Canada 2001
 
 

Day 07

October 7

 
 

I get up early trying to be quiet and not rouse the household. As I head for the shower, I see Jerry sitting at his computer – exactly where I left him last night.

“Do you ever sleep?” I ask.

He just smiles and says “Yes.”

After a great shower, I pack my trash, and load up the RedBird. It appears to be another good day for my onboard toaster oven. Jerry wants to come to Lake Placid with us and I understand completely. It's a ride that he has wanted to make and now is the opportunity, regardless of the weather. I admire his willingness to brave the weather to meet a goal. After thanking Miss Pat and Natalie for their many kindnesses, I pet Miss Maggie one last time before I go. She gives this “It that all you're going to do?” look. She's rather fond of that petting business. As we take off, I look up and think

“Hello, old friend.”

It's that front again that's been chasing us since Sault Saint Marie. We pull in to grab some breakfast and talk about the insanity of riding in this weather and the border crossing. The rain has stopped as we cross the bridge and I enjoy another great view from the high place. I'm the first to the border and show my passport. The customs official and guardsman methodically go through my saddlebags, then eye the river bags.

“What do you have in those bags?” he asks me.

“Top bag is clothing, bottom bag is camping gear” I say with a smile.

They hesitate, then say “Okay” and wave me on.

As I remount my bike, I tell them both -

“Thanks for doing your job. I really appreciate it.”

I figure being nice does not cost you anything and may help a pilgrim along their way. Guy and Jerry make it through with little trouble. I snap my customary state line shot of New York and the US border.

  
 
 
   
 
As we move on down the road, what a mixture of sensations – the Widder stuff is doing its job as I'm enveloped in warmth, the ST's purring, the soft piano music in the earphones is relaxing, the scenery is unbelievable. Quite the opposite to what those looking from the outside are imagining it's like. I'm broken from my reverie as I see Guy's camera come sliding toward me. He realizes what happened, so Jerry and I wait as he goes back to get it. As we move on, I see the perfect New England shot – a village church surrounded by beautiful colorful trees. Too good to pass up, I stop and snap it as Guy rides on.
 
 
 
 

Jerry and I round the next corner and see a local holding up Guy's ST and a couple of fellers just watching from a distance. I immediately think –

“600 hundred dollars of expensive bodywork.”

Unfortunately, I am too familiar with the prices of ST bodywork, having bought a few pieces myself. As I come to a stop, my mind starts prowling through my gear as to what I have to fix the broken stuff.

  
 
 
  Ah, 100 MPH tape in the front right pocket, Leatherman in my saddlebag and some super glue left over – should be enough to fix about anything but an aching heart. I disconnect the housing from the wounded ST and sit on my butt on the driveway to do the surgery – a good doctor must have steady hands. This will be interesting since the three prongs that hold the mirror housing in place are all broken off. But we get it fixed, snap it back on the bike and the signal still works. The mirror is useless but at least he won't get a ticket for no signal. I understand Guy's frustration having been there more than once. Off we go – right into a snow storm in the Adirondacks, but it's not sticking to the road.  
 
 
 

When we see a HoJos in Lake Placid, we pull in for a bite to eat. You've got to feed the beast in this kind of weather. Jerry and I check out the map for best way for him to get back. I87 looks like the best shot for him which is not too far down the road. As we get ready to leave, we say our good-byes, knowing this will be our last chance. As it was with our other friends we've met, parting is not easy from folks who have taken you into their homes and their hearts. But the road beckons and off we go. As Jerry leaves us, we wave a long good-bye and then beat a path for the ferry at Essex. Guy is in the lead as we rumble through the countryside. Then it happens – we're stuck behind slow freight and Guy pulls out to pass. I'm thinking -

“Baby, there's a car coming and I don't have enough duct tape to put you back together again, much less the ST.”

Fortunately he sees it and manages to squeeze back in with no thanks to the idiot cager beside him who throws on the brakes. We get to the ferry and they wave us on to a good spot. I remember the last time I rode a ferry on a bike. It was my 73 Triumph Trident out to Okacroke to Cape Hatteras. What a ride that was for a younger me.

  
 
 
 
As we leave the ferry, I notice the absence of a “Welcome to Vermont” sign. It seems a bit odd, but I guess they don't want folks to know where there are. I later find out that there are very few Vermont state line signs anywhere in the state. It will be the only state line I don't get a picture of on the entire trip. The road is great and views unbelievable again. We stop on top of a Vermont hilltop to snap a few shots of the multi-hued valley below.
  
 
 
  As we arrive at Montpelier, we began to look for motels. There are none to be seen, so I stop a local and he gives us directions. The snow kicks up again as I walk into the motel. I hear a distinct but familiar sound in my head – something similar to a fishing reel being wound in after a fish is snagged. Seems as if they only have one double, up on the third floor, and it's $105. Given the options, I flash the plastic and drag my two riverbags up two flights of stairs. At least we are out of the cold with a restaurant nearby. There are more important things than money in this world I remind myself, having spent a cold night camped out in the snow. We crash for the night, wondering what the morning weather will bring.