it is hilly

I guess the fact that we are going to be staying near a ski resort is a clue, eh?  Yeah, well.  The road out of Quebec City is flat.  Flatter than flat.  And it's a cycle path all morning, running parallel with the main road on the shore.  There are hundreds of cyclists out on the route and who can blame them?  It's a hot sunny and lovely day.  And it gives us another positive impression of Quebec province.  

honestly, we saw hundreds of quebecois on their bikes...

We end the day with a slow plod uphill away from the sea and up into the trees where there are small communities of Swiss-style chalet houses.  We get a bit lost but are helpfully redirected by a local back to the road leading to the main ski resort.  Flavienne's friend's house is not much further up the hill.

getting lost

cleaning up at the chalet

We join the main highway the next day, thankfully on a wide shoulder, because the road is busy and continues to climb steadily to a high point before we begin descending all the way back down to the sea, at the holiday town of Baie Saint Paul.  It's chocka with visitors.  The odometer on Gayle's bike has stopped working and I dig out the extra dollars for a wireless one in a bike and hunting shop.  Bike and hunting.  Hunt and bike.  Nope.  It doesn't matter how many times I roll that one around I can't see it working. 

Sod's Law dictates that you must climb out of the town in the late afternoon in order to find somewhere to camp.  The climb must be steep and long.  The road must be fenced on both sides and continue long enough for you to despair of ever finding anywhere to pitch your tent. But while I'm The Glass Is Half Empty Guy, Gayle remains eternally optimistic as she slips into some woods like a proper Bike And Hunting Gal and finds a suitably obscure place for us to sleep.

the only problem with a thee-man tent is the very big footprint

The rollercoaster ride that is Charlevoix continues along the smaller coastal road.  It has its ups and downs.  Lots of small villages with picture-perfect wooden two-storey houses with nice porches and chairs out front.  The weather stays good for the next few days and we join tourists at some of the little coastal towns and villages to eat our picnic or have a well-earned cuppa.  The drop down to the sea is rewarded with a stiff climb away again.  Okay, okay, we get it now.  Charlevoix is hilly.

reminded us of Scandinavia

 

picture-perfect wood-frame house

The opposing shore of the St.Lawrence River has disappeared from view now - it's really the St. Lawrence Seaway we're looking at when we reach Baie Ste Catherine and the ferry across the Saguenay River.  This is a big whale-watching area and there are boat trips from a tourist pier.  In the visitors' centre a cheerful assistant tells us she saw whales from the regular ferry this morning.  There's a deep trench here in the Seaway which creates good feeding grounds for whales.  We ride up to the corner before the ferry and stop for breakfast at the look-out point.  Just down below us in the sea a whale breaks the surface.  We gawp out at the shiny surface hoping to see more but finally give in and roll on.  The main highway splits at Tadoussac soon after leaving the ferry terminal.  Most of the tourists are heading inland to the huge lake, whilst many less of us continue along the north shore of the Seaway.  Happy to overcome the Charlevoix hills we're looking forward to more stunning coastal views as we head north.  Oh how little we know.

au revoir Charlevoix

pursuit

Flavienne is a superhost.  Not only does she keep plying us with wonderful food, she also takes us out for a meal and a drink at her favourite craft brewery down in the Quartier Funky. And then she invites us to stay as long as we want.  Careful, we warn her, we have been known to take up such generous offers.  As it is, I am trying to negotiate a replacement Thermarest camping mat and seeing if I can find a local shop to help me out.  And there's the blog to start writing.  And we're still trying to meet up with Ruth and Gordon, who have followed us here from Montreal.

if my eyes are closed it must be because I'm savouring the beer

While I start plodding away at this blog with the opening episodes from Europe, Flavienne and Gayle go for a spin on their bikes along the river.  The city has created a riverside park area with a bike path that connects to the coastal road we're going to take when we leave.   I take a trip to MEC (Mountain Equipment Co-op), Canada's foremost outdoor equipment and clothing store, with my broken mattress and sob story.  Here's the deal - the manufacturer have offered to replace it but I need to give them an address for somewhere in 2 weeks' time.  So I asked them if I couldn't just swap it at a local supplier.  The problem is I had to write in black pen "Do Not Replace" and then photograph it for the manufacturer, so when I first explain at the customer service desk they seem unimpressed.  Did I buy the mat at MEC? No, I didn't.  Then I'm sorry but...... I bite my lip.  I know I have to get beyond the customer service clerk and to a manager.  Is there any chance they can reconsider?  I understand they are under no obligation, but I'm on the road and I'm desperate.  Bingo.  The clerk goes to speak to his manager, Adreanne, who is very sympathetic and trés sympathétique aussi.  Despite not being able to connect with the manufacturer, she agrees to a swap. First class service from MEC.

the view from the citadel hill

Meanwhile Gayle has connected with Ruth and we finally meet up with our friends.  It's about 10 years since we first and last met them in Turkey, but for some reason they feel like old friends.  They're a real hoot, and we catch up on their ride from Toronto to here and their plans to reach Gordon's ageing aunt and uncle in new Brunswick.  Ruth confesses that she really wants to take us for some traditional Canadian activities.  Would we like to go clubbing? Seal clubbing, she means.  

We're hoping that our friends can assist us.  Ever since we arrived in Canada we've been followed.  All the time in Montreal and even in some of the small towns we passed through on the way to Quebec City a man in a white van has been cruising around, keeping an eye on us.  We don't want to seem paranoid, and we know many countries have clamped down on security since 9/11, but who is this Mr. Purolator guy?  Ruth glances at Gordon.  "Do you think we should tell them?"  She looks concerned.  Gordon hesitates.  They keep mum.  We will never know.....

We end up at Quebec City's (and North America's) oldest surviving grocery store. Gordon and Ruth are thrilled to discover a jar of maple syrup butter.  We sit down outside for a pause and Gayle asks Ruth how they eat it.  In response, she produces a teaspoon. "With this!"  The sweet sticky stuff is soon despatched.  We say our farewells and hope to catch up again on their home turf - way out west - someday soon.

in the Bas Ville

Before we depart Quebec City, Flavienne has one more delight to share with us.  She tells us she has been saving it for some time, as it's something you can't buy in the shops in Quebec.  We are honoured guests as she prepares us a fabulous meal featuring moose steak.  Not only this but she has asked a friend, who owns a cabin at the ski resort village we will pass through tomorrow, if we can stay there for a night.  Her friend has happily agreed and so we are indebted to Flavienne for a wonderful stay in her city and for the next night too!  Elle est incroyable!

a feast

a load of baloney

Flavienne is cooking up a huge pan of something as we sip beers from her fridge.  She's telling us about her recent cycling trip to the States and then we move on to why she prefers living in Canada to France.  She's not the first Frenchwoman to decry the machismo of french society and women's position in it, and she certainly looks very happy here in Quebec City where she works at the university.  We ask about her doctorate.  She studies plankton.  Yep, plankton.  I begin to wander what is in the pan on the stove.

It turns out that plankton produce over 60% of the world's oxygen and that climate change might have a serious impact on this.  Flavienne's work involves lengthy Arctic visits on a research vessel.  In her spare time she dabbles in music and cyles a lot.  Quite proudly, and rightly so, she tells us that she cycles to work throughout the year, even in the winter.  We ponder this, having just descended a huge hill to reach her appartment in the Bas-Ville - the old worker's quarter beside the river.  
 

Quebec City's Bas Ville

The neighbourhood has the feel of a French city - more so than the grander and impressive downtown old quarter which has all the large stone classical buildings from the French colonial era.  Her neighbourhood is becoming trendy, but hasn't lost it's authentic rough edges.  The local park puts on an outdoor film one evening a week and lots of street furniture has been set up for people to hang out in the open spaces.  The streets themselves are narrow and lined with three-storey town houses, mostly split up into appartments like Flavienne's.  It feels like a pocket of Europe sewn into the North American quilt.

We sit down to eat the pasta that Flavienne has rustled up for us.  There's some unidentifiable meat in the sauce, unnaturally pink.  In my politest way, I ask what it is. "Baloney", she replies.  Aha!  And they say that French cuisine is better than English, eh?  But Flavienne is an experienced cyclist and she has wisely reasoned that we'll be ravenous.  We eat the lot and go back for seconds, scraping the pan clean.

riding the green routes

We say goodbye to Montreal by crossing the great Jacques Cartier bridge and then promptly going astray in the suburbs on the eastern shore.  There is a cycle route heading eastwards and we are not lost.  But either are we going the way we want to go.  Or is it just that the navigator is beig doubted by the rest of the team?  "Are you sure?" I ask again.  Gayle is hesitating.  And then we spot two other cyclists joining our route from the left.  They're two young guys travelling light on great old road bikes.  I say old - I'm guessing the bikes might be older than their riders.

Chris and Matthew are from Hamilton and, after working through the early summer, are now on a ride to New Brunswick.  Despite being quicker and lighter than us, they seem happy to go at our speed and chat along the way.  With Gayle's map and Matthew's smartphone we can make sure we're heading the right way.  It's mostly farmland here and hereabouts.  We are both heading to Granby and we both have Warm Showers hosts arranged.  We stop at a supermarket for lunch and dodge a shower under an awning.  A man approaches us and asks where we're heading.  He gives us explicit directions which we ignore and he chases after us to put us right.  He's the supermarket owner and we are embarrassed by his persistence in putting us on the right road.

Denise and Charles planning their next adventure

That evening we stay with Denise and Charles - a couple full of stories and tales that make us laugh. (Find more here.) They show us their new tandem - the kind with the recumbent seat at the front.  Denise does not want to spend her touring days looking at Charles' back.  It turns out that on their first big cycling adventure they flew to Lima and set off into the Peruvian mountains to follow a bike route plotted by an English couple.  This bike route has attracted a reputation, and as we already know the English couple who devised it, we cannot but nod knowingly as Chares and Denise describe the ensuing result.  Neil and Harriet Pike (Pikes on Bikes) stayed with us as Warm Showers guests and embarrassed us by telling us that we'd already met once before.  We had struggled to recall one night in Hunza, Pakistan, when we sat around a dining table in a cheap hostel and exchanged travel plans.  Now, Harriet and Neil are a bit hardcore by our standards - always keen to try something challenging and difficult.  Think unclimbed mountain peaks in the Chilean Andes, or the Trans-Himalaya.....in winter.  So we listen in awe as Denise and Charles recount this epic tale of their first big cycle tour into the High Andes, along what Charles renames "Neil and Harriet's cow path".  They are smiling at their own naivety.  Think of crossing valleys, climbing 1500 metres, descending 1800 metres, climbing 1600 metres etc. etc.  It sounds, and I use this word in its true sense, awesome.  We make a mental note to add this to our list of destinations.

shady lunch

The next day we go north, short cutting a cycle route triangle through the Eastern Townships.  Many of these towns were settled by English loyalists after the American War of Independence and they are very pleasant small towns.  We wander through Drummondville along a combination of cycle paths and country roads.  We are put off from camping in woods off a cycle path by frequent signs warning us of poison ivy.  It's a harmless looking plant, but to my untrained eye every plant looks like poison ivy after that.  On towards Victoriaville we meet other cyclists along the way out for the day.  We spend much of our time in woods and glades which is a relief as it's hot in the sun.  Sometimes  we guess our road.  It works out fine.  In Victoriaville the old train station has been converted into a bike station, complete with tourist information and showers.  We avail ourselves of the facilities and then have to sadly turn down an offer of accommodation from a man passing by.  We explain we have to ride on, as we need to be in Quebec City the next night as we are expected.  He looks disappointed and we feel bad for turning him down.  
 

1 of a series of photos Gayle took en route (blink for that flicker book effect and imahgine I'm disappearing off into the distance)

The onward route is completely along an old rail line that has been cleared and laid with crushed stone for cyclists.  It's not the most exciting way to cycle anywhere but it is efficient - super flat and we can cycle with music in our ears for a change.  Quebec City here we come. 

an unbelievably noisy crossing to Quebec City

hanging out

Oh we really like Montreal.  The way the city tips down the hill down to the shore you'd think it isn't so good for cycling, but there are cycle lanes everywhere and hey, what a surprise, cyclists everywhere.  The city is green - it's high summer.  We like the external staircases leading up to second-storey appartments.  We like the cosmopolitan feel of the city - a whole heap of different people really strikes us after a month in Iceland.

Mmmm...churros

 We know our friends Ruth and Gordon from BC are cycling towards the city.  We also know that Daniel, who we stayed with in Warsawa in 2012, is hoping to get to the city to meet us.  So we take a student room at a college in the university campus area and stay a few days more.  






The college is a quiet hall of residence.  We get chatting to a fella we bump into in the kitchen.  He's an American.  He knows Manchester because he once visited a German friend there, a singer, who he'd known in New York. Nico? I ask, incredulously.  He looks surprised and then keen that someone might be impressed by the fact that he once lived in the Chelsea Hotel.  Twenty minutes later, after a prolonged monologue that only an American can muster, it's possible he notices my eyes glazing over and my tongue lolling at the side of my mouth.  I have at this point lost complete interest in him, Nico, New York and the whole popculture output of the States from 1960 to 1990.  And I avoid the kitchen from now on.

We spend a couple of days looking around the city and checking out a couple of bike shops and bookshops.  We meet Dan in the park at Sunday lunchtime by the statue "where the conga drummers gather", as Dan indicates.  The last time we met Dan was planning a long bike journey and trying to persuade Marta to join him.  They headed off to Australia together but in the end Dan cycled alone.  He tells us Marta is happy in Australia.  He looks well, still enthusiastic, still full of ideas.  He has been doing odd jobs in Ottawa, where he's staying with a friend.  His bike is somewhere in South East Asia where he hopes to rejoin it for further adventures.  But Dan also is considering teaching English in Viet Nam, at the school we taught at last year.  We give him the low down.  Fore warned is fore armed.  
 

fair-weather campers!

obligatory bike talk

The park is busy with people listening to the drummers, dancing to the drummers, or drumming.  Dan's showing me an app on his phone that I wonder if I'd ever remember the name of should I ever end up with a smart phone in the future.  Gayle is taking photos of a 'happening' - a large number of brightly-painted near-nude people is sweeping through the park, finding things with the same colour as themselves amongst the people in the park.  They don't speak, they make little noise, and in contrast to the nearby drumming orchestra, they appear to be unorchestrated.  But a man is giving instructions.  Finally the Jelly Bean People move off.  Now, what was the name of that app, Dan??

it's happening........right here in Montreal

a new world

Louis-Philippe is making us laugh again.  He has a whole cast of characters in his repertoire but this one is the best.  Zorro the Raccoon.  We have been asking about what we should look out for along the way in Canada.  I am particulary worried about bears.

"Bears?  Oh, you'd be lucky to see a bear.  No, there's a worst pest than bears.  Raccoons!!"  And he goes on to describe their appearance - the tell-tale 'zorro' mask - and how big they can be. And then he sticks his thumb out.
"And this is their critical weapon! An opposable thumb." He mimes opening up a jam jar.  "With an opposable thumb you can open up anything!  And they will.  They'll open up everything!"  Lysanne nods in agreement.  Now, you may think they're exaggerating but I remember asking about the bin lid on the first morning we are at theirs.  The lid has a massive hole ripped into it, from one edge.  What happened?  "That's the squirrels.  They'll eat into anything.  They've eaten the handle off the barbecue.  And they're BIG!"  Louis-Philippe is unaware of my general fear of mammals.  Quietly I am adding 'squirrel' to my list of Ones To Watch Out For.

We spend three nights with our super-helpful Warm Showers hosts.  When we fly into Montreal from Reykjavik it's late afternoon and we have to unwrap and set up the bikes before rolling out of the airport.  Everything goes smoothly and we are soon riding along the fast highway out of the airport.  It's a really rough road - we seem to be in the lane with all the gouges and broken potholes - but, as there are three or four lanes and rush hour has passed, we are not bothered by other traffic.  It's dark by the time we arrive though.  Lysanne and Louis-P invite us in to beer and lasagne and when they find out it's Gayle's birthday they even manage to rustle up a sparkler to put into the dessert.



The city has a huge network of bike paths which makes riding around fairly easy and we enjoy exploring the downtown and old quarter and some of the funkier neighbourhoods.  The Jean Talon market is a blend of deli and gourmet food with organic produce. We are only there for about five minutes when we notice a couple chowing down on a roast chicken.  We have to have one.  Bear in mind that we've just arrived from Iceland where the prospect of eating meat would have meant me unlocking the credit card..... Within a few minutes we are tearing a chicken to pieces with our hands and greedily sucking and gnawing the bones.  It's like one of those cameo scenes in Tampopo.
 

the joy of fresh produce

We are quickly retrieving some French phrases from our brains.  If we start a conversation, we try to do so in French first.  Then, when the locals hear our shoddy attempts, they respond in English.  Lysanne and Louis-P went to live and work in Quebec City for some years and were quite shocked to discover on their return that the percentage of anglophones had increased.  They estimate it now at about 50%.  They have to use both languages in their jobs.  It seems inevitable for Canada's third largest city.   Now, how do I phrase the question..... Est-ce qu'il y a des raccoons autour d'ici?

merci nos chers amis

the rest of Iceland in a paragraph

"Oh bugger, I'm never going to catch up with this blog."

"Well why are you writing so much?  You could write up Iceland in three posts."

 ..................................................................................

So, 
 
We take a dirt road through the highlands.  We meet some other cyclists.  It rains hard.  Then it's windy.  We ride a long way.  Then we head up to the Western Fjords.  But we stop at Holmavik for a rest.  We see some whales.  We decide to head south.  The weather is pretty lousy.  We camp in trees.  The sun shines - it must be Sunday.  Finally we reach Reykjavik where we stay with Unnur and Sveinn and the sun shines a lot.  Then we catch a plane to Montreal.

insert obligatory geyser and waterfall photos here