Day 2 - Yahoo. Still full of piss and vinegar.
Weather looks a bit iffy - lots of rain in the prairies and Thunder Bay was going to get wet. I’m ready for it but since I’m not wearing the Klim jacket, put the Olympia rain jacket as the top item in my top case.
Talk briefly to Dean (the Slingshot owner) and Russell (Spyder Owner). They are retired and living in Alabama and are doing a round the lake trip and today they are planning to hit Thunder Bay. Dean gets a lot of attention from the Slingshot. People want to know more about the “bat mobile”. In his southern drawl, Dean delights in sharing how fast it is and all the neat features. It’s got a steering wheel which makes it more of a car than bike. The Spyder has handle bars and you actually sit higher off the ground. The Slingshot is closer to a three wheeled go cart.
The ride is spectacular and the tens of bike groups that pass by prove that the area as established a well deserved reputation with riders. Lots of curves, mountains, lake vistas. The area is rugged and beautiful. Pictures don’t do it justice. There are as many US riders as Canadian and a good mix of retirees and young bucks. Lots of two up husband/wife combinations. I suspect this is more indicative of US motorcycling than Canadian, expect up here, bikes are on the road for just 4 months of the year.
Lunch is at the first fuel stop in White River and as I pull in, who do I see - the three trikes. They left an hour before me (I must get better at setting the bike up in the morning). Russell asks - what are the traffic rules here? The signs say 90, and we are following the law, but the truckers are pushing us to drive 110. I respond with the 15km rule and the regular advice - drive the same speed as the truckers since they can’t afford to get tickets but need to get there as fast as possible.
I am reminded of speed as well since my preference is to have zero vehicles in front of me, to maximize enjoyment of the view. That also means driving slower to safely enjoy the views. The bike passes traffic smartly and the roads have passing lanes so the silly fast moments are few, but every hour, there is an OPP officer, lights flashing, handing out a citation. They are like sharks in a school of fish. They can eat constantly but the population is so large, few get hit.
There is zero cell coverage in White River and near the end of my meal I ask two girls who seem to be on Facebook, what carrier they use, and they reply “wifi”. Silly me, I get an email off to Julie and back on the road.
It starts to get over cast and cooler closer to Thunder Bay. The cold front was promised but only delivered the occasional potter/patter that didn’t warrant covering up my iPhone. But, I’m getting cold so a quick stop in Schreiber to hydrate, coffee and SNUS to get alert again and put on a shirt to warm up. I meet Pastor Bill and we chat about motorcycle touring, and enjoying the gifts of life. He wishes he could ride a bike but never got over the fear. His conversation certainly leaves a positive impression of northern community, something we see most places we travel to.
Wouldn’t you know it, 20 minutes in and I can see a weather front in the distance … and behind it brings clear sky. That doesn’t look right, but at least there is no rain with the front. Get into the sunny area and lo and behold, it’s hot. Seems the warm front pushed out the cold front and now I’m riding with way too much clothing in temps that are climbing from 19/22 to 29/32. Not wanting to slow down average time, I continued to cook a bit until a scenic overlook and thirst create the incentive to stop, change, swig and pic. Funny how an empty place can fill up with cars, just as one starts to take a leak.
Thunder Bay has no hotel rooms - some fair is opening up tomorrow and there are sporting events - it’s high tourist season. After the second rejection, I look across the street and what’s parked there? - three trikes and one of them is a Slingshot. I cross the road and Dean recognizes me immediately and calls out to join them. They too have not found rooms and are madly researching options. I call Julie to let her know the situation (and say hello). She’s off having girl fun and offers some suggestions. We finally get rooms in a motel in Kakabeka Falls, but I’m out of gas. The give me the address and we’ll meet at the motel. Apparently “the restaurant” closes at 8PM so we need to hustle to get dinner.
The motel is a small old fashioned motel. A place to stay with air conditioning and outdated everything else. The proprietor lady seems nice, but I sleep in my cotton sleeping bag. The restaurant is called The Eddy and the food is amazing. I join the Trike gang for dinner just before the doors are locked at 8PM. We have the usual conversations but it’s hard for me to understand their accents. It’s interesting how people define themselves and the words they choose to used over a dinner with strangers. I truly enjoy dinner, the food and conversations. That’s what makes motorcycle travel so different. How else could a group of Alabama retirees invite a Toronto BMW rider to dinner?
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