After three vaguely long days and the fact there wasn’t an obvious alternative, I opted to bike with the rest of the group. I wish I had been more involved with the planning as I was concerned about Désirée who seemed both tired and a bit bored. This trip features a fair number of quaint villages and historic churches, but I don’t think is what you are really interested in when you are 12. Furthermore, there hadn’t been enough stops (as in any) for ice cream the day before. I had gone through several tourism pamphlets where I had found a salmon migration observatory which I believed would interest her. Regrettably, I only discovered it was closed after going down a long hill.
It was a short slow day. Humid and warm, but not hot. Climbing up out of Cap Santé, there was a sign forbidding “soufflage” or blowing. I took a photo and mock umbrage at the municipality for such a silly sign. What do did they expect cyclists to do going up the hill, hold their breath?! ;-)
In fact the sign was aimed at snow clearance vehicle drivers warning them not to blow snow off the road and onto the roofs of the houses below. I am still entitled to take mock umbrage.
Unless I am very much mistaken, tonight’s B and B was built in the days of Nouvelle-France. Unfortunately, this means beams at treacherous heights.
We are getting uncomfortably close to Quebec City. We have already passed one municipality which was definitely a suburb and several that likely are. The types of shops aren’t quite the rural ones desired by some in the party and the only ice cream place I saw today was at the wrong time for Désirée.
Friday 31 July 2020
Thursday 30 July 2020
On some surprising luck and humour
By some improbable luck, both yesterday and today saw me arriving at nearly the same time as the others at our bed and breakfasts, despite different routes and yesterday, conveyances. Today, I arrive at the Auberge le Chemin du Roi something like a fifteen or twenty minutes after Mummy, Pappy, Dominique and Désirée, having taken a significantly longer and more arduous route from Trois-Rivières. The previous day, I arrived at the B and B about three minutes before they arrived from North Hatley by car along with Fil. You cannot plan on such timing.
Yesterday, after a brief visit to the Gilles-Villeneuve Museum, I rolled out of Berthierville, stopping to visit the Chapelle Cuthbert, billed as the oldest Protestant place of worship in Quebec, having been consecrated in 1786, if I recall correctly. This claim strikes me as a bit dubious as surely there would have been other Protestant churches built in Montreal or Quebec City before then! Especially given that one of the “intolerable” acts that led to the American Revolution was the toleration of Catholics which implies that being Protestant in was acceptable. It was also interesting that the chapel was in fact a Presbyterian place of worship dedicated to Saint-Andrew. The name Cuthbert was attached to as the family who built it were the Cuthberts.
That was about it as far as interesting things until Trois-Rivières. The countryside was agricultural Quebec, dotted with farms and rural garages. I did notice a truck delivering Radnor spring water decorated with a scene of misty mountains.
Getting close to downtown, I was faced with a triple railway crossing. I wondered to myself if all three were actually used. When I crossed them, I saw that they led directly into a paper mill and all three bays had lumber cars in them! I appreciate well-used railways.
At the B and B, it was strange as it was the first time I had seen that part of the family since January. Funnily enough, it was Fil who looked the strangest to me as he had shaved his beard a few days earlier and was now at the stubble stage. We went the Borealis Museum which was largely concerned with paper making and log driving. Both of these activities were important to the City. The videos about log driving suffered from a disconnect as there were many scenes of manly log driving shot in the fifties and some modern interviews with log drivers who were put out of work when log driving came to an end in 1995. There was too much “pastoral” nonsense about how happy the men were to be outdoors (in all weathers) and what nonsense it was to stop the log drives because it was bad for the environment and prevented yachts from safely using the rivers. There was no rebuttal to this. Nor did they show of how log drives had worked in the 1990s, as if they were the same as in the 1950s, I would be extraordinarily surprised.
We had tapas for supper overlooking the Saint-Lawrence. Then Fil drove back to North Hatley.
We set off together this morning. I soon left the party in order to track down a bicycle bell, having managed to forget to reinstall one before leaving. I then left the Greater Trois-Rivières area on a bike path which took on a road through a suburban development whose streets had been laid by some with a wicked sense of humour. I was climbing a hill when what appeared to be a single street crossed the road I was on. “Appeared” being the operative word. One the right hand side, the street was Place Pierre-Eliott-Trudeau, on the left, Place René-Lévesque!!!
I eventually left the suburbs behind and rolled along a flat country road with farms, fields and woods on either side. Then, I came to a sign for the Radnor bottle plant which bore no ressemblance to the advertising image!
My target was the Batiscan River Park. I had worked out it would make an interesting diversion from the 138 as well as being a challenge. It wasn’t quite as interesting as I thought, as I only saw a couple of rapids. However, it was a nice change and challenge to ride. While I was in the park, it sprinkled a bit. In addition, I heard some thunder and saw a lightning bolt, but that was it. However, the others only a few kms to the South took refuge from a deluge in the church they had been visiting. Luckily for them, Désirée had wanted to visit the crypt which meant that they were inside when it started to pour.
As I approached the Saint-Lawrence on the shore of the Batiscan River, I was surprised by the layout of a train bridge as the middle section had been built with a pivot to allow fairly tall ships to go up river. I suspect they were “goélettes”, the late form of merchant “schooners” far removed from the Bluenose and closer to the St-Roch.
Nearing Ste-Anne-de-la-Pérode, I noticed the Chenil du Chasseur. This was of interest as my cousin Marianne, who lives in Quebec City, had recently bought a Brittany Spaniel there! I am hoping I will get to see Marianne and her gang (including the Brittany Spaniel).
After a raspberry milkshake, it was a good mostly flat ride to the Auberge where Désirée spotted me rolling up the driveway.
Yesterday, after a brief visit to the Gilles-Villeneuve Museum, I rolled out of Berthierville, stopping to visit the Chapelle Cuthbert, billed as the oldest Protestant place of worship in Quebec, having been consecrated in 1786, if I recall correctly. This claim strikes me as a bit dubious as surely there would have been other Protestant churches built in Montreal or Quebec City before then! Especially given that one of the “intolerable” acts that led to the American Revolution was the toleration of Catholics which implies that being Protestant in was acceptable. It was also interesting that the chapel was in fact a Presbyterian place of worship dedicated to Saint-Andrew. The name Cuthbert was attached to as the family who built it were the Cuthberts.
That was about it as far as interesting things until Trois-Rivières. The countryside was agricultural Quebec, dotted with farms and rural garages. I did notice a truck delivering Radnor spring water decorated with a scene of misty mountains.
Getting close to downtown, I was faced with a triple railway crossing. I wondered to myself if all three were actually used. When I crossed them, I saw that they led directly into a paper mill and all three bays had lumber cars in them! I appreciate well-used railways.
At the B and B, it was strange as it was the first time I had seen that part of the family since January. Funnily enough, it was Fil who looked the strangest to me as he had shaved his beard a few days earlier and was now at the stubble stage. We went the Borealis Museum which was largely concerned with paper making and log driving. Both of these activities were important to the City. The videos about log driving suffered from a disconnect as there were many scenes of manly log driving shot in the fifties and some modern interviews with log drivers who were put out of work when log driving came to an end in 1995. There was too much “pastoral” nonsense about how happy the men were to be outdoors (in all weathers) and what nonsense it was to stop the log drives because it was bad for the environment and prevented yachts from safely using the rivers. There was no rebuttal to this. Nor did they show of how log drives had worked in the 1990s, as if they were the same as in the 1950s, I would be extraordinarily surprised.
We had tapas for supper overlooking the Saint-Lawrence. Then Fil drove back to North Hatley.
We set off together this morning. I soon left the party in order to track down a bicycle bell, having managed to forget to reinstall one before leaving. I then left the Greater Trois-Rivières area on a bike path which took on a road through a suburban development whose streets had been laid by some with a wicked sense of humour. I was climbing a hill when what appeared to be a single street crossed the road I was on. “Appeared” being the operative word. One the right hand side, the street was Place Pierre-Eliott-Trudeau, on the left, Place René-Lévesque!!!
I eventually left the suburbs behind and rolled along a flat country road with farms, fields and woods on either side. Then, I came to a sign for the Radnor bottle plant which bore no ressemblance to the advertising image!
My target was the Batiscan River Park. I had worked out it would make an interesting diversion from the 138 as well as being a challenge. It wasn’t quite as interesting as I thought, as I only saw a couple of rapids. However, it was a nice change and challenge to ride. While I was in the park, it sprinkled a bit. In addition, I heard some thunder and saw a lightning bolt, but that was it. However, the others only a few kms to the South took refuge from a deluge in the church they had been visiting. Luckily for them, Désirée had wanted to visit the crypt which meant that they were inside when it started to pour.
As I approached the Saint-Lawrence on the shore of the Batiscan River, I was surprised by the layout of a train bridge as the middle section had been built with a pivot to allow fairly tall ships to go up river. I suspect they were “goélettes”, the late form of merchant “schooners” far removed from the Bluenose and closer to the St-Roch.
Nearing Ste-Anne-de-la-Pérode, I noticed the Chenil du Chasseur. This was of interest as my cousin Marianne, who lives in Quebec City, had recently bought a Brittany Spaniel there! I am hoping I will get to see Marianne and her gang (including the Brittany Spaniel).
After a raspberry milkshake, it was a good mostly flat ride to the Auberge where Désirée spotted me rolling up the driveway.
Tuesday 28 July 2020
On my troubled mind
For various reasons, I don’t think I am in very good shape both physically and mentally. The ramifications of social distancing have meant I don’t get the physical exercise and social contact work provided directly or indirectly. My personal demons and wretchedly hot and humid weather meant that I haven’t been riding any great distances this year before today.
This combined with Via Rail’s policy of requiring masks on trains led me to decide against biking to the Saguenay and taking the train back to Montreal. 9 or 11 hours of wearing a mask in a row doesn’t appeal. So instead, I will return from Quebec City on the South Shore by bike.
I set off this morning a little after 8 or so. I’d explored the route beforehand, so I had no trouble get to the bridge to Repentigny.
I had to lift Leonardo over a curb just behind two younger women doing the same. They were on “whee” bikes lightly loaded with one or two panniers. One of them asked me where I had started. I admitted Montreal. They had also started today and like me were headed to Quebec City. Unlike me, their destination for the day was Trois-Rivières. That was about 60 kms further than Berthierville where I planned to spend the night.
While they were on lighter and likely faster bikes, they were much more ambitious than me. This was a drop of acid on my mind.
It also may have affected my judgement in Repentigny. The Route Verte number 5 crosses the municipality using bike paths designed for getting around the neighbourhoods rather than for getting to Quebec City. I could tell this from the map. I also knew that such bike paths are not to be trusted on account of indifferent signage. I also knew that the fast way was to get on highway 138 and ignore the Route Verte. For various reasons that did not stand up to scrutiny, I chose to follow the Route Verte and consequently got lost at least three times. Given my good geographical sense, this was a serious blow to my ego.
The day was hot and humid with a generally cooperative tailwind. While the wind was appreciated, it did raise my worries about getting back to Montreal with it in my face. The heat and humidity were draining. Together with an unwise choice of lunch, I found myself stopping repeatedly for something cold to drink. One planned stop was at a winery to sample their wares.
I made Berthierville by mid-afternoon. I was very happy to discover an ice cream place offering soft serve raspberry sherbet. That went down a treat.
Berthierville’s most famous son was Gilles Villeneuve. I had seen signs for a museum in his honour. However, when I checked into my lodgings for the night I discovered I had ridden right past it without noticing it. I later took a closer look and it’s lot is dominated by a U-Haul dealership! As I got a free entry coupon with my room, I might well take a quick visit tomorrow morning.
Mileage for the day was a shade over a 100 kilometres.
This combined with Via Rail’s policy of requiring masks on trains led me to decide against biking to the Saguenay and taking the train back to Montreal. 9 or 11 hours of wearing a mask in a row doesn’t appeal. So instead, I will return from Quebec City on the South Shore by bike.
I set off this morning a little after 8 or so. I’d explored the route beforehand, so I had no trouble get to the bridge to Repentigny.
I had to lift Leonardo over a curb just behind two younger women doing the same. They were on “whee” bikes lightly loaded with one or two panniers. One of them asked me where I had started. I admitted Montreal. They had also started today and like me were headed to Quebec City. Unlike me, their destination for the day was Trois-Rivières. That was about 60 kms further than Berthierville where I planned to spend the night.
While they were on lighter and likely faster bikes, they were much more ambitious than me. This was a drop of acid on my mind.
It also may have affected my judgement in Repentigny. The Route Verte number 5 crosses the municipality using bike paths designed for getting around the neighbourhoods rather than for getting to Quebec City. I could tell this from the map. I also knew that such bike paths are not to be trusted on account of indifferent signage. I also knew that the fast way was to get on highway 138 and ignore the Route Verte. For various reasons that did not stand up to scrutiny, I chose to follow the Route Verte and consequently got lost at least three times. Given my good geographical sense, this was a serious blow to my ego.
The day was hot and humid with a generally cooperative tailwind. While the wind was appreciated, it did raise my worries about getting back to Montreal with it in my face. The heat and humidity were draining. Together with an unwise choice of lunch, I found myself stopping repeatedly for something cold to drink. One planned stop was at a winery to sample their wares.
I made Berthierville by mid-afternoon. I was very happy to discover an ice cream place offering soft serve raspberry sherbet. That went down a treat.
Berthierville’s most famous son was Gilles Villeneuve. I had seen signs for a museum in his honour. However, when I checked into my lodgings for the night I discovered I had ridden right past it without noticing it. I later took a closer look and it’s lot is dominated by a U-Haul dealership! As I got a free entry coupon with my room, I might well take a quick visit tomorrow morning.
Mileage for the day was a shade over a 100 kilometres.
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