Riding the NEBDR with some Awesome Players

September 9, 2024September 10, 2024 / 650thumper / Leave a comment

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

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.

Review: Dunlop Trailmax Mission Tires

July 17, 2024December 10, 2024 / 650thumper / 2 Comments

Photo credit: https://www.dunlopmotorcycletires.com/tire-line/mission/

A great long distance adventure touring tire with one major flaw.

When Dunlop decided to design a new ADV tire, they smartly asked adventure riders what they wanted. Of course, we all want a tire that does everything well—excellent street performance with no compromises off-road. That’s not physically possible, but Dunlop claims to have come pretty close with the Trailmax Mission, saying it offers “knobby-like performance” off-road and “great ride quality” and “impressive grip” on the road. I ran the tire for 20,000 kilometres and it was a very good tire on the road but had limitations off-road. Aside from these limitations, I would hesitate to buy it again because of one major drawback.

On Road

Dunlop claims that the Trailmax Mission is a 60/40 tire. I’m glad they revised those numbers, because when the tire was launched they were calling it a 50/50. I think it’s more like a 70/30. You can see at a glance that it’s designed primarily for the street, with a rounded profile and not blocks but deep grooves. That results in a very comfortable street ride with easy turn in and relatively little vibration coming up into the handlebars.

One specific request many ADV riders had was longevity; we’re simply tired of having to change our tires every 5-6K. The Trailmax Mission tires have a very hard compound and you can expect to get 20,000K out of a set. I put a set of these on at the beginning of last season and rode them out to Newfoundland and back 2-up fully loaded. After 20,000K, there was plenty of tread left in the front and some left in the rear.

So apparently if you can see all of Lincoln’s head the tire is finished. The rear is pretty close to done, although I’m not quite down to the wear marks. The front has some life but wear is uneven (probably my fault with under-inflation). Despite that hardness, I never had any problems with the tire skidding in the rain, an issue some riders have reported with the Heidenau K60 Scout that has similar longevity.

So if you are going on a long tour that will be primarily asphalt, the Trailmax Mission would be a good choice.

Off Road

I used this tire in the Classique Plus ride on Class 2 roads. It handles well in hard-packed dirt, gravel, and even shallow sand. I also had it on my 650GS before I sold it for a final tour through the New England states that involved some fairly deep gravel, and I have to say, I was having an easier time than my riding buddies on Shinko 705s, a similar 70/30 tire. Yes, it slides out from time to time, but predictably, which actually makes it a fun tire to run on dirt and gravel if you’re into powersliding.

There are a couple of features of the Trailmax Mission that make it especially good in dirt, despite its round profile. One is the sidewall lugs, a technology borrowed from ATV tires that allows the tire to bite when sunk into deep sand or mud. Yes, it does surprisingly well. Dunlop also claim the lugs help prevent sidewall punctures from sharp rocks.

You wouldn’t think these little ridges do much to pull a 500 pound bike through deep mud, but they do.

Another feature is the Staggered Step design. I can’t really say if these did anything but Dunlop claims they add rigidity in the contact patch for improved stability. The idea is that as one step wears down, there’s another ready to take over.

Obviously we are talking about stability on the sidewalls as you are leaning through a corner. I guess this is Dunlop’s attempt to reduce the “wandering” sensation some tires have when on the side blocks. Perhaps a Physicist reader will explain it to us because I’m a bit at a loss as to how these cut-outs are going to improve stability. That said, I never noticed the tire wandering, which is something I now feel on the Anakee Wilds I just put on.

“Knobby-like performance”?

Not really, although good enough for even deep sand if you are suicidal or mud if you are masochistic. It’s here where the tire has its limits. I found myself going through mud on the Rideau Trail north of Merrickville, and while the tires got me through the first few puddles, they soon caked up.

Impressive initial performance for a 70/30.

The problem is that, unlike a knobby, the mud does not evacuate from the grooves of the Trailmax Mission. You can spin the rear to clear it, but it’s the front that you need planted, and once it’s caked, you might as well be riding on ball bearings.

Yes, you can blame me for taking a tire like this into mud. It’s not meant for that. I’ve seen GS instructors take their 1200GS’s through a mud bath on Anakee 3s!, but I’m no GS instructor. So for the average rider, either stay out of the mud on these or put on a more aggressive tire.

Riders in the Quebec area will be familiar with Marc Chartrand. He is the founder of RidAventure.ca forum, La Classique Rally, and lead planner of the Trans Quebec Trail. Basically he’s The Man in Quebec and probably has more off-road experience exploring Quebec trails than anyone around here, so when he gives advice, I listen. I once read a reply of his to the ubiquitous question of “What tire should I put on my motorcycle?” His answer (I’m paraphrasing and translating) was basically that if you get, say, 6,000K out of a tire and “only” do about 10% off-road, that’s still 600K in the dirt. And that’s a lot of kilometres to be crapping your pants if you have on a street-biased tire. That’s why, he said, experienced ADV riders always put on aggressive tires.

I’m thinking of this advice in relation to the Trailmax Mission tire. If you are riding hard packed dirt, gravel, even some loose rock and shallow sand, these tires are great. But if you are going anywhere near deep sand or mud, you’re on the wrong tire.

The Major Flaw

Regardless of the tire’s off-road limitations, I’m not sure I’ll be putting these on my bike again. That’s because I do remote and long-distance riding and need to be able to change tires by hand. These tires are so tough it’s nearly impossible, and that’s not an option when you’re running tubes. Maybe some people can, but I couldn’t, and that’s what counts. Those 20,000K are the product of very tough rubber used in the manufacturing.

Now before you start saying “It’s all a matter of technique,” let me say that I’ve been spooning tires on and off my bikes for years. I’ve made it a matter of principle, thinking the more I struggle through the process the easier it will become when I have a puncture in the field. I’ve changed many different types of tires, including Metzler Tourance, Shinko 705 and 805, Pirelli Scorpion Trail II, Anakee Adventure, Kenda Big Blocks, and even the dreaded Heidenau K60 Scouts. But I could not change the Trailmax Mission tire.

Getting the tire on was not the problem; it was getting it off. I could get both beads off the rim, but couldn’t get the wheel out of the tire. Usually I put the big 15″ lever through and lever it off the same side, using my knee to press it the rest of the way off. You can watch Ari Henning do that here. But the tire he is changing has a minuscule sidewall, making it easy. The Trailmax Mission has a deep and very tough sidewall. There was no way it was coming off.

I eventually called in the support . . . but my wife was no help. I then texted my buddy Riley from Awesome Players Off-Road MC. He suggested another method of getting the tire off. Instead of same side, remove the other bead on the other side and drop the wheel down into the tire. For example, you can see this method done here. I tried this and got the wheel down into the tire just fine, but no matter how much I struggled with the tire fully lubed up and in the heat, I could not then get the wheel out of the tire. After much cursing, and sweat, and some blood, I got it half off, which is to say, I threw in the towel with the wheel stuck 45˚ relative to the tire. I took it to a shop which charged me $15 to get it off.

I’m not sure the Trailmax Missions are designed to be changed by hand, and I don’t blame Dunlop for abandoning those of us who still do this work. The vast majority of riders take their bikes to a shop for a tire change, and the vast majority of adventure riders aren’t going off-road and aren’t running tubes. Even the latest bikes with off-set spoked wheels don’t run tubes, so you can fix a flat using a plug. To compete in the longevity game, manufacturers are using tougher and tougher rubber. The industry is slowly abandoning those of us who still ride with tubes and need to remove our tires by hand.

I’ll admit, you can get a tube out to patch it without removing the tire, although even that will be difficult with a sidewall this tough. So I’ll step down from my soapbox now by just saying that the difficulty of changing the Trailmax Mission by hand is a consideration.

The Beast. That bruised thumb is the product of a tire lever in trying to get it off. I would suggest also wearing eye or maybe face protection because I had a lever fly out with force.

Conclusion

Dunlop has swung for the fence with the Trailmax Mission tire. It’s a premium tire at a premium price, with a 150/70 18″ (a common rear size) running for about $320 CAN and $250 USF. They listened to riders and studied the market, then came up with a tire capable of going long distances on the large adventure bikes of today. Apparently something like 80% of BMW 1200 (now 1250 and 1300) GS’s never see dirt, and that’s clearly the market Dunlop were aiming for with this tire. If that’s the type of riding you do, the Trailmax Mission is definitely worth a try. Like I said, I used it to ride out to Newfoundland, a tour which was primarily asphalt, but it was nice to know if the asphalt ran out (and it did a few times), we would not be in trouble. Overall, I was very happy with how the tire rode and how long it lasted, even fully loaded with a passenger through the heat of midsummer.

If you are looking for something beefier, capable of mud and sand, consider the Trailmax Raid, a 40/60 tire in the Dunlop line.

Canada’s 10 Best Roads

July 1, 2024July 2, 2024 / 650thumper / 1 Comment

In celebration of Canada Day 2024, here are my 10 favourite roads to ride in Canada.

Canada is a huge country with over a million kilometres of roads. I can’t say I’ve ridden most of them, but I have ridden to both the east and west coasts and almost to the northern one, so I’ve done a good survey of the country. Here are my favourite roads in Canada, going from east to west.

Highway 430 (Newfoundland)

Also known as The Viking Trail, this highway begins at Deer Lake, where it splits off from the Trans Canada Highway and heads west and then north. It hugs the western shore of Newfoundland, offering hours and hours of spectacular ocean views and some of the most impressive geology in the country. Be sure to stop in Gros Morne National Park and hike The Tablelands Trail with its unusual orange rock, and camp at one of three campgrounds right on the beach. A highlight for riding is the section through Rocky Harbour, a mountainous region with changes in elevation and twists and turns and scenic lookouts that rival the iconic Cabot Trail in Cape Breton. Further north, the 430 levels out and follows the shoreline. You’ll feel the air temperature change rapidly when the wind blows off the ocean, so have a windbreaker on hand. Another highlight is Point-au-Choix, a national historic site where moose, caribou, and other wildlife can often be seen. If you make it all the way up to the northern tip of the highway, you’ll be rewarded with views of icebergs drifting southward from Greenland and L’anse Aux Meadows, the historic site of the first settlement of Europeans from which the trail takes its name.

Highway 4 (Nova Scotia)

You may be surprised that I didn’t choose The Cabot Trail as my favourite road in Nova Scotia. It’s a fun ride, no doubt, but for really getting a sense of interior Nova Scotia, I prefer Highway 4. Apparently it was the original Trans Canada Highway traversing the province and you can see that in the way it criss-crosses its replacement. You can also hear its history in some of the towns along the way. Travelling east, you pick it up just outside Oxford before it hooks south through Wentworth Valley, then east through Truro and Bible Hill, New Glasgow, and Antigonish before crossing onto Cape Breton, where it hugs the south shoreline of Bras d’Or Lake all the way to Sydney and, finally, Grace Bay at the shore of the Atlantic Ocean. It’s as long as its history and every bit as varied and interesting. It doesn’t contain the dramatic switchbacks of The Cabot Trail, but weaves its quiet way through rolling hills, countryside, lakes, and villages, never far from civilization but as if in another era. The two or three times I’ve ridden it, I enjoyed it so much I forgot to take a photo, so you’ll just have to get out there yourself to see why it’s one of my favourite roads.

Highway 132 (Quebec)

The 132 is Quebec’s longest and oldest highway. It begins in the west at the US border south of Montreal and follows the south shore of the St. Lawrence River all the way around the Gaspé peninsula. It’s best to pick it up at Rivière-du-Loup east of Quebec City, where it becomes picturesque with old clapboard houses and churches dating back to the origins of Quebec and, indeed, North America. East of Rimouski, the road narrows and mountains rise up on your right so that for hundreds of miles you are riding a narrow ribbon of asphalt strung between the Gulf on one side and dramatic cliffs on the other. And when the road turns inland to traverse the mountain range, the riding gets even better. Be sure to make a stop at Forillion National Park and the iconic Roche Percé (pierced rock), a biker mecca. But don’t stop there; keep riding around the peninsula to see sandy beaches as you pass through quaint fishing villages. When you reach the New Brunswick border, you can cut back across inland on the 299 for some technical riding.

Highway 2 (Ontario)

The first ride I ever did, the day after I got my licence, was along Highway 2 from the Quebec border to Kingston. It is another shoreline road, first in the east with the St. Lawerence River and opening up to Lake Ontario west of Brockville. It is also one of Canada’s oldest roads with a ton of history to explore, particularly Loyalist history. Be sure to check out the Lost Villages Museum, containing replicas of buildings flooded when the Long Sault dam was built, and the Long Sault Parkway, known as the Florida Keys of the north. (It’s actually a series of islands created by the flooding and strung together by bridges.) Windmill Point still contains the original windmill that was the focal point of the 1838 uprising, when Americans invaded across the river in a failed attempt to overthrow the fledging government. Just down the street in Prescott is Fort Wellington, an important early military location, and in Brockville you can walk the first train tunnel in Canada. And while we are on the road of firsts, once you get to Kingston, you can tour the first penitentiary and, a little further, the original milestone marking Highway 2 as the first asphalt highway in Canada. Riding Highway 2 is like riding back in time to the birth of Canada.

Highway 17, from Sault Ste. Marie to Thunder Bay (Ontario)

Highway 17 in the northwest of Ontario is far enough away from the urban sprawl of the GTA (Greater Toronto Area) to feel remote and pristine. Soon after leaving the Sault, you enter Lake Superior Provincial Park with several campgrounds, but regardless of whether you’re camping or not, be sure to pull off at Agawa Bay for the sandy beach and Agawa Rock containing ancient Ojibwe pictographs. When you leave the park travelling west, keep your eye out for the Wawa goose, and then settle in to miles and miles of excellent rolling tarmac with spectacular views of the The Great Sea. Although only two lanes, there are passing lanes on many hills so you can get past that RV and stretch your bike’s legs. At the end of the day, there’s Pukaskwa National Park to rest your head, get down to the shore, or hike inland to The White River Suspension Bridge. If you want a sense of northern Ontario, Highway 17 is it.

Highway 18 (Saskatchewan)

Think Saskatchewan is flat and boring? Think again. Highway 18 along the southern border strings together quaint towns, abandoned homes, historic grain elevators, rolling hills, and unblemished prairie. I rode Highway 18 west into Grasslands National Park East Block. It’s a fantastic national park with a very distinctive style of its own. Instead of the usual towering pines and lake views, Grasslands is in open prairie, and you can imagine what it would have been like to cross this formidable region by wagon in the 19th Century. Be sure to ride the single-lane loop along the top of the badlands, and the next morning, why not, continue on the 18 across the park to Val Marie. When I did it, I had the pleasure of watching four majestic elk cross the road in front of me and, one by one, as if in slow motion, leap the boundary fence before heading off across the open countryside. Grasslands NP and Highway 18 put you in touch with the prairie soil and grass and big sky like no other place I know.

Highway 31 and 31A (British Columbia)

The 31 hugs Kootenay Lake from Balfour up to Kaslo, with the lake on one side and mountains on the other. Not bad. But it gets even better when you turn west and head along the 31A from Kaslo to New Denver. This road is listed in several “best of” articles and I’m going to include it in mine too because it’s pretty special. I don’t know how it compares to Tail of the Dragon for corners within a certain distance, but it has many, and one thing it has going for it that Tail does not is incredible scenery. You don’t really want to ride it fast or you’ll miss the view. There are towering mountains on either side and, for the eastern part at least, it follows the bubbling emerald green Kaslo River. At the end, although it needs no prize, is the quaint and secluded town of New Denver. I think I might just retire out there—if only to ride that road whenever I want.

Pausing on the 31A between Kaslo and New Denver

Highway 4 (British Columbia)

If you have to cross Vancouver Island, you have to take Highway 4. Good thing it’s a gem of a road, rising and falling through mountainous terrain with Cathedral Grove as a rest stop and the Pacific Ocean as the destination. As you approach Ucluelet, the road twists up into the mountains and you might find yourself in fog before it drops down again to the ocean. Once there, you’ll find Pacific Rim National Park, a magical place with long sandy beaches, crashing surf, and nothing between you and Asia but 19,000 kilometres of water.

The towering Douglas Firs of Cathedral Grove

Highway 37 (Northern British Columbia)

Technically further west than Highway 4 and Tofino is Highway 37, also know as The Stewart-Cassiar Highway. If you are going into Yukon, it’s one of only two roads going that far north, and I’ll go on record as saying it is preferable for riding to The Alaska Highway. Just north of Smithers and west of Hazelton, you turn right at Kitwanga and head north, 750 kilometres of twisting smooth two-lane blacktop with scenic views of rivers and lakes at the sides of the road and northern Rocky Mountains as backdrop to your ride. It’s pretty remote up there and you will ride for hours without seeing another vehicle, so be sure to have lots of gas and tools at hand, just in case. This is bear country, and you will see many on the road or at the sides, eating berries in the ditch. There might even be some grizzlies in these parts, but the remoteness, your exposure to the elements, and the lingering threat of danger is part of the energy and excitement of Highway 37. This is a road that pushes you out of your comfort zone and into the realm of risk and adventure.

The Dempster Highway (Yukon)

Not enough risk and adventure for you? There’s one highway that trumps all others in both. It’s the Dempster Highway, 886 kilometres of gravel that will eat your tires if not puncture them. When I was up there, I saw a camper rolled over at the side of the road and figured it was due to a puncture because the tire tracks went sideways. But unlike the Trans-Taiga in northern Quebec, you don’t ride this road for bragging rights. You do it for the astounding, majestic, magnificent views like no other in the country. That’s because you are above the tree-line for sections of the Dempster and the wide open vistas of subarctic tundra are worth every kilometre. If you just want a taste, head up about 80 kilometres to Tombstone Territorial Park, but bring bear spray and be sure to string your food. If you want to venture further, you’ll need to go at least 400 kilometres to get to Eagle Plains and the next fuel station, so depending on your bike, you might need to carry extra fuel. One other major consideration: don’t attempt this road on anything but knobby tires; it’s covered in calcium chloride and when it rains the road becomes so slippery you will be forced to wait for it to dry before you can get back down to Dawson City. All warnings aside, this is my favourite road in Canada if only for the geography it offers and the sense of remoteness.

I know I’ve missed a few provinces and a territory, but I’m blaming that on Covid. When I went across Canada the summer of ’21, I wasn’t allowed to stop in Manitoba, and the border to The Northwest Territories was closed. I also didn’t spend much time exploring Alberta but stayed mostly with friends and family in Calgary.

So what roads have I missed? Which of these have your ridden? Let me know your thoughts. I’m two years away from retiring and there’s a lot more of this beautiful country I want to see, so please drop a comment below and I’ll put it on my bucket list.

Here in Montreal, Canada Day is mired in the usual nationalist politics and anti-colonial sentiment, and I think that’s a shame. Surely it’s not the right time to highlight differences or mistakes made in our past, but to celebrate the many collective freedoms and opportunities the country offers as well as to recognize its complex history and natural beauty. All things considered, and certainly compared to many other countries around the world, it really is a pretty great country to live in, and an amazing one to ride. Happy Canada Day. Now tomorrow get out there and ride.

The Best-Laid Plans

June 28, 2024June 28, 2024 / 650thumper / Leave a comment

The 2024 riding season is looking very different.

Avoca Bridge on the Rivière-Rouge, Quebec

I was playing pickle ball with a motorcycle friend when she caught her foot on the court and fell, breaking her wrist and messing up her plans for an upcoming tour through Greece. (She ended up going but as a pillion.)

Another riding buddy just bought a sweet 2022 1250GS and was all set to ship it to Las Vegas this fall and ride to Yosemite NP and back along the Pacific Coast Highway to San Diego. The other day while walking into his garage, he got his feet caught up in a hose and fell, breaking both his arms.

Both my friends are healing well but their stories remind me that sometimes “the best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft a-gley” (Robbie Burns, “The best laid plans of mice and men / Can go awry”).

I’m thinking of this in relation to my own summer plans. If you’ve been following this blog, you know I was due to leave July 1 to ride The Blue Ridge Parkway down to West Virginia, then ride the MABDR and NEBDR back to Quebec. The bike was ready; I was ready. Now that’s not going to happen, but for reasons less dramatic than what happened to my friends.

As some of you know, my wife and I rescued a dog in October 2021, near the end of the Covid crisis. He was in a bad situation through the first several years of his life and came to us with some pretty severe trauma. So I didn’t travel that first summer but let him settle into his new home. Last summer, Marilyn and I left him for three weeks while we toured the East Coast and Newfoundland, and ever since then, he’s shown signs of separation anxiety.

Recently while we were on a short trip out of province to visit family, he became severely ill. He lost about 20% of his weight and had to be hospitalized for 24 hours to receive intensive treatment. The official diagnosis was gastro, but I’ve come to learn that gastro is really just a generic term for any kind of digestive issue. The real cause, I’m quite certain, was stress.

The good news is that, physically, he has recovered after a week of antibiotics and gastro food. The bad news is that now his anxiety has worsened to the degree that we can no longer leave him alone, even to run short errands.

So instead of touring through July, I’ll be working with him to desensitize and recondition him, but this is going to take time. If he progresses quickly, there’s an outside chance I might be able to ride just the NEBDR in August. That’s my glimmer of hope. Otherwise, the Blue Ridge Parkway and BDR’s will have to wait another year.

Although disappointed, I can’t complain too loudly about this turn of events. Yes, I was looking forward to the ride after a tough winter, but I don’t have any broken bones, and Montreal’s West Island is very pleasant in the summertime. I’ll still be doing day rides when Marilyn is home, and I’ll still be posting about those rides and writing other content.

Speaking of which, the other day I rode an old favourite, Riviére Rouge up to Brookdale, then back down the 323 to Montebello before returning along the 148. Okay, it’s not The Blue Ridge Parkway, but the Tiger is always fun to ride.

The motto of this blog is “life is an adventure.” You never know what’s around the next corner.

Enjoy the ride, whatever it may bring.

Let’s Talk About BPH

April 21, 2024 / 650thumper / 3 Comments

Breaking the seal on a taboo topic.

There’s a great line in the movie The Bucket List, the 2007 film directed by Rob Reiner and starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman: “Three things to remember when you get older: never pass up a bathroom, never waste a hard-on, and never trust a fart.” Don’t worry, it’s the first one I’m going to discuss today.

I’ve found BPH to be kind of a taboo subject for men, and I was hesitant to write about it too. I think that’s because of a misconception that having BPH is a symptom of loss of virility, but it’s not. Let’s get that out of the way early. Maybe BPH is taboo also because it’s a sign of aging, and who likes to acknowledge that? Signs of BPH usually begin to appear in the 40’s. One easy statistic to remember is that 50% of 50-year-old men and up to 80% of 80-year-old men have it. It’s very common, so let’s start to normalize talk about it.

What is BPH?

Johns Hopkins Medicine defines BPH, or benign prostatic hyperplasia, as “a noncancerous enlargement of the prostate gland,” and says “it’s the most common benign tumour found in men.” Yikes! “Tumour” and even “noncancerous” in the same sentence sounds scary, so we’ll just describe it as an enlargement of the prostate. In fact, I’ve heard the “H” interpreted also as “hardening,” which is even less scary, especially at an age when we generally want things to be hard. I’m not a doctor and I’m not going to give medical advice, but I’ll talk a little about how this relates to motorcycling as I see it and what I’ve discovered so far that might help to minimize symptoms and not prevent you from riding.

BPH and motorcycling

I know riders, both men and women, who were wary about riding during those Covid years because of the lack of available bathrooms. Well, having BPH is kind of like having a chronic shortage of bathrooms and is something you have to manage while touring. If you are a guy and an adventure rider who spends a lot of time in rural areas and wilderness, there’s thankfully no shortage of available bathrooms, so to speak. It’s here that I will gladly recognize male privilege.

But I don’t really like urinating in public. Call me conservative, or old-fashioned, or a prude, but I find it a bit vulgar, so I always prefer to find a bathroom if I can. I don’t like urinating at the side of the road, or behind buildings, or really anywhere I might be seen. But here’s the first thing I’ve learned about BPH, or at least my experience of BPH as it relates to motorcycling: I don’t usually have the need to go while riding. I used to think this had something to do with vibration, either from the engine of the big thumper or the knobbies on the road—that it numbed a nerve or something—because I’d be fine for hours and hours as long as I was riding. The easy solution, then, seemed simply to keep riding.

But alas, eventually we have to stop for gas, and then I found I could barely get one tank full before I had to empty another. It got to a point where it was very predicable, so predictable that I came up with that theory about the vibration. I no longer think that, or I think there’s more to it than physiology, strictly speaking.

You know how you often need to go to the bathroom as soon as you get home from somewhere. You don’t even have to be motorcycling but running errands in the car, for example, or commuting home from work, or whatever. You get in the door and suddenly you are busting! That’s because your body—your bladder, to be specific—knows there is a bathroom near, so essentially sets off the alarm, telling your brain, “Okay, Joe, there’s a bathroom in the vicinity.” Or maybe it’s the brain telling the bladder; that would make more sense. I don’t know what kind of communication happens between the bladder and the brain or what language they’re speaking but I’m positing that there’s a psychological or at least a neurological component to how the system works.

Like a boss

This is important because it relates to the second thing I’ve learned about BPH, and my first suggestion on how you can minimize symptoms. You can train your bladder. Yes, like a dog. Reward good behaviour and you’ll get more of it; reward bad behaviour and you’ll get more of that. Running to the bathroom is rewarding bad behaviour and training your bladder to be the boss. Soon, it’s yanking your leash, so to speak, and leading you around. (Okay, I’ll drop that metaphor now.) Instead, my doctor reiterated what I’d heard online from Dr. Rena Malik, urologist and pelvic surgeon. You don’t want to get to the situation where everywhere you go you are urgently locating the bathrooms. Before you get to that state, he said, whenever you get the urge to go, don’t go. Wait, if you can, for the urge to go away, and it will always go away. (You need to keep this in mind during your darkest moments.) When it does, wait a few minutes longer, and then walk calmly to the bathroom. Good behaviour. Be the boss of your bladder.

By the same logic, Dr. Malik also suggests not doing “just in case” bathroom visits, or what is called “convenience voiding.” (No, that’s not a phrase to describe how Prime Minister Trudeau answers media questions; that’s called “convenience avoiding.”) I know this is counter-intuitive and counter to what your mother and grandmother and every preschool teacher says, and counter to what Edward Cole, the Jack Nicholson character, says above in his advice for the aging. Convenience voiding tells your bladder that it needs to empty before it’s full. Bad behaviour. No treats. So trust that you will be able to find one when the need arises and pass up that bathroom if you don’t need to go. You’re in it for the long game.

Kegels

Okay, so by now you’re probably thinking not only that I’m a sadist but also that you are going to have an accident. That’s a lot of waiting, or rather . . . holding. To help with this, you can do some Kegel exercises. Yes, there’s another muscle that needs to be exercised to avoid atrophying with age. I’d never heard of Kegel exercises until a few years ago, so if you haven’t either, you’re perfectly normal. A YouTube search will turn up lots to try, but here’s one that presents two good exercises to start with. You can easily find more.

They can be tricky to do properly at first, so if you’re really struggling with retention, you might want to invest in a professional pelvic physiotherapist for a few sessions to make sure you’re doing them right. You don’t want to waste your time exercising your butt muscles. 😳 It’s a bit like what I tell my students about oral presentations, since they often get up in front of the class and either read or recite instead of speak: if you’re in a singing contest, it doesn’t matter how well you dance. So spend a bit of time and possibly money to ensure you are strengthening the right muscles.

Water in, water out

Another piece of advice my doctor gave me was to try to moderate my fluid intake. I know, I know . . . we’re supposed to drink the equivalent of a small pond each day, according to The Kidney Foundation. Keep in mind that includes all liquids, like those in fruits, vegetables, coffee, tea, beer, hard liquor . . . not that anyone’s eating vegetables while riding. I definitely notice a difference in the frequency of my “rest stops” when I’m wearing my hydration knapsack as compared to when I carry a water bottle. I like to carry water on me so I don’t have to stop to drink, but the trick is to sip. Same for distance running. If you run long distances in the heat and use a hydration belt, you probably sip a bit every few kilometres rather than chug infrequently. Give your body only what it can process and you will cut down on your bathroom breaks.

Yes, it’s water in, water out, like calories. You have to regulate your water intake according to conditions, so if it’s hot and dry, you will be losing a lot of water in sweat and evaporation as air rushes through your mesh jacket, and if it’s cool or humid, less so. The last time I changed my roof, I worked beside the roofer. I was stripping old shingles; he was laying new ones. At one point, he needed the washroom but it was occupied. I was apologetic and suggested he could use our half bathroom upstairs but he said, “It’s okay, I’ll just sweat it out.” He had 30 years of experience managing his fluids.

Avoid Irritants

You know that line in the famous poem Desiderata about what to avoid?

“Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit.”

Well there are other irritants that should be avoided. Coffee, tea, alcohol. Yeah, this is one where the cure is worse than the disease, and I’ll be damned before I give up any of those. But again, perhaps moderation is the key, or at least knowingly drink these things with the price in mind. They are vexatious to your bladder and it won’t be long before nature is calling. It reminds me of that old joke, “What’s the difference between a beer and a piss?”

“About 15 minutes.”

Final Thoughts

I recognize that I haven’t spoken at all about the other way symptoms of BPH manifest, which is restriction of flow. I’ve only discussed the opposite problem: frequency and urgency. That’s because I think the other issue is a little more complicated and one which you should discuss with your doctor. There is medication and surgery as options, and I will just add that a friend of mine had the surgery and is a big advocate of it now. It’s really helped him out, so don’t suffer unnecessarily. Of course, if you live in Quebec, you have to find a doctor first, but that’s another issue particular to La Belle Province.

I’ve just scratched the surface on this topic. There’s a ton of information available online if you are interested in exploring it further. The bottom line on this, however, as far I’m concerned, is that BPH is a completely normal aspect of aging for many men and nothing to be embarrassed about. With a little attention to it in the form of training, fluid management, and avoiding irritants, it will not stop you from enjoying your bike well into the golden years. Just think of Ted Simon riding around the world at the age of 72 and still riding at 90! (I am making no claims about Ted Simon’s health, only his accomplishments.)

Ted Simon rode around the world in 1972 and again at the age of 72. His book, Jupiter’s Travels, documenting the first trip, was the inspiration for Ewan and Charlie’s Long Way Round and, arguably, the entire adventure motorcycling industry.

And while we’re on this topic, don’t forget to get tested regularly. We aren’t talking about cancer here, but it’s never a bad time to remind ourselves and others to get checked, since early detection, as with all cancers, is crucial. I’ll be doing the Ride for Dad September 14th. Follow the link to join in your area or to help fund research.

The Homestretch

February 12, 2024February 13, 2024 / 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.

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 . . .

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.

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

February 4, 2024February 5, 2024 / 650thumper / Leave a comment

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!

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.

Saint John’s and The Irish Loop

January 21, 2024January 24, 2024 / 650thumper / 1 Comment

We complete our tour of Newfoundland with a few days in Saint John’s and ride part of The Irish Loop.

We arrived in Saint John’s late in the day and hungry, so after cleaning up we asked the staff at The Alt where we could get a meal at that hour. They naturally directed us further down Water Street. We’d heard of the lively Water and George Streets and were looking forward to taking in some of that Irish pub nightlife, only when we got there, we were disappointed.

As we sat on a sidewalk patio awaiting our food, I took a look around. We were definitely out of place. For one, we were married, and for two, were were sober. The scene reminded me of The Simpsons episode in which Marge asks Homer not to show up drunk at Lisa’s recital. “Irish drunk or American drunk?” Homer asks, just to be clear. I hadn’t seen this level of drunkenness since high school. The average age here was more like mid-twenties but they were clearly regressing. What was it George Bernard Shaw said about youth? It’s wasted on the young.

More disturbing were the greying and balding 50-year-old single males amongst them, leaning against lampposts and slurring directions to the next pub, which is all of a 100 feet further down the road, if they can make it that far. Well, to each his or her own, I guess. We just aren’t into that scene.

On the other side of the road were a group of homeless youth, or so they seemed to me. They had all the tell-tale signs of homelessness—unkempt hair and clothing, the tattered and filthy knapsack, and a certain loitering, lounging body language that indicated they had all the time in the world and no place else to go. There was also a certain solidarity among them, as if their immediate friends were all that mattered in the world, deaf and blind to the surrounding animal show. Or maybe it was they who were trying to be invisible. When you are the most vulnerable, you learn to be invisible should some violent drunk take a dislike to your presence. The drunken revelry and the sad homelessness were a strange juxtaposition, separated by 50 feet of blacktop.

Music emanated from the open window of the pub out onto the terrace where we sat and across the street. It was an Irish jig, and from the sounds of the cheering and clapping inside, the folks were really enjoying it. I might have been too but, alas, as a former side drummer of The Black Watch (RHR) Pipes & Drums, I know what a good jig sounds like, and this wasn’t it. I’m going to sound like a music snob, but it was sloppy. In “Two Ways of Seeing a River,” Mark Twain suggests that the steamboat pilot can no longer appreciate the beauty of the river after knowing of its dangers, and I guess I will say that knowing what good Irish music sounds like has made me unable to appreciate the beauty when it’s bad. We missed the genuine Newfoundland music on this tour, to our great disappointment, but that’s an extra reason to return.

Finally our food arrived and we soon retreated back to our hotel. Water Street was a huge disappointment. We have since heard it referred to as the New Orleans of the North. I’ve never been to New Orleans, and now I’m not sure I want to.

The next day I was hoping to meet up with a former professor from my undergrad days. We had lost touch over the years but recently reconnected when I asked him to write an endorsement for my new book. He was as gracious as ever in both agreeing to do it and for what he wrote. I gave him a call and suggested we meet for breakfast, but in true Newfoundland style, he invited us over for a homemade one.

The term “famous Canadian poet” is almost an oxymoron, but if one exists, it would be Don McKay. He has written over a dozen books of poetry, poetics, and philosophical musings, and edited countless others. He has twice won Canada’s highest literary award, the Governor General’s Award, and once the most lucrative prize, the Griffin Poetry Prize. In 2008, he was made a Member of The Order of Canada. I was lucky enough to have studied under him at The University of Western Ontario (renamed Western University) back in the 1980’s and his poetry has been a major influence on my own.

It was delightful to see him again, as modest and affable as ever, to introduce Marilyn, talk writing and, of course, get his advice as a local on where to visit. He suggested we hike up Signal Hill for a good view of the harbour, and later, to stop in at Running the Goat Press when passing through Tors Cove on The Irish Loop. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. It was another former student of his and, coincidentally, someone who spends part of the year in Guelph, Ontario, and is a friend of my brother-in-law! So now there were the four of us in Don’s kitchen and it was almost a party. All we needed was a fiddle and bodhrán to make it a complete Newfoundland moment.

Marilyn and I decided to do that hike so headed off, promising to stop in again in a few days and say good-bye before leaving Saint John’s. By this time I’d found an AirBNB, which enabled us to stay a few more days in town without taking out a second mortgage. I’m really glad we did. It would have been a shame to leave only with the impression of the night before. We were able to check in early, park the bike in the back, then head off on foot to explore the city.

The trail took us past The Battery as it snaked its way up the side of the mountain, the view of the harbour getting better with each laborious midsummer metre of elevation. It’s called Signal Hill because Guglielmo Marconi used it to receive the first trans Atlantic telegram and my legs were saying he chose wisely. Eventually we reached the top and had an excellent view not only of the harbour but over to the Cape Spear Lighthouse and east out to the open ocean. The surrounding cliffs and narrow passage provide excellent military defence for the harbour. No wonder Saint John’s developed where it is.

We had more friends to meet later in the day once we came back down. We had met Serge and Ang in 2021 on a ferry in British Columbia as we rode the Sunshine Coast and had kept in touch through the intervening years. By coincidence, now they were touring Newfoundland at the same time so we had to meet up and do some riding together. We met at The Battery Cafe to catch up and decide on a plan.

We decided to ride part of The Irish Loop, as far as possible in a day excursion. The next day we met at Cape Spear Lighthouse, the eastern-most point of Canada. Marilyn and I had waded into the Pacific Ocean in Tofino in 2021 and now wanted to do the same here, but there were a lot of warnings about going near the shoreline so, unfortunately, we had to remain up at the cafe enjoying the exquisite coffee and pastries.

We eventually headed off and our first stop was in Tors Cove and its bookstore Running the Goat Press, only about 50 kilometres south of the lighthouse. The press specializes in children’s literature and, according its website, “many of Running the Goat’s publications are letterpress printed at the print shop, using moveable lead type, and sewn by hand.” These books are labours of love, and if you are a bibliophile or just have some children in your life who like to read, be sure to stop by or check out their website. The owner, Marnie Parsons, is another old friend from undergrad days, and it was lovely to see her again and get a tour of the press. We bought some books for our great-nieces and Marnie was happy to ship them home for us.

Surveying Tors Cove. No whales on this day.

After a packed lunch overlooking the bay, we continued further down to Ferryland, a region that dates back to the 17th Century as one of Canada’s first settlements. The name is an anglicized version of Forillion, the same name as the national park we stayed at in Gaspé. In my head I had been spelling it Fairyland and in many ways that would be a more appropriate spelling. There is something magical about its geography. We rode across a bridge and climbed a ridge-line on our adventure bikes (Serge and Ang have KTM 790s) up to a lookout. A fog drifted in and hung over the tiny islands strung across the bay and the view seemed like something out of Lord of the Rings.

That was as far as we got on our slow-paced day. I didn’t mind. Truth is, I was in need of a few easy days. I’ve come to realize that adventure touring requires some recovery days off the bike. When I did the west coast tour, I stopped in Calgary for several days to visit family, and later, spent another few days in North Vancouver before touring the island. I love riding and can ride all day every day, but what my heart wants my body can’t always deliver. When I got home after this tour, I was tired and decided not to cram in that second tour in The States I had planned to do before going back to work. I needed some time on the couch in and around Montreal to recover and recharge.

For future tours, I’m going to build into my schedule local sightseeing and days lounging around camp, reading and writing. I’m pretty fit for my age, but I don’t even think it’s a matter of age. In a recent video, Runa of Off She Goes was candid about being tired after 40 straight days on the road and looking forward to being home. I think vloggers like Itchy Boots spend days off the bike doing video editing, but we never see those days and it seems like they are constantly travelling. Anyway, that was one of my discoveries this trip: schedule days off the bike to rest, recover, and recharge.

We said good-bye to our BC friends and wished them well on the rest of their tour of Newfoundland and in re-crossing the country to get home.

Heading down into Branch on the 92.

The next day we were on our own again and decided to visit Cape Saint Mary’s Ecological Reserve on the south-west tip of the Avalon Peninsula. The aptly-named Bird Rock is home to thousands of seabirds, particularly gulls and gannets. Newfoundland really is a bird-watchers paradise. As we rode onto the cape, fog drifted in as well, and we wondered if we’d chosen the wrong day to visit.

Thankfully, like most weather on the Atlantic, it was temporary. The hike along the cliffs is something in itself, but Bird Rock is special. As you approach, there’s a distinct smell in the air that I couldn’t quite place until we arrived at the tip: it’s bird excrement. But don’t let that put you off; you get used to it. The sight of thousands of birds in one place is memorable, but what struck me more immediately was the sense of being perched ourselves on the edge of a towering rock formation. It’s dizzying, and in fact, Marilyn wouldn’t approach the edge because she was experiencing some vertigo. I was able to sit near the edge and watch the birds soaring in the expanse just beyond.

It was calming in a meditative sort of way, and I could hear the waves crashing in the cove hundreds, or was it thousands, of feet below. My perspective was distorted by the absence of anything familiar with which to judge distances.

The gannets are in trouble due to the Avian Bird Flu. Just a few years ago the rock was noticeably less populated, but it appears they have recovered to some degree, based on what we saw. The current Wikipedia page puts their numbers there at 24,000. The cape is a protected area and we’ll just have to hope that the bird flu, like our Covid, has passed through the community and numbers have stabilized.

Back in Saint John’s, it was our final evening together so we decided to treat ourselves to dinner out at Bannerman Brewing Co.. Later, we took another run at the pub night-life and met up with some new friends at The Ship for a drink. We’d met Mark and Mandy in Terra Nova National Park. They were two-up on an Africa Twin and we learnt they live in Bruce County, Ontario, where we had visited when we looped Georgian Bay. Mark is also a teacher so with two shared interests we immediately hit it off. Neither Mark nor I particularly wanted to talk about work, but I heard enough to know that the teachers in Ontario are facing similar budget cuts as teachers in Quebec. It’s sad to know that in a country as rich as ours, education is chronically under-valued and under-funded.

But it was summer and the start of semester was still a month away. The evening was warm and the ale assuaged any anxiety over the approach of autumn. It was a fitting way to end the tour. The Newfoundland geography had been everything we’d hoped it would be, and maybe some of that Newfoundland culture had rubbed off on us too—the connection with others, old friends and new. It’s a bit of a stereotype but Newfoundlanders are generally very down-to-earth and friendly. Maybe that has something to do with being so close to the elemental nature of the earth—rocks, cliffs, ocean, glaciers, grasslands, wildflowers, wildlife, and the ever-present, ever-changing climate.

People often ask me when I return from a tour like this for my favourite memory. In this case, it’s hard to isolate a single moment, although if I had to, it would be seeing the caribou at Point au Choix. But what I take away from the trip overall is a feeling, a mood, a style of living and life that is unlike any other with perhaps the exception of Dawson City, a similarly isolated community that pulls together against a harsh yet beautiful geography. I know Newfoundland is probably very different through the winter months than how we saw it, but I equally know that the people are just the same regardless of the season. We went looking for natural beauty and were not disappointed, but the discovery of the trip, at least for me, were the people. I can see how a place like this could get under your skin. We will definitely be back. As always, these trips are just a taste and leave one with an appetite for so much more.

The next morning, after saying our good-byes to Don, I dropped Marilyn off at the airport. I was now on my own and had given myself two days to cross the island again and get to the Port aux Basques ferry terminal. I still had a few things to see en route, like the airstrip where Amelia Earhart took off on her cross-Atlantic flight, the Gander airport, and the North Atlantic Aviation Museum. I was looking forward to riding The Cabot Trail, seeing good friends in Nova Scotia, and meeting a reader of 650thumper as I cut through Maine.

I’ll write about all this in my next and final post on this tour.

The Northern Peninsulas

December 29, 2023December 29, 2023 / 650thumper / Leave a comment

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.

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.

The Wish List, 2023

December 21, 2023December 22, 2023 / 650thumper / 2 Comments

I interrupt the journey across Newfoundland for the annual holiday wish list.

It’s become a tradition on this blog—the annual Christmas wish list. It’s probably one of the least favourite posts of the year for readers, but it sure is fun to write. The season has recently come to an end, the long winter months still lay ahead, and all we have to propel us out of bed in the mornings are thoughts of spring and planned journeys. And part of that planning is dreaming of the mods we will do and the gear we will buy to help prepare for the adventures to come.

This year’s list is pretty short. Yes, inflation is hurting everyone, and we find ourselves buying the cheap tomatoes instead of the fancy vine ones (and regretting it later). Marilyn is paying tribute to her late father by scanning the grocery store flyers and clipping coupons. Even the dog has sacrificed his Greenies (and his breath is the price we all have to pay).

But honestly, the bike is pretty much done. It’s got the auxiliary lights on it now, the crash protection, skid plate, pannier racks, hand guards, off-road pegs, and tail rack. I got soft panniers last year and they have been great. So it’s pretty modded out. What the bike needed most was some maintenance, so I spent a chunk of time before I put it into storage doing the valves and servicing the starter motor, which was acting up. By the way, I’m now advocating checking your valves on the recommended service interval. I waited until the bike had 45,000K and all my exhaust valves were tight, some significantly.

Shorty Levers

The only thing it could use are some new levers. The stock levers are okay, but they are long and I’ve already bent the brake lever once. Actually twice, since I bent it back. I think I’m the only one in my club who rides two-fingered and I asked myself the other day why on earth haven’t I ever had shorty levers?

I looked at all the options and am undecided between Vortex and Pazzo. Both are top-quality levers that fit well without any slop, which is often the case with cheap Chinese aftermarket levers. At about $200, they are comparable in price.

Vortex V3 levers

The Pazzo levers have quite a swooped design to them, which brings the lever down close to the grip. I know there’s some adjustment but this still makes me nervous because I like to have a short clutch that completely disengages before the lever hits my knuckles of the remaining fingers wrapped around the hand grip. For this reason, I’m leaning towards the Vortex design. Is it just perception, or do they look straighter? My ideal lever would be a Pro Taper, but I don’t think they make one for the Tiger.

Pazzo also gives the option of a folding lever, but I don’t think I need that since I have the Barkbuster guards. It would have to be a very unfortunate fall for a rock to come up inside the guard and break a shorty lever. But I guess it could happen. My sense, however, is that folding levers are for true dirt bikes that have wimpy, folding hand guards. If you have any experience or thoughts on this, drop a comment below. I won’t be getting anything until the spring so I have some time to decide.

A new helmet

Honestly, that’s about it for the bike (my wife will be happy to know). But wait! My current lid is at least five years old, so I probably should get a new one soon, despite what Bret Tkacs has recently said about that 5-year limit being bogus. If I were forced to, I’d probably go with the Arai Tour-X5 or maybe find a deal on the now discontinued X4.

No, I’m not trying to emulate Itchy Boots. This would go well with my touring jacket that is grey with matching hi-viz accents.

I’ve been very happy with my Arai Signet-Q helmet. The brand speaks for itself and the shape fits my intermediate- to long-oval noggin well. This time, however, I’d go with the Tour X because I want a peak. There have been many times while riding into the sun when I wanted a peak. Sometimes I have to shade my eyes with my clutch hand, it can get that bad, even with the Pro Shade system.

Knee braces

To be honest, I’ll probably forego the helmet for another big-ticket item. I plan to do some pretty serious dirt riding next year, and the only thing that scares me about that is the potential to damage a knee if the bike falls on one. I’ve somehow managed to play 15 years of beer league soccer without any major damage to a knee, and I’d like to keep it that way so I can enjoy my retirement with full mobility. I therefore am adding to my wish list a pair of Pod knee braces.

Anyone who is serious about dirt riding should be wearing knee braces. I know, they are uncomfortable, but so is tearing tendons and surgery. I’ve heard The Awesome Players advocate the use of braces, and recently a video by Riemann convinced me I should just bite the bullet on a pair.

At $750 a set, these babies aren’t cheap, but money well spent if it prevents a serious knee injury, especially if you are riding solo as I do.

Dirt Gloves

There’s one more piece of off-road gear I’d like before attempting the BDRs next summer. That’s a pair of light MX or rally gloves. I have a pair but Marilyn has appropriated them, so I’m in the market for another pair. When riding dirt, it’s important to have maximum feel on the levers so you can modulate both clutch and brake. It’s similar to how football (i.e. soccer) players are always looking for a boot that provides the most feel on the ball, for example one with kangaroo leather instead of cow hide.

That might be something like the Leatt Moto 4.5, a popular choice or, going even lighter, the 100 Percent Airmatic.

DOUBLETrak Multitool

Finally, what wish list would be complete without a tool of some kind on it? I came across a great little multitool in a video by Chris Birch on his favourite tools.

The DOUBLETrak multitool by engduro here in Canada consists of several hex, torx, Phillips, and flat head drivers, and 6, 8, and 10mm socket drives that fit into the handle itself and stay there by magnetic force until needed. There’s also a 1/4″ hex to 1/4″ square drive adapter. If you want a comprehensive review of this tool, check out this video in which Dude does an oil change using only the DOUBLETrak. Okay, I’m not going to be doing trailside oil changes, and this will not replace tools that are in my tool roll, as he suggests, but it’s a convenient tool to keep at hand for small adjustments or tightening something on your or someone else’s bike. Best of all, for a few dollars more, you can get a vanity engraving on it and tell yourself it’s to prevent theft.

That’s it. Like I said, a small list this year. That’s okay because we’re still paying off expenses from the Newfoundland trip last summer and I’ve got more ambitious plans for next summer. This time it will involve dirt and I’m both a little nervous and excited about taking the Tiger off road . . . like, really off road, not just gravel and dirt roads but trails and Class 4 roads, water crossings, mud, sand, rocky hill climbs . . . the works. It’s known as primarily a street bike that is capable of doing “light off-roading,” so I’ll be pushing it beyond its intended limits as I do the MABDR and NEBDR back to back. I’ll either die or bond with this bike in ways I haven’t yet.

What are your plans for next season? I’d love to hear them because the best wishing is not the accessories or gear we want to buy but the places we’d like to visit on our bikes, or even the roads we want to ride. We can’t all be Itchy Boots, but we can explore a little piece of paradise close to home, whatever your paradise might be. I wish you happy holidays, and happy dreaming of another season doing what makes our souls sing.