Canada 2001
 
 

Day 06

October 6

 
 

I wander down the few steps, following my nose. Once again I will have a real breakfast - pig meat, hen fruit, flapjacks and that delightful Canadian maple syrup. Just makes a feller's tongue beat his brains out it's so good. I thank Miss Carrie and Mark for all of their work and many kindnesses toward us. I know this meal didn't just jump on the table, having cooked a time or two myself. I step outside to start loading up RedBird and once more am thankful for Ron Wayden's help with the Widder gear - and it's not raining. I take a quick walk down to the river by the cabin and take a couple of shots of the beautiful fall colors looking up the river.

  
 
 
 
 
 

I quiz Jerry one more time to be sure his wife doesn't mind a couple of bike bums showing up at their place. He assures us it's okay so we're off with Mark and Carrie close behind. As we whip along highway 7, I manage to drop back and prepare to snap a picture of the three STs ahead of me. I mentally go over what I'm about to do -

"Let's see, find a section of smooth pavement, lock the throttle, pull of the gloves, get the camera ready, both hands to steady it, body balance RedBird, avoid the oncoming car, snap the picture, grab the handlebars quickly before you run off the road."

As it turns out, I managed to get at least one good shot.

  
 
 
 

When we pull into the Tim Horton's, I see several folks look at us as if we have a few bolts loose. One lady stops to talk – and we just listen. Finally her husband pulls her away. As my momma often told me, I guess an empty wagon always does make the most noise. Miss Carrie is kind enough to secure a table for us as we place our orders. We have several conversations in line with the locals about where we're from and where we're going. I've always found there's that fascination with people that ride bikes over distance. I guess it connects to the wanderlust and desire for freedom common in the human soul. The old opening dialog from “Then Came Bronson” wings through my brain –

“Where you headed?”

“Where ever I end up, I guess.”

As we munch our stuff, we decide that Tim Horton's should pay me a fee for all of the business I'm drawing in to look at RedBird and her riverbags. Quite a procession of odd looks if I do say so myself. We sadly say our good-byes to Mark and Carrie and off we go toward Ottawa. As we arrive, I am amazed at the buildings. I first think they are a college campus, but Jerry tells me they are the Parliament. Gothic ornate structures sitting on a hill - what a sight.

  
 

 
  Then the hail starts - and me in my open face helmet with no faceshield. Hmm, if I open my big mouth wide enough there will be less exposed flesh. Besides, it tastes a little bit like snow cones. Not bad at all if it just had a little grape flavoring. As Jerry hangs a left, I size up the intersection. Typical motorcycle trap as a mini-van turns halfway into the intersection blocking the view of oncoming traffic. Since I value arriving with all of my and RedBird's bodywork intact, I wait until I have a clear view then make the turn. We arrive at Jerry's house and I have the pleasure of meeting lovely Miss Pat, sweet Natalie and the intriguing Miss Maggie. Miss Maggie, detecting an experience petter of things dog, comes to me and we commiserate about the hard life of a dog - having to sleep and eat and be petted. Finding a kindred soul, she speaks about how nobody seems to understand her plight as she goes from day to day. At least that is what I understood her to say. In fact, she was so impressed with finding an understanding spirit among the human race, that she later sends me a Christmas card -  
 
 
  But she looks none the worse for wear. We find our rooms and I am blessed with an upstairs room far from Guy so I don't have to listen to his snoring for the 30 seconds it takes me to fall asleep. Jerry graciously gives us a nighttime tour of the city - what a joy to behold. I am fascinated at the fountain at the front of the main Parliament building that has flames coming up through the water. Not a bad trick in my estimation. We make our way downtown and stop at the Hard Rock for desert. Jerry and I comment to each other about the racket surrounding us, wishing we had brought our earplugs. We reminisce about how a lot of the old time rockers were classically trained and their music was musically correct - not just noise at an ever increasing volume. I go for the "Death By Chocolate" and am not disappointed. As we head back to the house, I know that tomorrow we will be completely leaving our friends in Canada physically, but not in spirit and not for too long.