|04-11-2012, 01:30 AM||#1|
Joined: Aug 2007
Location: no fixed address Ontario
The Sheep and Sleep weekend
So Mudpuppy and I looked at each other and decided it was time for another mini adv weekend. I took stock of my various aches and pains and figured I should check with my physio guru first. He said no....
But dammit, we just brought Agatha, our latest aquisiton, 1100km home from Quebec last weekend
So we loaded a few of Hektoglider's tracks of eastern Ontario into the crappy old nuvi and taped it to the bars on a fragrant grey dish rag (didn't want to scratch it) and changed the oil on the old girl. I know for a fact that the doo-hickey hasn't been touched yet so I grit my teeth and loosend off the adjuster. The "snick" sound I heard seemed vaguely reminicent of a balancer chain being tightened up....or the spring breaking....whatever, I'm feeling lucky.
Mudpuppy's ride "Darth Wilbur" isn't quite broken in yet so its best we keep it sane anyway. Turns out the temps are supposed to stay below zero at night so I suppose I should wire up her vest....
She still has the BMW controller on it and I we're leaving tomorrow..now what....
Yup, that'll work
Made it as far as Barry's Bay after enjoying miles of smiles on some of Ontario's most amazing little roads. Doesn't seem like much as the crow flies until you factor in the 50/30/20 twisty road/double/single track quotient. Spent the first night lakeside with a carton of cheap wine and devilish grins....draw your own conclusions...
Mother Fornicator! I broke my glasses trying to shove them into my tightly packed helmet. Off to the dollar store for some crazy glue.
Gorra Hill Road was a nice sidetrip until we nearly got taken out by some kids in a pickup around a blind corner.
It got a bit gnarly in a few places so we ended up dealing with a little early season monkey butt. No worries, the ass always seems to get more like shoe leather as the season progresses.
After a couple hours of Calabogie Boogie-ing we made the Fitzroy ferry. Cost $4 per bike, no reservation required.
Gatineau park always takes my breath away. The foothills are my siren song.
Made it to Wakefield by 3:00 and lookin to stir things up.....what do we do...
Should we go bungie jumping or catch a local band?
Ah but first we check in to Auberge Mon Petit Chum where Dawn an Sebastien set us up in the "Fantasy Suite" decorated kitchy eastern cool using knick knacks they've collected during their last trip to India.
This ain't the Waldorf but more like the home of a good friend. They take care of absolutely everything.
We tried to leave to have dinner at Chez Eric's in town but Seb jammed a beer in our hands while their relatives all insisted we celebrate their nana Bobby's 80th birthday with them. Wow! these people know food! You shoulda seen the spread! You just can't get this kind of experience in a motel. Unbelievable breakfast in bed the next morning.
We came in total strangers and left feeling like we've know them all since birth.....but it was time to to head down to the Mouton Noir for some serious hardcore slam poetry.
Yah, that's right....we came 600 kms to hear a poet.
Of course an occasion like this requires proper attire.
Not just any poet but the one and only Shane Koyczan. Say what you want but no one has ever left one of his shows without mouth agape wondering how the hell he managed to utterly mesmerize them with recitation. I too was once a skeptic until I saw him at the Burlington music fest last year where we were just blown away. The clip below may be a tad long but to see him live is truly surreal.
After a few too many pitchers of Griffon Red and a visit from Lucy the Black Sheep ghost dog, the show wound up to thunderous applause. We stumbled back to the Auberge our hearts almost as full as our bladders.
Feeling a bit pastie the next morning, we almost make it out of Wakefield except for the minor detail of me dropping my glasses again but this time properly crushiing them under a size 11 Fox mx boot, Good bye brand new multi coated Nikon lenses, hello duct tape and squinty ride home. Taking a slightly different route back we end up at the base of a sloped intersection where all the winter sand they dumped on the road collected rivalling the dunes of Algiers, I almost go down but alas Mudpuppy wasn't so lucky.
Her Thor Quadrants proved to be not only fashionable but practical as her leg was trapped under the exhaust until I could help get the bike up. Now the character marks on Wilbur are no big deal but my sugardumpling's bruised ribs are a different story. But like a true ADV trooper she insisted it hurt least when on the bike so onward we rode. 6 or so hours later we made it home just as the sun kissed the horizon.
Two and a half days, 1200kms, sub zero temps, no heated grips, wind, rain and more tha just a little pain. Many times I tried to tear off ahead on the trails in the hopes of flipping on the camera and catching her riding up behind me but mile after mile, no matter how squirrely or hairy it got, there she was right on my tail shrugging off shit that made me pucker.
I'm the luckiest man alive.
And in that I take no poetic license......
bwokentoof screwed with this post 04-13-2012 at 09:48 AM Reason: I don't type so big but I try for best I am.
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