Part
3 of 15
Going
My Way?
Obotonga
The
Seniors' Breakfast
Going
My Way?
It
didn't matter that I was damp. It didn't matter any more that it was
drizzling constantly because I no longer cared. What was important
was the wonder of nature and its raw beauty as I rode along the north
shore of the Georgian Bay. Seeing small islands peaking through tufts
of white mist. Watching the predators – the Hawks high in the sky
and the Eagles stalking their prey. I was in heaven. There are some
tricks that you learn when you ride long distances in remote areas.
In front of me was a late model Honda Gold Wing motorcycle being
driven by a man who had a female passenger on the back. He had
American plates. We were the only vehicles on the road for what
appeared to be hours. Consequently, I followed behind him at a
discreet distance. I used him as my pacer. When he sped up, I sped
up. When he slowed down, I slowed down keeping my distance constant
at all times. Its a game I play. We stopped for gas at the same gas
stations and had a pleasant conversation each time. But, we
maintained our riding arrangement until we reached the City of Sault
St. Marie and the border crossing to the United States. I pulled
beside them at a red light and they asked me was I going to the USA
and I said, Yes! They said that they were heading back to Wisconsin
and I could tag along with them if I'd like. I countered their offer
by suggesting that they tag along with me instead. They asked,
“Where are you going?” I said, “Fairbanks, Alaska”. We had a
good laugh but they gracefully declined and waved good-bye.
Obotonga
Despite
the continuing rain I had intended to reach Marathon today on the
North coast of Lake Superior but it soon became evident that I was
not going to make it that far. Apart from the slower travelling
speeds due to the incessant rain, a huge tractor-trailer was lying
on its side in a ditch. Red, white and blue lights were flashing all
over the place and the traffic had to be temporarily re-routed. The
accident had happened in a long and isolated stretch of highway and I
suspected the the poor driver had possibly fallen asleep. I was
hoping that he was going to be OK because there was an ambulance
there as well.
Totally
drenched, totally tired and here's something new, totally cold, I
felt I'd had enough riding for the day so I pulled into Obotonga
Provincial Park to rest for the night. Since it was still raining, I
pitched my twenty-nine dollar pup tent at an angle so that my feet
were lower than my head in case of flooding. With the help of a small
flashlight, I stripped-off and dried myself as best I could with a
damp towel before I got into my damp sleeping bag. I didn't know it
at the time but this was going to be the worst night of my life.
The
thunder-claps were so near and so deafeningly loud I felt the ground
quiver beneath me. The tent was flood-lit inside by excessive
lightening flashes that often lasted up to five seconds each. The
sound of the rain hitting the ground was so heavy that it “roared”.
During the lightening flashes I saw water streaming inside the tent
through the seems. I unzipped the front door and tried to scoop as
much rainwater as I possibly could to the outside. I must have fallen
asleep eventually only because I remember the waking up part. There
was something going on just outside my tent door. Furious and nasty
animal noises! I also heard a noise consistent with someone shaking
sea-shells in a burlap bag. Another animal was making a growling or
snarling sound and all I could picture in my mind was a raccoon and a mississauga rattler going at it! I didn't wish to confirm what I was
thinking by unzipping the door of my tent. That's not all. I woke-up
in water below my waist. This was not the kind of holiday I was
expecting. I needed a steaming hot coffee, bacon, eggs, home-fries
and all the trimmings to help get some energy back. I made that my
first priority of the day.
The
Seniors' Breakfast
I
felt like I was riding a trail-bike out of Obotonga Provincial Park.
I was riding pot-holes full of water up to my ankles. I looked on
the bright side. I was leaving the wilderness behind and heading
towards the nice clean highway and breakfast. Far in the distance on
my side of the highway I saw what appeared to be a family restaurant
with a few pick-up trucks parked out front. That's all I was looking
for so I pulled in. Eight seniors were having breakfast in the corner
of the restaurant. They had moved two tables together so they could
“chat”. It appeared that it was their regular hang-out so I chose
a table as far away from them as I possibly could because they were
very noisy – non-stop chatter – and in a manner as if they all
had a hearing problem. I didn't scrimp on the breakfast. I figured I
deserved it so I stuffed myself. I felt a lot better even though
being damp had now become my everyday normal. I was forgetting what
it was like to feel dry.
As
I was leaving the restaurant I was feeling a little guilty about
thinking unkind things about the old seniors so I thought I'd speak
to them in a nice way on my way out. I asked them how many kilometres
was it to Marathon and all of them responded in unison - but with
different numbers. Two said 60; one said 70; another 80; another 90
and one even said a 100. Then they began arguing amongst themselves
about who was the most correct, so I smiled, and left quietly. I
confirmed the distance with my odometer as I rode through Marathon -
and the person who'd said 90 had been correct.
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