2010 Alaska
Sunk - Part 13 of 15
Canada Here I
Come!
Stuck in
Espanola
La Golondrina
Canada Here I
Come!
For my last
night in the United States I treated myself to a stay at the Comfort
Inn at Newberry, Michigan. I sure wasn't the only Canadian biker
there. I must have counted fifteen or more couples riding touring
bikes and tricycles from Michigan to Ontario. It was party-time for
most of them but I spent the evening preparing for my last stretch of
highway out of Michigan and into Ontario. That would include crossing
the border from Sault St. Marie Michigan to Sault St. Marie Ontario.
Why do they have the same name?...I've no idea. I wasn't concerned
about customs because I had nothing to declare anyway. The next stop
I made was at a country store at Watter, Mi, to get gas. There was a
great big sign on the door which said, “ Motorcycle helmets must be
removed before entering this store!” I removed my helmet and I went
to pay for my gas. “Why no helmets?”, I asked. “Because bikers
come in here leaving their visors down. Then they rob us at gunpoint”
she responded. She went on to say “You can put your's back on
because you have an open-faced helmet”. I could see her point. Her
store was at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. There was
nothing for thirty miles in either direction and I left with the
impression that she was robbed often.
I'm such a
lucky Guy. The Canadian border guard said, “I love your Harley. I
ride a Softail-Classic. Welcome home brother!” ...As he said that
my heart sunk. All I could see far ahead were the same heavy storm
clouds that I had faced several weeks ago - and this time I had no
rain suits left!
Stuck in Espanola
I had no doubts
at all that I was going to get soaked to death no matter what I did
so I thought about the options I had regarding the best way to get
home. Firstly, I knew the road very well and I could probably get
there blindfolded. Secondly, I estimated that I was looking at twelve
hours of riding and possibly more. Thirdly, it didn't matter what
time I got home. I could crash-out for as long as I wanted once I got
there. Consequently, my decision was to try to make it all the way
home stopping only for food, gas and bathroom breaks. Considering
that I'd crossed the border about 11:00am, I saw no reason why I
couldn't be home by about 2:00 o'clock the next morning. For that
brilliant piece of reason and logic I should be given an award for
“idiot of the month” as you will soon find out.
The rain was
steady but manageable. I made good time riding along the north coast
of the Georgian Bay until I reached the town of Massey and Chute's
Provincial Park. There, the heavens opened-up and the torrential rain
came down with a vengeance once again. The heavy raindrops were
hitting the asphalt and bouncing back up twelve inches or more . It
was hard to see were I was going. Large and small vehicles were
starting to pull over. I knew that if I could keep going for another
ten minutes I would get to the Wendy's/Tim Horton's restaurants at
the Trucker's Corner located at the Espanola intersection. I spent
the next two hours sitting at a corner table watching the rain come
down in sheets. Other travellers were doing the same. Some time later
it seemed to lighten up a bit so I jumped on the Harley hoping that I
might be able to drive out of it. Then, suddenly, everything went
black. There was a power-cut knocking-out hydro to traffic lights,
street lights, and lights in nearby restaurants and bars. The
torrential rain started up again so I stopped at a small family
restaurant to rest. The staff were sitting together at a large table
talking about the weather . One waitress came over and explained that
the restaurant was closed due to the power outage and they were not
able to serve anything. I ask her could I just sit in a corner for a
while until the power came back on. Three hours later, I left the
restaurant in the heavy rain and continued towards Ottawa. It was now
nightime. I made it through Sudbury, North Bay and Mattawa until I
reached Deep River bordering the Ottawa river. It had a motel with a
vacancy sign out front. I couldn't have lasted two more minutes
riding the Harley because I was dripping-wet, cold and totally
exhausted. I knew I still had several hours to go. I don't remember
turning into that motel parking lot and shutting off the engine. I
think my unknown Angel may have done that for me. That's why I
deserved the “idiot of the month” award.
La Golondrina
The next
morning I woke-up on top of the bed. I hadn't even got under the
covers. My first thought was “Three Hours To Go!” ...and I'd be
back home again. I really wanted to get back now so I didn't shower
or shave. I could do that a lot more comfortably at home. The rain
had stopped but the road was still wet so I decided to leave Deep
River. A late model Ducati Sports bike had parked next to me during
the night. Although those Ducatis are strikingly attractive and
powerful they make a rattling noise sounding like nuts and bolts
shaking in a tin bucket. Notwithstanding, the point I was about to
make is that I never heard him arrive so I must have slept very
deeply during the night. Ever since I found out that Tom Cruise had
bought himself a Ducati I've always wanted to take one for a test
drive - but I never got the chance - not yet anyway!
When I was
going through Canadian Forces Base Petawawa I was glad I'd stopped at
Deep River because I know from past experience that the distance from
Petawawa to my home in Ottawa is exactly three hours easy riding. The
only reason I stopped that morning was to get gas. After that,
cruising through Pembroke; Cobden; Renfrew; Arnprior and Ottawa was a
breeze. I couldn't help thinking about the difficulties I'd had; the
inclement weather; the running out of gas; dropping the bike in the
mud; and the unrelenting cold - compared against the thrills; the
adventures and the good times I'd experienced. I asked myself the
question, “ Given the choice, would I do it all again?” My answer
was “Yes of course – I'd do it all again a heartbeat!”
I have a
personal “thing” I like to do. It would mean nothing to you. It
means something to me. I have a single favourite piece of music
called La Golondrina. It was written by a Mexican doctor/composer in
1883. In Spanish it means “The Swallow” and it's about invoking
sentiments of longing for home. This is a sentiment to which I,
personally, am highly sensitive for reasons that will remain private.
I like to play it each time I leave and return from a very long
motorcycle trip. In Mexico, it is sung each time someone leaves
someone or something. I think in my old age, I might be turning into
an emotional basket-case just in case you didn't know. Nevertheless,
I stopped in a parking lot on the east side of Ottawa and I put on my
mp3 player. I placed the headphones under my helmet. I rode the rest
of the way home listening to Dr. Narcisco Serradell Sevilla's La
Golondrina sung by Nana Mouskouri in Spanish. Its one of the most
beautiful pieces of music I know.
I parked my
Harley in my garage and closed the door. I stripped-off everything
damp. That meant absolutely everything. I walked naked into my
scalding-hot shower and scrubbed myself clean. After I'd dried
myself-off I fell into bed and crawled under the covers.
I don't know
when I woke-up.
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