Seeing as how I didn’t expect to find a nice, quirky coffee shop in TB, I had some coffee and a “continental breakfast,” which for me here consisted of coffee, and I hit the road.  I intended to make it to Sault St. Marie or thereabouts and see what I could find.  I just need to make sure I can get a night in Montreal Tuesday and see some of the city before leaving for Quebec City on Wed morn.

As I hit the road and start really experiencing the moody, dark beauty of the Superior shores, I am again struck by the brokendown qualities of this region.  Broken down faces, brokendown gaits, and brokendown structures.  It’s like Hope left town never to return and that bitch took with her Joy, Smiles, and All Things Lighthearted.  Everything is heavy here.  The sky.  The water.  The low-hanging clouds.  Yet there’s a dark, moody beauty to be found in the emptiness.  It’s a beauty that for me is impossible to photograph because it’s so massive and expansive.  Maybe the road shows some of it.

I can’t do the scene justice, but it’s a taste…  I also stopped at a couple waterfalls that I saw signs for off the road.  Incredible scenes, but difficult to photograph – this time because of the fences – CHAINLINK fences – the Canadians put up around them.  Funny thing about Canadians, they are creating more of a nanny state than us down south.  Hard to believe but true.

I had to throw myself into the picture since the fences were in the way.  So, apparently, there is so much beauty in Canada that they have become numb to it.  Where there MIGHT be a danger of someone jumping into a waterfall, they put up a six foot fence.  Not a nice wooden rail that makes it obvious you should keep out, but a six foot fence basically killing the splendor.  Unreal.  Like there’s so much beauty that it’s become a hassle that has to be contained to protect the moronic.  Such a bummer.

I managed to find a quaint little town for lunch. Afterwards  is when the excitement started.  I kinda misjudged my gas situation.  Oops.  I started to become concerned when I had about 50 miles to go on my tank and I was seeing signs for services 75 miles ahead.  I thought I was for sure running out of gas.  I pulled into one station, closed, and just pegged it at about 65, put my head down and drafted as best I could (no idea if that even helps).  I found a station with 3 miles to go on my tank.   They only had regular, so I threw in some octane booster and I was off.  Whew.  Desolate territory?  Yea.  I’ve been stopping now when I get below 200 miles and I see gas.

So I pull into Sault St. Marie, and it’s how I remember it.  Dump.  I think about staying but I just don’t have the heart for another crappy, brokendown Canadian border town, so I keep going for a spell.  As I pull out of Soo (clearly, I’m in the know, practically a local), I pass an old, rusted-out bridge that runs parallel to the road, and on the side in big, sad stained letters, someone has written, THIS IS INDIAN LAND.  It seriously spooked me out.  It appeared to have been there a while, and no one has thought that maybe it should be cleaned up.  Apparently there is some strain on Euro-Indian relations.  Not surprising considering the multiple reservations I have passed through.  The Indian presence here is much greater than in northern WI.  I should have gotten a picture, but it was getting late, and I had no idea if I was heading into nothingness or if I was going to be able to find a place.  I settled on Thessalon.  Then it just got sorta weird.

I walk into the cottage office to find Olive Oil all wide-eyed and so eager to help along with her husband and slightly slower son who they were training to take over or maybe just giving him something to do.  No idea.  I ask about a restaurant in town, and Olive Oil is all jazzed up to make me something.  What I really want is to find a dumpy bar and have a beer or two and talk to some locals.  She’ll have none of it.  I settle on the soup (it’s curry! says Olive) and a sandwich.  I ask for some beer, but they have to carry it to my room for me – against the law for me to carry it to my room.  More Canadian mishmash.  So after the quick bite, I jump on the bike for the 5 block ride into town to see what’s there.  I’m not wearing a helmet here (it’s 5 blocks for crying out loud, and I am the ONLY one on the road as tomorrow’s a holiday – more on that in a sec).  As I’m riding I pass a man walking with his family and he’s pointing madly at his own head as I pass through and saying helmet!  I figure he’s had an accident in the family or something and it’s a touchy subject.  I smile and wave and move on.  Then, I pass a woman sitting on a chair on her front porch (there is seriously nothing else to do in this town), and she almost jets out of her chair pointing wildly at her head saying helmet!  What?  Then, as I pass the campground on my way back having given up on finding anything anywhere, people are staring at me like I’ve got Satan riding bitch.  I actually looked down to make sure I was wearing pants.  I couldn’t understand what was happening.  There are a ton of motorcyclists up here, so it should not be that interesting.  When I get back, Olive Oil is all a tizzy.  Apparently the  OPP (not down with these OPP, this is the Ontario Provincial Police) is out in full force looking to crack down wherever they can on anything they can.  She actually tried to run out of the house to stop me when she saw me ride by.  I guess that the party in the campground got so wild the night before that the OPP had to be called in.  Not all that surprising given the fact that the campground looked like a refuge camp it was so packed – seriously – more people in camp than all of town by a factor of 3 or 4 by my judgement.

Since now I’m pretty much a prisoner on the grounds (you’re not going oot again are you?) I ended the night with a sit by the lake while contemplating all things Canadian.