Honey Harbour to past Washago: Day of forgetting

September 16, 2016

Ed at CNC Marina picked me up from the island at 9:00. He was a tall, healthy 50-ish man and seemed to really enjoy his life by the water.

On the ride, he pointed out the only red leaves in sight: "See that maple over there? It's drowning."

Apparently drowning trees change colour early. Against all odds, the water in Georgian Bay was higher than normal this year. Yet everything that drains into the Great Lakes is lower than normal. One drowns trees and kills them, the other dries them out and kills them. There's no hope for fall this year.

Ed asked me a few questions about my trip. Upon hearing that I mostly ate peanut butter wraps, he just shook his head.

"I don't mind, I like to keep it simple. You don't really notice when you're touring."

"That's not enough," he said. "Your muscles need protein."

"I try to stop once a day for something full of protein."

On shore, he sprayed my chain with something to help get the sand out, painstakingly filled my water bottles with bottled water (had I known that was coming, I wouldn't have asked for water), and asked if I was going to stop in town for breakfast.

"Oh, I already ate."

"What did you have?"

"Peanut butter wrap."

"You'll need more."

"I know, I'll stop and eat something in an hour or so."

"What?"

He already knew what was coming, and shook his head as I spoke: "Peanut butter wrap."

I pulled out my wallet to pay him and he gave me a discount, saying, "Go to a restaurant and buy yourself a good meal."

I hadn't been able to fix my shifting problem, and a (very vague, in hindsight) question asked on the forums here suggested my problem was not a simple one, and that I would either need help or a few hours in which to study the workings of my derailleur. A closer inspection had ne thinking the problem was in the shifter, but I was stymied by the lack of a little screwdriver.

I rode up and down hills all day; not big ones, just ones that keep you shifting constantly. It was annoying, but I eventually learned to compensate. I could deal with this for a few more days.

The morning's scenery was rocks and trees, traffic was light, the roads fine, even the one under construction.

Lots of rock cuts this morning. Building roads is hard here.

Big Chute Marine Railway, where boaters go onto the sling...

...and are transported past a set of rapids, while groups of surly retirees watch them and ignore my greeting.

Wetlands are also a common sight along these roads.

The afternoon was just headwinds and a disagreeable landscape. It was a transition area, rock outcrops surfacing now and then in the fields more typical of the lowlands. It was also a transition area for people, with old fences and rusty barrels, overgrown driveways on now-empty lots, but also fancy new houses popping up and freshly mowed lawns.

It took me a while to figure out why it looked so run down. It was the roadsides: they were overgrown with tangles of weeds right up to the edge of the pavement.

Tired, I made it to Washago and, after a lengthy conversation with an older man who wants to tour (and who gifted me a small power bank) and the most expensive groceries yet, enjoyed a meal at R Cottage (thanks Ed!). Then it was off to see if I could find access to Queen Elizbeth Wildlands, a non-operating provincial park where I could camp.

After a bit too much searching, I settled on a spot hidden beyond a bend in the road and pitched my tent on a mossy rock. I didn't know if I was on park lands or not, but the land wasn't posted No Trespassing, unlike everything else around here, so I figured I'd be okay.

Went to bed early because there were far too many mosquitoes out, and reflected on all the things I had forgotten today: somehow forgot to reapply sunscreen (ouch), forgot to close a pannier after a break and noticed 20 km later (nothing fell out), almost walked out of the restaurant without my battery pack (the waitress reminded me she had plugged it in), and forgot to check the hardware store for a tiny screwdriver.

Fortunately I don't have too many days like this anymore. At my worst, I could be typing a sentence, fingers on the keyboard, and forget what I was writing. It's been improving as the medication has been sorted out.

I'm realizing how hard it is to write a good journal when I'm sleeping outside every night and racing my phone's battery. It's not reading like much of a story, plus I'm forgetting a lot (surprise, surprise).

I think I forgot to write about a camper on the island who told me about going on his honeymoon and meeting his father's old war buddy, then, a true Canadian, apologizing for telling me.

I also forgot to mention my friend Sara, when we were both getting tired, marvelling at my steady pace and blurting out, "You're a tank!" Normally, I'd be insulted to be called a tank, but under the circumstances, it was a great compliment.

War buddies and tanks, not exactly what I had in mind when I left Mississauga, but that's what you get when you go on tour.

Today's ride: 96 km (60 miles)
Total: 343 km (213 miles)

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