My ride finally brought me to one of the most important destinations
for my whole trip. the Rupert River. Part of my decision to come up
here was to see this river which crosses the JBR. Increased electricity
demand in Canada and the US has Hydro-Quebec looking for more "green"
power. The result of this is plans for the mighty Rupert to be
diverted, turning the raging rapids into a tiny stream. It's really a
beautiful area, and the water is said to be clean enough to drink
untreated. They are currently in the process of building the dam, and
full diversion is expected by late '08 or early '09. I wanted to see
this before it was too late. I immediately pulled off into the small
lot on the south side of the river to get off the bike and take some
photos. I was surprised to find I wasn't alone; there was a single van
parked there, along with a woman and her two dogs. I was rather amused
at the stop sign in the lot; printed in both French and Cree.
I walked around a bit, took some photos, walked onto the bridge for
more photos and video of this amazing river. I was feeling pretty
excited to finally be here; a place I had been reading about for
months. It really was beautiful; more impressive than I expected. There
was an extremely strong current, and the rapids pushed mist high into
the air. Raw power. From across the river I could see a small lookout
stand on the opposite side. I had read about this, and was ready to
hike the nature trail leading to it so I could get some spectacular
photos. Before heading across, I decided now was a good time to add the
two gallons of gas from my gas can; I'd rather have it in the tank of
the bike, even if I wasn't on reserve, yet. I pulled out the can,
extended the filler neck, and managed to spill a bunch of gas all over
my gas tank. No problem; I finished getting most of the gas into the
tank and then rinsed it off with water from one of my water bottles. I
did make one more terrible mistake by re-attaching the gas can to the
rear rack with gas spilled on the outside. That would be fine, except
my tent rain fly was in a mesh bag directly against it. Gasoline on a
rain fly can't be a good thing. Merde.
The bridge over the Rupert River
View of the rapids from the bridge
Back on the bike for a very brief ride to the "nature trail" on the
north side of the river. There was no parking area so I simply parked
on the birm; leaving my helmet. Traffic was so light I had doubts a car
would come by while I'm gone, and even if they did; I doubted they
would stop to try to take my helmet, or anything else. It was rather
odd; there was a painted wooden structure at the start of the trail,
but they failed to make an opening in the guardrail, so I had to hop
over. I walked down and was immediately on a rather narrow trail
through the forest. It was 1.2km to the scenic lookout. All alone,
walking through the forest in bear country. Surely this is a good idea.
In one hand was my camera, and in the other was the can of bear spray.
All my riding gear made plenty of noise as I walked, but I still
whistled; hoping it would help keep me from sneaking up on anything.
The trail went from soft, spongy ground through a stand of pine trees
to a rocky narrow trail through dead trees and lots of scrub bushes. It
continued to get worse as there were small trees laying across the
trail, and then larger ones I had to climb over. Apparently there was
also a forest fire in this area, and the trail has been woefully
unmaintained. I considered turning back, but my adventurous spirit got
the best of me, thankfully.
Start of the trail:
Further down the trail:
I think there is still a trail here, somewhere:
There was several more minutes of scrambling over downed trees until I
finally reached the scenic lookout, and was it ever worth it. I stood
there enjoying the site as the water roared past. I've been to Niagara
Falls before, and this had a very similar sound to it. Totally amazing
- unbelievable amounts of water were roaring past every second. The
hail was worth it. I've read that several people have tried to run
these rapids in a kayak; I was not surprised that nobody has ever done
it. Due to the pending diversion, I'm sure nobody ever will.
Massive rapids:
I eventually turned back, safely reaching the bike. The gear went back
on, the bike started, and I was back on the road; next stop, fuel at
Kilometer 381. It was a cool ride with small amounts of drizzle, but
nothing serious. I would see a car or truck every 30 minutes or so, but
for the most part I was all alone. I really loved it. I stopped once
and pulled my helmet off, just to enjoy the solitude. Most of the large
trees were going away, and now the scenery was mostly small bogs, scrub
bushes, and short coniferous trees. They were probably pretty old by
the time they reached 4 or 5 feet; the growing season is terribly short
up here. I had read you can hear cars approach for miles up here, and
it turned out to be true; a sound I heard 10 minutes ago eventually
grew louder until a truck rolled past. Wild. I continued on; passing
emergency phone towers, and passing a sign letting me know I had
reached the 52nd parallel. I'm not sure what the significance is; I
never saw another sign like it. I was getting a bit cool, but suddenly
found refuge at the Kilometer 381 stop.
This is no scenic rest area. Totally utilitarian; mobile home trailers
where you can rent a room for the night, a large corrugated steel
building for working on their trucks (snowplows and so on) which also
contained the cafeteria. There were also some stacked 55 gallon drums,
and some gas pumps far in the back. I cruised back to the pumps and saw
my two choices; "diesel" or "essence". I'm assuming "essence" is
whatever fuel they can get up there, and I was suddenly very glad I
dual-plugged my Airhead, so it no longer required premium. There was a
sign telling me in no uncertain terms to not pump gas, and instead wait
for the "gas boy". In the meantime I pulled off my helmet, expecting a
chance to warm up without the 70mph wind blowing in my face. How wrong
I was. If anything, the temperature had dropped even more; I could see
my breath, and a cold wind was blowing across the lot. I still had a
way to go until Radisson. It was still a quiet place, and the only
sound aside from the wind was the 55 gallon drums "ticking" as the
metal expanded and contracted in the weather. Rather soon the "boy"
approached; a man who was at least twice my age. He was an interesting
guy; I can't imagine wanting to work in a place like this. He did speak
English and would chat with me a bit - I'm sure he meets some
interesting people up here. After filling the bike and my gas can, we
walked into a tiny building to pay. I considered hanging around, as it
was heated. Total price of unleaded fuel at KM381 for 5.5 gallons;
about $36. Ouch. I didn't really think much about it; I knew it would
be pricey, and it's not like I had a choice. I ate a bit more breakfast
bar for strength and hopped back on the bike to finish off this last
bit of cold, overcast riding.
After a while of endless riding through this deserted wilderness, I was
freezing cold, and it continued to lightly rain on me. Keeping my feet
on th pegs, I started to "bounce" my legs in an attempt to warm up. At
the same time I was tensing and releasing my arm muscles and wiggling
my fingers. Each time I would look at my GPS and see the kilometers
slowly tick by. I was talking myself into continuing on. "160km. That's
not far. That's like riding to bike night and back. I can do this." The
rain continued, and I went as fast as I safely could. Any faster and I
was worried I might slide off the road in a turn, off into the scrub.
I'd probably lay there for days or weeks before anyone found me. By
then I'd probably be bear food. 120km. "That's like riding to one of
the Michigan offices from work." That's nothing. Each time I would
check the GPS and see I had gone a shorter and shorter distance. I
thought about pulling off the side of the road and firing up my camp
stove to try to warm up; maybe make some coffee. it seemed like a waste
of time, and if I stopped, I'm not sure I'd be able to convince myself
to get going again. There were also a few unmaintained camping areas I
could pull off into, but it was still cold, and sitting outside wasn't
going to do me much good. My body was getting stiff, and I started to
shiver a little bit. Now under 100km. Just a touch more than my ride to
"bike night". I can do this... I'm almost there. Hot food, hot
shower... it was going to be so nice. Time dragged by. This isn't what
I signed up for. What the heck ever convinced me to come up here? What
kind of moron rides a motorcycle to the James Bay? Isn't the average
July temperature supposed to be 63; with highs possible to 90? Why
couldn't I be suffering THAT fate? 50km. I'm almost there now. I'm
going to make it; I MUST make it. In my mind, failure was not an option
- I hadn't come this far to not make it to Radisson and Chisasibi. I
needed to touch the James Bay.
I knew I was getting close to my destination as I passed by a small
airport and started to see more road signs counting down the kilometers
to Radisson. I slowed down a bit and started to slowly stretch my legs
out. I was crippled from the cold and began to worry I wouldn't be able
to support the bike when I stopped. Eventually I pulled up to a small
security booth. This doesn't seem right. I managed to fumble around
with my cold leg and foot to get the side stand down, followed by a
numb fingered struggle to pull my helmet off so I could see what was
going on. The guard was friendly, even if he didn't speak much English.
It seems I somehow managed to miss a left turn to get me into Radisson;
this was the entrance to the large Hydro-Quebec installation, which is
strictly off-limits to civilians without an escort. I got my helmet
back on and struggled with weak, cold muscles to turn my bike around to
get heading back the way I came. A minute later I was making the
correct turn into Radisson; now so close to my warm hotel room.
Radisson was not what I expected. Although I knew it wasn't a large
town, the transition from pavement to a muddy, rock-strewn main street
made it feel like I was pulling into some old west town. You would
think they would pave the last 1/2 mile. Everything appeared dirty and
utilitarian; definitely not a tourist spot. A few hotels, a gas
station/store, one restaurant, and a building housing hydro-Quebec
employees. All the cars were coated in mud, and most parking spaces had
a place to plug in your engine block heater in the winter. I quickly
found my hotel (one of the few multi-level building in Radisson) and
turned myself into the lot, again struggling to get my frozen body off
of the bike.
I made my triumphant walk into the hotel, slightly hunched over, still
very chilled, helmet in hand, looking forward to some heat and a nice
shower. A smile came over my frozen face. "Welcome to Auberge Radisson,
how can I help you?" I provided my name to the puzzled looking
receptionist, and quickly realized why she looked so confused. "We
don't seem to have you in our reservation system; are you sure your
reservation was made here? We are all full.".
Merde.