Homeward bound!

NEW BRUNSWICK is a compact province, filled with trees, water both salt and fresh and roads, lots of roads.  From Trans Canada highway to quiet little dirt back roads that lead to cottages, farms and hideaways.  Bordered by Maine USA, Quebec, and a tiny little sliver of Nova Scotia... riding NB especially as we were, on big dual purpose bikes, was a joy to behold.



Once we'd picked up 126 we were on the downward leg.  We'd be home tonight but not before we'd covered another 350 or so kilometers crossing creeks on old bridges, riding muddy back roads and sinewy little, paved tracks.  We'd ride for many miles on dirt roads that were marked as 'No Exit' or 'No through road' or 'Road Closed' and only once, near the very end of our ride, did we actually get defeated by a road that proved too tiring after 700 kilometers and 20 hours of riding.  On our way out we came across a local rider that told us the "road" we had been on had only just been repaired and we were halfway through before me turned back on a hot dusty Sunday.  We vowed to return another day and see where that trail and others in the area led to. 

We rode the 126 to the junction of 490 and then on to Saint-Ignace, where of course, we got lost on the unmarked back roads.  After miles of standing on pegs we came to a concrete bridge over a great little likely trout creek and followed it past cottages to, well the same place we'd been an hour before! 



Laughing undeterred, shoulders shrugged, we deja viewed the route a second time. This time when at the junction of Le Buttereau and Desherbiars Roads we pulled over for the second time today and while consulting the map on which most of these back roads don't even exist, a local pulled over and asked if we needed help.  To say he was 'slightly' inebriated would not have stretched the truth.  His directions were ahem... somewhat hard to follow, he telling us to turn left while clearly indicating a right turn with his hand.  As soon as he left we went our own way following my instinct for finding my way around the deserts of Mojave!

We found what we were pretty sure was Saint-Ignace and once again getting directions from a passing pick-up truck which basically left me even more confused, after all the locals know which of these unmarked back roads was called what and where what led to another what, where!?  It reminded me a lot of riding in Baja CA.  where tracks led off in every direction and typically the road sign that indicated which of the 5 tracks lay before me, was laying on the ground!



Trusting to the sun and instinct we eventually found ourselves at the crossroads of 116 where we sped off to the outer reaches of Rexton!  By this time my tank was running in the last 1/4 while of course the supertanker model on the KLR was still half full.



We crossed a narrow bridge at Main River Creek road, or at least that's what I thought it was and continued along the riverside to Brown's Yard, and entered yet another country road that was posted as closed.  To Trevor's credit, he never flinched once taking the 450 pound KLR onto trails that really were best suited to quads or real dirt bikes!  Riding mainly S.E. we rolled through heavily wooded countryside with many a cross trail all of which you have to always be mindful of an ATV or group of them crossing at right angles in front of you. 




ONE of the many things I learned early in my riding career was that riding in the back country, better judgement compelled me to slow down.  From meeting huge logging trucks on the switchbacks of the Gray Creek pass in the Kootenay's to hay-wagons towed by tractors on the Sunrise Trail to a group of ATV's that are flying through what is in essence, their back yards... the last thing you want to do is T bone something solid, like a D-7 cat or even a stray Whitetail that just jumped into the space you are about to occupy!



Fortunately we had no mishaps and after a lunch at the Bellevue Family Diner at the junction of 515 and 52, we back-roaded our way to the 134 and 11 just outside Shediac.  From here the going was going to be easy, I had scouted out a route that would take us through Scouduc then picking up what showed as a little squiggly line on the online map called 'Malakoff rd'. 



This little gem would eventually dump Trevor and I out somewhere south of Cap Pele on route 15.  From there we could back track with a slight detour on the Johnston Point road on the way to Murray Corner then back to the Confederation Bridge and ultimately home.



As luck would have it, Malakoff rd had a 'Road Closed' sign on it, but being explorers we soldiered on anyway.  The going was hot, dusty and slow and Trev's GPS only showed this as being a long trail.

We rode in 5km and at what turned out ,to be unknown to us,the newly replaced culvert where we decided that after nearly 750 km and 20 hours of riding, we would leave this last little bit of trail for another day...



Once back on 955, the Murray Beach rd I found the Johnston Point rd to be, you guessed it closed!

Trevor and I parted company with a wave, in his home town of Kinkora and I rode Big Blue home to Spring Valley. 

Once again my mount proved reliable and superb for the task laid out for him, returning almost 70 mpg from speeds varying from walking pace to 60+ mph. 




Big Old Blue had done it again!

 

The Miramichi

AFTER we'd left the Rexton locale, we picked up coastal route 134. We'd followed this road for much of our day, meandering into little settlements like Richibucto, bypassing RV/Camping grounds and little cabin villages.  Oddly enough as we passed over the arms of the nearby Gulf of St Lawrence via old bridges, we could see highway 11 very close by.  In fact we were never more than a handful of miles from the faster more traveled route.  Seemed like only local summertime traffic inhabited the routes we rode.

At St.-Louis de Kent we were forced off 134 to 11 for some unspecified construction detour.  Now keep in mind that we are following seat of the pants GPS supplemented by an old style fold out map! This requires lots of stops and fiddling with the map but at least the day was sunny warm and calm.  Besides, the entire purpose of our ride was exploring right:)

Entering the highway the two big singles (the bikes not the boys) picked up to 100 + kph speeds and while heading roughly NW, by chance I spotted the defunct dam on our left hidden among the trees.  A quick U-turn and we pulled off just before the village of Kouchibouguac (don't ask me how to pronounce that!)  To me it was like something out of a WW II movie, still surroundings, a broken down dam, trout rising... Both Trevor and I love fishing although I haven't done much of that for years, but we talked about a camper with a cooler of food and a week here in this little hollow next to the old dam.  Clear water, deep pools, shallow wading with a Panther Martin tied to the line, Bring the bikes for some local exploring and presto... bliss.

Alas, not to be this trip but one can only plan for the future right!

Back on the highway we only made it about a 1/4 mile before veering off on a tiny little side road.  In fact I was thinking this was likely just a local access road to some cottages.  There weren't even pavements lines painted leading me to think that.  However within a few miles we actually arrived to hook back up with NB highway 117 which would be our route through the National Park.We rode the near deserted blacktop at leisurely speeds once again, enjoying the near perfect Park pavement and twisty roads passing one another, buckets of usable torque from the four stroke singles. Trev pulled in for fuel at Point-Sapin.  At this point we felt some raindrops and by the time we reached our turning point at Escuminac, on Miramichi Bay blue skies were getting fast displaced by dark thunderheads. We pulled off the road to mull things about.  I had not packed rain gear and even though it was still warm, you could just sense a drop in temperatures coming with the rain.

Lightning flashed across 270 degrees of sky, the only blue left was far to our south and even there is was closing fast.  Pulling off again at Hardwicke we took shelter under a tall awning, while Trev looked up a potential over night stop.  Only thing showing was in the Miramichi itself and that was a Rodd hotel.  I'm familiar with the Chain, there being several on PEI itself and it is in my opinion a luxurious hotel chain, seemingly too costly for our budget weekend.  A downpour passed us while we waited under the canopy and we decided that we would ride the 35 km into the town and take our chances with getting soaked and finding affordable accommodations.

The rain only let up slightly on our ride to town and quite by co-incidence we stumbled literally into downtown and before us was the Rodd hotel! Pulling off in the parking lot, the two of us must have looked a sight, wet, dripping and with Trevor's 6' plus height towering over me, we wandered into the lobby.  A young woman asks if we had reservations, we did not... then informed me that the room cost was $150 for the evening whereas normally it would be in the mid $200 range.  Even at such a generous discount it was out of our budget as I explained to her.  She then asked us what we thought we could afford and after some telepathic conversation with the big guy (not GOD, but Trevor) I answered a hundred ten maybe as high as one hundred twenty five.  To our utter amazement she said she could do that!  Now I am never one to look a gift horse in the mouth but believe me when I was over my initial surprise, we gratefully accepted. 

Turned out we got the 2nd last room in the complex and for a guy like me that has slept in Mexican brothels, run down hotels in North Battleford and Rockyford both and some real dives in the USA... an overnight at a Rodd's was beyond our wildest expectations. 

Once settled into our spacious suite overlooking the bikes in the parking lot under a canopy of tall trees, we wandered off looking for a bite to eat.  By this point granola bars weren't going to cut it. 

Just a few blocks into town we found a burger joint and got no further.  The boys gulped them burgers down like it was our last meal!

Trout inc.

Sunday morning, after a good nights sleep at Rodd's

BIG Bridge BIG Creek, the mighty Miramichi

THERE are only about 18,000 residents left in the area, much of the local work disappeared long ago and the population followed. The region now relies heavily on tourism and some federal offices.  Our digs were right on the mighty Miramichi river with a great view of this impressive bridge spanning the kilometer wide creek!  Defunct factories can be seen in the distance and even though it was Saturday night after a long day in the saddle our evening tour was kept short.

At this point I could brag that the two men that we are, we partied with the locals well into the night, stumbling singing from pub to pub, downing buckets of Schooner local beer, but as I am basically an honest guy... there was no such thing.  I bet we were passed out (from the day's effort) by 10 pm!

Next morning we had breakfast at good old Tim's before saddling up and bidding good by to Metro Miramichi.  I mentally logged (yes there is still some room in there but I will soon have to delete files) that I would come back here for a longer visit and reward Rodd's hospitality to us two bikers by staying over a weekend!

Good Ole Tim's

Hmmmmmm......... 'they're closed, no they're open, no closed, no open!!'

Very cute downtowm.

Good use for an old rail station.

Next morning.

The Rodd's on water street Miramichi river.

WE filled at the local Canadian Tire gas bar and went looking for route 126, finding it just where it was supposed to be.  From here on in, we wouldn't see much of the coast until the end of our day...

OMG Call out the army! They've escaped the Island and are loose on the mainland!!!

Obligatory bridge photo.

SINCE he picked up the KLR 2 years ago,TREVOR and I have been talking about a ride across (as Islanders put it)  We'd hoped for a two day, two night adventure but duties being what they are, settled for 750 kilometers and an overnight.

Snack break minus the banana's

KLR and XT 600 were gone over, chains lubed, tire pressures adjusted for bad road and dirt road pressures, granola bars stowed and gear checked. We had a plan (stop chuckling sometimes I do plan things).  We would pick up the Murray Beach coastal trail as soon as we got off the bridge at the first exit right and just follow the red starfish! 

How cool is this!

That would set the tone for our two day ride. Sticking to coastal routes, hugging the ocean, as little highway as possible and only when unavoidable.  We were going to head up to the three digit roads to Rexton area north of Bouctouche and find some dive to overnight in there.  The return leg would be inland, again sticking to the three digit roads (there are no four digit roads) and wind our way back the following day.

These are the things you find when you're not looking for them.  "Bet the trout fishin' is great" Stretch quips.

Leaving on high tide (just kidding we have a bridge now so it really doesn't matter) I rode my trusty Big Blue to Kinkora where the KLR actually sat running on the driveway.  Weather was looking good with only a possibility of late afternoon thundershowers late into our route.  Having paid the $18.50 toll to cross the bridge, signs announce it's FREE to enter the Island but like the Hotel California, "You can never leave..."  that is unless you pay your dues!

Log jam!?

After a short stop directly off the Confederation Bridge at the tourist information building, tourist map in hand, we ran the 2 km down the highway at 100 kph which I hoped would be the fastest portion of the entire trip.  Once onto route 955, we were on our way!!!!!



The coastal routes are all bypassed now by modern highway, which suited us just fine.  There would be little traffic on the triple digit roads and we could leisurely bide our time, stop for interesting photo ops of defunct lobster boats, abandoned farms and tiny bridges over ocean inlets.

The old road to Cap Pele had us literally crawling along at 60-70 kph.  By the time we got to the Tim Horton's * we were ready to shed some clothes as the sun was definitely turned to 'summer mode'

This bike has been to Baja/L.A. The AZ desert, the east coast from the west coast, around Lake Michigan and just turning 40,000 km age... 26 years! Big Blue still works great.

* For my American friends, the older the better, Tim Horton was a defenceman on the sixties Stanley Cup Toronto Maple Leaf hockey team.  The days when goalies didn't wear masks nor players helmets!  Old Number 7 started a coffee and doughnut franchise and of course they are on every street corner in the entire country now.

The place was packed and it took us quite some time to get our order filled.

We meandered south and after a very slow crawl through the very busy summer tourist town of Shediac we turned right up the coast. 

By mid afternoon we had covered some 300 kilometers, doing exactly what we'd set out to do.  With "No particular place to go" we'd reached Rexton, pulled over and had ourselves a little confab. 

It went something like this:

Me:  "So what do you think Trev, having a good day"
He:   "Yeah man, this is great!"
Me:   "So should we pull off the road here?"
He:   " I dunno... I think we should keep going."
Me:   "I do believe you are right."

... and so we did.  As often happens when you plan something, you will either voluntarily or involuntarily alter them. 

We were headed for the Miramichi!

Ivan, the not so terrible.

OFTEN I will blog about someone I know, or have met, that is a motorcycle enthusiast. 

IT'S not often I do a blog about someone who isn't. He did ride and use 'Quads' so I guess that qualifies him :)

Ivan Beaudry was a family member.  True, he and my eldest niece divorced some 11 years ago.

I once asked him "why, what happened" and he gave me an unexpected but in my case, entirely believable explanation, and oddly enough it had little to do with his actual marriage to Liz.

I am writing this blog for a number of reasons, the least of which is that Ivan and I are about the same age.  Sure I've had my difficulties, getting run over several times, heart attacks, killer marital stresses etc but Ivan was in a league of his own when it came to medical issues.

He suffered through many strokes after their divorce, being brought back from the brink several times.

A leg amputated, inability to work, followed by money issues, ruthless and thoughtless people taking advantage of him, the beat goes on as we all know.  We all have "stuff" in our overloaded file boxes to deal with.  In Ivan's case, it seemed that once on his own, he got caught in that vortex like a fly flushing down the drain, and despite support from his former wife in lending him an ear, a spare bed, supper... he could not seem to ever get back on his feet so to speak.

Finally, he succumbed to his many ailments and died this week.  He was back home in Quebec, with his traditional family, some of whom I met over the years.

So why is this news, why is it worthy of a blog?  After all there is absolutely NOTHING unusual about Ivan and his demise, millions of people every day have similar stories.   Maybe that's why I am blogging about his death.  We are all so caught up these days in the speed at which the world is traveling that I thought, perhaps Ivan deserved at least what little acknowledgement I could grant him in my blog.

He was an easy going guy, something French Cdns are not particularly noted for. We think of them as temperamental and fiery, hands flaying the air with gestures... "Tabernac!"



I will always remember him from my various visits, as a guy that cherished simple things, his deep voice that could have been in radio some other decade, his annual hunting expeditions which in his case was always to put venison on the table.  His off beat sense of 'uma, and of course sitting next to him at their home in Beaumont, feet up on the coffee table, watching the Montreal Canadians in the Stanley Cup or in a cold community rink, watching his son Jesse on the ice.

Ivan leaves behind no real legacy, he did not cure cancer, he wasn't an actor or a sports star, he didn't make ridiculous amounts of money, he wasn't a cross dressing lying, baby shaking politician.  Nope... 

He was just one of us billions that struggle along through life as best we can. 








Ivan was just your average Joe. 



He loved his family he told me, even if he hard a hard time saying it.

He got lost and never could find his way after that. Which of us hasn't been there at some point?  I know I have.










You've had a tough go of it big guy, now you can rest in peace.
.

Dual Sporting the Island II

Top of Devil's Punchbowl trail.

Trevor and I have been riding more this year.  Since buying the old KLR 650, it's been painted, tuned and had some parts replaced. He's really getting into the hang of tackling technical terrain.  Even though our Island doesn't offer anything like the Senator Highway or The Crown King Trail, there are still a few challenging spots.

Mostly what we have is pleasant back road scenery lots of water, peace and quiet.  There is really no "Crown Land" on the Island, pretty much every road, paved or otherwise, is a Provincial highway and although I see dirt bikes and atv's tearing up County Line road, that activity is not legal.  Trails generally are abandoned or seldom used tractor access trails into fields that were once farmed by families. 

Trev's about 6' 13", while I stand 5'4" and nothing.

On a recent outing we crossed country on just such roads and trails, coming to an intersection that I remembered from 25 years ago.  Of course things have grown considerably in the meanwhile, so sometimes those places are no longer accessible. 

Brings back lots of memories.

This day we came upon just such a trail.  Rough, washed out in many places roots showing but vaguely familiar.  I went ahead as this is my part of the Island and it was instantly recognizable.  Last time I was through there I was riding either a 1986 TT 225 (the very similar forerunner to my Serow) or it could have been a 1987 350 Warrior, which was a single cylinder 6 speed manual transmission sport model ATV.  I remember that ride well, Rob and I both rode identical machines from my shop. 

Hadn't crossed this creek since 1987!

When Rob and I came to the creek that was before me now, to a washed out bridge on our first attempt across, while trying to climb the rather steep opposite bank, Rob flipped over under the 400 lb quad! 

Fortunately there wasn't enough water to drown an ant at the time but we did near pee ourselves we were laughing so hard!  He looked like a turtle helplessly on his back!

Steeper than it looks.

Today we were able to ride across on a rickety bridge no doubt maintained by sledders.

The trail out was rougher than the one in but much shorter and we came out on a typical clay road among farmhouses.  

From there we wound ourselves to the bakery in Hunter River, surely one of our favorite biking stops, had some viddles and then I followed Trev to his side of the Island around Brookvale ski park. 

A couple of these holes were 2' deep.

 
Here while following a power-line we found some mud and by the time I was done with Stretch, his pant legs were soaked and mud covered and stunk like skunk! 

Making a splash!

Leaving the power-line, we took a trail I remembered that climbed up through the ski park and led us back onto some (more) obscure roads.

So, even though it's not very technical and it would be hard to get into real trouble and never anything near riding Baja or the New River canyon in Arizona... it was good exercise and a whole lot of fun. 










Good warm up, for our next ride together would prove far more challenging!

You see... these little trail rides were only a foreshadow to what was to come for what was coming just around the corner...

Dual Sporting the Island

A couple of weeks before, we were looking at the very same uphill climb. That day we watched a hard core cross country bicyclist literally carry his bike up the hill on his back.

Slick.

For me riding a 250 pound
XT 225 and especially Trevor riding a KLR 650, the bicyclist's feat was not an option!

With a near bald rear tire and over 400 lbs of plastic and steel, even though Stretch is a big healthy boy, the thought of having to paddle while slithering uphill seemed like more than our casual trail ride warranted.

The last of the snow melt disappeared in the interval, leaving the trail pretty dry, not sandpaper dry but there was only a small trickle downhill today, whereas our previous visit, it was a veritable stream.

I decided to try it and if it wasn't bad, Trev could come on ahead. The Serow possessed several advantages over the much bigger and heavier KLR.  Weight of course being one of them, a very tractable 6 speed transmission and new tires at both ends.



This trail is steep, filled with ruts from run off, has several slabs of shale in between exposed roots and is pretty narrow.  Generally when I ride this in the dry during summer, its an easy 2nd gear chug for me and the Serow (name of a Tibetan mountain goat FYI)

Trout river

I crossed the small creek at the bottom shifted into 2nd and picked a line.  On the way events (contact with a root or rock or mud) places you in a less than ideal position, key to trail riding is to not panic, look ahead and follow a line you picked in advance knowing full well that you'll find yourself having to alternate as the terrain demands.  I was about half way up when I bounced off my chosen path and clanged a large boulder with my right foot-peg.  It was a big enough bang that Trevor heard it from down the hill.

These things happen, years ago I nearly lost a foot on the other side of Bahia Conception hitting a big rock that was embedded in the sand like an ice berg, you only saw 10% of it!

Another time on a rocky uphill I tore the sole of my riding boot almost totally off.

Duct tape to the rescue! 

I parked the 225 at the top of the hill and walked part way down to get a couple of photos of Stretch going the other direction.

Trevor demonstrating the proper way to ride off road

With his 6' plus height he had no problem commandeering the big single right on past me and I huffed and

puffed half the hill to catch up with him.

We then headed down around the Millvale/Trout river back country, riding on small country lanes and trails where possible.  PEI has no crown land so you have to be cautious about riding someones property.  My rule is "if it's posted, I don't go..."

If not I often ride until I come out on some back country highway or some subdivision newly being built.



It's pretty hard to get lost on the Island although once in the woods on some farm road, its easy to lose your sense of direction.  Nothing like trying to find your way to Prescott  the back way on the Senator highway where you could very well get lost!

Typical riding in Arizona on my XT 350  BTW, that is my bike in the center of the photo!

Compared to riding the Arizona desert and Baja mountains, this is grade 3 level stuff.  The worst case scenario is a muddy bike or perhaps wet socks!