Oh, Labrador!

“Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the ranges – Something lost behind the ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go!”

“Never allow God or man to go north of 53°.”

- Rudyard Kipling (as quoted in ‘Great Heart&#8217

In the abstract, I can understand the appeal of an all-inclusive resort on some sunny beach, with a cool ocean breeze, and nothing to trouble the mind but whether to go for seconds at the buffet. But when it comes to deciding what I actually do with a chunk of free time, my mind goes in a different direction.

This time, it went north and east, to Labrador. Three weeks, alone, on my 2005 R1200GS.

Here is my story of this little adventure. I hope it entertains you. As in a past ride report, I did something a little different, asking people I met along the way the same two questions and recording their answers - a tool to help get me out of my own head, and to add a different dimension to the experience.

Question 1: "Tell me about something that concerns you."

Question 2: "Tell me about something that brings you joy."

Your faithful scribe



His bike, packed and ready to go



His lovely wife and her canine companion, just before saying goodbye




Day 1 – Friday, June 19, 2009 – Minneapolis, Minnesota to Naubinway, Michigan

I roll the bike out of the driveway, on to the familiar street, at the beginning on a long journey. Preparations complete, everything packed away, the day-to-day worries and burdens dropping away. I was grinning, of course, under my helmet. I had a good sense of my route the first day or two, but after that it faded. The days beyond were marked only by two ferries I needed to catch much further down the line.

I don’t use GPS, and while I carry a compass, I didn't bring any maps. I had faith in following a general direction, and relying on the occasional, surreptitious scanning of an unpurchased map at a fueling stop. I was well within my comfort zone.

That first day was mostly about distance. A brief stop at Franconia Sculpture Park, a nearby site I’ve often driven by, but never taken the time to visit. This time I did, spontaneously, and met Ali Della Bitta (click link for interview), an artist installing a piece at the Park. When we met she was sweating under a warm sun, shoveling and raking piles of dirt. She graciously took time out to help me break in my interview questions. Afterwards she describes the 'sculpture' as it will be - grassy berms with jutting dark marble slabs for seating, overlooking a stage and all amid a grove of stately trees. For now, it was an open grassy field with dirt piles and a rough wooden platform. She smiled wistfully – “You have to picture it in 30 years.”

After that it was back on the bike for 450 miles across Wisconsin on US-8, and then along US-2, well into Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. I set up my tent at a Hog Island State Forest campground, next to Lake Michigan. The mosquitoes were out in force, so I turned in early. A loud chorus of hundreds of birds that covered a nearby island sang me to sleep.

Franconia Sculpture Park





Ali Della Bitta and her two dogs



Wisconsin Scenery



Holiday Bowl (Michigan)



Day 2 – Saturday, June 20 – Naubinway, Michigan to Algonquin Prov Park, Ontario

Storms and lightening moved through in the night. At one point I wake up after a loud clap of thunder and wonder if I’ll feel my hair stand up on end before I get struck. The storms have passed on by morning. The air is still and there is a fog to ride through to breakfast at Big Boy in St. Ignace. Then it’s up I-75 and into Ontario.

The young border guard asks me the standard questions, and I’m grinning like an idiot as I answer. “So, how long will you be traveling in Canada?” “I don’t know, exactly!” The border guard’s eyes narrow. “Um, a couple of weeks?” She let’s me in despite my answers, and I cruise through Sault Ste Marie, following the signs that take me to the Trans-Canada Highway – east.

A couple of hundred miles further down the highway, and I find myself passing a unicyclist. I pull over to take a picture, and Philip drops down for a chat. Just graduated from high school, he’s decided to spend his early summer before college unicycling across Canada. He’s doing it to raise awareness of a vicious war in Uganda. (See Philip's website here.) I interview him and afterwards we chat about his plans to study engineering. “A person like you could do a lot of good in the world as an engineer,” I say. “That’s my plan,” he replies with a warm smile.

That evening I’m staying at a fantastic hostel outside of Algonquin Provincial Park, the Wolf’s Den. I sit down for dinner with five European university students, studying English for several weeks in Toronto. They’re chatting about boyfriends and girlfriends, and where they’ll travel next. I tell them about Philip. One of the women scrunches up her nose, “I wouldn’t spend my summer doing that!”

Misty morning



Mmm, breakfast. I generally avoid chains, but I gave Big Boy a pass.



The locks at Sault Ste Marie



Roadside scenery along the Trans-Canada Highway



Philip Schleihauf



Wolf's Den Hostel





Day 3 – Sunday, June 21 – Algonquin Prov Park, Ontario to Montreal, Quebec

Highway 60 passes through the lower quarter of Algonquin, a park primarily for canoeists and wilderness backpackers. I take my time and see plenty of other bikers before I turn off a dirt road that leads me several miles south to a hiking trail that takes me on a four-mile loop up a hill with a great view.

Then it’s back on the bike and out the east side of the park where I stop at a chip shop in Barry’s Bay and meet Gordon, on vacation from Elgin, Scotland with his wife and son. He was enthused about my bike and had a warm and comfortable manner.

The afternoon heated up and I enjoyed the cool rain as I rode through an early summer thunderstorm on my way, first to Ottawa, and then on to Montreal.

A concert was taking place in the central square of Old Montreal that evening, and as I wandered around on foot after checking into a hostel I was struck by the people. I won’t say that everyone in Montreal is beautiful, but there are a lot of them, and they make for great eye candy while enjoying a beer and dinner beside a cobblestoned street filled was strolling pedestrians.

Back at the hostel, and as I head to bed I meet my bunkmate. A native of the city, Christopher is staying the hostel after breaking up with his girlfriend and moving out of her apartment. “But it’s a good thing,” he says, shaking his head. “She’s crazy.” I mention being an American as my excuse for having so little French. He waves his hand dismissively and says there are many Montreal natives who speak only English. “There is a lot of racism with the English. They hate us French. We have too much soul. It’s like for you in America with the blacks. You hate them because they have too much soul.”

Roadside turtle in Algonquin Provincial Park



Video of view from Booth's Rock trail in Algonquin

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Lunch at the chip shop. You bet, I'll have gravy on those chips!



Gordon, from Elgin, Scotland



Evening views of fountain in Montreal





Old Montreal architecture



Dinner!



Day 4 &#8211; Monday, June 22 &#8211; Montreal to Parc du Mont Orford, Quebec

I check out of the hostel, but I&#8217;m not quite ready to leave Montreal. So, I walk around the old city in the early morning and then ride into the newer parts of the city, and take a road up into Parc du Mont Royal, overlooking the city. I air out my still wet tent in the breeze, and then repack and motor down to the Eastern Townships, a collection of rural towns popular with day-trippers from the city.

I take a stroll around Sutton, one of the picturesque little towns, where I buy a pate compagne sandwich and some locally made chocolate. I dip down and ride through the northern tier of Vermont, eat my lunch at a roadside park, and then veer back up into Canada and into the town of Magog, before heading over to Parc du Mont Orford to set up camp for the night.

It&#8217;s not as easy to strike up a conversation in Quebec. While most people I speak to can converse at least tersely in English, there is an understandable reluctance. Similarly, while the signs in Ontario were almost all dual-language &#8211; in Quebec only the most vital signs are translated into English. The natural reaction of a culture surrounded on all sides, I suppose. But I continue to enjoy myself, and I find that a smile and a few French phrases go a long way to generating sufficient good will among the people I encounter.

Bunk room in the Alternative Hostel in Old Montreal



The dorms are co-ed, so don't go there if that gets your undies in a bunch.



Morning in Old Montreal



The hostel's breakfast bar - oh so European



Rebuilding a cobblestone street



Pastoral scenes (w/motorcycle) in Eastern Townships







Bar signage in Vermont

Nice work! Enjoying the piccies and narrative

I'll wait for some more

Cheers
Allan

All I'm going to say is: fuck you



…not even a "boy I'm glad you made it back safely"(because I knew you would) or "hey, you got some great photos"(because I knew you would)...


[FONT=&quot]I expect the ride report to be completed by the end of the day...no more sleep...or wife...or kid...or work...it's time to prioritize
[/FONT]

Oh yes! take us to Labrador please

Neat! Looks like a fun trip so far.

Selkins, great report so far... looking froward to following along as I was just in Labrador (left June 25th). We will see maybe how close we came (if at all)

Pat in NH

Selkins,

I really enjoyed your mini-interviews with random people, brilliant!!!!

....glad you enjoyed your stay at the Wolf's Den next to Algonquin Park, there's certainly something magical about the place!

Thanks for the kind comments so far, folks


Day 5 – Tuesday, June 23 – Parc du Mont Orford to Quebec City, Quebec

It had been a cloudy day, but I left the rainfly off the tent overnight anyway, and was rewarded when I woke up in the night and saw stars overhead. I get up early, pack up and work my way up to Quebec City. Like Old Montreal, it has an historic core, with winding streets, old buildings, great views, but this one is also surrounded by its old, fortified wall. My ‘Lonely Planet’ guide briefly states “Motorcycles are not allowed within the old city walls,” but they lie, though I’m guessing loud pipes might bring down the wrath.

It’s the day before Quebec’s national holiday, and as the evening comes on the tourists in the streets become heavily outnumbered by young people of all sorts. They’re decked out in blue and white, sporting Quebec flag face paint, capes, temporary tattoos, and one guy with full body paint. It’s reminiscent of the pre-game festivities for a big college football game, with lots of hooting and hollering and chanting. Cops wander around in packs, some sporting Quebec flags of their own. Traffic is heaviest around shops selling alcohol and as night comes on the crowd gets louder and rowdier.

Down by the water it’s still quiet. A harpist plays for tips while, a discrete distance away, his dog quietly bays for him next to the fence he’s tied to. In an open park above, amid the revelers, a man with a ragged beard picks bottles and cans from the overflowing trash bin and patiently drains the dregs on the ground before sorting them in bags – this is a goldmine for him.

My room is cheap and clean, on the edge of the walled city, just a couple of blocks from the center of the celebration; and as I go to sleep the volume of the crowd is only increasing.

Views of Quebec City













Great place for lunch



And the yummy apple/goat cheese sandwich



A small room, but inside the city walls and just $60 Canadian




Day 6 – Wednesday, June 24 – Quebec City to Tadoussac, Quebec

I wake up to morning sun and the sound of drunken singing under my window. Three young men are weaving their way down the road amidst broken bottles. Across the street an older man calmly sweeps the patch of walk and street in front of his house, stopping to chat with the neighbors. The remnant few from last night’s party are spread out on the shady grass under the city walls. Asleep or nursing hangovers, they sprawl out among cans, empty 12-pack cartons and cigarette butts. Meanwhile, tourists are swarming back to reclaim the city for their own, while street sweepers clear their path.

I get my bike out of a parking garage and take off up the north side of St. Lawrence Bay, stopping for lunch and a town parade in the art-town of Baie St. Paul, and then head on toward Tadoussac. The views are tremendous, as are the crowds of motorcyclists spending their holiday tooling around in the bright sun on winding roads.

Tadoussac is reached by a short ferry ride over the wide mouth of the Saguenay River. After crossing over I pull up Maison Marjorique – a cross between hippy-heaven and beach-bum-paradise. Cheap tent platforms are tucked among trees on a hill behind the hostel, while down at the main building people gather for a round of horseshoes, stilt-walking, and drinks from the bar. Meals are communal, with everyone pitching in to prepare, serve, and clean up. It reminds me of how hostels used to be, before the institutional ones started trying to act like cheap hotels.

I meet Philip Francois, a classically trained musician who tunes pianos by day to make ends meet. He’s travelling with his teenage son, and what they had meant to be a two-day visit in Tadoussac has stretched into nearly two weeks – though they’ll have to leave soon, “He’s missing his mother,” Philip whispers to me about his son. He makes a one-sided trade with me – I interview him, and he gives a homemade CD of his music. I don’t get listen to it until I get home, but it sounds great – jazzy and sincere.

The dregs of the previous night's party



Sentiment runs high in Quebec



A view of Baie St Paul



Quebec Holiday Parade in Baie St Paul





Lots of art galleries in town



Philip Francois and his son



Scenes from Maison Marjorique in Tadoussac







The evening's entertainment at the hostel - lots of townies came to the bar at night




Day 7 – Thursday, June 25 – Tadoussac to Baie Comeau, Quebec

I’m typically a late sleeper and a lazy riser; but it’s just a few days past the solstice, and the sun is coming up so early I’m finding myself up and about by 6:30am most mornings. I’ve got plenty of time to pack up my site and load up the bike before my 9am whale watching trip. A kind woman at the hostel clued me in on the tour operator with the smallest, most nimble zodiacs.

The pilot is a burly, good-natured guy, and he tells us that we’re at a disadvantage in the fog, but that on a calm morning like this a whale’s exhalation can be heard from a mile away. Sure enough, after checking some likely spots we eventually hear one, and after some darting back and forth and more listening, we’re soon following the path of a minke whale, as it moves through the water, rising up to give us a glance every couple of minutes, sometimes within just a few feet of the zodiac. A woman on the boat giggles constantly from pure delight, while others gasp and smile broadly each time the whale comes up. Even the pilot, who has been watching these whales for years, is still moved by the experience. I recommend it.

The ride up to Baie Comeau is three or four hours, over which the landscape changes dramatically, from high hills and dense spruce forests, to long flats and bogs. I see bare red fields with drainage ditches and tractors with what look like big vacuum attachments and large plastic bins. Peat farms?

Baie Comeau is largely a wasteland of strip development; but down close to the ferry there is a small patch of walkable development with the historic Grand Hotel. It’s like my icon of a place to stay. Comfortable rooms on a second floor with rich wood paneling, while below there is a busy bar with friendly folks and a wide range of local beers on tap. I let the waitress pick a different beer for me each time mine runs dry, as I while away the evening listening to the three piece band with a stand-up bass. It’s a small town, and most everyone in the bar is of a similar age, so they probably all know one another. It’s fun to watch as a group enters, disperse among the crowd, and blend in with the other groups, as they in turn shift and move among one another.

Tomorrow I head north, to Labrador. Rain is in the forecast.

Foggy morning out on the water



The whale watchers



Anchored lighthouse - this place is apparently for sale for $1 Canadian for those who really want to get away



Boat house view outside Tadoussac



Gardening...with a view

Hey, Pat! Looks like y'all were maybe just a couple of days behind me following the same route. I hope y'all had as much fun as I did - your report is looking good

Great stuff, keep it coming.

You bet it is! I'm looking forward to taking my wife to stay there and do some cross-country skiing in the park.

I won't be bullied by you, DarkRider! I won't!

Greatly enjoyed the adventure we had... You had more insight into the local scene and people than we did after leaving Trois Riviere.. Its what I regret most about haveing a time limit..

Pat in NH

Day 8 &#8211; Friday, June 24 &#8211; Baie Comeau, Quebec to Labrador City, Labrador

No morning sun today, though I&#8217;m still up early. The clouds are low and very dark. Sure enough, the rain begins all of two or three minutes into my ride and continuous, with few breaks, the entire day.

From Baie Comeau it is, in one respect, very simple to get reach Labrador City. You take the only route heading north, and...well&#8230;you follow it. There are no turnoffs, intersecting roads, or other distractions, just Hwy 389 for roughly 375 miles. The first third of the journey is paved. The remaining two-thirds are not, with the exception of about 60 miles in the middle.

That first third is a splendid riding road. The pavement is a bit rough in spots, but it twists and turns, going up and around forested hills and down into valleys with picturesque lakes and rivers. On this day, however, it&#8217;s mostly about rain. Even with my amber lenses on, the day is dark, and not knowing the road, I take it slow and easy.

The end of the pavement comes at Manic-5. An impressive dam by any measure, the road swings up to a ridge overlooking the dam from the west, and then dives down along the base and climbs up the east side ridge before depositing you at the base of the reservoir. The reservoir itself, like the five dams sequenced up from Baie Comeau, is named for the river &#8211; Manicouagan. From satellite images it&#8217;s remarkable &#8211; a ring-shaped lake, surrounding a large island. The unique form is the result of an ancient meteor impact crater. From the surface it&#8217;s not so impressive, as you only gain glimpses of the reservoir from Hwy 389.

In retrospect, this was my single crisis-moment of the trip. It&#8217;s once you reach the top of Manic-5 that the pavement disappears, and you begin descending a long slope into a low point before rising again. The rain was pouring on me, and I was cautious descending the slope, willing my reflexes to retune to the mix of gravel and muddy sediment. The mud, of course, collected at the bottom of the slope, and in my anxiety I let off on the throttle. As the weight shifted forward my rear tire started fishtailing. I slowed further and I felt anxiety take hold until I finally brought the bike to a gradual, shaky stop.

&#8220;What&#8230;am&#8230;I&#8230;doing?!?&#8221; So I thought to myself. No sign of the rain letting up, and 250 miles of this to go yet that day. And after that, another 530 miles of similar surface until I regained pavement after crossing over to Newfoundland. &#8220;I could turn around&#8230;&#8221; Go back to Baie Comeau, take the ferry over the St. Laurence and ride the Gaspe Peninsula. Just a different type of trip.

I thought about this for a moment. Got off my bike and dropped about 10psi out of both tires. Got back on, and rode north.

It was a slippery, nasty mess a good part of the way, and the final 75 miles is filled with sharp turns and grade crossings. But I regained my confidence - watching my line, keeping my eyes up, powering through the slippery bits. Soon enough I was cruising through the rain at 40 mph.

Even with the focus on the road, there is no avoiding the changes in the landscape. Between Manic-5 and Labrador City you move from boreal forest with tall spruce trees over hills and mountains to the taiga shield with its patchwork of meadows, lakes and stunted spruce bogs. This is where the average annual temperature drops below freezing. At one point, back in January, I took a peek at the temperature in Labrador City one cold, Minnesota morning. It was -60 degrees Fahrenheit.

I rolled into Labrador City after eleven hours of riding, exhausted and gratified.

Geared up - ready for the rain



Heading out at the beginning of Hwy 389 in Baie Comeau



A great riding road





The only motel (and one of just two gas stops) between Baie Comeau and Lab City - just south of Manic 5



Satellite view of the Manicouagan Reservoir



Let the gravel begin!



Great surroundings









Happy to be in Labrador





Day 9 &#8211; Saturday, June 25 &#8211; Labrador City to Goose Bay, Labrador

I woke up, well rested but skeptical about how the day would go. The clouds remained low, and the rain continued to fall outside the motel window. A man approached me as I packed up the bike, &#8220;Heading east or south?&#8221;

&#8220;East,&#8221; I said.

&#8220;Came from Goose Bay yesterday myself. Beautiful and sunny, but a bit dusty on the road.&#8221;

&#8220;Sounds good to me. Any idea of the forecast?&#8221;

&#8220;Ah, b&#8217;y, s&#8217;posed to rain today, and cold!&#8221;

Damn, I felt that coming.

Labrador City sits on the western edge of Labrador. From there it is another 330 miles to the terminus of Hwy 500, the Trans-Labrador Highway. The road is unpaved (of course), and in the entire length there is only one developed stop &#8211; Churchill Falls, about 150 miles east of Lab City. Other than that there is nothing but a scattering of hunting cabins.

Not knowing if this road would be better or worse than the one I came in on, I thought I&#8217;d just aim to make it to Churchill Falls that day, and get up early Sunday to catch the twice-per-week ferry that would depart the road&#8217;s terminus in Goose Bay late that afternoon.

As it happens, the weather gods smiled down on me. Thirty miles into the ride, the rain stopped. Making it to Churchill Fall in under four hours, I quickly filled my tank and rode on. The sky continued to lighten, and by mid-afternoon the sun was shining down on me. The road was straight and well-compacted except for some bits where graders had recently gone through.

The route was interrupted a few times by road work crews, typically with a flag person halting traffic till the route was cleared. Typically there was an advance sign warning of the flag waver. Approaching one of these signs just before a curve, I noticed a large, black dog standing next to it. &#8220;Aw, that&#8217;s nice, the flag-waver brought their dog along for the day!&#8221; As I approached closer I thought, &#8220;Wow, big dog.&#8221; It wasn&#8217;t until I was practically on top of it that the &#8216;dog&#8217; raised its muzzle in surprise and ran off into the woods like the sensible black bear it was.

Another thing to note about the Trans-Labrador Highway: This is not a part of the world that caters to tourists. There are no campgrounds. The motels are strictly functional, catering to people in town on business associated with the mines and hydro facilities that are the sole purpose of the towns. Besides the occasional hunter and hard-core angler, no one comes here for recreation. If you want to see the sights, you&#8217;ll have to hunt them out for yourself.

Case in point - I made great time the rest of the route, so about 20 miles outside of Goose Bay, when I saw the small, discrete sign saying &#8220;Muskrat Falls&#8221; and a two-track dirt path leading off to the right, I figured I had time to check it out. Following the sandy track for a few miles, it petered out at an open grassy/sandy spot where I parked the bike. There was a small hand-painted sign &#8211; an arrow pointing one way said &#8216;view&#8217;, lying on the ground, another panel and arrow with the word &#8216;falls&#8217;. Going first to the &#8216;view&#8217; I walked a short distance and my eyes grew wide. I was standing 100&#8217; over the edge of a wide expanse of water. A large ice sheet filled up the near left side, while out in the open water, dozens of small ice chunks of decent size floating about. I took a few pictures and walked the other way, and found what could only be the path toward the &#8216;falls&#8217;. A mile or so of scrambling down a vague muddy track with downed trees over it, and I start hearing the rumble. The track peters out at the edge of what is probably a 300-yard wide falls. Water of plunging down from a large open lake, over a 30' high ledge, and into the bay I had seen earlier. It would have been difficult to hold a conversation.

In a national park this would have been a developed site, well-signed with a paved road and a large car park. A stone terrace, maybe a gift shop, and scores or hundreds of shutter-snapping parents getting the kids to smile for the camera. This was a different place.

Back to the bike, and I roll into town. There is a circus that night, with camels, an elephant and zebra, performing dogs, and even a circus cat &#8211; all of them entertaining passerby outside the building where the performance was about to start.

But I was tired, and ready to call it a night, content to celebrate with a six-pack and a freeze-dried dinner.

...

In retrospect, I wish I had spent an extra day between these last two. I would have spent it in Churchill Falls, or Labrador City. Walk around, get the measure of the town, talk to some folks. But this is the trip I took, and excepting that one, small regret, I wouldn't have changed a thing.

The road straightens out





Friendly sign waver



The Tourances did just fine on this stuff



I stop to take a little video

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The 'view' near Muskrat Falls



Muskrat Falls





The end of the gravel...for now.



Circus Dogs



The evening's reward

Selkins, on your day 8, we were roughly one day back... you left Baie Comeau Friday morning, we arrived Friday evening..

Your day 9, we fell further behind... like back to 2 days. You made the full run to Goose Bay... We made it to Ferman, but then took 2 days to get to Goose Bay...

Nice comparing notes though.. and we were so close...

Pat in NH

Yup, it's all about hitting the Sunday or Tuesday ferry

I had two groups of riders with me on the boat. One group were these two brothers that arrived in Goose Bay the prior Wednesday. I told them they must have gotten to know the town pretty well. They rolled their eyes a bit and said 'oh, yeah.' They hadn't checked the ferry schedule, and assumed it ran daily

The other group should have been a group of 3, from somewhere west... Frank I think was the name of one of them.. they got new tires in Manchester NH on Monday... and then were heading the same route for the Sunday Ferry...

Pat in NH

Seems to be great there! Wilderness everywhere and the streets are getting better and better

Great pics! Keep them coming!

Greetings from Austria
Karin