Started the day with a phenomenal ride along the St. Laurent. It was not the overwhelming beauty of the wilds of the northeast, but instead an intensely sun-drenched landscape soaked in nature’s exuberant hues.

The yellows in the soft slanted morning light were over the top.

Even the abandoned barns have a natural, quiet beauty here.

Deep, deep golds and bright greens on either side of me. On my left, the colors ended at the base of the mountains, and on my right, the colors dropped off into the dark waters of this famous riverway. With the sun softly rising on my left, I was in no hurry and felt a calm quiet as I passed through quaint village after quaint village after quaint French colonial village. There were too many stops to make, and there is only so much coffee a guy can drink. I made a few stops and enjoyed the scenery as much as I could since it was due to vanish as I made my way out of Quebec province.

Such and awesome spot for a sunset-lit, late night dinnner of tappas after a long day of riding.

Starting the ride with James’ Laid followed by some Variety from Ryan Montbleau and Empty from Ray LaMontagne and I was in a groove when I passed the restaurant I was at last night now lit up by the morning sun. Ah, such a fine memory. I found the greatest crepe I have ever had and of course the maiden was nice enough to allow me a picture.

I did have a couple interesting sightings. First, I saw a guy pulled off on the side of the road on one of those three-wheeled cyclethingies (not sure what else to call it – still don’t know if they’re part of the two-wheel fraternity earning the right to the standard drop-down hand wave). As I drove by, he was peeling his rain gear off, and wouldn’t you know it, his massive gut is covered by the green and gold with a big “G”. Way to represent bro.

Next was a group of long distance bikers. And one of them only had one wheel. Only in Canada. Like biking across country isn’t hard enough.

As I pull through one of the towns, I realize that just because I can hardly here me over the sound of the engine and headphones deep in my ears, that doesn’t mean that passersby can’t hear me. I can hear their conversation. Uh yea, I was just sitting at the cafe enjoying a crepe and coffee and just savoring our beautiful French village when this guy on a huge black motorcycle with his leg out like he’s sitting in a Lazy Boy comes barreling through. Singing at the top of his longs. And I’m pretty sure he was singing something about the lunch lady and sloppy Joe. Oops. Hopefully they were entertained…

My crepe stop!

My crepe being made!

And my wonderful view as I feasted on crepe.

My favorite stop of the day was for the best crepe I have ever had, and such a great setting and friendly staff humoring me with photos. The crepe was buckwheat stuffed with goat cheese, jamon (look at me all Francais), tomato, pesto and love, mostly love.

My friendly maiden! Come on, they were dressed up to play the part. It all worked.

Yum!!!

Deciding upon a route that took me along the south side of the St. Laurent (all Frenchie again) I was blessed with a view of Quebec City from across the river.

Wags doesn’t backtrack, so I never shared a road on the trip back. Tripback. Yaous.

Well, then my misjudgments kicked in. I arrived in Montreal a little earlier than I’d wanted to stop, so I thought I’d continue on for a bit. This was not a wise move for Wagner. Not at all. Seeing as how it’s just before rush hour and the temps have elevated dramatically and construction is EVERYWHERE, it took FOREVER to get out of Montreal. Should have stayed, but there was no way I could turn around after I’d made it through. I was committed to getting some miles in. Another misjudgment. I enter a purgatory found on the outskirts of many large cities, and there appears to be no end in sight. I keep on keeping on, and it starts to get late. The landscape begins to degrade as do the people. I end up accidentally crossing over to the States. New York to be exact. Border towns. Yikes. Holy shit, I did not have culture shock like this after living in Guatemala for six weeks. I was only gone for a week and a half!! It takes me another 40 miles to finally find a dump of a hotel in a dumpier town.

Ugh. Canada, how I miss thee...

My hotel room smells like death, and I mean like someone died in the room, and they haven’t found the body yet. And I’m pretty sure whoever it was is still smoking straight Camels. I turned the AC on thinking that might clear things up, but that just added a third flavor that did not sit well. So, I took off my boots, and that helped.

I headed out to Dars Place. Oh me. Help me. I really like dive bars. I mean, I really like them. This one, well, I entered, sat down, waited, waited, listened to absurd conversations around me, saw foodproduct being delivered, waited some more, did I mention this bar was attached to a hotel, waited… Got up and left. Seriously. I didn’t even stay for a beer.

Back in the good place for one more self portrait.

Ok, so tonight didn’t go as planned, and I think it’s just worse knowing what I left this morning. Yea, I admit, I should have stayed in Montreal. I’m such an Athole sometimes. (If you did not get that reference, you have obviously not been keeping up on my posts and reading them in order. You should be ashamed of yourself. Stop what you’re doing, call in sick for work, and go back to the beginning and read them in order. Sheesh.)