Logistics

Back at the Hotel Universel, I was informed that I would have to move out of my basement room. When I pointed out, in my fractured French, that there were several vacant rooms near mine, the lady at the desk said those weren't made up yet, but they might have a room on the top floor. The young man working with her said, "Yes, but it doesn't have a window . . . or, it does have a window, but . . . you'll see . . . " And so I got another clue to the hotel's shady past.

I hauled my bicycle and baggage in the elevator from the basement to the third floor, to a large, decent-enough room - a little shabbier than the others, a little stuffy, with a ceiling fan but no AC, and no wifi signal. There were picture-window-sized curtains at the end of the room, but when I opened them, the window looked in to a shallow, cement-walled storage room holding some old aluminum ducts and a washing machine and dryer. It looked like a perfect set-up for a private dancer, or an S&M dungeon, or a peep-show into the room. I wish I'd thought to take a photo.

I only needed a place to sleep well enough to get up early for a 7am train, so I closed the curtains, rinsed out some t-shirts and underwear, and hung them on my bicycle to dry.

For dinner, I walked to a neighborhood pub kind of place, with a nice outdoor dining area. I greeted the waitress and ordered my meal in French - fish & chips et limonade, s’il vous plaît, how hard is that? I think I was passing for a native, until the waitress came by and noticed I'd put ketchup on my fries. Real Canadians use mayonnaise.

My next priority was to use the desktop computer in the lobby at the Universel to find and book a room in Montreal, and to finalize arrangements to ship my bicycle back to Bellingham from Montreal at the end of my trip. This turned out to be the last time I had very workable internet access on my trip. (My provider had jumped from AT&T to Rogers back in Vancouver.) I could sometimes get wifi in coffee shops like Starbucks (they're not as ubiquitous as in the US), or in the lobbies or food courts of downtown office towers, but it was usually only good enough to check my email and Facebook, and (sometimes, very slowly) to post photos.

I was getting a little frustrated with BikeFlights by this time - the customer service person apparently didn't plan to worry about problems until they happened. I wasn't sure where I could have them pick up my bike, since I didn't plan to stay at LeDauphin again - I would have loved to, but I'm sure their rates were way out of my range. Also, I would need to complete some customs documents and print out a shipping label, once I knew where my bike would be, but probably wouldn't have internet or printer access in Montreal.

Finished, in under two hours

The wonderful people at LeDauphin assured me they would store my shipping box, let me pack up my bike on site, and have it picked up there, which was a relief. But trying to communicate with BikeFlights got to be a little comical after I left the Hotel Universel. They emailed me a long US customs form, which was impossible to read on my tiny phone screen. When I mentioned this by email, they replied "oh, sure, no problem, we'll send it again!" This became their standard reply, until I had three or four emails with multiple attachments, none of which I could read, on the infrequent occasions when I had a good enough connection to open them.

Back in Montreal, a few days before I meant to schedule the pick-up, I found a FedEx store in the Place Ste. Marie, an office tower downtown, but it turned out to be just a pick-up/drop-off location, which didn't provide other services, and they wouldn't let me leave my boxed bike there for an international pick-up. Finally I went to the Tourist Information Center, which directed me to a nearby shop that offered FedEx services. This turned out to be a little hole-in-the-wall tobacconist/candy shop/magazine stand/Western Union/FedEx store, where the capable and versatile shop-keeper had me forward BikeFlights' emails so he could print out the attachments. It turned out BikeFlights had sent me several pages of blank forms, along with five copies of a completed set, plus the FedEx labels. But it was worth paying for the scrap paper, to compensate for the friendly, pleasant service from Pat Tobacconist.

I was trying to transact all my business in Montreal in French, but my community college classes didn't really give me a lot of vocabulary for dealing with technical internet issues, or shipping and customs documents. Still, everyone was very patient and helpful, and happy to speak English when I got over my head trying to speak French.

Quebec City - Sunday

My original plan had been to spend a couple of days in Quebec City, then bicycle alone back to Montreal on the north side of the St. Laurence River. The CycleCanada tour took a 300-mile-long, curving route southeast from Montreal to Quebec City, but I figured that the distance would be about half that if I rode closer to the river, and I could ride it in three stages, maybe allowing for rest-days to explore the towns I stayed at along the way. Back home I had gone as far as identifying towns that seemed interesting, looking up some affordable places to stay, and printing out Google maps. But I didn't print out directions and details, find a good road map, or make any reservations.

I had also upgraded my AT&T pay-by-the-month phone plan to an international plan that gave me phone service in Canada, and also 4G wireless, but I soon discovered I couldn't count on getting internet access. The motels we stayed at gave us a wifi password, but access was slow on my phone, with its barely 2x4 inch screen. This meant I probably couldn't research my route or make arrangements on the fly.

Besides, after seeing the amount of road construction underway, and our experiences with detours along the tour route, I wasn't sure the routes I'd sketched out would actually be there. I suppose suddenly finding myself alone shook my confidence, too. Although I did feel physically able to ride back to Montreal, I decided to abandon my adventurous plan.

My first errand on Sunday morning was to visit La Gare du Palais, the central train station in Quebec City, where I made reservations for me and my bike to ride back to Montreal. My ticket was $90 Canadian, and I paid another $25 cash for my bike when I boarded early on Monday morning, for a three-hour return trip.

I still had one day to explore Quebec City, anyway, and I spent it riding around the port and marina near the train station, walking-touring the open-air market of the Old Port, and the Lower Town, a village-like network of cobbled streets lined with small cafes, boutiques, galleries and souvenir shops. From there, I bicycled along the new bike path that curves around Cap Diamant beside rue Champlain.

Once I was alone, I kind of went camera-crazy and took lots of snaps. Looking at them now, I regret not spending more time in the city, and chickening out on the solo-ride to Montreal. But that gives me good reason to return soon.

Lower Town shops

Trompe l'oeuil mural in Lower Town

This is for all those Fashion Vigil-Aunties out there

Overpass with pull-out space on the Champlain bike/ped path

Wild horses along the Champlain Path

Recycled-plastics art

Marche du Vieux-Port

Quebec City - Saturday

Friday evening we rode the bus into the old city for one last group dinner, a long evening of conversation, red wine (or sparkling water) and rather loud jazz. Returning to the hotel after dinner, as I looked at my companions, tired and quiet in the back seats of the city bus, I began to get an odd sense of déjà vu, as if I knew these people from some other place and time in my past.

Gateway to the Old City of Quebec

Our room on the third floor of the Hotel Universel had a view of more ordinary city neighborhoods, or possibly suburban sprawl, but I never visited that part of the city, only the picturesque, historic area.

My roommate, Kelly, planned to meet a friend Saturday evening, then return to Montreal early the next day, while I meant to stay on in Quebec City for a couple of days, but we lost our room that morning. After a little tension, the lady at the front desk was finally able to move me to the bottom floor, below the lobby (and on my own tab). I had to squeeze between laundry carts with my bike and bags to get to the room, but it was handy to take my bike straight out to the back parking lot.

Changing of the Guard

Me, guarding the city wall

On Saturday morning people began drifting away, heading back home, or off to further adventures, but four of us caught the bus back to the old city for a walking tour of the historic Citadel. I started out wearing a light rain jacket, but summer heat and humidity had returned in the city, and I was sun-burned by lunch time.

In the afternoon we did more walking-touring, and checked out a very cheap auberge I thought I might want to move to. It had a perfect location on the wall of the old city, but there was a building under construction across the street. The place had a very disreputable feel that reminded me of a motel back in Bellingham that was recently condemned by the city because of criminal activity. I decided to stay on at the Universel, even though that would cut short the number of days I could afford to stay.

(Two views of the Chateau Frontenac.)

We also checked out the lobby of the magnificent Chateau Frontenac, though a room there would be far beyond my means. There was a ritzy wedding reception going on, and a window display of moldy, rindy hams, sausage, bacon and cured meats – regional charcuterie – made an odd contrast to the elegant surroundings.

Kelly and I had one last dinner with John, the last ones remaining from our group. Then she left to meet her friend while John and I walked around the Laval Université campus. As usual, there were buildings under construction, and the campus has a huge new athletic complex and sports fields. One of the women in the tour group had told me that the departments of art and architecture had been relocated to the old city, where they played a large role in revitalizing the city. She said many of the international students who come to Laval, especially from Africa, suffer from the cold winters and culture shock.

Cathédrale Holy Trinity

There was a sad feeling that the party was finally, really over when we said good-night in the lobby on Saturday evening. But when I went down to my basement room, where my bicycle leaned against the wall, it suddenly felt so normal to be alone in my room, on my own again.

The ferries from Lévis - we could have crossed this way
instead of using the bridge, but there was a big, steep hill climb,
and we couldn't find the landing anyway.
Or something.

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.