Canada 2001
 
 

Day 04

October 4

 
 

When we step outside the room, the sunrise greets us peeking through the clouds. It is pretty cold and damp and I again thank Ron Wayden in absentia for introducing me to heated motorcycling gear. Coop is quite the photographer so he is sizing up a shot of the sunrise before we go our separate ways.

  
 
 
  We talk a little bit more, but we know we've got to get on the road - Guy and I up to meet the Canadians in Toronto that have invited us, and Coop back home to Wisconsin. We manage to get a passerby to take a group shot of the three of us, a bit shaky, but at least a shot.  
 
 
 

We both hate to leave a good friend, but we say our good-byes and mount up. I plug in the Widder and think to myself -

'Nothing like an onboard bun warmer on a cold, wet day!'

As Guy hussles along on the slab, Betty Boop starts talking. I see the cruiser in the opposite lane pull on his lights. I ease off and hope there's no turnaround for him. With other things to do, he leaves us alone. We arrive at the border, prepared for the heave-ho. This is right after 9/11 so we are really wondering what we are in for. The lovely border guard with the grim look on her face begins the grill -
"Are you carrying any firearms?"
"No ma'am", thankful I left my pistol at home.
"Do have any liquor?"
"No ma'am, I never touch the stuff".
A bit of a smile comes to her face, but she catches herself. I put on my best grits grin.
"How long will you be in Canada?"
"I reckon about three days to meet some folks in Toronto"
"Welcome to Canada".
Total time - less than 5 minutes - not bad for a fellow from the South who talks slow. I pull over, hoping Guy fairs as well. We make it through and I spy a Tim Horton's and whip it in as Guy proceeds forward. He sees me and works his way back. After a couple of tea biscuits we're out of there. Sitting at a traffic light, one of my earplugs pops out. I tell Guy I'm going to pull over. I look around and the coast appears to be clear. As I ease over the right lane, I notice something out of the corner of my eye - it's a speeding bullet disguised as a pickup truck. My brain does a mental calculation of the cost of the right mirror, signal and cover and I think - "If I lean just a bit to the left, he'll whiz by and I can avoid that expense!" The stratagem works nicely, but I could not have put a piece of paper between the mirror and the truck. I pull over, insert my ear plug and thank the Lord the driver didn't freak and swerve. I wrongly assumed people approach intersections at rational speeds, so I file away a mental note on that topic. As we head for Sudbury, I convert kilometers to miles to get a proper perspective. 5/8 seems to work pretty good. As we motor along near Iron Bridge, we see a good place to pull off for a hydraulic break and a bit of a rest. The color of the trees are just incredible so I take advantage of our stop and get a nice shot of the bikes with a beautiful tree in the background.

  
 
 
  Listening to my CB, I hear the truckers warning about a seat belt check ahead, so I ease off the wick a bit. They wave us through quickly. We come to Sudbury, and I remember some signs about the Swiss Chalet. We need to go to the right, but the food is to the left, so left we go. We pull in and lo and behold, they have pig meat - ribs! What a lovely surprise and they are good. Of course I've seldom met a piece of pork I didn't like. Shelly, our waitress, is a real sweetheart and keeps the tea bucket filled. She gets a nice tip, and we're off again. We mind the speed limit until we almost get blown off the road by traffic. We give chase to an old boy in a Chevy pickup, but he either has large sums of money for tickets, knows something we don't know, or just plain can't read. The old RedBird pulls into the triple digits easy enough, even with the load she's carrying. But enough is enough and we slow down. With gas getting low, we leave the slab to search. It's in a small town with lots of locals. I strike up a conversation with a lady there -
"What'd we miss about speed limits? There must not be a policeman in a hundred miles" I say with a smile.
"Oh, there are plenty of them around, just some folks are lucky". She wishes us a safe ride and we're on the road again. Once again we pass by a small lake surrounded by beautiful trees. The colors are so vibrant that I have to pull off and get a quick shot.		  
   
 

As we move toward Toronto, the Widder stuff is working a bit too good. I later discover (thanks to Michael Moore another Canadian ST rider), that the polarity matters on the thermostat. Nothing like sweating on a cold, wet day. We arrive in Toronto and find the street, only to see it blocked off. We ride around a bit asking for directions, but nobody understands English - at least not the kind I speak. Then we meet the fine gentleman with the phone who gets us fixed up. Wherever we went in Canada, we met helpful, friendly people who reminded me a lot of back home. We arrive at the hotel that Rob has so graciously provided for us and unpack. He has taken care of everything, even provided goody bags in the room. As he leaves, he tells Guy -

"Call me when you're ready to go".

I get it, but Guy misses it. Finally Rob comes back to pick us up, assuming we have died in our sleep. It feels a little funny riding in a cage after four days on the bikes. He chauffeurs us to one of his favorite local Chinese restaurants. It is great to meet all of our new friends from the My-MC.Com. There's Michael and Theresa, Les the avid golfer, and Mark and Carrie who have volunteered to let us stay at their cabin up north. The mysterious personage known as Mr. Spock is absent from the assembly. The food arrives and I am presented with the challenge of chopsticks. Always up for trying something new, I manage to use them instead of the fork. After devouring the noodles out of the soup with the sticks, I ask - "I know you don't scoop the soup with these things, so what's the trick?" The food is excellent and I try everything - including the mud tea. It reminds of the mud coffee we use to make when playing as a kid - it tasted the same but just a little less thick. We talk on into the evening, and finally call it quits around 11 PM. We retire to a wonderful room, warm from the new friendships, as full as a tick and looking forward to what tomorrow holds.