La Belle Province
Trip Start
Jun 06, 2004
1
12
27
Trip End
Jun 30, 2004
Lavaltrie,
Quebec,
Canada
Thursday, June 17, 2004
Dave takes us on the scenic route through Pembroke to see the lovely old brick houses and the docks. Then we ride through sunny countryside, across a covered bridge, and we are in Quebec! We stop to enjoy the view. I am trying to frame the perfect photo of the bridge when the guys start yelling, "Take the picture!" I think they are just teasing me, but it turns out that a huge bird was flying right across the scene and they wanted a picture of it
A bridge between two provinces
. I didn't even see it! They rib me unmercifully. We say farewell to Dave in Shawville without too much heart-wrenching: we know he'll be roaring onto Salt Spring sometime soon. We're very grateful that he let a mere Yamaha into his shop; Gzowski is all checked over and running great. Henry's aunt Winnifred lives in Shawville. We locate her house by stopping a local woman and enquiring. Yes, of course she has heard of Winnifred Smart! She kindly goes out of her way to lead us right to the house--I love small towns! Aunt Winnifred makes exquisite hand-sewn quilts, and shows me some of her colourful work, as well as her thimble collection. We view family photos and sip tea as genteely as one can in motorcycle boots and jeans. Regretfully declining lunch, we hit the road.
We follow Hwy 148. The houses here are often gray stone, and every hamlet has a church with a tall, aluminum-coloured spire. Funny how much human habitation changes the flavour of a landscape. Getting through Hull-Gatineau is tense, as we stretch our lamentably poor directional and sign-reading abilities to their feeble limits. But somehow we manage to shoot out into the countryside with only a couple of false turns. We stop for a late lunch at a perfect little "resto", ignoring the zillions of "casses-croutes" (burger & fry joints)
On the bank of the St. Lawrence
. I have a healthy hot chicken-vegetable wrap, but Henry orders poutine, which he graciously allows me to taste. French fries and cheese curds topped with gravy: Mmmmm! I will definitely indulge at some point. Hwy 148 follows the St. Lawrence, with a constant string of picturesque villages. I am enthralled, and eager to immerse myself in Quebecois ambience. Lachute is a very pretty larger town with many sidewalk bistros, and I would love to stop for a drink or an ice cream. But Henry keeps going to the outskirts, and then pulls into a McDonald's. I am annoyed. This is not my idea of experiencing Quebec. I ask Henry if he could pull into a "laiterie" in future. He says he craves a McDonald's cone. We end up leaving without anything, in mutual antipathy.
What with the kerfuffle, I haven't re-checked the map. I had carefully planned a route that would take us north of Montreal, since we really wanted to prove that everyone was wrong when they said you HAD to go through Montreal. I do know that 148 will end at some point, and we need to branch off onto 135 and then 138. I watch for those numbers and don't see them, so I think we are still OK. But then we get to Ste. Eustache, which I don't remember being on the route. Where is Repentigny, which I fondly imagined would be right on our way? Things become more and more urban as I gaze at shop windows trying to get a clue of our location
One of the lovely brick houses
. We cross an arm of the St. Lawrence. This is ominous. Suddenly there is a small sign: "148 Fin". Even Henry's French is good enough to figure out that one. We are now in a residential area. We stop wearily and consult the map: we are in Laval, a suburb of Montreal! Montreal has sucked us in, taking unfair advantage of our fight in Lachute, where it now appears we should have turned off. However, we have just passed the on-ramp for north/south Hwy 25. It appears that we can take it up to Terrebone and then head east on Hwy 40, the major route to Quebec City. We accomplish this with some scary high-speed manouevering. After some fast but boring highway travel, we pull off to get gas and ask about camping nearby. Apparently we will find some if we take the exit for Lavaltrie. In that town we try a depenneur for groceries, but they are only convenience stores. The clerk kindly directs us to a super-marche, where we get the makings for sukiyaki. My high school French is holding up reasonably well, although the silly fact that we were taught Parisian French rather than Quebecois French makes communication more complicated than it could have been if the federal bilingualism program had been planned by anyone with brains.
We are directed down Rue Notre Dame, where $18.40 gets us a spot in an RV park right on the St. Lawrence. We set up hurriedly in the dusk. I walk to the river and dip my hand in. It is probably polluted here, but I still rub the water on my cheek, awed at the influence this river has had on my country. I stand for a long time with the St. Lawrence rolling past my feet and gulls circling above.
When we check the map to plan our route for tomorrow, we realize that Rue Notre Dame is actually part of Hwy 138, so we have fortuitously ended up exactly where we planned!
