On the Petitcodiac this morning

 

On the tidal bore

I started today’s touristing with a visit to the Acadian Museum. The first interesting thing, I came across was a picture of Antonine Maillet sharing a word with Herménégilde Chiasson. The Défi des Cantons went through St-Herménégilde this year so I know it is a name. However, I had assumed that loving, modern parents were beyond imposing such torture on their offspring. I was amused to read an explanation of the name of Acadia. Apparently, it had been dubbed “Arcadia” after a classical Greek place of bliss but the “r” fell out of usage, possibly because of poor spelling and possibly because “Acadia” was close to the First Nations names for the place. It was fairly interesting but I did have one question as I left: was Breton spoken in old Acadia?

I then had an interrupted visit to the Resurgo Museum. “Resurgo” is the motto of Moncton and thus you may deduce the subject of the museum. It was a bit simple for my tastes, aimed too much at children. It also didn’t explain Moncton’s missing letter. It used be spelt “Monckton” but lost the “k” at some point. 

The visit was interrupted because I left to witness the tidal bore progressing up the Petitcodiac River. At the advice of the lady at the Resurgo, I got there early. A bit too early, so I amused myself by sawing off the end of a tree that had fallen into the bike path on Saturday. A passerby said I should bill the City. The tidal bore arrived on schedule. It was very impressive, if rather muddy looking. It generated waves that of about 3 feet which is enough to surf on. Apparently, a few years back some surfers rode the wave for 29 kilometres! Worth the wait! The French term for a tidal bore sounds more interesting: “mascaret”.

After lunch, I went back to the Resurgo. There I listened to the Miꞌkmaq legend of the Eel and the Lobster. It seems a giant eel took to living in the River and eating all the fish. The fish were vexed by this and asked Glooscap for help. Glooscap couldn’t help directly but said if one of them were to step forward, he was give him the power to fight the Eel. After an awkward pause, little Lobster stepped forwards and was given extra fighting abilities. The Eel and the Lobster fought an epic and bloody battle. Lobster won the battle, driving Eel away but turned the waters of the Petitcodiac muddy and bloody. Eel’s blood stuck to Lobster’s skin and so a lobster’s shell turns red when cooked. The ghost of Eel haunts the Petitcodiac River, returning twice a day. Or something like that.

There was also an unsatisfying travelling exhibit about women during the World Wars. It was far to general and bland to be truly interesting. It did make me think of Aunt Lorna.

Afterwards, I did an “I-tour” of Downtown Moncton using my iPhone. It was not as interesting as I would have wished. It was all about architecture, mostly commercial.*

Tomorrow, I rent a car to return to the Hopewell Rocks and bloody well see them. When I get back to Moncton, it should be time to catch my train. *Touch wood*

What?… This is almost too rich! I just got an email from Via Rail that begins with “Important information” about my upcoming trip (paid for by Via Rail preference points). I will quote to you the important bits:

“We’re reaching out to inform you of a change regarding meal service on board train 15 of September 28th.

We were recently informed that the caterer providing meals served on-board the Ocean has been affected by the damages caused by hurricane Fiona, and that they will not be able to provide the meals we usually serve on this train.

Different meal options have been acquired for your trip. In light of this last-minute modification, VIA Rail would like to offer its passengers a refund valued at 10% of the fare paid for this portion of the trip. 

This refund will be processed in the next 10 days. No further action is required on your part.

We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you.

VIA Rail Canada”

I’d say I don’t know if I should laugh or cry, but I’m too busy laughing. ;-)  (No mention of lemon soaked paper napkins.) 

On Fiona and consequences

Well, here’s a pretty howdy-do.

At some point early in the night of the 23rd of September, the night that Fiona hit, I decided to stay in Alma an extra night and phoned the hotel in Moncton to change my reservation by a day. That went easily. Later that night, I woke up and noticed the power was off. Well, to be expected. I should have cancelled my alarm, but when it went off, I silenced it before rolling over for some more sleep.

Around 8:30, I arose, dressed for the weather and went around the corner to the office to let the place know I would be staying for another night. I saw that the owner was holding a take-out cup of coffee. I asked/guessed if it had come from the gas station and general store down the street, the only place with a lit sign! It had and provided me with a breakfast of sorts, coffee, a hard boiled egg, a muffin and some grapes.

The strong Northeast wind had rain in its teeth. The parking lot of the motel was littered with roofing shingles. Later in the day, a couple of men were up on the motel’s roof making repairs.

After breakfast, I turned in for a nap, setting my alarm for 11 AM or high tide. It had been low tide when I arrived and the fishing boats in the port were high on the mud. They appeared to be intended for the lobster or crab fishing. To my eye, they were extremely beamy with no taper at the stern, no doubt to better handle resting on the bottom twice a day. Some of them had overly macho names or decorations. “Fundy Fury”? Pirate logos? Give me a break! I later noticed that many of them had home ports in Nova Scotia, mostly Yarmouth and Digby.

Someone at the gas station had wondered about a storm surge at high tide. However, there was no need to worry. By high tide, the wind had abated and in any case, it had been blowing against the tide.

I spent the afternoon wandering about Alma doing some good by picking up some wind blown shingles. In the process, I discovered that there was a seafood shack open and had a hot lunch of fish and chips. I had been expecting it to provide supper, but it closed early, alas. 

In the late afternoon, I went into the motel’s office to pay for my second night. Power was not expected to be restored until 10 PM the next day, so the internet was out. I offered to pay cash. However, the owner said he had an old machine that would do the trick. He produced an old credit card imprint taker. I chuckled and explained that it wouldn’t work as my credit card isn’t embossed! (I had worried about the problem when it arrived.) We arrived at a working solution.

I had limited cell reception which gave me a picture of the relative devastation in Nova Scotia. Yep, I would have to call this trip quits in Moncton. In reading about the more limited damage done to New Brunswick, I had a moment of panic when I read that Route 915 East of Alma of was blocked and that motorists should find alternate routes. My panic was that I would have to got back through Fundy National Park. Then I remembered that the main road out of Alma was the 114!

I strolled out on the beach about an hour before low tide. It was a long way out. It was interesting to see the changing amount of barnacles on the rocks the further I went. I came back picking up litter as I went. At the top of the beach, I was removing some ropes from a piece of driftwood when a man commented that the boulders just below us hadn’t been there the day before. I was a bit surprised by this as they looked well established in their current locations. I suspect that the sand that had been covering them before was washed away.

Supper that night was skimpy as was the following breakfast.

Sunday dawned gorgeous. It was cool at first, but glorious. The 114 out Alma rose at a gentile grade that made for a fast climb on its well paved surface. I imagined that it might because New Brunswick wanted to give visitors to the Park a positive image of its roads. After a lovely descent the other side of the pass, I came out on the coastal plain and thought that from here to Moncton it would plain biking. Of such thoughts, the gods take pleasure in playing with cyclists. As related in the previous entry, there were far too many pointless and annoying hills between there and Moncton. There was also the aforementioned problem with the Hopewell Rocks.

There was a railway museum in Hillborough which should have been open because it was a Sunday, but wasn’t likely because of Fiona. There were many items of rolling stock out in the open and with no fence surrounding them, and no one telling me not to, I wandered about inspecting them. I was surprised that one piece of rolling stock that I had thought was a tender to a steam engine had been used to fight fires. Hmm, maybe it had been a tender to a steam engine but when steam engines were retired, it had been repurposed. The one thing was was fenced off didn’t match the rest of the collection. I mean it is very rare to find a McDonnell CF-101F Voodoo interceptor in railway museums. As I returned to my bike, a car with an East Asian family arrived. The father asked me if the museum was open. I said it was supposed to be, but it wasn’t. However, there was nothing stopping them from looking at the outside of the cars.

I made Moncton earlier than I had planned, mostly because of the Hopewell Rocks situation. I had thought I would find a tourist information office and through it locate somewhere I could access the internet and recharge my phone. However, owing to the relative inefficiency of New Brunswick tourism, I found my hotel before I found tourist information. As I hadn’t showered in 36 hours, I decided to see if I could check in early. And so I did and I could.

Once clean, I phoned up Via Rail to see if I could change my ticket back to Montreal. I had looked up flights back to Montreal on Air Canada and they started at $700. Indeed, I had checked again while waiting for an agent to become available. However, my ticket on Via Rail had been paid for by points and in theory could be changed free of charge. It would also be more fun. That would more than make up for the extra time and money spent in Moncton. As it turned out, it was possible to change my ticket to Wednesday and Moncton. So that is what I will be doing! 

Today has seen me putz around doing my laundry and taking it easy. Tomorrow isn’t looking so nice, so I rebooked the car for Wednesday which is better logistically. I feel I should be finding a museum or something, but…

P.S. According to Environment Canada, Fiona dumped 105 mm of rain in Fundy National Park.

On plans afoot

I am in Moncton and I have my first shower since Friday and I am feeling a lot better for it. 

I have also booked my return journey by train. Or should I say rebooked, as it involved cancelling my previously booked sleeper from Halifax to Montreal to a new one from Moncton to Montreal, only this one will be on Wednesday instead of Sunday. 

In theory, there was nothing preventing me from getting to Halifax in time for my original booking. However, given the amount of damage Fiona did, I’d rather not risk being a nuisance to the bluenosers’ restoration efforts. I saw enough damage on the way to Moncton to know that getting closer would not be a good idea.

There was one section of damage that proved rather irksome. Margaret, my coworker from Moncton, had told me I had to go see the Hopewell Rocks. So I tried to. After turning off the 114, I biked up a nice road to some gates manned by a group of people working for New Brunswick Provincial Parks saying that the Park was closed because they had to tidy up from the storm including sawing up various trees that had come down. They were very sorry but they would be open tomorrow. I suggested maybe a sign closer to the 114 would be a courtesy. As I rode on to Moncton, I pondered whether I should come back either Monday or Tuesday. However, the 38 km between the Hopewell Rocks proved to be annoyingly hilly and rather dull. Consequently, I have booked a car on Tuesday (when it should be sunny). This will also allow me to return to Alma and with a modicum of good luck, sample the highly recommended cinnamon buns that I missed because of Fiona.

Current location Moncton

 Call off the RCMP. I am safe and sound in Moncton. More after the shower and some internet surfing.

On whether to bunker down

At this point, I think the question is not whether I will get to Halifax, but how I will get back to Montreal from Moncton. Another question is whether I will brave the elements tomorrow, which include 50 km/h winds out of the North West (one of the directions I will travel) gusting up to 100 km/h in exposed areas. It would not be a problem to stay an extra night at my motel in Alma. Ironically, I am not staying at the first place I contacted in Alma as they had minimum two night stay!

Alma, New Brunswick, is the gateway town to Fundy National Park. As seems to be my wont with National Parks in New Brunswick (all two of them), I entered from the “back side” after a fairly long and chilly day of biking along the lesser highways of New Brunswick.

The day got off to a delayed start as I hadn’t twigged to the fact that the Evandale Resort doesn’t offer breakfast except on weekends. After tracking someone in charge, I was pitied enough to be provided with a hard boiled egg, a banana and a cereal bar. I’ve a mind to write them an email suggesting they put in place a cyclist protocol.

There is an odd quality to the lesser highways of New Brunswick. It may relate to my limited breakfast, but between Evandale and Sussex (roughly 50 kilometres if memory serves) I remember only one store that sold food, and that was a convenience store at a gas station. There were some roadside stands selling produce, but no grocery stores. In Quebec, I would have expected near a half dozen dépanneurs. There were various businesses such as mechanical servicing for car and trucks and hair salons. Plenty of Protestant churches including several United Baptist churches. I am going to reveal my (agnostic) Catholic induced ignorance, but I have no idea what or who exactly the United Baptist Church is or are. My theory on the modus operandi of the area is that people drive into Sussex to shop at Walmart, the Atlantic Superstore or the like. In writing this, I also have to confess a certain bias brought on by the presence of LeBaron’s store in North Hatley that has resulted in me having the mindset that a grocery store is something that should be handy enough that you don’t need to plan ahead. Anything else borders on the uncivilized. ;-)  

In my defence, I believe that certain biases are acceptable provided one is open about them or at least self-aware of them. A case in point was when I was asked to order children’s nonfiction books. One of first things I said was that I would be biased in favour of moose and bicycles!

Another thing about New Brunswick lesser roads is that there doesn’t appear to have been much effort to avoid hills. There was too much needless up and down in my humble opinion. It doesn’t help that Southern New Brunswick appears to be a bunch of ridges running North-East to South-West, likely created by the same set of forces that created Nova Scotia and the Bay of Fundy. When travelling across them, hills are annoyingly frequent.

There were a number of white-tailed deer to admire. The first pair was doe and fawn. The next bunch was a half dozen running to the woods across of a field. The signs in Fundy National Park “promised” both moose and deer but no such luck.

While I entered Fundy National Park from the “back side”, that is the side to enter it by bike. The last 4 kilometres leading to Alma are a joy of going steeply downhill with relatively exciting turns, at least when you have disc brakes.

And so, and so, I return to Alma. Will I remain here tomorrow, or will I brave the elements. I will leave the answer for tomorrow morning and see what the weather is doing then.

If you don’t hear from me by Sunday, check for outages in the Alma or Moncton areas before notifying the RCMP.

On eyeing possible escape routes

Wet is the word to describe today. It was humid leaving the Red House B&B. I got on the Great Trail and headed to Oromocto. The trail took a jog to the South to avoid having to cross one of the runways of Fredericton Airport. 

In Oromocto, I navigated South to Canadian Forces Base Gagetown in order to visit the New Brunswick Military Museum. It is undergoing improvements. One sign of this an eclectic assortment of heavy military equipment parked closely together on a parking lot with no signs to indicate what they are. A clear sign to me that the people in charge haven’t decided what to do with them. They included a militarized Chevy Silverado (or “Milverado”), a Bombardier made Iltis jeep, a Yugoslav tank, a tank retrieval vehicle based on a Centurion chassis, a Soviet ASU-57 air transportable self-propelled gun, a Grizzly wheeled APC, a Husky wheeled engineering vehicle, a Ferret scout car, a M113, a M113 derived command vehicle and a Soviet armoured car. In the museum, a few of the artifacts were clearly misidentified. One was shell for a cannon described as having a calibre of thirty six inches. It clearly wasn’t that calibre and extremely few cannons came close to that calibre.

The rain began in earnest just after I arrived at the Museum. It continued as I had lunch in a restaurant frequently by Canadian Forces personnel. (CFB Gagetown is Canada’s largest military base.) It continued as I rode along NB 102, sometimes getting stronger, and sometimes getting a bit lighter. Unfortunately, despite the road being part of New Brunswick’s Scenic River Route (its symbol a fiddlehead), the scenery was mostly trees. The sight of a bullfrog beside the road was an event. With weather warnings about Tropic Storm Fiona wafting through my brain, I fell into crafting “what if” scenarios. These were a bit troubled as I wasn’t sure what day today was.  (I was reassured when I saw the date marked at a gas station.) The Ocean leaves Halifax on Sundays at mid day, so if Fiona wreaked havoc on Nova Scotia, I could change my booking to one leaving Moncton a week earlier. If the ferry at Evandale wasn’t running, I could bugger down to Saint-John, plead force majeure with my remaining bookings, and find a cheap flight back to Montreal. 

A small brown and yellowish snake on the road glared at me. Eventually the landscape opened up with a soggy view of the Saint-John River, grown ever bigger.

I finally arrived at the Evandale Resort in drowned rat mode. This proved to be a Victorian building in the process of being spruced up. I signed in and brought my bags into my room. After the first load, I asked the person in charge if there were any old newspapers I could use to put my damp things on as opposed to the floorboards which I judged to be at least a hundred years old. He appreciated the thought and offered some old towels. After deploying the towels and mopping some of the water I had brought it, I had wonderful, hot bath. Afterwards, I signed into the place’s wifi using a password that revealed its age: 1889!

I checked the internet for the latest on Fiona. Still no final landfall, but tomorrow might be drier. However, Via Rail, out of an abundance of caution, has cancelled this weekend’s runnings of the Ocean. That escape route is delayed until at least Wednesday. However, Moncton has an airport. 

Yes, I worry too much. However, I think in the present situation, working on contingency plans is throughly justified.

On a surprising discovery courtesy of Lord Beaverbrook

Today was mostly spent doing touristy things in Fredericton. The only real thing of import was a surprising painting at the Lord Beaverbrook Art Gallery. In a gallery of Canadian art, I was astounded to see a painting that has to be of the North Hatley Club, circa 1951! It was painted by a John Goodwin Lyman (1886-1967) and entitled “The Yacht Club”. It was a gift of Lord Beaverbrook. It showed the front of the veranda of the senior lounge and an L shaped dock which I remember from photographs was taken apart in the early 1970s. The houses on the far side of the Lake where very much the type on the far side from the Club. There was the white flag staff showing the old Canadian Red Ensign at the gaff and an American flag in a lesser position. I know there was a Lyman family at the Club, viz Lyman Carter. I inquired how to find out more about the painting and will do so once I get back to Montreal. 

Conversely, I was mildly disappointed that the gallery didn’t have any art from Beaverbrook’s “court jester”, viz Gilles. ;-)

On another note, I am keeping an eye on tropical storm Fiona which may cross my path.

On the glass being half full

I don’t know if I’m fundamentally a glass half full or a glass half empty type of person. I know I would like to be a glass half full person. I worry, I fret and I dither. I am insecure, but I am secure in my insecurity. So, I think I am going to try to emphasize today’s events as glass half full.

By my reckoning, it hadn’t rained since the morning of last Thursday and it has generally been quite sunny. So that today would be wet was no great issue. After a nice breakfast and a chat with my host Ray in which he warned me of a potential route issue, I set off through the rain which waxed and waned as the morning progressed. Mid morning, I changed into my merino bike jersey.

I came to the potentially problematic part of the route, which proved to be impassable to cars but was passable by bike. I came out on the end of a section of old highway that was relatively little used except by informal drag racers if some of the markings on the road are to be believed. A wild turkey saw me, then slunk into the undergrowth by side of the road. 

A few kilometres past. I was a bit chilly and I found it was slow going. I was plodding up a hill when I heard a loud bang from my rear tire…

I only had to look to see that what I had been dreading had happened. My rear tire had given up the ghost. When I had taken Leonardo in for a pre trip check up, the mechanic had commented on the poor state of my tires and I ordered a new pair. However, they hadn’t arrived by the time I left so I had hoped the old ones would last. Somewhere in the Saquenay, I had noticed that there was an ominous bulge on my rear tire. Since then, I had been on the lookout for a suitable replacement but I hadn’t come across a suitable bike shop. I had been planning to seek out a replacement in Fredericton on the grounds that there had to be a good bike shop in New Brunswick’s capital.

So there I was, miles from anywhere in the rain with bike whose rear tire I didn’t trust with a new inner tube. Oddly enough, I was fairly calm about it. I don’t know why but I just felt it would work out. The only thing to be done was to stick out my thumb. It wasn’t long before a bright blue pickup stopped to give me a lift. I explained what was what. The woman driving the pickup gave me (and Leonardo) a lift to a nearby gas station which proved to be a truck stop on the Trans Canada. As I took Leonardo out of the truck, I was surprised to see that the front tire was flat as well! I wonder if that explained some of my slow going.

I asked the cashiers if the intercity buses stopped there, but I was out of luck. I then decided that my first order of business should be to get some food inside me as it was past 2 and I had yet to have lunch. I function better after a meal. I also put on a fleece layer. As I ate, I decided that worse come to worst, I’d hire a taxi to get me to Fredericton.

After lunch, I started by questioning a few likely people refuelling their pickup trucks at the pumps if they were A. headed toward Fredericton, and B. would they consider taking me with them. I didn’t get lucky, so I decided to head to the Trans Canada and try my luck there. I remember thinking that if I didn’t get a ride in half an hour, I would go back to the truck stop and try for a taxi. About ten minutes later, a man called John stopped in his SUV and flipped down the back seat to make room. He was on his way to Fredericton to pick up a friend who had been in a car accident and was at the hospital to be checked out, just in case. He was extremely sympathetic and suggested the name of a good bike shop in Downtown Fredericton. We decided that it would be best for me if he dropped me off there, rather than at my B&B.

Savage’s proved to be not only a good bike shop but apparently Canada’s oldest having been founded in 1897! I can’t speak highly enough of the place. The young man with whom I dealt inspired great confidence and spoke with empathy. Admittedly, even a casual glance at my tires would indicate that they were kaput given some of the damage. I am suspicious that all the riding on rocks yesterday didn’t to them any good. As well, today saw me riding through a fair bit of crud on the side of the road. In addition the tires, there were a couple of other small issues to be dealt with on Leonardo, so I left him at the bike shop and took a taxi to my B&B. The guy at the bike shop suggest that I put my four wet bags into a cardboard box he had handy for ease of handling and to minimize the amount of road dirt shed in the taxi or at my Victorian B&B.

So glass half full. Both my tire failures happened at once, fairly near to a source of replacements right before a rest day. It happened in the Maritimes where the people are extremely friendly and helpful. I happened upon someone who knew off hand of where a good bike store was. Strangely enough, the fact that it was raining probably made it easier for me to hitch my ride as people are likely to take pity on a drowned rat by the side of road. At least that was a hitching hiking theory that Philip once told me. ;-)

More glass half full: The owners of the B&B are wonderfully helpful and their house is a joy. Furthermore, there is a laundromat across from the B&B and my clothes are in the dryer as I write this.

For those of you with a taste for the morbid, I finish this blog entry with what the guy at the bike store described as “bike gore”.

On the passing of the Queen

Today began with the Queen’s funeral. One of the advantages of being in the Maritime time zone is that the funeral proper began at 7 rather than 6, and thus waking up was less of an issue. The night before, I had worked out how to get CBC TV on the set in my room. My alarm went off at 6:45 and cuddled under a duvet, I watched the ceremony. The late Queen’s quiet feminism was in evidence as there were a number of women doing the readings or saying prayers. A small bit of history was made when the Catholic Bishop of London said prayers for her. The last time a Catholic clergyman said prayers at the funeral of a British monarch in London would have been for Queen Mary Tudor. A minor exception to this would have been the prayers said at the funeral of James II, but he was not a reigning monarch when he died in France.

One bit of the Queen’s quiet feminism came out recently when Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern of New Zealand revealed that she had asked the Queen advice on how to reconcile being a leader and a mother at the same time. This would have been on her trip to London while she was pregnant with her first child. The Queen’s advice? “Just get on with it.” I interpret that the Queen was saying “Don’t overthink it.”

I realized I missed something yesterday. The signs for Grand Falls are usually written “Grand Falls / Grand Sault” in order accommodate New Brunswick two official languages. However, that is indicative of something else. Above Grand Sault, the place names are French Catholic. Below Grand Falls, they are British. (In both cases, some are of First Nations’ origin.)

I spent the bulk of today on the Great Trail in the form of a former Canadian Pacific rail bed converted to trail use. Unfortunately, among the permitted trail users are dirt bikes and ATVs, some of whom don’t take their responsibilities towards the trail very seriously. There were a lot of dodgy surfaces of loose rocks and potholes. The scenery was nice but a times the path didn’t seem worth it. However, I saw a juvenile bald eagle take flight.

At Florenceville-Bristol, there were 3 old heavyweight passenger cars which an inn and restaurant in season. By heavyweight, I mean they had been designed for passenger comfort by adding weight to the design. One sign of this was that they had three axle bogies at each end.

At Hartland, I stopped for a longish while in the Sun next to its famous covered bridge, famed for being the longest covered bridge in the World. While I was enjoying the Sun, I had the thought that depending on definition, there may have been a longer covered bridge. I just did some research and it bears me out. The Victoria Bridge across the St-Lawrence was originally a metal tube complete with a roof (of sorts). Therefore, it could be described as having been a longer covered bridge (at about 3 kilometres) than the Hartland Bridge (391 meters). Neither bridge was covered at the same time.

On having the luck of the Rabbit

In a certain number of Bugs Bunny cartoons, the Rabbit emerges from having dug his way to the locale and consults a map. Typically, it isn’t where he intended to go and he says something similar to: “I knew I should have taken that left turn in Albuquerque.” I got to where I was planning, but the route wasn’t the one intended, at least by Google Maps!

I left Edmundston by New Brunswick Highway 144. This had its moment in the sun as New Brunswick Highway 2 a.k.a. The Trans-Canada Highway, portion thereof. Nowadays, it much content itself as being part of the Great Trail. As in common with many highways superseded by superhighways, it makes an agreeable bike route, with broad shoulders, minimal grades and an absence of through traffic, particularly large trucks. 

It has artifacts of a sort from its previous incarnation. Old, disused service stations and motels. There was one expanse of asphalt on my side that had clearly had some important function in the past but was now partially overgrown. I have a theory that it had been a weigh station. It set me thinking about how Fort Ingall had been all but forgotten. Will people a hundred years from now excavate the site?

I made Grand Falls in reasonable time. I spent some time admiring said falls and reflecting that I definitely didn’t want to zip line across and back. The latter is less a non sequitur than you might think as there are zip lines across the gorge at that point to allow people who are so inclined to do just that. Given that I am a bit acrophobic, I was not so inclined! Consequently, I declined the inclines of the zip lines even though they were fine.

Grand Falls is the place where the St-John River ceases to be the border with the States. The current Trans-Canada crosses over the Western shore there. However, as my destination in Perth-Andover was on the Eastern Shore, I took Highway 105 down the St-John River. I quickly realized that Google Maps intended me to have taken the other shore as the 105 wasn’t a highway like the 144. It was a country road. It didn’t even had lines painted on, though this may be because it seems to have been in the process of being resurfaced with tar and gravel. However, it was flat for the moment, had a good surface and was quiet. I knew that it led to Perth Andover and I didn’t want to go back through Grand Falls. So I took it.

It was a nice road through the back country with small farms and cabins hither and yon. Through the cool but bright sunshine, I rolled on, eating up the kilometres. 

The following paragraph should not be read by or mentioned to Pappy.

Near Tilley, a shepherd dog of some description decided I needed herding. I am not sure of breed. It looked like a large border collie on the longer coat end of the scale except that it was white and brownish red. It ran out and tried to stare me down. When I kept rolling, it ran into the field beside me and tried to get in front of me to cut me off. I was very impressed with his turn of speed as he was keeping in front me even though I was rolling at about 30 km/h! (There was a slight downhill.) After a kilometre or two, we came to a hill so I necessarily slowed down allowing him to get in front and turn to stare me into submission. I explained to him: “Sorry, but I am not a sheep.” He wasn’t impressed. Then a car going in the other direction came along. The driver got out and said “Sitka, you’re a bad boy.” He tried to get Sitka into the car through commands but eventually picked up the dog and put him in the backseat. I mentioned to him that I was impressed that he kept up with him at 30 km/h! However, he wasn’t interested in me or maybe he was just too annoyed by the dog.

About that point, the 105 became somewhat hilly, particularly after entering the Tobique First Nation. Still, there was a wonderful downhill ending in a run across a power dam which was truly “whee” moment.

After supper, I found out there was a decent section of the Great Trail between Grand Falls and Perth-Andover that I missed, but que sera, sera. This way, I got the dog story.

So, luck of the Rabbit.

On bits left out from yesterday

A few things from yesterday that slipped my mind. First of all, one the artifacts at Fort Ingall demonstrated a flaw in the reconstruction. It was a shaped log about six feet long and two feet in diameter. It had been part of the defensive outer wall. The current outer wall is made up of logs only about 6 six inches in diameter. I attribute this flaw to that fact that logs of the historically accurate size would be prohibitive expensive. 

Also, as I was leaving Fort Ingall, I overheard some women asking about staying the night at the Fort. Apparently, it is possible to rent out the barracks building as a dormitory!

At one point on the Petit-Témis, someone had put up a railway crossing sign. I responded by making a low horn sound of two longs, a short and a long. ;-)

North of Edmundston, there is a complex of provincial attractions including a botanical garden and transportation museum. Outside the latter was an odd looking locomotive. It appeared to be a diesel shunting engine but its wheels were connected by a rod driven by some counter-weighted apparatus at one end. There was no sign explaining what it was. One thing that was clear was that it was quite heavy and that it had been there for quite some time, as the rails it was on had bent down around it!

On a fort in the middle of nowhere

I think it is because of the PQ imposed mergers back in 2002, but I am still not 100% which municipality I slept last night! It was written Cabano in various places, but on Google Maps it seemed to be part of Témiscouata-sur-le-Lac. 

As today was a nominal rest day, I slept in late, had breakfast and did some shopping. I then headed to Fort Ingall, a reconstructed minor British fieldwork which was occupied from to 1839 to 1842 during the Aroostock War. Like the Pig War, it was largely about bickering where the border between the British Colonies and the United States actually was. The area hadn’t been surveyed when the treaty had been written and consequently the wording was vague. No one in any government had bother to conduct a proper survey so it was inevitable that various parties would come into conflict. A Lieutenant Ingall, aged 44, was sent with a detachment of soldiers of the 24th regiment of foot and their wives and children to build and man the outpost on Lake Temiscouata which was part of the line of communication between the Maritimes and the Canadas. That fact that he was 44 and only of Lieutenant is testament that Lt. Ingall was poor for an officer (commissions were purchased at the time), but the fact that he was trusted with commanding the outpost suggests that he was viewed a fairly competent. The information at the site states that the fieldwork was very well made and sited. Once the Webster-Ashburton Treaty was signed, the outpost was abandoned, scavenged for timber, burned and almost forgotten before being excavated in the late 1960s and then reconstructed.

For something currently run by a local organization, it is quite impressive. I understand that during the summer, there are costumed reenactments complete with Brown Bess muskets being fired. There is however, a certain amount of sloppiness in the displays. For one thing, the artifacts are numbered in a way that doesn’t follow the natural path of the human eye. As well, a coin featuring King George III is listed as dating from 1738-1820. George III only became king in 1760. Also, the officer’s quarters has letter addressed to so-and-so in “Bas-Canada”. British officers would have written “Lower Canada”.

The Petit-Témis South of Cabano runs along the shore of Lake Temiscouata. Cottages were in evidence on either side of the bike path depending on the particular geography of the spot. It gave me a suggestion of what the Massawippi Valley rail bed would have been like if it had been converted to a bike path between North Hatley and Ayers’ Cliff. There were a fair number of cyclists out to enjoy the sunny, if chilly, Saturday. Too many of them were on electric bikes. 

The latter raises a question for me. The signs at the access points for Le Petit Témis forbid motorized vehicles. At what point do electric bikes become forbidden?

Anyway, on past Degelis and along to the border with New Brunswick. This is next to the Edmundston airport most of whose runway is in Quebec. That explains why there was an Avro Lancaster Mk 10 on display near the highway there for many years.

Another mystery explained was the variability in the distances to Edmundston displayed on signs on the Petit Témis. Simply put, Edmundston goes on for a long time so defining where it begins is a subjective matter. The rail trail portion ended more or less when rails reappeared, in the form of an Irving liquid natural gas facility which was unloading a tanker car. 

(For the benefit of some of my readers, the Irving family pretty much runs New Brunswick with some input from the McCains.)

Edmundston gives off a vibe that says to me blue-collar town circa 1960. When I got to my downtown motel, one of the first things I did was reset the time on my watch and my bike computer. New time zone don’t you know?

On being hungry like a fox

It took a long time to get to sleep last night. Not sure why as today had little in the way of concerns. I tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. When I did get to sleep, my dreams were what I think of as librarian stress dreams which seemed to run one into another in and out of waking moments.

Anyway, as the ferry approached, I saw a cetacean make a brief appearance nearby. My first impression was that it was a minke whale. I kept that bit of water under observation for several minutes, and saw the same fin break the surface. However, I wasn’t sure just how far away it was. 

The ferry seemed shabby compared with BC Ferries, though that might be related to the various woes and mismanagement of Quebec’s ferry company whose name eludes me. Pedestrians and cyclists boarded first. As I made my way into the cabin following the signs to purchase tickets, I noticed a half dozen small children in similar striped shirts sipping at juice boxes while being talked to by a woman in a pirate outfit. I asked the ticket seller what that was about. It seems they were from a daycare in Rivière-du-Loup and this was an excursion. While exploring the ferry (La Trans-Saint-Laurent), I noticed a panel in the children’s area with the whales of the Saint-Lawrence on it. As it was free of children at that moment, I inspected it with a view to working out what type of cetacean I had seen. If I read it right, it could have been a minke or a harbour porpoise. Both are fairly common in the area.

Arriving in Rivière-du-Loup, I noticed some people getting off a boat with assorted bags. Their bags did not suggest whale-watching so I looked again. Then I hit me, the boat had “Lièvre” written on it. Our ferry’s course had a dog leg to avoid l’Île aux Lièvres. It was a ferry for the locals. Next to it was a larger boat marked “Renard”, which I found amusing!

After lunch, I left Rivière-du-Loup on the Petit Témis bike path. The older biking gents in Chicoutimi had said it was the first rail-trail in Quebec. I don’t see any reason to doubt them. I do see reason to doubt whoever is in charge of it. There a number signs saying “Fermé pour l’hiver”. These, I ignored as did a number of other cyclists, mostly middle-aged locals out for exercise. While today was a bit chilly, it is still summer! Fall only starts next week! What happened to the shoulder season? For that matter, one option for this trip I had looked into was taking boat in the Saquenay Fjord which goes from A to B carrying passengers and their bikes, should they have any. However, it stopped operating just after Labour Day!

Well into the Petit Témis, I came up behind a red fox trotting along the path. I should have stoped to dig out the camera, but instead I rolled along. It heard me, looked back, then dashed off the path on a side path. I thought it a very handsome looking fox.

A little further, the way was blocked by a construction orange sign saying “voie barré”. I maneuvered Leonardo around the sign as there was no suggestion as to the appropriate detour. For several kilometres, it seemed to me that the sign was nonsense. Then, I came across a large construction site. It was in the process of converting the highway I had been paralleling into a superhighway. The site was empty of activity, presumably because it was Friday afternoon. There was no obvious bike exit visible so I slunk over to the highway, until the next intersection which Google was giving me good odds would get me to the Petit Témis. It did, but it was very annoying.

About a half hour later, I came across a cyclist going the other way. He was clearly a cycle-tourer of the camping variety. I waved him down to warn him of the construction zone. We chatted for a bit. He was from Quebec City and had been touring Maine and the Maritimes and was on his way home. He had taken Highway 17 in New Brunswick between Campbellton and Edmundston. He described it as hilly and full of trucks. I remember weighing that route when I was planning the first trip in this blog and finding it wanting. He also grumbled about headwind he had been having the last two days, the same one that I had been enjoying (at least most of the time). I was a little bit embarrassed to reveal that I had only started in Jonquière, but he was cool about that. Everyone has to start somewhere. Like me, he viewed the train as a great way to travel with a bike. He had met a woman who had biked from Vancouver. She was heading to Halifax from where she would take the train back. Hmm…she might have problem between Montreal and Toronto as there isn’t any baggage service at the moment.

Now that I think of it, since crossing the Saint-Lawrence, people (even non-cyclists) aren’t surprised that my destination is Halifax. One reason for that might well be that this neck of the woods gets a number of through cyclists. Certainly, the motel clerk tonight wasn’t thrown by my presence. Mind you, his motel advertises on Le Petit-Témis, not only for cyclists but also for snowmobiles and ATVs. Six of the latter in the parking lot tonight.

I had some difficulty finding supper tonight. My first choice was booked solid. My second choice was full but I was able to get a reservation for a seat at the bar for a half hour later. As it was a short distance from my motel, I went back and dropped of my biking gear and then got the key to lock Leonardo in a garage for the night.

When I went back to the Pub du Lac, I was seated at the bar beside a couple from Lake Placid. They had some experience as long distance cyclists. (He had crossed the U.S.) They had seen me come in the first time with what seemed a hungry look to their eyes!

On an unpredictable wind

Way back in the mists of time, circa 1978-9, I remember reading or being read to a story about two young winds who are sent out into the world to use their powers (including rain and hail) for the first time. One uses his powers for good, the other for his own amusement which consists of tormenting humans. One was dubbed “vent doux”, the other “vent fou”. I have the idea that the story was made in the context of the South of France. Today’s ride featured another wind, an unpredictable, somewhat clueless but sometimes useful wind but who doesn't know not to rain when the sun is shinning. Since writing this post, I realized what its name is: “vent d’où”!

I set off from Rivière Éternité, climbing out of town with a useful following wind. I made L’Anse St-Jean in decent time, though intermittent sprinkling rain made it frustrating difficult to decide what I should be wearing. I concluded that I should have spent the night at that village as it was a “village relais”, it had better services for the tourist. Another shortish bit of biking brought me to Petit Saguenay. I had been hoping for lunch at Le Ti’ Sag (a fast food joint) but it opened two hours later than when Google said it would. 

To kill time, I rode down to Petit Saguenay’s quay. The 4 km ride were initially a frustration as I couldn’t seem to make any real speed despite the fact it was downhill. I eventually realized that the stiff wind was working against me! I admired the Fjord, though it was utterly impossible to spot belugas because of all the whitecaps! It took me less time to climb back up than it took me to go down. I opted for a lunch from the local grocery store which amounted to an equivalent to a Griffwich. 

After lunch, I set off again. The wind was relatively helpful, but at the same time unpredictable. The landscape was full of hills off of which the wind swirled and whirled so I rarely knew which way it would be going, one bit to the next. It added to the drain on my energy. Also, I was getting a shade low on water. This was more of an issue as I realized that I was stopping mid-hill to drink, not so much for hydration but in order to take a break. Furthermore, the 55 kilometres between Petit Saquenay and Saint-Simeon were relatively devoid of useful things like dépanners. There were houses hither and yon, but nowhere to stop. One surreal entrance had huge decorative iron gates and what was obviously a button to press to m with security. It was all the more surreal as the road that lead into the estate was only sand. 
One frustration was that I couldn’t figure where I was vis-à-vis the hills. This meant I couldn’t relax as I worried about husbanding my energy. About 20 kilometres from the 138, I threw caution to the wind, and fired up Google maps on my iPhone to see the altitude profile. It was downhill all the way to Saint-Simeon where I would face a hill. So, let her rip. It was a relief.

However, the wind hadn’t finished with me. In Saint-Simeon, I leant Leonardo against a wall of a pharmacy while I went inside. As I was leaving, one of the employees commented that my bike “est parti avec le vent.” Sure enough, the wind had pushed it along and it had fallen into some flowers!

On a humid day

There is a trend in these parts to convert presbyteries into B&Bs. Monday night was spent in a former presbytery and so will be tonight (Wednesday). That the intervening night was spent in a high end hotel can be made up for in that tonight’s B&B is at the lower end. Comforatable, but not chi-chi.

The main feature of today revealed the origin of last night’s hotel’s name. Apparently, there were 21 signatories to a document giving them the right to develop this neck of the woods as opposed to the Hudson’s Bay Company or William Price and company, who the local (Québécois) conventional wisdom regards as a monopolist. He probably was, but as a historian and Anglo-Quebecer, I would urge a note of caution for reasons related to the general knowledge of the exhibit in question.

The exhibit was in the Musée du Fjord, La Baie’s museum. It involved the ancestry of people in Quebec and more specifically in the Saguenay. The credentials of the curators can be called into question by a couple of observations. They refer frequently to a computer program or database called BALSAC, but never give out the meaning behind the name or acronym. Secondly, they mention that the Québécois usually have some ancestors from countries other than France. They list some common ones. The list includes Scotland and Great Britain. *head slap* As someone whose grandparents’ last names are from all four of the kingdoms in the United Kingdom, I was not impressed. I therefore view the curators’ gloss on local history with a grain of salt.

Other exhibits included some examples of natural camouflage, animal intelligence, photographs of how much fun can be had hereabouts in winter and a large aquarium filled with the local fish, mostly large cod. (I had a hankering for fish and chips.) There was also an immersive film thingy, where you sat in funky, high-tech looking chairs and were taken on a pretend ride on some time-travelling ship which could fly into space as well as submerge down to 28 atmospheres of pressure. The idea was to present the Fjord and its geological and natural history. Among other things, this involved getting too close to cheesy CG belugas whilst underwater. As usual, I was left with unanswered questions. If I got it straight, the last ice age scrapped the bottom of the fjord bare down to the bedrock which can be up to 1000 meters below sea level. In the past 10,000 years, sediments have filled the fjord so that it is at most only 250 meters deep. My question is where did those sediments come from? I don’t think 10,000 years is enough to lay down that thick a layer. Unless, after having been stripped clean by glaciers, the retreating glaciers dumped sediment from farther North. Or the glaciers didn’t entirely strip the fjord and it became a pocket of sediment.

After lunch, I headed off in the irregularly spitting rain with a convenient tail wind. There was a slog up a long hill. Despite the cool weather, sweat was pouring off my forehead. Thankfully, the hill had a reasonable, though relatively steep gradient. There was also a good shoulder. Eventually, I reached what I think of as the plateau level of the Saquenay, so it was relatively smooth sailing from then on, although there was some annoying steep hills in St-Felix de Otis.

Anyway, I am now in Rivière Éternité. Tomorrow will be quite possibly the toughest day of the whole trip, not for distance (only 82 kilometres) but for hills. Google Maps gives it about 800 meters of climbing. 

On seeing the sights in the City of Saquenay

It seems I am loosing my observational skills. When I went to put on the wheel magnet to replace the one I thought my bike shop had taken off, there it was. There must be gremlins.

Today was a day for touristing, this began in Jonquière with tracking down the William Price Centre. This proved to closed except on Sundays. There is something odd about this as the Centre is located in a former Anglican Church which was moved to its current location after falling into disuse. There were some informational signs around which were interesting in not only what they said but in what they said. For instance, the writers (evidently Québécois Catholics) felt the need to explain Anglicanism as well as evangelicalism.

Between Jonquière and Chicoutimi, I passed in front a Rio Tinto aluminum plant. Using my computer, I measured its frontage as being more than a kilometer long! I also had the thought that the aluminum in the frame of Leonardo might well have come from there!

In Chicoutimi, I first visited La Petite Maison Blanche. This building is in the middle of a park of water scoured bedrock now partially landscaped with waterfalls including water coming out the bottom of the backdoor! Prior to July 1996, it had been in a residential neighbourhood, the nearby power dam not withstanding. During the Saguenay floods, the neighbouring houses were swept away, leaving it standing, a bit damaged as a symbol of the resilience of Saquenay floods across the TV screens of the world. About a month later, the owner, an 80 year old widow, died of cancer. Having become a symbol, and the City having declared the area a flood zone, the descendants of the woman sold the house and the rights to the image to the City. It is now a nice museum. There was an AV presentation about the history of the house which included the fact that the woman’s husband had during renovations during the late 1950s made sure that the foundations went down to the bedrock and where solidly attached with steel. It seems he had been worried about flooding from a relatively minor 1947 flood.

Afterwards, I bought some candy in a tourist trap “general” store. The cashier asked where I was headed. When I said “Halifax”, she was stunned. Several people I have spoken with just can’t get there heads around it. When I mentioned this to last night’s host, he subsequently looked up how long that would take according to Google Maps. The figure he quoted was 55 hours of biking. On the whole, that seems reasonable to me! ;-)

Afterwards, I visited La Pulperie which houses Chicoutimi’s major museum. It had three permanent exhibitions and one temporary one. It is between seasons so several were in the process of being taken down. This earned me a discount on my ticket. The first and most interesting one was about the history of the site. It had been a pulp mill and was proudly a wholly French-Canadian financed venture. It made much about how the Catholic union never went on strike, etc. However, this fierce French-Catholicism might explain why the concern went under after only 30 or so years during the early 1920s. I suspect the business expanded too quickly and too much. There was some mention of them building a new building in order to take advantage of strikes in Nordic countries. Another interesting exhibit discussed the early history of Chicoutimi. Then there was the temporary one about shipping in the Saquenay. It would have benefited from some maps explaining where the places mentioned were! It had rather interesting model of a cargo “goélette” or schooner, though the term had come to mean smallish  wooden cargo ship. Instead of conventional rope handling gear on the foredeck, there was a tractor minus its wheels to pull ropes and cables. I wonder how authentic it was. The last permanent exhibit was about the life and work a naïve artist from the area whose name escapes me. His art didn’t impress me much and I didn’t spend much time there.

I was looking for a place to eat lunch along a street of restaurants in downtown Chicoutimi, when an older couple sitting on a terrasse called out to me. They recognized me from the train! I selected a café a little further down the street partly because there was a trio of older men with bikes eating there. We chatted a bit. They weren’t stunned by my objective having done a fair bit of bike trekking themselves, including going through North Hatley! They asked me where I was going to stay tonight. When I said “21 in La Baie”, they gave me an envious chuckle. Unless I have missed something, it is the best place to stay in La Baie. You only live once. And my package included the use of their Nordic spa.

There are a fair number of cyclists in Chicoutimi. However, a depressing number of them are riding electric bikes, including those wearing spandex. Though in fairness, there are a number of annoyingly steep hills.

As I set out to ride to La Baie, I heard a weird sound and there was a jolt from the back wheel. I stopped to investigate. It seems I had neglected to do up one of the straps on my rear left pannier. The strap had got caught in the rear wheel, wrapped around the axle and then snapped. Wheel was okay. My nerves weren’t. I had meant to include a bungee in my gear for this trip but hadn’t done so. Thankfully, I spotted a “roadkill” replacement whilst leaving Chicoutimi. Silly Daniel.

Nearing La Baie, I stopped at the Boivin cheese factory for some soft ice cream and fresh curd cheese. As I rolled into La Baie, I saw some disturbance in the water and wondered if it meant wind or rain. I quickly found out it was rain. I stopped to don my rain jacket and cover my handlebar bag. I sought out a convenience store and had some juice while the short shower happened. Wandering around La Baie I was surprised by a menu sign outside Le Pavillon Noir (read “Jolly Roger”) restaurant. It was only in English!  The dynamic was that it was aimed at people from the nearby cruise ship terminal. The contents of the menu seemed to me to very bland. The only local dish I spotted was poutine. Furthermore, there were a couple of mentions of langouste which really isn’t in the Québécois repertoire and isn’t remotely local.

I have come to the conclusion that L’Auberge des 21 owes a significant part of its revenues to expense accounts. For all its scenic beauty, this neck of the woods is too far removed from the beaten to track to support something like it from tourism. However, there is a major amount of heavy industry, particularly aluminum. 

(The latter industry was the reason the Canadian Army thought to station an anti-aircraft battery here during the Second World War. (That or it was a good place to train gunners). For that matter, perhaps the location of CFB Bagotville nearby is not a coincidence. It has long been a fighter base and is currently one of two RCAF airbases for fighters. I saw a CF-18 fly over La Baie this afternoon having presumably just taken off from Bagotville.)

 So if you are a Rio Tinto honcho wanting to impress a client who might buy 100 thousand tons of aluminum, why not wine and dine them? Or if you are a Rio Tinto exec coming in to oversee some change in the plant, why not charge the firm? Certainly the menu is pretentious enough that I had to resort to Google to figure out what “buccins” and “armillaires ventrues” were. The wine list includes some wines costing over a thousand dollars a bottle! However, the dishes I have had are very good. I did have to temper my appreciation for rognons de veau dans la sauce au champignons with my love of kidney stew. ;-)

Tomorrow is another short day and it will probably rain.

In other news, Mummy informed me that a picture of me in the Défi des Cantons may be seen on Vélo Québec's website. And here it is.

@pixelrebelle

Those of you who knew that it meant “whelks” and “a type of mushroom” can leave early.

On padding with regards to trains

I made the mistake of wanting to finish watching a movie I had started on Thursday. This meant that 6 AM arrived far too early. I corralled my gear and carried Leonardo down the stairs. I set off only to noticed that my bike computer wasn’t telling me how fast I was going. I took a quick look at the front wheel where I discovered that the magnet that activates the bike computer was absent. I had taken Leonardo in for a tune-up recently. Among other things, they had trued the front wheel. I am suspicious they had removed the magnet and forgot to put it back. I went home and got the magnet off Victor.

I was alarmed at Central Station when the baggage counter was closed. I waited in line at the ticket counter before spotting a passing Via Rail employee and flagging her down. She told me to pay for the bike at the counter and she would arrange the rest. It nearly went slightly wrong as she grabbed a luggage to Halifax before noticing and substituting one for Jonquière. I couldn’t help but smile to myself. Another Via Rail employee, manhandled Leonardo down some stairs to the train while it had three bags still attached.

The question asked passengers arriving on the platform was not what car are you in, but which train are you on? There were two trains waiting, one behind the other. One for Senneterre and one for Jonquière. Each had an identical consist of a locomotive, a baggage car and a passenger car. I boarded the correct train, noting how Leonardo was parked in a rack in the correct baggage car. There were a handful of passengers and a solitary and very enthusiastic Via Rail train employee who was the train manager, as well as all the other functions required for passenger comfort. She instructed several of the passengers (myself included) about how to break the windows and open the doors in an emergency.

The train left the station, lead by the Senneterre train and trundled through Point Saint-Charles and Saint-Henri. I had selected a left-hand seat thinking that it would have less sun. However, I temporarily switched to the right-hand seat to take a picture of my street. I apologetically explained why to Ms. Belanger the train manager who laughed and said she understood and the left-hand side had better views of a certain river we would travel along. Also, there was plenty of space as there were less than ten passengers. A few more got on at Sauve and Anjou stations which are actually commuter rail stations. 

We had to wait quite a while near Pointe-aux-Trembles to let a commuter train and then a long freight train go by. I noticed that it was carrying ingots of aluminum and lumber in open cars. I surmised that it had come from the Saguenay. It took us more than two hours to leave the Island of Montreal. 

The train rolled along through the fields and towns of the Champlain sea before entering the Canadian Shield a little before Shawinigan. There, I realized that I have may been wrong about the origin of the freight train as Shawinigan also produces aluminum and lumber. Ms. Belanger chatted with various passengers, asking them about their destinations. She asked one man about St-Tite’s Western Festival and whether it was still ongoing. It was. St-Tite was surrounded by hectares of RVs as well as a few corrals for horses and bulls. St-Tite’s Western Festival apparently began in 1967 as a centennial project designed to promote the leather goods which was a major industry for the town. It has only grown. The station shelter was decorated to look a bit Western.

At Hervy, the trains were separated. Schedule padding was in evidence as “suddenly” we were nearly on schedule, having been more than 30 minutes late earlier. We headed deeper into the Canadian Shield and out of cellphone coverage. Fishing and hunting camps began to appear, some of which sported solar panels attached to high point so as to clear the trees. The schedule listed about twenty stops between Hervy and Chambord, most of which were flag stops. If memory serves, we only stopped at one of them near the start of the run through the woods. And that one was more of station than the one in Clearwater. After lunch, I tried to doze. After about fifteen minutes, I looked out the window and saw that we were travelling along river in a steep sided valley which was very scenic if a shade too small to be be grand. I assume that was river Ms. Belanger had talked about.

By my count, there was at most 12 passengers on the train at any one time. The car was a HEP 1 coach, i.e. a stainless-steel Budd-built coach like one the Canadian. Also like on the Canadian was the ample leg room. I asked Ms. Belanger if there was ever more than one coach and she said no. I couldn’t help but feel that it might be more efficient for Via Rail to run a single Budd RDC-2 (Rail Diesel Car with a baggage compartment) instead of having a locomotive capable of hauling twenty or more cars at a 100 miles an hour pull two mostly empty cars. For that matter, surely they don’t need a full baggage car? Why not a combine coach? (That is a coach with a luggage compartment.) I suspect that the answer comes down to there aren’t enough RDC-2s left in Via’s inventory to allow their use, and I once read that RDCs aren’t good in very snowy conditions. Their modern equivalents are designed for commuter rail services so Via would have to pay for a special design to be created something that would not be truly justified for just two lines, possibly three if the White River line were to use them.

Despite leaving Hervy nearly on time, we were soon about thirty minutes late. I heard Ms. Belanger say that the train was operating at reduced speed (about 25 mph) because the heat was affecting the rails. However, the padding in the schedule meant that we were nearly back on time when we reached Chambord and left the bush for the neat fields and towns of Lac St-Jean. The sun was setting as we reached Jonquière. I helped unload Leonardo. A fellow passenger carrying a bike helmet asked if I was going to do the Vélo-Route des Bleuets around Lac St-Jean. He was surprised but not displeased when I said that I was going to Halifax instead.