What an amazing trip. I’ve been trying to get the energy to finish this trip’s blog since I got home just over a week ago. I’m finding that it’s much harder to produce at home than it is on the road. I’m just better out there.  Maybe it’s the freedom.  I don’t know.  Maybe it’s just moving.

Here’s my route:

And a quick summary of some interesting items:

Total miles: about 4,400.
Longest day: 1,011 miles.  I just couldn’t see spending the last night of the trip in some lame ass hotel in northern Indiana.  This trip deserved a more epic ending.  So, as I left the worst town ever in way up-state New York, I decided that I’d pull off an Iron Butt for my last day’s ride.  For those not in the know, an Iron Butt is a ride over 1,000 miles in one day.  The funny part is that I actually had to add miles to the trip at one point.  As I approached Toledo at around 10pm, I realized (using my gps) that I was going to fall short of 1,000 miles by like 15-20 miles, and I knew that if I got home with that many miles to go to get in my Iron Butt ride, I’d have to drive up to, like, Mequon to get the requisite miles in. That was a depressing thought. I had visions of me pulling into Milwaukee seeing it for the first time or at least through a new filter, and I did not want the arrival to require another 15-20 miles, so, I took the Toledo by-pass (yes, Toledo has a by-pass, and I was as shocked as you are but not as shocked to find myself being the ONLY one on it), and this gave me the necessary miles. It felt foolish considering I was on an insanely long ride only to be purposefully ADDING miles, but that’s the way it happened.)
Favorite town name:

Saint-Louis-du-Ha!-Ha! It even uses exclamation points!

How much does that rule? Unfortunately, I am updating this blog on my new iPad (yes, I am THAT cooler, and maybe even cooler than that), and the blogging functionality is a bit off, so the pictures will be bigger than normal and without my typically witty captions. So sorry to disappoint…

Back to the recap…
Pairs of socks worn while riding: 1. Yea, I know that’s totally gross, but it’s true. Please keep in mind that these were $30 marino wool ultra-thin (sounds like a condom description, yet they were not ribbed for anyone’s pleasure) socks that performed incredibly well. Apparently, the wick away moisture as well as smell and park it in your boots instead. One of my boots woke me up with a swift kick to the jimmies one morning because it wanted to be let outside. I shit you not.
Pairs of underwear: Many. Yes, I washed these in the sink if necessary.
Shirts worn: 2. Heh. Well, I kept soaking them in water, so they weren’t that pungent, until the second to last day. I thought I’d give it a smell to see if it could be worn one more day, and I jerked my head back so hard that I thought I induced a mild form of whiplash. More dangerous than riding. Smell at your own risk.
Amount of raw seal eaten: About 4 oz.
Amount of poutine consumed: It had to be a pound and a half. Ugh.
Amount of beer consumed: Would have been way more if I could have figured out the math behind when the state-run liquor stores were open in Ontario. Apparently going dry does, in fact, reduce consumption. But, it also pisses you off beyond belief so that when you do finally find some juice, you go at it with reckless abandon (not me of course, but others).

Welcome to PFK. Only in Quebec.

Languages Spoken: 2. Yes, I still have a little French bouncing around the halls of my brain looking for an exit. It’s a pretty amazing area once you get past Montreal. The English fades and with it any interest of learning English. Most kids in Quebec City don’t even learn it in school. Getting an English newspaper is nearly impossible. But, I found the people to be very friendly once I told them I didn’t speak English (I think half of them thought I was “special,” so I think I got a free pass a few times). I mean, this area is so French that even Kentucky Fried Chicken is not KFC – it’s PFK – Poulet Frit Kentucky.   That doesn’t even happen in France!  Now that’s pretty freaking French if you ask me. That’s French with serious tude.  It’s more French than France! Love it.  But if you think about it, Poulet Frit Kentucky sounds like something I might order at Lake Park Bistro.  Almost sounds healthy (except for the Kentucky part).

Times dumped bike: 2.
Times able to pick bike up myself: 1. Yea, needed help the second time. No, not embarrassing at all. Really hard to look badass when a kid and a chick are helping you up with your tough, on-road / off-road BMW. Pretty sure I didn’t pull it off.
Border Crossings: 4. Mostly painless, but really, is it necessary to produce a passport to enter Canada? Can’t they just assume that if someone was in the US, they are either not dangerous or have already wreaked their havoc upon us and are spent?

Number of times I’d wished I was in a car: 0. Yea, I was never even close to that.
Number of times I was laughing out loud in my helmet: I lost track.
Favorite spot: Tiny cabin overlooking the end of the St. Laurent into the Gulf of St. Laurent with uncountable stars directly above and a lightening storm out in the gulf. Wow.
Least Favorite spot: Entering border towns in the US and staying in Messena.  Don’t need to ever go back there.  If it was ever on the bucket list (which I  hope it wasn’t), it’s crossed off now.

I’d like to say that this trip was my best trip ever, but I think the last trip taken nearly always wins that battle. In some ways, it was the best. It was my longest trip by distance by a little bit, but I definitely could have used some more time to explore some of the areas more. It was also incredible to do it alone, but there were definitely times that would have been nice to share with someone. Either way, I was addicted to motorcycle travel before, and now, I officially have a problem as the planning begins for the next one. I really want to do Mexico by bike. I hope to make that happen in the spring.

Stay tuned!!!!