Home for a night on the Edge.

I think it all started last night with the decision to continue on and find a place to stay on the point of the edge of the world. I very nearly cut across the peninsula due to time and exhaustion, and I think enjoying the lightening storm and the stars and getting through the rain and the raging tireds put me into a very wideopen place.

The first cliffs come into view immediately.

I start my morning ride at the edge of the world, and I feel it. In a good way. Taking my first blind curve, I am confronted with huge cliffs delivering staggering beauty, and in the soft early morning sun, I am stunned. My world spins and I’m delivered into beauty I was not prepared for.

Sunrise.

More sunrise.

I’m still not sure why I was so struck by this moment, but it was literally a physical reaction. I hear a distant nearby whisper and I make out La Gigante telling me something, softly at first and then gaining purpose. Eric, my friend, you have brought us a long way. Let go and I’ll take over for a while. I’ve got this. I hear her and I understand. I surrender control and we roll on the throttle rising and falling. She knows where to go, so I let her find the line and guide us along the sweeping road. I am man. I am machine. We are flowing fluid motion together and my eyes well up with tears and my flesh explodes in chilling electricity. I slowly allow myself to dip gently with a soft ripple into the fabric of life. I am instantly nothing and everything. Part of the world and moving simply. And the long day’s ride begins…

I thought yesterday was the best riding I’d ever had, and it was. Until today. I have never been so impaled by emotions while riding. I don’t know where it came from, but I know that I want to head to the corners of the earth to find it again…

Me. At first light.

It was honestly a moment of perfection like I’d never had before. I think it all started with the onslaught of sunrise in my room at 5:15. As I realized sleep was futile, I threw on my shorts and sandals and made the climb down the cliff to the secluded beach below using the rope provided for people like me who aren’t content seeing it but must be IN it. Seeing as how there was no one else up at this hour, I took the opportunity for one of my favorite things in the world – an early morning naked swim. To say it was invigorating would be an understatement – fucking frigid would be the right term. The startling forgotten saltwater and brutal cold woke me up, and I took a moment once out of the water to document the moment.

The perfect morning.

If you’re looking at this picture, you’re probably saying, Eric, uh, something’s missing… Are your boys still pissed at you? Very funny. No, my boys are not still pissed at me. We made up hundreds of miles ago. It took some sweet talking and some promises I don’t know that I can keep, but I’ll deal with that later. No, the little monkeys have totally turtled up and crawled into my core desperately seeking life-saving warmth. I hope to see them again soon…

(Side note: You must understand, when it’s you and a bike over 6,500 km (4,000 miles) life gets simpler and these bodily issues become much more important. Like when I got to the hotel tonight, I thought I was the source of the horrendous odor only to return to my room post shower to be blasted by the hot garbage smell exploding from my boots taking over my room. I put the fan on to blow out the window and opened a stick of deodorant hoping it would waft over the room. Might be throwing those bad boys away after this trip. If I can catch them…)

Before leaving the beach after my dip, I take advantage of this veritable skipping-rock factory and show the world why I still hold the title of greatest rock-skipper of all time (self-declared of course). Then, I finally build my own cairn for the first time. I have passed literally thousands of these on this trip, particularly in Ontario, and I’ve wanted to build one for a while. It’s a small, temporary marker taking my place on my tiny private corner of the world looking out into the dark. A sentinel who will shortly be gone and on his way back into the sand of the earth.

As for the ride, I’d heard that riding the Gaspe Peninsula is a sort of right of passage for a lot of East Coast riders.

The road to Pierced Rock.

I understand why. The cliffs and The Pierced Rock out in the bay are worth the ride alone, but it’s the getting there that’s made it even more special. The beauty was spectacular, and it was all a surprise to me – I never had a plan this whole trip and every corner turned into open beauty is a gift.

After enjoying this wonder, I follow the coast further until

Pierced Rock

I’m forced to start heading west and inland if I ever want to make it home. The land becomes less wild and more commercial, and I’m struck by the contrast yet again. This time though, I’m armed with the wonder that came from my experience this morning, and nothing can touch me. Not even this land of car seats on the front porches, the Iroc-Z’s for sale at the end of long driveways or the pervasive sound of banjos I imagine at every turn. I even take great joy in the town of Atholeville. Ok, I’m sure it sounds fantastic in French, but Atholeville? I could go so many places with that. Almost too easy. I’ll let you savour the joy quietly.

Seriously?

I endure a long afternoon of riding (almost 500 miles today) and have basically written the second half of the day off and almost stay in Riviere du Loop, which is the town that I arrived in on the ferry just a day and a half ago (is that possible?). I consider one of the nonplace, noname motelthings so that I can write and go to bed early, but du Loop just doesn’t feel right, and I continue on. Right move Wags. I end up on a country road right on the St. Laurent with small communities along the way as the sun begins its long northern decent over the mountains to the west. After a couple motel misses, I start to think I’m in for along night of riding. Oh how the universe can conspire to keep us guessing and surprised at all times. If only we can keep our spirits open to it.

Every once in a while, you get extremely lucky with finding a place to stay or with a restaurant.

Almost never are both nailed. Until tonight. First, the place is beyond description for the $55 it’s costing me. Views from the HOT TUB are the setting sun over the St. Laurent. The living room that we can use complete with big screen is way nicer than my home, and the room is just fine.

Ahhhh...

I also have a rocking chair on the balcony which will be perfect for the sunrise as well as a sun room off the back. Oh, and breakfast is included. And I have a sink in my room!!

To think that the highlight of the place I stayed last night was that the faucet was high enough to get my water bladder completely underneath it. At $55 a night, I think I may just move here.
Seriously, if this were closer to home, at $1,705 (for the long months!), I’d just live here. And the father / son team were apologizing for THEIR English! Unreal! And the coup de grace? Local Belgianesque beer for sale in the cooler. Yaous.

After checking in and taking a much-needed shower, I make the trip about 9k away to find the next town where they say there are some restaurants. I pass a pizza joint and a couple others that aren’t all that interesting, and then WHAM, I find it.

Wouldn

Bouchon Terroir. Tappas no less. I am sitting at the bar watching the sun slowly dip beyond the mountains on the other side of the St. Laurant while I enjoy a Cheval Blanc and wait for my patio table to be ready. I’ve even found a spot at the bar where I can keep a mullion of the window between the sun and me. Truly beyond description as I watch a family of ducks play in the long, too bright shaft of sunlight pouring across the now incredibly calm, counter personality, St. Laurent. I was also lucky enough to have the older guy next to me give me his choices for the best items. He was one of those retired guys who’s all mischievous eyes and full faced smiles and hearty handshake leaving a wake of feelgoodness and light cheeks in his path. He jives on the fact that you’re here on a motorcycle doing something with that outhereness. Just another element of goodness. And if you’re not going to listen to the locals about what to eat, stay home and get yourself some Subway.

View from the restaurant.

And then the food comes. Normally I am one to scoff at overthetop melodrama when it comes to food. Oh, I almost cried when the fluflavaflifferin came out it was so to die for to die for I’m telling you and it was all capped off with plarfinggroupinglint that just blew my mind I’m telling you I nearly had an orgasm… Whatever. Why don’t you do us all a favor and take all that pretentiousness, shove it up your ass and light it on fire with a creme brule torch. But, in this case, the food was SOOOO to die for. Ok, not to die for, but it was freaking good. Sausage over an apple slaw, curry scallops and pork satay. Perhaps it was from the day I’d just had, but either way, what a way to wrap up the day.

And then I had the 15 k ride home from dinner. Standing up on the pegs at 110 k/hr with moths streaming by like tracer lights off hostile fire and cold cold wind beating down drawing out streaking tears and you realize it yet again when the feeling that you’re flying is impossible to miss. I am alive. And it’s really fucking good.

Alas, the day must come to an end. And for this, I admit, I’m grateful. I am tired, and I’m getting pretty sore and I can feel it with every up and down on La Gigante. I think she can use a rest as well. It’s been a long day, but it’s one I’ll remember for the rest of my life. Something deep within me shifted just a little bit. My soul was nudged, and I felt it. I end the day the way I started it. Purely. Watching something truly unique under a starry starlit night night. Taking it all in. Looking forward to the road ahead. The many roads. For now, I soak in the remnants of today’s roads and work to remember before looking ahead.