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October 14 Friday Bicycle touring from Pabos Quebec to Bonaventure Quebec At 3 AM the wind started to howl. It blew into our recessed alcove like a banshee. It quickly whipped our staked vestibule out of the gravel and then our tiny bicycle touring tent fly flapped like a wounded one-winged albatross trying to take off. Gusts were lifting the bottom of the tent right off the ground. I'm pretty positive we would have become airborne had we not been laying in it thinking heavy thoughts. The other side of the vestibule was not staked, but rather rolled up and attached to the side of the tent. It let in tons of cold air, even with the tent flap zipped over the screen portion. My backside was cold. I was wearing all of my cycle touring clothes, except for my raincoat and rain pants. The next night, when I sleep, I plan to wear them. I think we have pretty much bottomed out on the thermometer for our bicycle touring equipment's limits. It is below zero Celsius with a hefty windchill factor. Sharon's feet are so cold, she can't get to sleep. She was trying to stick her feet inside my wool socks ... while I had them on. This accomplished nothing other than not letting me sleep either. I guess it's true: misery loves company. Before I had finished uttering, "Would you like my wool socks?" she had them whipped off my feet. While I lay there wondering how on earth socks could come off that fast, I heard Sharon begin to snore. This led me to wonder how on earth someone could fall asleep so fast. As I lay pondering these mysteries I was glad that at least one of us were sleeping. I guess bicycle touring on fully loaded touring bicycles is good for insomnia busting. Or so I thought. In the morning I complained that I had spent 3/4 of the night holding the tent fly from flapping and 1/2 the night with frozen feet. "Hey, that must be new math." "See?" I snapped. "I didn't sleep at all!" She wanted to know what all that snoring was about then? I responded with, "You know I never sleep well when I snore." "Yeah. And neither do I." The wind was snorting straight towards us. The gusts would almost bring me to a standstill. When I was blasted from the side it would push my fully loaded touring bicycle right into the middle of the lane. Scary when that lane is shared with speeding automobiles and freight trucks. For our entire bicycle touring day today, we averaged 11.1 mph and did 60 miles to Bonaventure. For breakfast, we cycled to a closed cafe, and pulled a picnic table up against the leeward side of the cafe and had cereal and hot chocolate. One good thing: our tiny bicycle touring stove is still boiling water at a fast clip. I take back everything about this side having more people because it is calmer. I am amazed anyone living here has any hair left. It should have all blown off by now. Hey! I just realized why Jean Cretein speaks out of the side of his mouth (a perfect trait for a politician). It's the wind. Yep, it blew my mouth just like his with these horrific crosswinds. And when I tried to speak, it was exactly like dat. We stopped at a train station in Port Daniel to use the washroom after cycling across the dustiest, rockiest, and sandiest construction area to date. I was spitting out sand. This train station got Sharon thinking how much it would cost to take a train to Toronto. $200 ... each. Get back on that bike. We cycled into Shigawake and bought a barbecue chicken for lunch. A lady was talking to Sharon when I returned from the grocery store. Mrs Williams from Shigawake in "the only yellow house in town" she informs us. Her daughter cycle tours and told her she should invite cyclists in when the weather is bad. Like today, for instance. She saw us cycle by her house and said she almost invited us in. But the last time she did, the two guys didn't even write to thank her. So that's why she didn't invite us in when she saw us go by. Thanks for sharing that with us lady. Makes me feel a lot warmer. When we see those two guys we'll tell 'em to write next time. We got back on our sorry little fully loaded touring bicycles and cycled out of town to a rest stop. A building blocked the wind. When the sun was out, it felt awfully good. We enjoyed the sunshine on our faces with a great view of Baie des Chaleurs (Bay of Warmth). I was glad Mrs Williams hadn't invited us poor bicycle tourers in. Just before sunset we cycled into Bonaventure. The washrooms at a roadside stop were locked. We decided to find a grocery store and hang out in the parking lot to see if anyone would offer us a place to stay for the night. It is clear and it is going to be another cold one outside. The only response I got was from a couple of people asking, "Il fait froid?" No kidding, Sherlock. But no one offered us a bed and breakfast or even a camp on my grass. I think we should get a cardboard and black felt pen and write our request: Camping. Votre terrain? Or how about: Adopt a frozen cyclist for the evening. But that is way beyond my basic French. We decided we had stood around long enough trying to look cheery and adoptable in the miserable wind and cold. We threw frozen legs over our touring bicycles and cycled away, looking for a church. At the church, no one was around ... there wasn't much grass or shelter anyway. We remembered we had passed a municipal camp sign on the way into town, so we decided to cycle back and check it out. It was on a lonely road that ended at a marina. Of course, it was closed. Our bikes fit around the posts. A collection of buildings were inside the compound. I checked the "hommes" door, and all three shower doors, and, to no great surprise, found them all locked. I went around back to where the "femmes" washroom was. To my surprise, and delight, I found Sharon inside. The door was locked, but the latch wasn't fitting right, so when Sharon pushed on it, it popped open. When out bicycle touring so late in the season one has to make the best of presented opportunities. We took our bikes right inside the washroom and leaned them against the wall. Everything had been cleaned and freshly painted, waiting for next season. Best of all it was odorless. We cooked dinner -- beef stew in a can -- on a countertop. It sure was great to be out of the howling wind. As we laid our Thermarest mattresses and bicycle touring sleeping bags on the floor and crawled wearily inside, Sharon remarked how far we had fallen. "Do you realize we ate and are now preparing to sleep inside a ladies' washroom ... and we're marveling over it?" "Sure I do," I responded. "But I prefer to think of it as a very small abode with three bathrooms. Everyone back home thinks it's great when someone has a house with two bathrooms. Well, now we have three. Just think. No waiting." "Oh, brother!" Sharon exploded. "Talk about creating your own reality." |
