Day 4
Lincoln, NH to Woburn, PQ
by way of Montreal, PQ

I got up early as I planned to make Montreal by noon. Bob had a leisurely two-day ride back to DC so he slept in. I lit out only to return for my glasses a moment later (duh!) but then headed north with a mission to get to Montreal before noon. Let me tell you, people drive fast in northern New Hampshire. I averaged 80+ mph and I was just moving with traffic!

To give you an idea of how big Canada really is, right before the Canadian border there is a sign that reads: "45 degrees Latitude - Halfway between the Equator and the North Pole." HALFWAY - wow, I'd have thought I wasn't that far south!

Canadian customs was not at all like last year. He first asked the regular "License Plate Number?" while looking at it in the mirror...then proceeded to quiz me on whether I had any weapons. "Nope" - a simple answer, right? Well he started with the "No Pistols?," then "No Hunting Knives?," and got all the way to "No Brass Knuckles?," before I told him all I had was a Swiss Army knife but that he was welcome to search everything. He didn't and let me go on shortly thereafter (after lecturing me on Canadian speed limit laws.) With the exception of everything being in French, there is not a whole lot of difference between Canadian highways and US highways.

I finally made it to Montreal despite an incredible head wind the whole way (just like last year!) Is it always this bad?!? I poked around the old city and as I was out of BMW oil I decided to stop at the Montreal BMW dealer, MotoInternational.  Well, as good as Westchester was this place was awful! First, they only had a few Beemers in the place, mostly it was given over to selling Harley Davidson bikes and leather accessories. Second, they don't even carry BMW fluids nor was there a BMW wrench there but part time, two days a week! I thought BMW dealers at least had to carry the parts and rudimentary maintenance supplies. All they had was Harley Davidson oil and no matter what anyone says, there is no way that is going in my bike. I finally just left in disgust. BMW would do itself a BIG favor by yanking this particular dealer! Some Harley riders in the parking lot told me about a better dealer in the area, but I didn't have the time so I just bagged it with a mental note to pick up some decent oil at the next auto parts store I saw. And to be quite honest, I was really just on a T-shirt hunt! (no "Screaming Eagle" MotoInternational shirt for me thanks...)

Montreal is a pretty wild city, I ended up near the Old part of town at a Cafe on Rue St. Catherine. I think this was just about the best people watching I have ever had in my life. There was a constant parade of pretty entertaining people. First, Montreal seems to have more angry youth in one place then anywhere else I have been. I am not talking about Surly young kids with Metallica T-Shirts and long hair, I am talking about shaved heads with what is left died purple, clothespins through foreheads, cheeks, lips, ears, etc., and lots and lots of black T-Shirts, torn jeans and combat boots. They are not threatening like many I had come across in the States, mostly they wanted to know if I could spare some change. Of course answering either in English or *really bad* French usually made them simply nod politely and keep walking.

I must have sat for two hours nursing a few coffees while watching the nonstop parade of clean-cut college students, businessmen & women, prostitutes, homeless, and an array of punk rockers, Madonna look-alikes, skin heads and the ever-present growing numbers of Marylyn Manson wannabees. I even saw a guy dressed as a pirate go running down the street waving a sword screaming bloody murder. The police seemed to take it all in stride and didn't bother anyone.

Well, the sun was sinking low and some pretty frightening characters seemed to take an interest in the bike so I decided it was time to head out for the coming to be annual stop in Woburn, PQ for the night.

Back to the slab as far as Sherbrooke, then onto some very nice two-laner passing through farms and deep forests in time to get some very quick riding in. I said it last year and I'll say it again...Canada has the most vivid sunsets of anyplace in the world I have been, and it didn't let me down. This one was far more purple then last year's series and as last year I pulled over, sparked up a nice AF 8-5-8 maduro, and watched it disappear beyond the horizon. I continued on Rt. 112 from Sherbrooke under a full moon - what a fantastic road and an incredibly clear moonlit night. I stopped for dinner at a very local looking place (lots of pickup trucks parked out front) and quickly found not a person in the place spoke English. Once again I resorted to scanning the tables for an interesting dinner and pointing to it for the waitress. I had missed a favorite of last year and as I saw it sitting on a table not 10 feet from me I threw a finger its way and was soon rewarded with my own steaming hot plate of French fries smothered in gravy and topped with chunks of a soft white cheeze. A quick salad and $10CD later I was once again racing my moonshadow through the Canadian countryside on Rt. 161.

Bruce Watson: "The French fries with gravy and white cheese (cheese curd, actually), is a popular local Quebecois dish known as "poutine." Thanks Bruce, it is a Must Have!

I reached Woburn just as the evening chill was really starting to set in, and just as it was last year, the Three Stars Inn was awaiting my arrival. I talked the innkeeper into giving me the same rate as last year (I even had a receipt to show her!) I think she got her revenge because they had finished the bar/music hall and as I unpacked the bike I heard the first strings of "The Gambler," sung entirely in French of course. I dropped in for some ice and saw a room full of guys and gals dressed like cowboys all speaking French - what a sight! The same room as last year was just as clean and big, and after a nice long, hot shower I was lullabied to sleep by the distant crooning of more Kenny Rogers, in French of course :)

I picked the 3 Stars last year because it was so close to the US border (3 miles.) This year I also knew that from that US border crossing to the next city in Maine was like 45 miles, through a very nicely paved but deserted twisty road complete with "Moose Crossing" signs about every 300 yards. The kind of road just begging to be really ridden early on a Sunday morning while everyone else sleeps.

Next Day...

Intro -- Day  1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - Epilogue

All Photos and Text Copyright©1996-9, Ted Verrill
Any use without explicit written permission is expressly forbidden

04/28/03