See the city by bicycle

   It was nice to sleep in the saunter down to the hostel breakfast at a civilized hour..  Cereal, fruit, toast, juice and coffee fortified my engine for my ride through the city.  The city museum situated in this huge modern building was a history of Montreal dating back to prehistoric times up to the present.  The building was built on top of the first permanent settlement exposed in the basement.  This settlement included a seventeenth century underground sewer system.  For three hours I traversed the entire building absorbing a very comprehensive display of Montreal, past and present.  For the next two days, I meandered around town checking out the neighborhoods both old an new and the waterfront.  A decent town particularly the bike path system throughout the city.  Thousands of bikes were everywhere including  traffic lights at eye level for us.  I have heard Quebec City is nicer but Montreal is a decent city worth seeing.  My last day I met a woman, Suzanne, in my age range, who buddied up with me for dinner and a stroll through the city.  This included taking in a huge music festival with thousands of people gathered in the closed off streets,  listening to the various musical groups displayed on stage and on huge displace screens. Finishing off the night with an ice cream, Suzanne and I headed back where we  bid farewell.  The next morning, early, I found my way to the bus station where I partially disassembled my bike, picked it in a bike box, boarded a Greyhound bus and headed for home. Thirteen hours from one town after another, “The Local” in short. Ellen picked up at the train station in New London. 511 miles, too many hills to count, five nights with Warmshowers hosts, five nights camping, one Airbnb, one hostel and three nights at New Hampton.  No breakdowns but the hills wore me down.  Next trip I need to lose about ten pounds and put on smaller tires for less drag. Where next? Vietnam?

A better, rails to trails to Montreal

     Up at the crack of dawn, pack up and was on the road by 7:15, probably one of the earliest starts I ever had. Perhaps, I was determined to make it to Montreal to make up for yesterday’s ride of total frustration and outright contempt for God himself.  Nines miles of flat terrain brought me to Granby where I found a McDonald’s by a picturesque lake surrounded by a somewhat upscale community.  Topped off, I climbed aboard and head west on 112 to Montreal. A mile down the road I spotted what appeared to be a bike trail. In fact, it was, the god’s owed me big time.  For the next sixty-two miles, with the exception of a few poorly marked areas, the going was effortless. Road signs in Quebec have a tendency to disappear at critical junctures in the route.  Alas, after about three pits to water up and fuel the tank, I arrived at the river separating me from Montreal.  With no clear directions, I meandered around until a local bicyclist lead me to the bike path taking me up and over the two huge bridges into Montreal. Just like the main automobile road, the bike path had two lines and with it, being rush hour, the path was a virtual highway of bikes and pedestrians.  A biker’s rush hour, a new concept in urban cycling. As the path ended and I was in the city, I stopped and began my search for a hostel. I suppose I could have opted for Warmshowers.com but I was in need of some serious social interaction.  With a bit of searching and jerking around with my iPhone, I found the number for one of the city hostels. Thank Jesus,  the place was straight ahead only about five lightly traveled roads away.  Arriving at the hostel was like entering the gates of heaven. Seventy-three miles and I had made it, making up for the day before.  Seeing a senior citizen push his loaded bike through the front door up to the front desk always gets everyon’s attention.  We are few are far between. The guy who checked me in was a prince of a man. He led me to my single room and showed me everything I needed to know for my stay, including places to see around town and restaurants to dine. After settling in, a hot shower to wash off the layers of trail dust and grime, I found my way to the gay district.  Loads of restaurants to choose from along a long and wide pedestrian street.  Planting myself at an outdoor cafe, I dined in style while taking in the local gay color. From a funky campsite to bustling Montreal in one day, I had pulled the rabbit out of the hat.