Yea, that's a little whale. Love it.

Epic day! I’ll try to start from the beginning – last night. I have to say, I started out a bit worried – I’m not used to full-time housekeepers, and I’m wondering how I can possibly fit into this scene. It’s honestly exactly what I’d expect to find in the Hamptons with Thurston Howell III and Lovey entertaining for dinner. I mean, my water glass is made of silver and my name tag at my seat is resting in a little silver whale. Uh oh. Wags is out of his element, whatever that is. But, lo and behold, it’s a fantastic evening. We enjoyed beer, wine, good Scotch and talk of motorcycles, traveling, Belgian beer, and all vices. And salad and cheese at the end of the meal right before dessert! The French know how to live. Even the dude with the pink cords was great to talk with. I am officially in the market for pink cords. Pretty fantastic evening, albeit not one I could have possibly predicted. Just one of those perfectly unique travel-induced experiences. And I feel so grateful for Todd and Trip for inviting me into their home and having me at the party. They’re phenomenal hosts working as puppet masters who never show the strings. I’m going back if I’m invited!

Fromo the balcony off my room.

I’m up at the butt-crack of dawn due to the horrifically beautiful sunrise giving me the Full Monty right in my beer, wine, and Scotch encrusted face. That did the trick. I am up three hours earlier than I’d wanted, but the invading sun along with the monstrous snoring from the adjoining room coming through the paper-thin walls, no more sleep shall be had. Sweet. Just a hair over four hours of rest. That should set me up for success. But, I have to catch the early ferry if I have any hope of making it to the edge of the earth by the end of the day.

The ferry ride was great, but it was almost two hours late by the time we landed.

This is my gay pose. Yikes.

But, to my great pleasure, they had wireless in the boat cafeteria? What? How is it that we can’t get this done on Amtrak between Milwaukee and Chicago, but between the megalopolises of Saint-Simeon and Riviere-du-Loop (both of which could probably fit on the train to Chicago) there is a boat with this wild, crazy, new technology? God I love Canada.

You know how I am with self portraits...

Finally off the ferry and on my way, I realize that I have a long day ahead of me. This issue is quickly reduced in magnitude as I face some of the best riding I have ever seen. I wish my camera was working – it’s now stuck on a two-stop overexposure. Crikey. I also wish I’d allowed myself more time to explore this region. It’s extraordinary. My iPhone and camera just can’t do it justice, but I still want to stop every other mile to take a picture. I’m not sure why this urge is so strong – I guess because I feel totally inept at describing what I’m seeing and riding through, and I want to prove that it exists. Literally 350 miles with the angry, widening St. Lawrence lurking in its menacing darkness immediately on my left. The

Sort of a weird stop...

Here

temperature shifts from 87 to 68 with regularity, and the starkness of the land continues to pound itself into my soul. I’m up into 1,000 feet of elevation and down to sea level over and over with

But nice and relaxing outside.

each bay producing another town beckoning me to stop and stay the night. But, alas, I need to get some miles in if I want to make it to the end of the road. I do admit that I was getting tired, and I was looking forward to the stop. I wanted to get off the bike before I made a big mistake.

And then I dropped my bike again. Unreal. Totally fine (BMW is genius with the engine guards protecting imbeciles like me), but totally stupid move. Truth be told, I saw a

You try not crashing when this monstrosity sneaks up on you.

whale building on the side of the road. Yea, a whale building. Whatever, if you saw a whale building you’d pull over and probably fall off your bike too. It was startling. I just misjudged the turn and dumped it. Rookie? Apparently. So, the angle the bike falls, it’s practically upside down, and I cannot get it back up. Not even close. Thankfully, a young guy and woman walk out of the business I’m in front of, and the three of us get it upright. Ahh, back on the road. Annoyed with myself.

I finally find a hotel literally at the edge of the world.

Bike, then hotel, then drop off to water.

Here I Am. Amazing little place RIGHT on the Golf of St. Lawrence. And for $60. Unreal. I do share a bathroom though. Hm, hope I’ve seen the last of the poutine. Could be an early morning escape tomorrow morning…

Kathleen was nice enough to sell me a few bottles of Cheval Blanc to go.

After an Herculean effort, I also find a restaurant with wifi. Great little place and Kathleen takes great care of me even making an exception to sell me a couple Cheval Blancs to go (pretty good Belgian style white from Montreal). While there, I must do what the locals do and order L’assiette3 des mers (smoked cod, smoked salmon, smoked turbot (what?) and mactress (again, wtf?), yaous). Yum.

Smoked Fish!

Yup. Seal tartar.

Now, I am on the fence about sharing this next bit. Would you hat me if I ordered seal? Would you want to fight me? Well, I did. I mean, really? It’s definitely not the cute, adorable kind of seal but some other mangy, ragged kind for sure. As my Polish friend from another lifetime ago would say, trust me friend, these things I know, I have not seen for myself, but I have talked with people and I believe them… Hey man, consider yourself believed. You had me at don’t fuck with the Ukranians… Anyway, I order the seal, and it comes out as, drumb roll please… Tartar! Uh huh, seal tartar. Yikes. Gag reflex anyone?

Working under the stars and light show.

Well, it was actually quite good served with a cranberry chutney. Don’t hate me. Just trying to fit into my surroundings. I am a bit concerned about the battle royal cage match. In this corner, weighing in at a pound and a half, from Quebec City, it’s a pile of fries, squeeky cheese and a dark, gelatenous gravy from calling itself Poutiiiiiiiiiiine, and in the corner, weighing in at six ounces, hailing from unknown waters and bringing a pungeant, guilt-ridden odor and gooey texture, the locals’ favorite Seal Tartaaaaaaarrrr. Gentlemen, you know the rules. Anything goes. Good luck.

Watching the Show.

I end the night sitting outside under and impossible number of stars watching a lightning show across the Gulf looking like a far-off war while shooting stars pepper our world. What a day.