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.