Canada ride- Part VII

The Mad Dash to Chicago.

Indiana wasn't as bad as I always thought it was. It's a lot like Iowa, but with more trees. We took a route that took us through several large Amish communities and it was nice to see them again. I have a great deal of respect for the Amish. To be able to keep up a tradition and lifestyle like that despite the changes and advancements around them is unbelievable to me. Over the years they have accepted small parts of new technology into their lives (for safety reasons, mostly) but they're still keeping it old school. And as long as you don't gawk, point, take a picture or tease them, they're the nicest people you'll ever meet. They just don't like to be treated like a tourist attraction (which unfortunately, they almost always are). Every time I passed a buggy I gave them a honk and a wave and the old drivers always give a big smile and a friendly wave back.

We continued on Rte. 30 until we reached Hammond (nasty town, never going there again btw), then got onto 94, then 294, then 55 to get to Bolingbrook. That transition from Indiana to Chicago traffic was the most thrilling riding I had gone through yet. I wasn't used to the traffic on a motorcycle (and this was a Friday night at 9:30, mind you) and I was dodging from lane to lane in tight traffic, rolling on the throttle and it was the biggest adrenaline rush ever. I'm usually not that aggressive on a motorcycle, but I had to be. I had a general idea of where I was going, so I wasn't that worried about losing my dad, who was doing the same. When we finally arrived in Bolingbrook and got to a stoplight, he opened his visor and said "THIS IS WHAT I PUT UP WITH EVERY WEEKEND WHEN YOU WERE LITTLE!!". I could tell he was burned out, but I just replied with a "THAT WAS #&@%ING AWESOME!!!" By the time we got to the hotel, I was still pumped from what I just did. For being a high-traffic situation, it was way more fun than going through Denver, Minneapolis, Des Moines, Topeka, Lincoln or Lansing traffic on the bike.


It was about 10pm and we hadn't had dinner yet, and we were craving a Bolingbrook favorite- PaPa's Pizza. We took a route that took me by my old high school, and came to a stoplight with two bikers on my age next to me on crotch rockets; helmetless and shirtless, wearing just shorts and flipflops. (We tend to refer to these guys as "squids"- Without the right gear, that's all you'll look like once you hit the pavement) I could hear one guy go "wtf bikes are those!?" "wait...that one says Suzuki. idk what the other one is, but they're really effing old. let's race 'em"

Knowing our 500cc and 750cc bikes (with all gear unloaded) couldn't race anything compared to their 1000cc+ engines, I watched them laugh and pull out and ride into construction where one of them almost hit a pothole and had to swerve into oncoming traffic. I had the last laugh on that one :) We laughed about again it over my favorite pizza in the world, then took a ride around my childhood neighborhood, which was awkward on a motorcycle. I drive through it in my car all the time, but on a bike it just seemed better.

The next morning we headed out to a Suzuki dealership in Joliet my dad used to frequent, but got lost for about an hour because they apparently moved in the last five years. We finally found it but as soon as we left, we got stuck in the worst downpour we had encountered yet. Stranded with no rain gear besides my rain pants, we hustled towards Romeoville to get back to Bolingbrook, but my bike started to have those infamous issues again. It was really a challenge this time to keep the bike running, but I had already figured out the process to keep it moving, which involved strange gear changes and lots of revving on the engine. (bad for the bike i know, but I had to get out of there)

Back at the hotel, we thought we would have to hire a U-Haul to take it home, but as soon as it dried up the bike was fine again and we left for home. It took us about 5 hours to get home (usually takes 2.5) because of numerous thunderstorms and construction along I-80.

So that was it. It rained about 75 percent of the time, but I had most of my fun outside of Canada. Canada was too cold and the people weren't exactly friendly, but I really enjoyed my time in Minnesota, Michigan, Indiana and Illinois. For the rest of the summer I didn't touch my bike too much because I was exhausted from the travel, and was super busy taking summer courses and prepping for my transfer from community college to a state University. Next summer? Hopefully short distance travel, which will allow for more time and money to be spent on fixing the Honda and Suzuki. Hopefully more camping trips!

Canada ride- Part VI

So our friend ___ is the president of our motorcycle club and has the largest collection of Suzukis I've ever seen sitting in his basement. I've met and ridden with ___ and his wife before, and they're really fun and nice people. They're about my dad's age and have been involved in the club ever since its inception in the 1970's. After sharing a few drinks, I settled down for the night but couldn't sleep because of the idea that 35 of one of my favorite motorcycles were sitting two floors below me. I knew I would never see a collection quite like this ever again, so I was super excited.

After breakfast, he took us downstairs to show us his epic Suzuki GT collection.

This is what we saw:


I know. I about fell to my knees in awe of this display of vintage Suzuki awesomeness. Now I don't want to spill the beans too much about his stash, but I'll just tell you that he has almost every color, every make and every year on his property. This is where he keeps the best ones, all restored or in original condition (mint, I'm telling you). Some are not GTs, but he is a GT collector and about 9/10ths of his collection is all Suzuki GT. (You can see a few GS models, as well as a Cavalcade and my '73 T500 in there)

In another room, we saw boxes and boxes of NOS GT parts and a few custom GTs, which I unfortunately didn't get any pictures of. We departed in the rain (once again) and headed back towards home. For some reason, it took forever to get through Michigan and into Indiana. Indiana was never my favorite state for some reason (maybe the people? I know a few people from Indiana and never liked 'em).

Continued in Part VII.

Canada ride- Part V

St. Ignace, MI is a beautiful place. Definitely a tourist attraction because of neighboring Mackinac Island (and the historical bridge, of course), but still gorgeous. It's right on lakes Michigan and Huron, and is a really cute little town with lots of bed&breakfasts, bars, ice cream shops and hotels. We stayed at a hotel that was right on the water and it was awesome. I had never stayed anywhere that close to a lake, or slept in a hotel bed that comfortable. We walked up to some restaurant right on the water and had fresh fish from Huron, and I sat out on the beach that night and enjoyed some time alone. The view of the stars was almost as good as what I have out in Iowa, so that was pretty neat too.


The next morning, we went out to Mackinac Island. The ferry tickets are expensive, but worth it seeing that it's really the only way for a tourist to actually get to the island instead of by air.
Mackinac Island is really interesting because those who live/work there don't use motor-driven transportation. The only motors on the island belong to landscaping equipment and emergency vehicles. The cops only use the cop cars when they really need them, and usually patrol on bike or horseback. There's also tons of places to rent bicycles from there- it's the best way to get around town.

(View of the Island from the ferry)

But perhaps the most fascinating part of Mackinac is it's architecture. I'm not an expert on architecture, but it's loaded with classic Victorian and New England-style homes, which is something I'm not used to seeing in the heart of the Midwest.

(Taxi!)

There's also a ton of places to shop/eat/whatever here. Neat bike shops that will make you a custom bike during your stay using old Schwinns and new Schwinns, plenty of fudge and candy shops, museums, etc. Did I mention the architecture was beautiful?

After we had our fill of awesomeness, we crossed the historic Mackinaw Bridge (Watch the ModernMarvels episode on this, it's actually fascinating) and headed towards the Flint, MI area and tried to avoid Detroit traffic. We didn't do a very good job of that and found ourselves dodging through some messy roads and at around 10pm, landed in ___, to hook up with the president of our motorcycle club.

(Continued in Part VI)

Canada ride- Part IV

After riding in a downpour for about an hour and a half, we stopped in Wawa, ON for something warm to eat and some time for our gear to dry out. Wawa wasn't that impressive of a town, (except for their gigantic geese sculptures) but was more of a "town" than White River was. We got back out on the road and it finally stopped raining.

(The Infamous Wawa, ON Goose. Courtesy: Picassa)

We were led into the Lake Superior Provincial Park, and saw some of the most beautiful sights southern Canada had to offer. Half of the route went deep into the forest, and the other half was along the coast of Lake Superior. I love Lake Superior; it had a really inviting waterfront. We stopped at one park to actually enjoy the beach and dip our feet in the water. I also learned about bear-proof garbage cans here...apparently they're American-proof too, I couldn't figure it out at first.

(Catherine Cove, ON)

The rest of the day was rainy and filled with gas stops at really seedy establishments. At around 4, we found our way to Sault Ste. Marie and quickly found the bridge to cross the border (My Dad has been to the oddest places way too often and still knows how to navigate through them). Stopped at the duty-free store to pick up some souvenirs and then left the country over a big old metal bridge that was packed with cars. It took us about 20 minutes to cross it but as soon as we got back onto ground, we were greeted with another longer line of cars waiting to get into the US.

(Welcome to the United States.)

Getting back in to the US was way different from getting into Canada at the Int'l Falls entrance. Here you pull up and they ask you a ton of questions, have someone walk around your vehicle with a dog, record your license plate, ask where you're from, how long you were in Canada, what you brought back, etc. I had some problems getting the gate to raise because I was on a motorcycle and pissed off a few drivers, but I didn't care.

After that, we were itching to just be somewhere, so we made a mad dash straight through the peninsula and made it to St. Ignace in about an hour and 20 minutes. And there, I found one of my favorite vacation spots ever...

Continued in Part V.

Canada ride- Part III

The trek to White River was certainly an interesting one. There was lots of beautiful scenery, despite the gray clouds that hung above us. The roads were in decent shape and were nice and twisty...that is, until we encountered our second bout of Canadian roadwork.

This is where I experienced the worst drivers ever: Canadian truckers.

Now I don't want to downplay truckers in general; if you have a CB radio and listen in on truckers' conversations, they're usually hilarious. If you have one in your car and are in need of some help, they're usually pretty helpful people. But in this case, I had a near-death (well, sort of) experience with the grill of a gigantic Mack semi.

(As mentioned in my previous entries, Canadian DOTs tear up the entire road when they do road work and don't do it one lane at a time like they do in the US. )

Eventually the pleasant ride came to a stand-still on Highway 17, and we were yet again waiting in a line of semis hauling things like wood chips and logs. We sat on our bikes for about 15 minutes before we started crawling again, and after crawling for about a mile or so we ended up on that infamous dirt-gravel mixture, but this time it was wet. Extra wet. Both my CX and Dad's GT struggled through the slosh while still trying to maintain balance and speed, but the trucker behind me in this turquoise Mack with a grill with a "jaws" bra on it was losing his patience.

As I was trying to balance myself going 10 mph uphill, this trucker (I kid you not) is a little over a yard away from me (bumper to bumper). I try to keep calm and quickly take my right hand off the bars and move it out pushed it downward a few times, trying to tell him to slow down. It's not a foul gesture, just an obvious way to say "you really need to slow down, I'm having issues". He then honked his horn at me.

Now.

Semi horns are loud. They're supposed to be loud. They're probably extra loud in Canada to scare bears or moose off the road.

I'm sure you've had a semi honk behind you before. You were probably in an enclosed car and were startled, but probably had an easier time getting out of his way. But you've never been riding out in the open on a motorcycle when a pissed-off trucker LAYS on his horn four feet behind you when you're having a hard enough time just staying upright. This scared the hell out of me and I tried to speed up. I could tell my Dad saw the whole thing, because he was doing the "slow down gesture" as well. Two minutes later, he gets up right behind me again and lays on the horn and then does a "honk-honk-honk-hoooooooonnnnkkkkkk!!" and if I hadn't taken the risk and gave it all the throttle I could in second gear to speed up, I would have been underneath that truck in a split second. Did I pull over to the right? No. I literally had nowhere to go, but into oncoming traffic.

My Dad made the bold decision to swerve over to the other lane, and swerved yet again into that lane's shoulder, and I followed suit. In any other situation, this would be a stupid (and illegal) move. In this situation, it might have saved me my life.

Did I flip him off? Of course I flipped him off. The guy almost ran me over twice and was obviously being an asshole about it, so I gave him a nice bold display of Yankee hand gestures in my bright yellow rain suit on the side of the road.

That my first real episode of road rage.

Then I saw a black bear in the ditch, and hoped the bear would slip into his cab at night. And then I thanked God that the bear wasn't in the ditch while I was pulled over or stopped in a mile-long line of traffic. I decided that was way scarier than getting ran over by a truck, so I felt better about the situation. (But I still hoped the bear would maul my tormentor that night).

About an hour after that, we stopped for gas and met a female rider from Vancouver that was riding her 80's Honda Magna to a business meeting all the way across Canada to Halifax (This is roughly the equivilant of riding from Washington state to Maine), who happened to be staying in White River as well. We offered to have her join us at dinner, but she said she was hitting the sack as soon as she got to town because she was going to be up and at it at 4 or 5 the next morning. She's doing the ride in a week.

White River, Ontario.

White River apparently has a reputation for being the "birthplace" of Winnie the Pooh. It was also quite a remote town until the early 60's- In the late 1800's, it was a rail town and wasn't accessible by car until 1961. (thanks, Wikipedia) About 100 miles outside of White River, you'll start seeing these old wooden signs advertising WtP's origins in White River, and it makes you think it is some major attraction.

When you pull into White River, you'll realize that Canada has been lying to you. Sort of.
Apparently I didn't see all of White River, but what I did see were two hotels, a gas station and a donut shop. We pulled into the Continental Motel and walked into the lobby, where we were greeted by a 50-something woman (wearing a WtP sweater, of course) and her insane collection of Winnie the Pooh collectibles. It was like walking into an episode of Hoarders, but with WTP stuff on shelves. She was very nice, and told us to check out the Winnie the Pooh park located next door. She made it sound like it was an amusement park...

We got to the hotel room (A+ on cleanliness, by the way) and walked over to the attached restaurant for dinner. I had been craving pasta all day, so I was stoked to have some. I ordered a ravioli bowl thinking I was in for a bowl full of overstuffed beef ravioli. What I got was way different: A bowl of the tiniest raviolis possible, with a pea-sized amount of meat in each. The sauce was Ragu with leftover ground beef and lots and lots of celery. Celery? Who puts celery in their pasta?

And did I mention how cold it was up in White River? White River prides itself on being "The coldest spot in Canada" (which, after a little research, was proven to be wrong) and it had to be about 48-50 degrees up there, with rain. The next morning we departed for the border in a downpour, but only after stopping to see the famed "Winnie the Pooh Park".

Let me tell you about this "epic" park. Epic fail, more like it.
The park has a single statue of Pooh up in a tree with his jar of honey. It's old and the colors have faded. There's a podium in front of the statue with a plaque that used to be on it, which has been removed. There's a new-ish playground behind it, but none of the equipment was Pooh themed or even colored- it was all just yellow and blue. There's a sign out front that says "Come to the WtP Festival, held every August" and that was it. That was the park that had been advertised several times 100 miles back. Even as a child, I know I wouldn't have much fun there.

We got back on the road and traveled south towards the border. We were getting tired of Canada and her tricks.

Continued in pt. IV.