sometimes I think that a lack of humour is a job requirement. I felt like I was at the door of a speakeasy and chose my words carefully.

Me: “No, I’m married. I’m meeting a fellow motorcyclist in Portland to go for a ride together. That’s all.”

I was tempted to enlighten him about the communal aspect of motorcycle culture, about blogging and the writer-reader relationship, or to provide a short romantic history of my marriage, but like I tell my composition students, sometimes less is more. The ball was in his court. By now the notorious Maine mosquitoes were out and finding their way up my nose. I looked him straight in the eye.

Officer: “Have a nice night,” he said, and handed me back my passport.

I felt like I’d just hit another tar snake and was happy I still had some of that bourbon in my pannier.

An hour later I had my tent set up, food on, bourbon poured, and a fire lit. That night I wandered down to the water to get out from under the trees of my campsite. The sky was huge and clear, and it was a perfect night for stargazing. I lay on my back and used a great little app called SkyView (Android and Apple) to pick out the constellations.

Highway 1 Maine is a secondary highway that follows the shoreline almost all the way into Portland, passing through quaint towns along the way. I took it west-east in 2017 when I did my first tour out to Cape Breton and The Cabot Trail and my plan was to do it again the other way this time, dropping down into Bar Harbour en route, which I’d heard a lot about. The cost of secondary highways is always time. It was very hot and the going was slow, slower than I remembered. Still, Google Maps was telling me that Bar Harbour is only about a 2-hour ride from Cobscook Bay, so I thought it would be perfect for a mid-morning coffee stop.

I took a short detour out to charming Lubec, ME.

I wouldn’t know because I never made it. As I was coming down Highway 3 south, I got stuck behind no less than four trucks—a hydro truck, a cement truck, a transport truck, and a dump truck—with no chance to pass. Volume got heavier and slower and it got hotter as morning developed into midday. At the same time, what I was seeing wasn’t particularly appealing—clam huts, lobster shacks, pirate-themed mini-putt, hotels, tour busses, hunting and fishing stores—and I began to wonder why I was there, crawling along in a wake of diesel fumes. There’s a national park there and I’m sure the coastline is impressive, if you can get to it, but whatever natural beauty might be drawing all these people to this region is so buried beneath layers of tourist development that I didn’t want to spend any more time trying to find it. As the traffic slowed to a crawl I said “Fuck it!,” pulled a U-turn, and got the hell out of there.

Now I was running late (am I never?) so had to abandon my plan to continue along Highway 1. Google Maps was saying the fastest way to Portland was the interstate, so that’s what I did. After the frustrations of the secondary highway, and given the heat, I was happy to ride at speed. I decided to get my coffee from a Dunkin’ Donuts at one of the exits and met there, by chance, Eric Foster, whom I had written about in a previous post. He’s the guy who crashed on the Trans-Taiga and was rescued by local trappers. On this day he was riding the newer Tiger 900 and had seen my 800 XC, the same as the one he crashed, so jumped off the highway when I did to have a chat. Small world. I’d never met him in person but it now made sense; I remember he lives in Maine. He told me Bar Harbour sucks during the tourist season. Good to know.

I was down to my final night of the tour and thankfully my friend, Berry, had something special planned for me. Berry and I started corresponding a few years ago. At the time, she also rode a 650GS, so found my blog that way. Soon our online conversations turned to other things like diet, politics, and literature, but motorcycles are the thing we usually talk about. When she decided to upgrade her bike, I was honoured that she sought my opinion on the Suzuki V-Strom 650, which of course I endorsed. So when I knew I’d be cutting back through Maine and passing close to Portland, we decided to try to meet and get in a ride. She went one step further and graciously offered to put me up the night in her beautiful house. This meant not only that I was spared setting up camp one last time but also that I could see a little of Portland. She took me on a tour of the old town out to a seaside restaurant where we could sit out and eat seafood while hearing the crashing surf from where it came. It was a fitting end to my Atlantic tour.

We did get in that ride. The next day, Berry followed me part of the way up toward the Canadian border, or rather, I followed her. I figured, let the local lead and choose the route. Here we are riding Highway 153 which, as you can see, is pretty nice.

Eventually, Berry split off at Conway and started heading back toward Portland. It was nice meeting her and putting a face to words, and I’m sure it won’t be the last time we meet. In fact, the NEBDR ends in Maine, so it may be sooner rather than later.

Berry and her new Suzuki V-Strom 650

There was one more good section of road remaining on this tour and it was The Kancamagus Highway (NH Rte 112) from Conway to Lincoln. Rever lists it as a G1 road, which is one of America’s Best Roads (Epic Incredible Roads)—their wording—and I would agree. After a rip over the mountain range, you get to decompress as the 112 winds its way parallel to the Pemigewasset River through the village of Loon Mountain, where I visited for the New Hampshire Highland Games for my very first overnight adventure tour, back in September 2016.

At a certain point of every tour, you ride back into familiar territory. It’s always a very noticeable sensation for me. After exploring for weeks and seeing everything for the first time, eventually, usually in that final day, you ride a road you’ve ridden before and remember the first time you rode it. You might even recollect your excitement or heightened attention at seeing it for the first time, and I guess that is why I like to travel. It’s that curiosity about the world that comes alive when you are experiencing the unfamiliar. Time slows, days are long and full, your senses fully alert, your mind constantly thinking, processing information, acquiring knowledge, keeping you safe. I can’t see myself spending vacation time at a resort; I think I’d get bored in two days.

The motorcycle is the perfect mode of travel for people like me who like to experience something new. And Newfoundland was certainly new (pun intended). I don’t think I could get bored with it, and I’m sure I’ll be back sometime in the future, God willing. In the meantime, it’s going to be very interesting to try a different type of touring altogether next summer when I do the BDRs (MA and NE, back to back). I’ve never done two weeks+ of constant off-roading, so there will be new technical and athletic challenges for me. At the same time, I’ll be exploring the Appalachian Mountain Range from West Virginia to the Canadian border. If you want to follow along, you know what to do.

What are your plans for the coming season? I always like to hear from readers so drop a comment below.

Lunch at The Blue Donkey and up through Smuggler’s Notch to the border. In total, I was on the road 25 days over just about 10,000 kilometres (6,000 miles) for an average of 400 kilometres per day.

Newfoundland’s Rich Aviation History

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After dropping Marilyn off at the Saint John’s airport, I ride solo back across the island, stopping at some aviation landmarks along the way.

It had been a great 17 days together on the bike through Gaspé, PEI, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Newfoundland, but Marilyn had to be back for work so off she flew. Now I was on my own again, and it took me a few hours to adjust; I’d become so accustomed to having her on the back as company.

I had to cross the island again back to Port aux Basque and, as some of you know, I’m an aviation enthusiast so decided to make some detours to historic landmarks en route. The first was the airfield in Harbour Grace where Amelia Earhart took off on her solo flight across the Atlantic in 1932. On the way there, for my mid-morning break, I stopped at the Tim’s in Bay Roberts for coffee and some minor maintenance.

Earlier in the day, I’d noticed one of the Tiger’s two headlamps burnt out. I had a spare on hand and it was a quick fix in the parking lot. One of the things I like about the Triumph is that it doesn’t have all that fairing at the front like the old Beemer. Changing a light bulb on that machine requires removal of the windscreen, the headlight guard, the front flashers, the side panels, the instrument panel, and finally, the fairing. On the Tiger, you simply twist to remove the cover. Nice!

Changing a headlamp on the Tiger
Changing the headlamp on the GS

With that done, off I flew as well, until I realized I’d left my hydration knapsack hanging on the back of a chair at Tim’s. Doh! As I rode back toward it, I pondered the chances of it still being there in small-town Newfoundland compared to if I’d left it unattended in Montreal. It took me maybe 15 minutes to get back to the coffee shop and to my relief but not surprise the knapsack was still there. Phew! It had some valuables inside and I would have been very annoyed if I’d lost it.

The first thing you see upon entering Harbour Grace is a statue of Amelia next to a Douglas airplane named The Spirit of Harbour Grace (see banner image above). The donors don’t win the Pulitzer for the most original name. The park of the same unfortunate name contains other items of interest, such as a replica of the famous flight log. There’s also a tourist info centre and the nice young student employees directed me up to the famous airstrip, which was really the only reason I was there.

When you arrive, after a few kilometres of gravel, you see one of those signposts pointing distances to destinations, only this one denotes famous flights in and out of the airstrip. You can see Earhart’s 3,132 kilometre flight to Culmore, Ireland, in 1932. Apparently WWI American ace Eddie Rickenbacker also used the airfield in 1936. The unassuming little clearing slopes slightly downward heading west, as planes naturally would take off into the oncoming easterly wind. Earhart would have had to turn 180 degrees after take-off before heading out over the Atlantic toward Ireland.

By the time Amelia attempted to circumnavigate the world in 1937, her legacy was secure. When she disappeared under mysterious circumstances on June 2, she became a legend. Like the Titanic, she took on a mythical significance larger than her physical accomplishments, which were numerous. The fateful end became one of the great mysteries of the modern era, taking us into the realm of imagination and the great unknowns of life and death. The grainy, black and white video footage we have of her does not seem to match the iconic status of what she’s come to mean, but reminds us that she was, in the end, human just the same.

If you are reading this on your phone, use landscape orientation. 

DEAR GEORGE: THE LOST LETTER

I’ll admit my big break came
from my looks. You said
when I walked into your office, you knew
you’d found your woman. Lucky, 
I guess, how much I looked like Lindy, 
although I never liked the nickname.
No woman likes to be compared
to a man. They said I even
moved like him, shared the same
DNA and fear of fame. I can’t complain,

but it wasn’t easy climbing into that plane
with a drunk, putting my life in his
trembling hands. I saw the bottle
tucked behind his seat and would have
thrown it out the hatch but knew
from Daddy how that ends. Instead,
I helped carry him to the dock, managed
our “personnel problem” as best I could. 
They didn’t let me fly, just the easy
bit over land, and that’s why

when I did it myself, solo, it was 
like a single finger held up to the world
as if to say, “Women can do this too.”
Nobody thought I could, even you. 
And more. Records fell like ticker-tape, 
didn’t they—altitude, distance, time 
merely obstacles of the mind, my body 
just another obstacle, an accident of sex, 
not tomboy but woman who
only wants what’s fair and true.

Don’t patronize me! I said I wouldn’t
fly the derby if the girls and I
started east, the guys getting the harder route 
over the mountains, and meant it. When
they kicked us out of the Bendix Trophy
I’d had enough; they could find another
to fly their starlet to the race. Even in marriage
I only ever asked for freedom. The note 
I wrote on our wedding day said I’d never claim 
anything from you and asked the same. 

So, dear, if you’re reading this you know
I did not make it home. Maybe it’s for 
the best; I was only ever afraid 
of growing old, as most women will attest,
and preferred to go in my plane. 
And since we’ve always been this honest,
there is one thing more: the rumours 
that I was pregnant when I flew
round the earth’s belly are true, but 
the baby wasn’t yours. I think you knew.

Love, 

A.E.


© 2022 Kevin Bushell

There are many theories as to what happened to her, including that she and navigator Fred Noonan crash landed on Gardner Island, south of the intended Howland Island. Human bones and artifacts, including a sextant and a ladies compact, were found, but the bones, now lost, by some accounts did not match her dimensions. As I write this, there are reports that an American team has found her plane 100 miles south of Howland on the bottom of the Pacific, about 5000 meters down. All we have is sonar imagery resembling her plane, but it will be very interesting to follow these developments.

Back in Newfoundland, the famous airstrip was unused and abandoned on the day I visited. The only person around was an older gentleman named Austin, who has built a house on the property adjacent to the airstrip. Maybe it was because I was on my own for a change and knew only I would pay the price for delaying, but I indulged in a conversation with this unusual man.

He has built several airplanes which he stores in a hangar beside the airstrip but has never obtained his pilot’s licence. He said he never had the time to complete the licensing process. He also built the house, but never connected it to NL Hydro because, he says, they charge too much ($50,000, if I remember correctly). He had all the windows of his house open on the day I was there to help deal with some mold that had developed in the recent hot, humid weather. He has a large generator that he uses when needed but hasn’t installed A/C or, I guess, a dehumidifier. He also has, sitting beside his house, an ancient wheel loader which, he says, he bought for dealing with “Snowmageddon.” It had a fuel line leak and he was just about to deal with that.

I felt for this solitary, older man with the unused airplanes, the moldy house, and the leaky heavy machine, and was tempted to get out my tools and give him a hand, but all I had time for on this particular day was a brief conversation. Maybe I shouldn’t feel sorry for him; he’s clearly staying busy through his retirement. I suspect there are a lot of these brilliant eccentrics in Newfoundland, and I was happy to have been given a glimpse into his extraordinary and fiercely independent life. We parted, not before exchanging names and promising to meet again.

My next stop was Gander, which we missed coming the other way. I’d heard of the famous airport, and frankly, had become a little tired of hearing about it, if you want to know the truth. Okay, it’s remarkable that they managed to host all those unexpected guests during 9/11, but really . . . a broadway musical? To be honest, I was more interested in seeing the main lobby as a time capsule of another era. (They have managed to retain the original decor.) I was also interested in the idea of all those famous people like The Beatles, Marilyn Monroe, Elvis, and Frank Sinatra having set foot in there. Oh yeah, and the Queen. Now we can add the adventure boots of 650thumper to that list.

The coin parking meter out front was cute. What a contrast from the Montreal airport where you pay $8 for 20 minutes or get 30 seconds in the drop-off zone before security start yelling at you.

My third aviation stop of the day was The North Atlantic Aviation Museum, right across the street from the airport. By the time I got there, the museum was closed but that was okay; it was getting late and I only had time for a quick blow-through, so to speak, of the outdoor exhibits anyway.

There’s a lot more aviation history in Newfoundland I would have liked to explore, such as where Alcock and Brown took off (somewhere in Saint John’s) for the first ever transatlantic flight, but that would have to wait for another time. Half an hour later I was in Notre Dame Provincial Park in time to go for a swim before setting up camp. It had been hot and the swimming there was a welcome relief at the end of a long day.

The next day I got an early start in an attempt to beat the heat. It was easy highway riding and I settled in to several hours and put over 300 kilometres behind me, stopping only at the Canadian Tire in Corner Brook to top up my oil. I’d ridden 6000 kilometres since my oil change, some of it high revs in heat, and the sight glass told me the oil was a little low, so I added 200 mL to get me home. While I was eating lunch, it started to rain, and it rained, and rained, sometimes hard, for the remainder of the day.

I’m not spooked about riding in rain. I have good rain gear and trust my tires. I was ahead of schedule and the prudent thing would have been to pull off somewhere warm and dry and enjoy a good book, or to get to the terminal early and wait in the warmth there. Instead, I decided to spend the remaining time exploring Cape St. George off the south-west corner of the island.

My friends and wife will attest that my motto in life, aside from Life Is An Adventure, is “Pack it in.” Maybe because I recognize that time and life are so precious, I feel that an idle moment is a wasted moment. It’s an affliction I’m working on. In this instance, I was less successful and decided, despite the rain, to try to loop the cape. It would be a good challenge, and I like a challenge.

The lady at the gas station in Stephenville said it takes about two hours, so that would leave me plenty of time with buffer to get the rest of the way to Port aux Basque for my night crossing. In the back of my mind was also the possibility that there might be some good ADV riding out there, and there was. I ventured off the pavement down to the water for a photo op.

I made it out to Boutte du Cap Park, but shortly after rounding the point and starting back on the west side, the road climbed into fog. Now I was forced to ride at 55 km/hr and was at risk of missing my ferry, not to mention hitting a moose, so I bailed. This will give you a sense of what I was seeing just before I pulled the U-turn.

And this will give you a sense of the cold, wet ride back along the coast to the ferry. I know these are boring so I’ve kept them short.

At the ferry terminal, I changed into dry clothes and couldn’t resist getting a hot coffee, a decision that would come back to haunt me later. I normally am not affected by caffeine, even late in the day, but that night, in unfamiliar surroundings, on my own, with distractions all around, I think I got about an hour of sleep. I’m a pretty solid sleeper, even in public places, but some A-hole front and centre of my section sounded like he was swallowing his tongue the entire night. I eventually got up and searched for another section, but each floor had several loud snorers. It really showed me how prevalent snoring and apnea are in our culture. I’ve recently been studying this through Andrew Huberman’s podcasts in which he talks about mouth breathers and diet and obesity and how these factors result in facial modification, sleep disturbances, and decreased quality of life. Something to consider.

It was a crappy way to end a wonderful first visit to The Rock. I was happy to dock and headed straight to Baddeck Cabot Trail Campground, set up camp, then took a power nap before hitting The Cabot Trail. But this is already pretty long, so I’ll save that iconic ride and the rest of my tour through Nova Scotia and Maine for another post.

Have you visited any of these sites? What is your connection to aviation, motorcycling, or Newfoundland. Feel free to comment below. I love hearing from readers.

The Northern Peninsulas

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We see caribou at Port au Choix, icebergs at Twillingate, and puffins at Elliston en route to Saint John’s.

We’d reached the northern tip of Newfoundland and now it was time to start making our way back south and across the island to Saint John’s, and not a moment too soon. The bugs were bad! Like the night before, no one wanted to cook, so we headed into Raleigh again in search of food. Unfortunately, the restaurant we had in mind didn’t open until 11:00, but we were referred to an RV park that did an early greasy breakfast for a song. By this time it was late morning and we were no further south with no reservation for the night.

When things look bleak, it’s never a bad idea to go to the local Tim Horton’s. There, you can get a coffee for $2 and free WIFI to sort yourself out. I found a B & B about halfway down the coast, made an executive decision, phoned, and made a reservation for the night. I knew we were essentially losing a day from our tentative schedule, but sometimes you just have to adjust your schedule to fit your circumstances.

Jeannie’s Sunrise B & B turned out to be a real treat. The room we got actually did have a view out over the ocean to the east, so we would wake to the sunrise (and get an earlier start). Jeannie also suggested we take a ride after dinner over to the lighthouse. We said we were nervous about riding after dark but she reassured us the ride across the cape is open with excellent visibility and she was right. On our way to the lighthouse, I spotted two caribou grazing a short distance from the road.

It doesn’t get any better than this. Seriously, I think it was the highlight of the entire tour for me. Marilyn was eager to get over to the lighthouse in the hope of seeing a moose if not another ocean sunset, but I couldn’t help doubling back for a second look.

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Trust me, it’s worth it

I don’t know why I was so taken by them. Maybe it’s because they are so elusive, like the singular chaste girl at college who was the object of every guy’s wet dream, or the rare motorbike or book you’ve been searching for your entire life. I know I’ll be in trouble for those comparisons but the point I’m trying to make is that rarity increases value and desire. In this case, you have to get pretty far north to have a hope of seeing caribou, and then you have to be lucky to be there at a certain time of the year and a certain time of the day. When all these factors align, you just hope their expert skills of camouflage don’t lead to you driving right past, which most people did. And it’s in the hope of capturing something of that rarity that leads us to making the mistake of reaching for our phones or cameras instead of soaking in the encounter with every drop of attention we have, so it can plant and root in memory, maybe grow into a poem, or some other art. I’m thinking here of Canadian poet Don McKay’s term poetic attention, “a sort of readiness, a species of longing which is without desire to possess” (“Baler Twine,” Vis à Vis, Gaspereau Press).

Motionless, they move just beyond the ridge-line, half hidden, as if wading knee deep in rocky scrub land. In the fading light, it’s a wonder I saw them at all, 100 meters off the road, but there’s definitely something there, two figures, one clearly larger and leading the other. I grab the monocular and see through the lens now how expert they are at camouflage. Their tawny hides are a shade darker than shadow, and the mottled white of their underbellies looks just like lichen. Even the antlers, antennas receiving the last of the light, could be sun-bleached branches scattered on the ground. Heads down, they don’t see us, tourists to their world of wilderness. I should have known this moment cannot be captured except in memory but want more—a shot, a boast, a post. I take the camera and step forward, but when I lift it to my eye I see that now we are the ones observed, strange creatures standing at the edge of their attention.

Copyright © 2023 by Kevin Bushell

The next day we went in search of icebergs. We’d heard that Twillingate was the place to see them, but since it was July, we didn’t hold out much hope. We got an early start and rode the rest of the west coast back down through Rocky Harbour to Deer Lake, picked up the Trans Canada Highway, rode that all the way to the 340 east of Grand Falls Windsor, then headed north as far as we could, which turned out to be a place called Dildo Run Provincial Park just east of Virgin Arm. The comments section below is open for your worst jokes.

After dinner, I wandered up to the gate with a pipe in search of a pannier sticker, which they gave for free to anyone who completed a survey. Today you can’t take a piss in a public washroom without being asked to complete a survey and as a rule I do not do surveys, ever. I know that they are just an underhanded way to get your contact info so someone can target market to you, all in the guise of providing “helpful advertising.” I don’t need any help with my shopping, thank you very much; if anything, I need help not shopping. But in this case, with a pannier sticker as the prize, I plugged my nose and did it. As a secondary prize, I struck up a conversation with two local staff members, and talking with locals is always interesting. I learned that one had grown up at Jane and Finch in Toronto, perhaps the most dangerous neighbourhood in Canada. When I asked how he survived the gang violence, he said, “See these shoes?” and modelled his gleaming white runners. “I learned to run fast.”

I heard how both had left Newfoundland earlier in their lives to make an income, first to Toronto to build the Gardiner Expressway and the CN Tower, then to Fort McMurray during the oil boom, splitting their time between two provinces thousands of miles apart. I’m more familiar with the diaspora of my second-generation immigrant students, so it was interesting to hear of their experiences living in two cultures created by national migration. If I remember correctly, one said he would fly back and forth every six weeks to see family. It reminded me of a movie I’d seen recently set in Belfast about a similar sacrifice made by one family whose father was forced to seek work in England. I suppose the conflict between living where you want to and where you have to is nothing new, especially here in Canada where the rural areas are beautiful and the urban ones so . . . not beautiful. I just didn’t think people split their lives in half like this, or that it was even feasible, but that they either stuck it out at an economic cost, or made the difficult move at an emotional one. I was happy that both my acquaintances, later in life, had managed to find employment with ParksNL.

The next day we rode up into Twillingate, the unofficial capital of Iceberg Alley, and beyond onto North Twillingate Island, which is picturesque and worth visiting just to see the colourful clapboard buildings and to climb up to the lighthouse and look out over the ocean. It’s here that icebergs that have broken off of glaciers in Greenland drift by, drawn by sea currents. The best time to view them is April and May so we were late but still able to see some bergy bits (that’s a real term) and growlers. If their size wasn’t super impressive, their colour certainly was.

Looking east from Long Point Lighthouse, Twillingate.

After a night at Terra Nova National Park, we were within a day’s ride from Saint John’s but decided to head up to Elliston on the Bonavista peninsula. We’d been told by a birder friend that it’s the best place to view Puffins. I have to admit that I don’t quite get the appeal of puffins, despite what I just said above about rarity. Maybe it’s because they are such crappy flyers, struggling into the air by flapping their hearts out (up to 400 times per minute), or maybe it’s their creepy faces, giving them the nickname “clowns of the sea.”

But we went, because we were in Newfoundland, and it’s the unwritten law to see puffins when here, like how you have to see a production of The Nutcracker at Christmas and the movie The Sound of Music at least once a year to maintain marital bliss. In the end, however, I’m glad we did. Bonavista literally means “beautiful view” and the ride around the peninsula was special. The puffins were pretty neat too.

Elliston has another claim to fame. It is also the root cellar capital of the world, according to NL tourism. I didn’t know there was a root cellar capital or who decides such things, but I found the little structures quaint in a Hobbit-like way and the idea interesting. These cold storage facilities keep vegetables cool in the summer and prevent freezing in the winter, so essentially the earth regulates the temperature. I can’t keep mice out of my back porch so am curious how half of the produce doesn’t get spoiled by vermin. The doors, stonework, and sky make for some picturesque photos.

Feeling like I’m in a tourism commercial.

Our treasure hunt across the northern peninsulas was coming to a close, yet ironically, although we were not searching for it, the best discovery was yet to come. Earlier in the day, during a rest stop at a coffee shop, I overheard a staff member say she liked a place called Trinity. I figured if a local likes it, it must be good, so despite Marilyn’s concerns about the time and getting into Saint John’s late, I made another executive decision and pulled off the 230 when I saw signs for Trinity. The ride in from the highway was pretty and the village even better. We stopped at the Dock Marina Restaurant and Gallery. Now Marilyn was no longer complaining about the time but wondering aloud how we might be able to retire here. We ended up buying some artwork as a souvenir and shipping it home.

The beautiful quilts had me thinking of my late mom whose passion was quilting.

It was getting late and we still had a three-hour ride to our hotel in Saint John’s. Yes, we were splurging on a hotel this night. I could say that we were enjoying ourselves so much that we decided to loosen the purse-strings, but the truth is that we misjudged accommodations in Saint John’s. We’d made reservations all up the east coast, thinking that the remoteness might make it difficult to secure campsites, and deduced that there would be no shortage of cheap accommodations in the city. In fact, Saint John’s is very busy during the tourist months of summer. We would “have to” take a night at the exquisite Alt Hotel on Water Street. I didn’t mind. It had been a lot of riding and we’d be getting in after dark. The room, with its electric blinds and view of the harbour, was a welcome treat, and the staff didn’t seem to mind us tromping through the lobby in our muddy gear.

A ride through beautiful Trinity, NL, as we headed out.

In the next post, we hit the town, meet up with friends, and ride the southern peninsulas.