I was a little surprised when I woke up around 6am and heard my
motorcycle riding campground neighbors already stirring. I guess dairy
farmers aren't much for sleeping in. It was a bit brisk as I packed up
my things - my anal retentive nature had me on a strict schedule - on
the road by 7:00am. It's probably good I was traveling alone, as I
wouldn't be annoying anyone with my schedule. As I rolled the tent and
did my best to remove several pounds of pine needles, my neighbors
offered me some free breakfast. They were trying to use up all of their
bread before striking camp, and were busy toasting it over their
Coleman stove. Nothing screams healthy, filling breakfast like dry
toast. Scrumptious. I think I remember hearing that beggars can't be
choosers...
I managed to pull out of the campground a few minutes ahead of
schedule, hopes high for another good day. It was slightly overcast,
but the clouds were quickly burning off and a ray of sunlight peeked
through the clouds and shone down on the road ahead of me - I took that
as a sign of good luck. Immediately after, my bike went on reserve and
I realized I had no idea how much further it was to a gas station. Luck
was indeed with me, and I pulled into a combination general store/gas
station/Indian Casino. How convenient! Again, fuel up the bike, grab a
warm can of orange juice, and solve another issue. I purchased a
blinding halogen flashlight for my trip, which I thought would make a
great bear spotting device. The only problem is it requires a small
fission reactor to power the light for more than a few minutes. Failing
that, you can use lithium batteries like you would find in a digital
camera. Sadly, I drained the batteries at the rally, and I had been
having problems locating replacements. The general store had something
that looked similar - the batteries were the same size and rating, but
were sold as two batteries in a plastic case for some brand of digital
camera. I grabbed them off the shelf and made my way back outside. In a
moment that would make MacGyver proud, I got out my trusty Leatherman
multi-tool and ripped the plastic shell away from the batteries, popped
them into the flashlight, and... nothing. Hmm. I twisted the
flashlight, played with the button, shook it, spoke some magic words
(not forum friendly), and just like in a cartoon, it came on while
pointed directly at my face. Well, at least THAT'S working again. After
a few minutes my eyesight returned, and I got back on the road,
stopping at a scenic lookout to snap some photos of the mountainous
terrain around the Lake. This same view was played out again and again
as I cruised along Highway 17 - really a beautiful ride.
Crossing into Canada was as easy as ever. The border agent was
friendly, didn't require me to remove my helmet, and only questioned me
briefly about the bear spray. I happily cruised through Canada,
although I was a little unimpressed with what I considered to be an
overly low speed limit that I ended up challenging most of the day.
Construction signs began popping up telling me I was going to be on an
unpaved road for the next 17km. I was less than excited. My unpaved
riding experience was probably less than one kilometer in total, and
that made me nervous. With no way around, my only choice was to
continue on. Luck was again with me as I noticed there was a fresh
layer of blacktop that stretched for quite a while, although I began to
see a nice layer of dirt on top of it, which quickly turned into a
solid dirt road. Cue the rain, and cue oncoming traffic splashing muddy
water on my faceshield. Great. As I expected, things got worse before
they got better.
I crested a small hill and 100 yards ahead I spotted some construction
equipment, a worker holding a "slow" sign, and what looked like a
roadway covered in river rocks. I had very little time to take that
sight in as my front wheel started to plow into the rocks and gravel,
and my bars began moving wildly from side to side. I had just enough
presence of mind to slowly close the throttle as I waited for my
eventual impact with the ground. In the meantime, the mysterious
Canadian worker held out her hands in front of her like she was holding
on to some handlebars and began to move them from side to side. There
is nothing more enjoyable than being mocked as you are about to crash,
I assure you. Luck was on my side and I somehow managed to bring the
bike to a controlled stop next to the previously mentioned friendly
construction worker, so I could see how much further this was going to
go on. In a heavy Canadian accent, she was happy to tell me:
"Not much further, eh? You know, you should be careful, we had a guy on a bike get hurt really bad a few weeks ago!"
That was interesting information that would have been MUCH more helpful
100 yards earlier. I wondered if the "slow" sign was to warn me of the
worker, or the road itself. I assume they hang "bridge out" signs in
the center of the road halfway between each end, as well, so you have a
chance to read it as you fall to your death. This girls sister is
probably at the bottom telling people to be more careful, next time.
I continued to slog my way through the next 100 yards of deep, smooth
gravel, then through a bit of packed dirt, and finally back to
pavement. Again on cue, the sun comes back out, and the rest of my ride
is under bright sunshine and cloudless skies. A short distance down the
road I start seeing gas station full of other bike brands. The owners
are busy cleaning mud from their bikes with the windshield wash
squeegee and bottles of water. I had to laugh to myself a little bit
about that one; I guess it's more about the look than the ride, for
some. I eventually pulled off myself for a refuel and got a good look
at the damage. I was muddy, the bike was muddy, but otherwise things
were fine, and I was sure to run into more dirt and mud before my trip
was through.
The next several hours were full of some truly beautiful riding;
elevation changes, sweeping turns, and few police officers. Lucky for
me the ones I DID see never moved to come after me; even if I was a
ways north of the speed limit. The hours came and went as I would stop
for the occasional break; lucking on to scenic Aguasabon Falls near
Terrace Bay, ON.
I finally got to the small town of Wawa, where I stocked up on single
use coffee (coffee in a tea bag), breakfast bars, and subway. The last
50 or so miles to the campground at Lake Superior Provincial Park were
grueling, but there was a big payoff when I got there and ended up with
an absolutely beautiful campsite. I immediately grabbed my Kermit chair
and my sub, kicked off my shoes, and enjoyed an early dinner on the
beach. An annoyingly bold squirrel who closely resembled the squirrel
from "Ice Age" finished half of the sub I left sitting on the picnic
table, but I really wasn't as hungry as I thought, anyhow. I took a
relaxing stroll along the beach, climbed up a rocky outcropping, and
enjoyed being off the bike for a while.
Later, I relaxed at my campsite, wrote down some of the days
happenings, and went off to bed just as the sun was setting across the
lake. You would have thought it was a tropical paradise and not Canada.
Around 4:30am I woke up to the sound of a lone timber wolf howling far
off in the distance. I smiled to myself, and drifted back off to sleep
for a few more hours, wondering what the day would bring.
