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September 10 Saturday Bicycle touring from Mooretown Ontario to Comber Ontario We had a good sleep. I sleep very good with my earplugs in. Why I don't put them in every night I don't know. I have another shower since the hot water is so plentiful and the showers are so clean. We dry our clothes in the laundromat. We phone home. It sounds as though the deal is going to go through for the house. We have to phone in a week to check. The possession date is the twentieth. As we head back into camp, Pat says to Sharon, "You haven't learned a thing from what I've told you. I saw you two in the phone booth together." Claus gets tea, cereal, toast with peanut butter and jam. Pat is in the same chair, but she must have moved since last night because she has on a different housecoat. Her hair looks great. She says she was up every hour last night to change sides so it would be even. Judy says, "It looks like you were up all night." "She was," Claus replies. Pat gives Sharon an angel pin to watch over us. We call these unexpected presents from people Bike Gods. A Bike God is something that someone you have just met gives you. It has power in some special way. We feel as though we've been adopted after a day. We point our bicycles down the road and head south towards Point Pelee. We zig around on the country roads. It is fun cycling. Sharon is glad to be back in Canada. She admits it is mostly her attitude that has changed. The people and scenery are basically the same. There is still lots of corn and flat land. The car drivers do seem to be a little more patient, but maybe that is because it is Saturday? We get off our touring bicycles long enough to eat lunch at Mitchell's Bay. A couple of women are sunbathing. Two kids are roaring around in a motorboat. A family is having a barbecue. After lunch we get back on our heavily loaded touring bikes and go to a settlement named Lighthouse Cove. Just because we think it has a neat name and we want to see the lighthouse. Bicycle touring can be so great if one isn't tied to a schedule. The lady at a store in Lighthouse Cove loves her job. She growls at me when I ask to use the washroom. We go to the campground in town. A woman there, Stella, talks our ears off about the economy of Canada and "transmission lines" in town. She tells us "This isn't Sleepy Hollow; it just looks like that on the surface." We find out how much they want from a couple of bicycle campers and leave. We pedal down the road to Stoney Point. The kids there are wild. There are lots of weirdo people walking the streets. One kid is roaring up and down main street on his dirt bike. He nearly gets killed four times in fifteen minutes. A group of kids tells me that the motorbiker's girlfriend just broke up with him, so he's trying to kill himself ... although, I think, the way he's doing it, he will kill someone else as well. "All the world's a stage," one of the kids say. The kids ask us where we are from. I tell them Edmonton. "I doubt it," one kid says in disbelief. Sharon comes out of the store and they ask her. She confirms what I said, adding the world Alberta to the end of Edmonton. But the kid still isn't convinced, although he's not quite as vocal now as he was. He says, "They probably rode from Tilley" -- a town a few miles down the road. Sharon informs me that the people in the store said there's no camping allowed in the municipal park. I tell her it is probably for our own safety. The only place I'd consider staying in town is at the church. Even then I think it would be a restless night. See what happens when these little towns have no police? We get on our touring bikes and ride south out of town to get away from the maniacs. The kid on the motorbike roars past us, then turns into a field and goes bouncing through the field's ruts, back in the direction of town. We are grateful that he doesn't have a car. We cycle into Comber with a bit of light left. There is a ball field. We talk to some kids who are in grades one through four. They direct us to the park caretaker. He has a Dalmatian dog named Lady. We ask him if it's all right for us to camp overnight in the ball field. In a French accent, he says, "No problem." I like that. No problem. That's what I like to hear at the end of a long day of bicycling. The kids want to watch us set up camp, but their mom comes and says they have to deliver papers first. Sharon and I eat, and by the time we are finished, they are back. We show them how to set up the tent and they all take turns looking inside. Their mom, Denise, tells us "This'll be show and share at school on Monday for sure." Their father, Jim, comes over. He has a Harley and drives truck. Jim tells us the cottage kids from Stoney Point are wild. I guess we're not the only ones who thought that. They leave as it is getting chilly. I go to the porta-john. When I come out I see a cloud of smoke in the clear sky and a huge orange shadow. Sharon goes into the biffy while I watch two guys run like crazy along a building beside the park. Must be a break-in getaway, I think. Jim had just finished telling us there had been two break-ins the night before -- while the people were sleeping inside the houses. Red lights flash against the building in the darkness and a fire truck races out. So that's what that orange glow was! There's a fire over there! We walk towards it. The fire is on the street behind main street. We see Jim and stop. He says it is someone's garage. Jim tells us he has had two house fires. His son was in a closet playing with a cigarette lighter that was in the neat shape of a gun. The whole house burnt down. And again, when the same kid was playing with matches under his bed. The little kid looks up at us and quietly says, "That stuff under the bed catches fire real easy." Two new fire trucks and the old fire truck that is usually reserved for parade duty only are called into service. "It's a big fire," the kids tell us. Paint cans stored in the garage explode. As the excitement burns down, we head back to our tent and crawl wearily into our sleeping bags. Sometime later, I am awakened from a deep sleep by the glare of a flashlight beam sticking in my face. I sleepily command "Get that flashlight out of my face! We have permission to be here." I hear Sharon talking. The guy says he is the fire chief. He tells us, "We had an arson fire, so I was just checking around and I saw your tent." I say "I know. We saw it." He asks, "Where are you from? What do you do?" Terrific. Now we're arson suspects. But no problem. I have an alibi. I was with that kid who started his house on fire ... twice. |
