A Final Word on La Route Verte

I know I've raved about what a fantastic experience La Route Verte is already, but really, I (we) just can't rave enough about how much fun we had cycling in Québec. I think the one detail I forgot to mention about La Route is that it provided us with numerous opportunities to meet other cyclists. We made friends with Benjamin, who was training for a triathlon and who lead us on a reckless whirlwind ride through Montréal, and Ken and Adrian, who were biking from the Yukon and Victoria respectively and with whom we passed a fun afternoon biking and chatting on the way to Rivière du Loup, and Anton who had biked across Asia--ALL of Asia--then flew from Japan to Vancouver and biked home to Québec, a trip that had taken him over two years. Anton's legs? Were like grain silos. It was just great fun to have other cyclists zipping in and out of our days and sharing a piece of our adventure with us.

The other great thing about La Route Verte is that is takes you right from Rivière du Loup to Edmundston, New Brunswick on a tree-lined trail. It was two of the best days of riding we had on the trip, with lush scenery, lakes, and rivers and even a few wheat crops! I could go on, but I think the pictures speak for themselves (and I have a ridiculous 20 minute time limit at this Internet cafe!).

No Detail Left Behind

Yet another disturbingly detailed sign in Québec.

I would like to know if this sign would be any less effective if the injured child's sock wasn't half off, or if there wasn't the dramatic pause created by the ellipsis before "le vôtre."

Pas de Ca-ca

I think perhaps this sign suffers from too much detail. Imagine being the graphic designer working for the city of Montréal and getting your original design back with a note along the lines of: "While we liked how realistic your silhouette of a Great Dane looked, what we want is a steaming loaf of crap somewhere on the sign. Just so there's no confusion."

Elvis Sighting!!

The King's disembodied head was seen presiding over the hostel bar in Québec.

Ed note: Apologies for the grainy quality of the shot. We had to use the camera phone because, as we all know, The King is elusive and fanatical about remaining underground, so we didn't have time to go back up to the room to get our camera.

Fell Down a Hole

After Québec City, I fell down a hole. That may sound like I'm trying to craft some metaphor for my morale, perhaps using a loose Alice in Wonderland allusion for just how fantastical my morale tumble was. But, no, my morale is perfectly intact. I'm being literal. We stopped at a campground about halfway between Québec and Rivière du Loup, and I fell down a hole. One second I was walking towards the fire to put another log on and the next second, FOOMPH! Fell down a hole.

Specifically, my left leg fell down a hole, its rapid progress to the underworld slowed only by the friction created between my flesh and the craggy rocks lining the hole, while the rest of me stayed above ground wondering what the hell had happened. It was so thoroughly dark out that my brain had very little sense data to go on and I spent a couple of seconds mentally grasping to put the pieces together: in many ways it felt as though I'd fallen...yet in many ways it didn't. And, wait...my left leg really kinda hurt.

At this point, I realized that I was very crooked and that straightening myself would involve a certain amount of careening towards the fire, so I grabbed Kieran's arm rather firmly. Kieran gallantly responded to my panic by barking, "Hey! What are you doing?!?"

Once I extracted myself from the hole, I sulked over my lack of a knight in shining armor for a few minutes. That is, until Kieran pointed out that when he tripped and fell into a tree in Ottawa, I had laughed out loud at him all the way to the Museum of Civilization.*

So, long story short, it's been a long time since I've been able to write, but it's been business as usual for us.

--------------------------------------------
*In my defense, I asked him if he was okay before braying with laughter.

Our Return to Montréal

I don't know if either of us knew what to expect when we returned to Montréal. It seemed a bit weird to visit a city where we used to live but where we no longer have any friends, as they have also moved away. So we weren't sure what we were going to do with ourselves, as we had no need or desire to see the sites nor did we have anyone to visit.

We also made a rather inauspicious entrance into the city, starting things off with--what else?--a bilingual screaming match as we waited on the train platform. Of course someone tried to steal our stuff at the train station. Of course. I would have been more surprised if no one had at least tried to nick our bike gear. It's Montréal. And, while thieves and large cities go together like bread and butter, I think Montréal can count itself among the small handful of cities where, if you catch someone trying to steal your stuff and have the gall to take it back from them, your thieves will get mad at YOU and offended that you have retrieved what they have rightfully stolen. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure that Montréal is the only place on Earth where the ensuing screaming match would be conducted in two different languages, each party understanding the other perfectly well but sticking to their native language simply because that's where their favourite insults and cuss words reside. Naturally, the classic response to being on the receiving end of a French/English insult is to switch to your non-native language to reply in perfect scathing French/English, "I don't understand what you're saying, [insult]; I don't speak French/English," before reverting back to your native tongue to hurl more insults: "Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, you don't understand. Understand this: FUCK. YOU. Yeah? Understood that, yeah? THOUGHT SO."

Obligatory bilingual scuffle out of the way, Kieran and I managed to have a perfectly lovely time. The hostel ended up being three blocks away from our old apartment, so we had no problem finding it and had the luxury of knowing all the best places to eat and hang out. And, perhaps for the first time in Montréal, Kieran and I had the even sweeter luxury of spending the entire day together. I think--no, I know-- that you could count on one hand the number of times one or both of us didn't have to work on any given day during our time in Montréal, so it was wonderful to spend a day poking around all our old haunts without deadlines or upcoming shifts or research papers hanging over our heads. As a result, we got to roll all our favourite stolen pleasures into one day: We went for brunch, we went for coffee and lingered over the crossword, we went to a matinee, we went window shopping along Ste. Catherine's and Sherbrooke, we poked around the second hand book stores, and we went for dinner. Also nice to see is that the gentrification seeds planted by Kieran and Louis' Starbucks have taken root and our old neighbourhood is significantly nicer. Far fewer sex shops and "danse contact" joints, with funky little restaurants in their place, flower pots along the sidewalks, and it appears that some effort is being made to minimize the, uh, ca-ca and other bodily fluids that used to litter the sidewalks. It's really an incredible difference and the whole area seems brighter and fresher. (Our old building still looks like a total mung hole though.)

Nous Aimons Beaucoup La Route Verte! C'est Magnifique!

That's French for La Route Verte is da shit! A network of bike paths that cover the entire province of Québec. In cities and on bridges, we have our own lane, our own traffic signals...in the country, we have quiet roads, parks, riverside riding. It's a dream. The route is clearly marked by signs and, along the way, there are hotels and campgrounds that are approved as cyclist friendly, which means there's safe storage for our bikes and there's food that has enough carbs, protein, and fresh fruits and vegetables to meet our needs. I'm not kidding. These places can't get approved by the government unless they're gonna feed us properly. Did I mention how much we love this? BECAUSE WE LOVE THIS.

This could also be easily called the House Envy Route. The Québec countryside seems to be populated almost exclusively by lovely little stone houses with freshly painted trim and terraces. The villages are equally charming, each with a Catholic church that's at least a couple hundred year's old at its heart, surrounded by, of course, more stone houses with freshly painted trim and a handful of pubs and bistros. I would give a cycling tour on La Route a heartfelt endorsement for anyone looking for a fun vacation.

Dana! Dana! Dana! Wait for It...

Elvis sighting! Elvis sighting! Elvis sighting!

The King, in all his gold lamé suited glory in Quyon, Québec.