a strange noise, AAA, bonjour canada!, green acres, cheeky mosquitoes, the glow of karma

September 15, 2022

A strange noise woke me up this morning: my alarm, as it turned out. The free breakfast ended at 9:30 so, on the off chance I’d sleep that late, I set one. They designated it a “light continental breakfast," which I learned meant "light on items with nutritional value or taste."

I had the Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the doorknob but, unsurprisingly, the housekeeper came in while I was packing up.

Experimentally, I loaded my sleeping pad differently today. Instead of the aerodynamic lengthwise position, I placed it across my rack so it wouldn’t cover up my tail light. Increasing my wind resistance like that will probably slow down my Olympic time trial speeds by adding another 0.0001 mph to my average speed, maybe even 0.0002. Probably better than getting hit by a car, though.

I left the room cleaner than I found it and rolled away at 10:45 into a cool 55-degree morning. My route back to the Empire State Trail was different from the one I took getting to the hotel, a straight shot downhill all the way to the lake. With glee in my heart I slipped past a long line of traffic which was being held up by four police cars. At the end of the string I noted the cause: a dump truck had run over a street sign.

At the edge of town I stopped at a Dollar General to buy AAA batteries for my tail light since mine, if not quite dead, are at least on hospice. I’ll be riding through Montreal tomorrow and want to be as visible as possible. I found some on a bottom shelf, covered with a thick layer of sticky dust, and wondered when they would expire. The packaging looked ancient, but oddly, there wasn’t an expiration date anywhere on it. I double checked, then triple checked, because I thought there was a law requiring items like batteries to have an expiration date. I don’t know…. maybe these are so old that they were made before that law was passed.

I even peeled off the sticker in the upper right corner to see if it was underneath, but it wasn't.

It wasn't until much later that I finally realized that the expiration date isn't on the packaging - it's on the battery itself, which makes much more sense. Duh....

When I went to check out, the woman behind the counter startled me by screaming, “Bill!” Since my name isn't "Bill" I was somewhat reassured that she wasn’t yelling at me, but I still tried to look as innocent as possible just in case there's a New York law against looking for expiration dates on batteries, or having your hair sticking up in random areas as a result of wearing a helmet.

She continued in one of those gravelly voices that comes after having smoked unfiltered cigarettes for 175 years, “Bill! This CAN’T be right!! Eight dollars for batteries?!?! I need a price check!!” Bill, a slender, middle-aged man, stood up from a squatting position with one of those gadgets that attach sticker prices to store items. Looking over the top of his glasses, he explained that when gas went up to "$10.00 a gallon” battery prices went up, too. Her response was an expressive combination of shock and disbelief.

I’m starting to get a sense of Plattsburgh now:

nestled near the cigarettes and the cigarette lighters

Back outside there was the usual headwind, today blustering at 10-19 mph, and chilly - cool enough for a windbreaker at least.

Everyone expects Fall in New England to have stunning foliage as the leaves transform into spectacular shades of orange, brown, and amber, but it’s still a bit early. This was the only expression of Autumn I saw on the whole trip.

An interesting rakish list to the Asgard sign. It's parallel to the ground so it makes me think it's intentional, but why?

I stopped to eat a protein bar and to take a few pictures

As you can see, the lake and mountains in the background are distracting from the view of what everyone really wants to see... a poultry farm, with its accompanying smells and sounds.

This is the third "wall of bush" (for lack of a better term) I’ve seen. I don’t know if they’re for ornamental purposes or whether they’re trying to obstruct something (wind?). This is the only region of the country where I've seen them.

I kept hearing a “ticking” sound this morning, and finally found it: my coaxial cable. The splice didn’t hold and it's been bumping against my spokes.

I saw three people on riding lawnmowers this morning, all of whom were bundled up wearing thick jackets, gloves, and stocking caps. It's interesting how, at the beginning of winter, a 55-degree temperature warrants thick, warm clothing, while at the end of winter the same temperature elicits shorts.

Excluding the first half-day of riding and a few hours a couple of days ago, I've had a headwind every single day of this trip. It's not always a heavy wind, but it's always been present. However, there was a brief period today when I turned a corner and for a few precious, glorious moments, I had a strong tailwind. I had almost forgotten what it's like.

Lunch was at a picnic table on the side of a convenience store, out of the wind, where I ate the last of my peanut butter/nutella/banana chip wraps.

Some pictures in town and along the route:

At last!!! The border of Canada!! Riding up to Customs

After crossing the border, there wasn't a "Welcome to Canada" sign, so I took one of the "Welcome to New York" sign instead. The camera was only 10 feet away from me, but it looks much further.

The corn fields here in Canada looks exactly like the corn just across the border in America, as do the houses and roads. Who would've thought?

this looks like a picture I could've taken back in my home state of Iowa

I arrived in Napierville (pop. 4,020) at rush hour and as I was navigating through the traffic I saw a place to eat on the opposite side of the road. Not wanting to cut across the traffic, I took a right, then made a U-turn and came back to the intersection from the side street to wait for a break in the traffic.

Even at rush hour, people coming from both directions practically slammed on their brakes so I could cross the street. I wasn’t quite ready to proceed, but I was holding up traffic so I sprinted across, waving and apologizing so they’d think I was Canadian.

You might find it interesting to know that Canadians are known to apologize so frequently that in 2009 Canada passed The Apology Act. It states that apologies provided by a person do not necessarily constitute an admission of guilt.

Once safely across the street, I stopped at Bar Laitier Mickey for dinner. To be clear, “bar laitier” actually means a “dairy bar,” or “Mickey’s Creamery,” and not a place for alcohol. It looks like I won’t be drinking my dinner this evening.

I’m surprised The Mouse’s corporate lawyers haven’t found out about this place and sent them a “cease and desist” letter about the copyrighted name and logo.

I don’t speak or read French, so I had a little trouble with the menu, but managed to order a chicken avocado burger and a chocolate shake.

looks like some menu items are universal: "bacon," "burger," and "hot dog" among others

I wondered.... if she had switched out my avocado burger for "The Mickey," one of their gourmet burgers, could I then tell people that "Someone slipped me a Mickey at a bar in Canada"?

When it was time to pay, the woman apologized that they don't take Apple pay. I responded with, "Oh, I'm sorry. No problem, I have credit cards." I'm practically Canadian by now. Then, speaking through the small window, she told me that they don’t take credit cards, either. That's okay, I have cash.

Then, with a sinking feeling, I realized that I only have US dollars - I hadn’t yet exchanged any money. I hadn't even thought about it. Would they be able to take USD?

She agreed to take my US money but couldn’t give me an accurate exchange rate, so I ended up spending about $18.00 on a burger and a shake, which I thought was an acceptable charge: The Idiot Tax.

I rode to my campsite against a gusty headwind, but it was now only five minutes away. Domaine des Arpents Verts (aka Green Acres Campsite in English) appeared tidy and well-kept, and I pedaled over the entire site looking for an office, or at least a person I could pay. There was no one.

After ten minutes of wandering around I eventually approached a gentleman of about 70 with a basketball-sized glass of red wine in his hand.

“Can you tell me where the manager is?”

“No English.”

I thought, this is great! I can use Google Translate to really impress this foreigner with my tech savvy. I asked again and the google translator spoke in French, “où est le gérant du camping?” He responded, and it was translated as something unintelligible. I asked again, via the Translator, and he simply repeated his statement, this time more slowly, and much more loudly because, as you know, that always helps. Unfortunately, speaking slower makes the translation more difficult, not less.

Then he asked me if I spoke Spanish. “Hablas espanol?” It seemed odd, this far from Mexico, that someone would know Spanish, but I did happen to speak it. I picked it up when I lived and worked in Texas, so I responded with “Un poquito” (a little).

When he started rattling off rapid fire sentences, I then remembered that, while I’ve had many conversations with people in Spanish, it’s been 20 years, and all of them were about medical issues. I considered asking him "tienes fiebre?" (Do you have a fever?) or "te duele la garganta?" (Is your throat sore?), or even "EMPUJE! EMPUJE! EMPUJE!"(PUSH! PUSH! PUSH!). However, using my keen diagnostic skills, I determined merely by looking at him that (1) he didn't appear febrile, (2) his throat appeared fine, as noted by the volume of wine going down it, and (3) there wasn't a baby emerging from his vagina.

Having just a regular conversation about mundane things like "I forgot to buy deodorant," or "There’s a mosquito on your cheek".... well, my conversational skills aren't so great. So, I pulled out the translator again, this time switching it to Spanish. Unfortunately, the same thing happened: He slowly yelled into it, speaking as if it (or I) was not only deaf, but on the cusp of cognition.

Eventually, we both saw it wasn’t going to work and he held up an index finger, the universal sign for just a minute, then went to his RV. He emerged a moment later with a piece of paper and handed it to me… it was a phone number, the same phone number I called yesterday, then again while I was eating my avocado burger, and the same one I left voicemails on (I also emailed yesterday and got no response).

Still, after he went to all the trouble of trying to communicate, then going inside and writing this number down, I received his gift as if it were a winning lottery ticket and, clutching it tightly in my fist as I held it between us, I smiled, thanked him repeatedly and emphatically (in Spanish), then pedaled off to look around some more.

I next came across 5-6 seniors standing on the gravel road chatting with each other. All of them were at least 70 or older, and only one of them spoke some English, broken at best. We went through the same routine, but this time google translator worked okay, if not great. Even better, one of them left to get someone nearby who could speak English.

At this point in the narrative you should be aware that there were mosquitoes EVERYWHERE in this section of the park. While we were waiting, I watched with some anxiety as two mosquitoes landed on the face of one of the women. How do you tell a complete stranger that she has two mosquitoes on her? Especially if you don’t speak the language? Should I swat them? "Witnesses say you slapped this elderly woman, and she now has blood on her face." I'd try to defend myself in court, but since I don't speak the language I'd be condemned to Chateau d'If. Or, since this is Canada, maybe a simple apology would work?

Perhaps I could just wave my hand in front of her to shoo them away. But again, could that be construed as threatening? What are the rules about personal space here? With these thoughts swirling through my head I stared wide-eyed and paralyzed, squeezing my handlebars until my knuckles were white and... did nothing.

With the soft glow of karma in the air, I was so captivated that I didn't notice until a few minutes later that they were also biting me. Had she been wondering the same thing about me?

The English-speaking French Canadian came out and asked me the Usual Questions. His translation of my answers elicited “Oooohs” and “Ahhhhs” from the onlookers. I then told him of the 82-year-old couple I met on the Southern Tier and one person responded with "I couldn't ride my bike around the block." Heads nodded in agreement all around. "Oui, oui."

He gave me a phone number, and I noted it was the same one given to me by the other gentleman. I called it again and, again, got no answer. Then he pulled out his phone, called the same number, and someone immediately answered. (The manager whose number it was later told me she didn’t answer because she didn’t recognize the number and thought I was a spammer)

He gave me directions to her house, which were comical because there wasn’t a single recognizable landmark. “Go to where the outbuilding used to be, then take a left.” Having just arrived, I wasn't exactly sure where the outbuilding "used to be." Regardless, I thanked everyone and meandered back in the direction from which I came. The manager would be looking for me, and I figured that was good enough.

I met her near the entrance, a woman in her thirties who spoke excellent English, and was informed that the campground charges $20.00 to pitch a tent (she took American dollars), which came with a bathroom and showers. There were vending machines, but they required Canadian money, which I still didn’t have (nor did they take credit cards or Apple Pay).

Once at my campsite, I applied a generous amount of insect repellant to my mosquito bites and the rest of my body, then began setting up my tent.

I’ve become quite adroit at unzipping my tent door just long enough to throw something inside, then quickly closing it again while I retrieve the next item. I perform this task so fast that I'm convinced the zipper on my fire-resistant tent is someday going to burst into flames. Fortunately, it hasn't yet.

Even so, I found two mosquitoes buzzing around inside. I quickly dispatched them, hoping one of them was the culprit I’d seen dining earlier. Although I'm not a violent person at all, it really was quite gratifying, and I might have whispered the words "DIE M*****F*****S!!"

As I was writing in my journal, I realized that while I sometimes describe what I see, I rarely mention the smells, which are a significant part of any trip. This tour prevailed in a lot of earthy smells like pine and forest mustiness. There were occasionally other smells as well. These were very brief, lasting just a few seconds, and were so large in number I'm unable to list more than just a few. Some of the ones that stick out in my mind are: fried chicken (multiple times), grease, a periodic dead fish (especially along the towpath), marijuana (twice, in two different cities), fresh tar, roadkill, and sunscreen. In the future, I should include smells in my descriptions.

I journaled, talked with Heather, and read my novel as I sipped some liqueur from a flask I brought. What a pleasant evening, my last one in a tent for this trip.

Heart

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distance: 46.5 miles
elevation: 908 feet
total time: 6:52:42
moving time: 4:13:23
average moving speed: 11.0 mph
calories: 2257

Today's ride: 47 miles (76 km)
Total: 597 miles (961 km)

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Jeff LeeGreat write-up!

However, you have eliminated my already-faint desire to do bicycle touring in the French-speaking part of Canada.

I just couldn't handle the language barrier.
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1 year ago

Mark BinghamTo Jeff LeeI don't think it would be an issue for you. I suspect all of the people in the service industries (motels, cafes, AirBnBs) will speak English, even in small towns (for example, the lady at Mickey's Creamery spoke perfect English, as did the RV Park manager). Without that ability, I don't think they could survive because of the number of English-speaking tourists. The place I camped at wasn't really designed for travelers - everyone there was a resident, and they just happened to have a campsite.
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1 year ago