Canada 2001
 
 

Day 08

October 8

 
 

As we sit in the motel lobby munching fat bombs, the weather does not look promising the way we want to go. 14 degrees and blowing snow on a mountain could be a bit challenging. Maybe that old front that had been chasing will get stuck on the mountain this time. Before we pack up, I snap a couple of pictures of the STs with snow.

 
 
 
 
 
 

I don't figure that Cranberry one had seen much of that lately. Knowing that discretion is the better part of valor, we go on a southernly route. As we ride along, we see a typical New England house surrounded by beautiful trees and huge pumpkins. Too good to pass, we pull off to snap a few shots as another car pulls up. They are a couple visiting their son who lives here. I have my ski mask on, since the weather is a bit cool. The mother says to me with a grin -

“You're not one of those terrorist are you?”

“No ma'am, I may be a bit crazy for riding on a day like this, but that's about it” I assure her.

The son asks -

“Would you like me to take your picture?”

We appreciate his kindness as he graciously snaps our likenesses.

 
 
 
 

The owners of the house never come out. I think to myself -

“If this was home, they would have either come out with a glass of tea or a shotgun.”

We say our good-byes and make our getaway. As we get into Meredith, we both see the sign for George's diner -

“Best Food in Town at a Good Price”

so we head straight for it.

 
 
 
  Looking over the menu, my choice is easy – pig meat disguised as pork chops and some eggs. Hmmm, good. The fellow beside me holds down a good conversation about bikes, houses, and diners. But the Maine coast is calling, so we're off again. The route gets a bit tricky because there are so many road number changes but finally we make it to a little market for a break. A friendly passerby snaps a shot of both us which reveals our astonishing bad cases of helmet hair.  
 
 
 

The folks in the store smile at our command of English, and we at their's. A short conversation with a retired lineman outside the store clues us in that they don't make fried chicken in Maine, just an unreasonable facsimile. When we get to Camden, we decide to camp inside if possible. Fortunately I see an older motel and figure it should fit the budget.

 
 

 
 

The lady of the place sits behind her desk with her ledger book in hand. No need for computers here for she tells us she's been running it for 50 years. A great room and a reasonable rate and we're set. Figuring she knows the answer, I ask -

“Where's the best place to east around here?”

“Water Front down by the harbor.” she says without a pause.

We unpack and head for it and are not disappointed. The hostess tells us the wait will be 45 minutes to an hour. I strike up a conversation with one of the owners. He asks -,

“What kind of bikes you guys riding?”

“Hondas so we don't have to work on them” I reply..

“Still got an old Triumph, one of the last ones they made” he tells us.

“Oh, then you are familiar with Lucas the Prince of Darkness and Zener Diodes?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah – a bunch” he replies..

I tell him I used to run Brit bikes in my younger days and loved them, even with all of their problems. We talk about their trials and tribulations. He brightens and says -

“You know, there's table right over there if you're not particular.”

We thank him and the wait evaporates to something less that 15 minutes. He tends to us himself and then sends a server over to finish us up. Best fresh seafood I've had in a while. In Nashville, when they say “fresh seafood” we respond -

“Yeah, it was at one point.”

We waddle back out to the bikes and head for the room for a good night's sleep. We've turned the corner here today, for we will proceed no further north. Tomorrow we're headed south towards the land of sweet tea, fried chicken, and some surprises.