Some details I forgot to mention

Every evening, the CycleCanada tour leader gave us each a map and cue sheet for the next day's ride. The cue sheets were clear and detailed enough, marked off in both miles and kilometers. But the scale could seem a little confusing, because at the beginning and end of the route the turns could be quite close together to get us through town and to or from our hotel, while in the middle there might be several miles/kilometers between turns or landmarks.

Also, the maps were similar to simple Google maps, showing a green line for our route and sometimes a grey alternate route, with crossroads, towns, rivers, and highway numbers labelled, but the maps didn't show any surrounding roads. If we'd taken a wrong turn or detour from the planned route, it would have been difficult to get back on track. I suppose tour businesses need to protect their turf, though. They'd put themselves out of business if they gave out maps and directions so detailed that anyone could ride a route once, then lead all their friends the same way.

Most of the riders in our group were aged mid-fifties to mid-sixties. My roommate was the youngest, at thirty-five. She was a teacher at McGill University, a Quebec native fluent in English and French, and so ended up taking on interpreter and guide duties. She had signed up for the tour only a few weeks from the start, after another group tour was cancelled, which saved me from having to pay extra for a single room. We first met in our shared room at LeDauphin in Montreal, and I felt comfortable with her immediately.

Like most bicyclists, we were all beer, wine and food lovers, although I am something of a wet blanket and fussy eater - no alcohol, no sardines, no duck, no red meat or pork. I became painfully aware of my caffeine addiction problem, even though I had tried to taper off before the trip. Once at our hotel at the end of the day, I began to feel a growing headache from caffeine withdrawal, and finally had to have a couple of before-diner cups from the coffee-maker in our room. One morning I had two strong cups at breakfast, which made me chatter unnaturally (for me) for about twenty minutes until the caffeine rush wore off.

Day 5

Victoriaville to Quebec City (71 miles)

In Victoriaville our CycleCanada hosts treated us to wine and cheese and veggie dip plates at the hotel, then dinner at an upscale pasta place nearby. The next day Bud Jorgensen, the ride leader and CycleCanada owner, left us to meet the next tour group he would be leading. We still had the support van and driver, but would have to follow the map and directions on our own. Fortunately our last day, like the previous one, would be a mostly straight, downhill run until we came close to the town of Lévis, across the St. Laurence from Quebec City.

Laurierville

On Friday morning the fast group took off ahead again, the tourists dawdled behind, and three or four of us filled in between. About twenty-five miles into the day, at the town of Laurierville, we were briefly confused by a fork in the road and had to stop to get re-oriented, which gave us a chance to admire one of the many handsome stone churches along the way. At about thirty-five miles, near Ste. Anastasie, our route on the road crossed the paved path of La Route Verte. Here we met up with our support driver, who provided a picnic lunch of deli sandwiches, fruit, juice and cookies. With the steady down-hill we didn't need a big lunch or long rest, and soon took off again, shortly after the tourist group arrived.

This time the faster group split up, and as on the day before I found myself hovering between the more aggressive riders and two others with a more relaxed attitude - until they unexpectedly got frisky and blew past me. I didn't react in time to catch on and chase them to join up with the main group, so I decided to just settle in, keep them in sight, and follow along by myself. This was fine for a while, until we got to a stretch where there were some bends in the road, and some upgrades that slowed me down a bit, and I briefly lost sight of the others. Then my childhood abandonment issues kicked in: what if they left me behind? what if I missed a turn? I hadn't really been paying close attention to the cue sheets, I wasn't sure where to make the next turn off . . .

I decided I'd better catch up. I picked up my pace, standing up to pedal on the upgrades. It took some time and some hard work, but after a mile or so at 20mph I finally caught them and hung on at the back of the bunch the rest of the way.

Somewhere about 55-60 miles along we chose our own route, I think, but I'm not sure . . . At at rest spot where a bike path split off from the road we met a group of mid-60-ish men with bikes. Their leader, Jacques, who seemed to be fitter and faster than the others, offered to guide us in to the city. He took off at a good pace on the smooth, downhill bike path, and we made a fast train through the woods, until we came out on city streets, near parking lots and strips malls again. Jacques was out of breath, and turned back up the path, leaving us a bit confused, but luckily we met up with two women in racy club spandex, who led us across a busy bridge from Lévis to Quebec City, and gave us directions to the hotel.

Our arrival was a little less than triumphant. It had begun to rain a bit again. And, typically, many main streets were torn up for construction projects, and there were some detours. Besides, we were trying to avoid the steepest streets leading in to town, tough to do because the center of the city sits at the top of a high bluff. But we straggled in at last.

Our final night was at the Hotel Universel, across the street from Laval Université, and only a short bus-ride (or longish walk) to the historic old city. The Universel presents itself as family-friendly, and it is modern and well-kept, but I imagine it must have been a party hot-spot in the decadent 1980's. To get from the lobby to the bar and restaurant, guests pass through an indoor swimming pool area with jetted tubs, waterfalls, and tropical rock and jungle features, with ground floor guest rooms looking out on the pool and lounge area.

Day 4

Sherbrooke to Victoriaville (71 miles)

Thursday and Friday were the longest days of the tour, about seventy-one miles each, but also fairly flat, with wide expanses of farm country, and the skies and rain cleared up. The last two days have blurred together in my mind a bit, but I’ll try to sort out my memories.

For much of the way we were roughly following La Route Verte, but riding on country highways instead, because the folks in the fast group wanted to hammer, and I decided to try to hang on. Some parts of the Route Verte trail were gravel paths, too rough to ride fast, but on some stretches of the highway where traffic was too fast and unfriendly, we took refuge on the trail.

Leaving Sherbrooke, the CycleCanada tour route passed through a suburban neighborhood, and was supposed to lead to a bike path out of town, but the trail access was blocked by construction and we zigzagged around local streets until a friendly resident gave us directions.

Around thirty miles into the day, possibly near the town of Richmond (but I may be wrong) we came to another obstacle, orange barriers and piles of dirt where there should have been a bridge. There were no advance warnings of a detour, no sign of how far it would take us out of our way, or how to get back on route. After exploring a bit, someone discovered a small improvised foot-bridge crossing the river from one house to another on the other side. While we debated trying the detour versus trampling through the mud and trespassing through someone’s front yard to the rickety bridge, the tour leader phoned his assistant for information, and others searched their smart phones. At last the homeowner drove up and graciously guided us across his lawn to the footbridge, to set us on the road again.

We had lunch in Kingsley Falls (I think), about forty-three miles along. There was a paper mill in the town, I recall, and the restaurant had an intriguing steampunkish, elegant-biker-bar atmosphere: old masters paintings in gilded frames and heavy, fringed brocade curtains held back in brackets decorated with old monkey wrenches and ball hammers. The food was good, but it turned out they close early in the afternoon. We’d arrived in time, but they locked the doors behind us as we left, just as the people from the sight-seeing group arrived. So they had to try to find lunch somewhere else.

After our meal we came to some long, straight stretches of road, with good bike lanes, passing by dairies and fields of corn or wheat. It was here that the fast group decided to put the hammer down. Part of the time I held on and drafted behind them, going about 17-20mph for at least an hour. I get fired up after riding fast for a while and held on pretty well, but I am used to riding alone and get nervous following too close, especially with riders whose habits I don’t know well. Sometimes two of the others from the middling group would drop behind, and then I’d slow down and end up riding between the two groups, trying to keep everyone in sight, ahead and behind. Still, it was fun skimming along past the cows and green fields, and the long day went fast despite the road blocks and detours.

Day 3

Knowlton to Sherbrooke (45 miles)

Wednesday, the shortest day of the tour, was my favorite for sight-seeing, even though it rained most of the day. The route was hilly to make up for the short distance, but there were no climbs as hard as the steep one the day before. About sixteen miles along we reached a crossing for the town of Austin. I didn’t see a town, just a few buildings and a gas station, and an odd exhibit of a model of the sun with a plaque describing it, like someone’s science project. After riding in the rain so much we had to stop to admire and take photos.

This intersection is also the turn-off for a side trip to l’Abbaye de St. Benoît, a tall, handsome stone building. The monastery houses about fifty monks who practice the Benedictine tradition of meditation, study and manual labor. Though they are cloistered, they keep orchards and produce popular cider and cheeses.

The skies began to clear a bit after we left the monastery, riding past orchards and vineyards. I caught some nice views of Lac Memphrémagog through the trees, though a rainstorm blew in at our rest-stop on a bluff above the lake. From there we rolled downhill into the town of Magog, about twenty-seven miles along.

Magog is kind of an artsy village at the end of the lake, with nice paved bike and pedestrian paths among trees and lawns and the sandy beach, and a board walk leading in to the town center. I put away my rain jacket here, and we stopped for lunch at a bistro/bar across from a little park and the town bike shop. I would have liked to look around town more, because I like artsy-fartsy places with nice cafés. Unfortunately, the street and sidewalks were narrow, with parallel parking on both sides, and some construction work in progress. Mid-day car traffic was backed-up and slow, and despite new bicycle amenities, drivers didn’t seem to have much patience for sharing the road with a line of cycle-tourists.

With afternoon sun we followed quieter country roads along the Magog River to Sherbrooke. The last mile or two entering the town didn’t seem too welcoming, since Sherbrooke is the center of business and industry in the area. There were shopping centers and wide multi-lane streets with fast traffic, a couple of steep pitches of a hundred feet or so, and some railroad tracks to cross to get to the hotel. But once there we set our shoes outside to dry and settled into lawn chairs on the walkways outside our rooms, enjoying a little sun and the warmth of the parking lot blacktop, watching the clouds and momentary sprinkles of rain. There were nice restaurants and two bike shops close by, and the motel served a good breakfast in the morning.

Day 2

Venise-en-Quebec to Knowlton (58 miles)

Tuesday morning it was still raining a bit, but there was no serious discussion about whether or not to ride. After a hearty breakfast (indoors) we headed out in the rain. The route jogged northeast for about five miles, then turned south on Rte. 133, to Rte 237, which runs eastward close to the US-Canada border to the town of Abercorn. The elevation profile for the day warned of a steep, hard hill-climb somewhere after the town of Frelighsburg, and I was dreading it all morning.

By this time we had split into a sight-seeing group, a fast group, and a middling group of people who didn’t want to stop for every photo-op but didn’t want to race all day, either. I was in the middle group with two others when we got to Frelighsburg. Damp and chilled, we had talked about stopping to get some hot chocolate, but took the wrong branch of the road through town and never saw a promising place. Instead we stopped in a driveway, still in a drizzle, to snack and wait for the others. I’d forgotten to pack my Clif bars and had to make do with mooching some trail mix and jelly candies. And so, when we finally came to the big hill outside of town, I was cold, tired and hungry, and bonked instantly when the road got steep. The legs wouldn’t do it, I had to walk my bike almost the whole way up. Luckily there was a big downhill, and only gently rolling roads after that.

Sutton - the dry-out place

We finally stopped for lunch after forty miles, in the town of Sutton. It had been raining hard off and on but we found a lovely, welcoming, country inn with a big covered terrasse where we could leave our bikes and rain gear while we ate inside.

Still trying to stick to my semi-vegetarian diet, I ordered la salade Niçoise, which is always good for a vocabulary lesson in beginning French language classes: de la laitue, des tomates, du thon, des olives noires . . . It was huge, I could barely finish it, and I don’t recall anything about les sardines, slimy, limp black things with bristly hairs on them. I picked them out. They had an excellent pureed vegetable soup, too, and we tried to guess the ingredients, or get the waitress to tell us, but she protested, “I am not the chef!” and wouldn’t tell.

Our cycling shoes leaked big puddles of rain-water under the table, but we left big tips in gratitude for the hospitality and good food.

From Sutton we rode on, still in the rain, to Knowlton, where we stayed at l’Auberge Knowlton, a nicely restored stage-coach inn with a handsome, wide second floor balcony over-looking the street. There are many up-scale boutiques and art studios in town, and the area is known for raising ducks at Lac Brome. Duck is the house specialty at l'Auberge Knowlton, and the rest of the group enjoyed it, but I was still full of salade Niçoise. I ordered tomato soup with bread, then shared someone’s huge chicken Caesar salad.

Day 1

Montreal to Venise-en-Quebec (52 miles)

CycleCanada put us up Sunday night at Le Dauphin, a very nice, quiet, modern boutique hotel near the gate to Montreal’s Chinatown. After a complimentary self-serve breakfast buffet on Monday morning, we wheeled our bikes through the lobby to mount up on the sidewalk, took a left down the block, and immediately ran into a construction detour at the first intersection. Luckily at least two of our group of twelve were natives who were able to guide us to the Pont Jacques Cartier, and get us on the road out of the city. There was construction on the bridge, too, and we annoyed a few Monday-morning bike commuters by stopping to enjoy the views.

somewhere near Chambly

The weather was sunny, hot and humid but it became more comfortable as we rode farther out of the city, heading south after the town of Chambly, along the pretty canal paths on Ile-Ste.-Therese. After about thirty miles we crossed the canal at Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, where we milled around a bit trying to decide where to stop for lunch. We chose the place where the host came outside to guide us to their bike-rack, and offered to provide chains and locks for security.

After lunch we rode twenty-five or so miles through farm country, to l’Auberge du Lac Champlain, a resort on the northern end of Lake Champlain, with a view across the lake to Vermont. We shared comfortable cabins with tiny bathrooms and kitchens we didn’t use.

Just about the time we’d all gotten cleaned up and came out to look for dinner, the sky clouded over and it began to sprinkle a little. It turned out the only place open on Mondays was a big, homey restaurant and bar on the edge of the lake, with a large terrasse on the water-side. We pushed a few tables together under some huge sun umbrellas and had a long dinner outside. We watched the storm roll in across the lake, and sat outdoors in the rain, sheltered by the big umbrellas, talking for hours until it began to get too chilly and dark.

Arrival

My flight to Montreal went smoothly, although I gave myself way too much time to get to the airport. I left Ferndale around noon on the #27 bus, caught the Bolt bus about one-thirty at the Cordata transit center, and arrived in Vancouver BC in the late afternoon, with five hours to kill before my flight. So I enjoyed a light dinner and some idle-time at a cafe, before catching the SkyTrain to the airport, where once again I had a few hours to wait for my 8:55pm flight via Edmonton to Montreal.

The view from my room at the hostel

I don't like rushing around, or taking a chance on missing a connection, but the consequence of leaving so early was that by the time I arrived in Montreal, I'd been travelling for about eighteen hours with only two hours of sleep on the plane. Luckily I found a regular direct shuttle between the airport and the hostel, the #747 bus, but when I got to the hostel and found I'd missed my check-in time, I must have alarmed the young woman at the desk a bit. I was so tired and disoriented from the time change and jet-lag that I wasn't sure what day of the week it was. I managed a "Bon jour," then had to go on in English. But we got my room assignment sorted out soon enough, so I could go have a nap before getting out to walk around a bit and find dinner.

I stayed two nights at the Residences Universitaire (UQAM est), a former dormitory of the University of Quebec at Montreal (there is a second, newer UQAM ouest building, but it closes during August). It was clean, convenient and very cheap ($90cdn/night). Montreal in August is hot and humid, but I was comfortable enough with a ceiling fan and windows cracked open at night. The rooms are arranged in two-story clusters; you enter a small living room with bedrooms and shared baths down a short hallway, and a metal spiral staircase leading up to a kitchen and another set of bedrooms and shared baths. I heard male voices in my cluster at night but never met anyone until just as I was leaving. I didn't see any other guests at all, although one night there was a party in the courtyard below my 8th floor window until after 2am.

The hostel is on blvd Rene Levesque, one of the main streets heading to downtown from the area of the university, which parallels a couple of other streets full of restaurants and shops, so I learned to navigate a bit by walking up and down the major streets, sometimes zigzagging between them. There are tree-lined residential streets just off busy commercial streets, with small multi-plex buildings, often with picturesque spiral staircases leading to upper floor apartments - easy to sweep off snow in the winter, I was told.

New & Old

The French Poodle & the English Bulldog

As in most major (and minor) cities, summer is the season for construction and street improvement projects, so there were many detours and barricaded sidewalks. The weekday traffic was busy and confusing, and I was kind of glad my bike was still boxed up at the tour group's hotel, so I had an excuse to go on foot rather than risking bike-riding. The city is a fascinating jumble of old and new, French and British influences, along with many other nationalities. Near the university and the Place des Spectacles, the streets were thumping with music events day and night. There was some sort of anime or cosplay convention going on, with groups of young people wandering everywhere dressed up in steampunk-manga-Star Trek-vampire-fairy-Hello Kitty-style.