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Hero's Welcome "My wife Mary and I have been married
for forty-seven years and not once have we had an argument serious
enough to consider divorce; murder, yes, but divorce, never."
Past Grande Isle and the town of Hero and not far before the border to head back into Québec, we happened upon a road crew. Warning signs dotted the roadside: Workers in Trees. We pedalled slowly, scanning overhead for labourers leaning on shovels. But we couldn't even spot a branch manager. "Maybe they wear camouflage?" Sharon giggled. "Or maybe we're so close to Québec," I said, "it's that French accent and means 'Workers in Threes.'" Remembering our last crossing, we approached the border with some trepidation ... and just when I had my pannier contents figured out, too. But our worries were for naught. We crossed back into Canada without any problems.
We cycled to Hemmingford, Québec, and got ready to camp at a ball field. Setting up our tent behind the stands, we were just about ready to crawl inside when two guys rambled around the corner and stopped short, giving us quizzical looks. "We're cycling across Canada," I explained. "Sorry," they murmured, and walked away, leaving us in peace. "Gee," Sharon said, "it's sure great to be back in Canada." "Yep," I agreed. "What does a Canadian say when you bump into him?" "Excuse me." "Man," I complained, "we've been together too much. You know all my jokes." Before hitting the sack, Sharon and I discussed what would be the best route to the airport. We had two days. My plan: make a wide sweep around Montréal, and through the native village of Oka - thereby getting a ferry ride and missing Montréal's traffic. (And I had a hidden agenda: I had a joke that I wanted to pull off in Oka - don't tell Sharon.) Montréal's city lights glowed a mere 50 kilometres away. Sharon contended a direct route, straight through Montréal, best. She insisted my route, long and meandering, was a recipe for disaster. "We'll miss our flight!" "It doesn't matter if we get there sooner," I squawked, "if we get run over by a lead-footed driver on the way." (It's difficult to argue with illogic.) We both went to bed in a huff. |
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