Day three of my motorcycle trip only saw 629 miles clocked on the odometer. Essentially, Stewbert and I bisected Quebec, stopping only twice in the French-speaking part of Canada for fuel. Not that I didn't want to see Quebec - quite the contrary. However, we had a schedule to keep, and I knew that even my extensive handle of the French language wouldn't last forever. There only is so far you can go with "bonjour" and "merci beaucoup."
Although I only saw Quebec from the road, at about 80 miles per hour, I can tell you that the change was profound. I could have been in Minnesota, thanks to an abundance of even, fertile farmland running along the St. Lawrence River. For the first time since leaving Wisconsin I noticed tidy, well-kept dairy operations and smelled the lushness of fresh-cut alfalfa.
Cruising along on my motorcycle, I noticed another odd, but unmistakable difference about Quebec - nobody waves. You see, there is a recognition among motorcyclists that transcends makes and models. If you are on two wheels, you wave. Well folks, apparently this universal credo does not exist in the French-speaking part of Canada - even Stewbert noticed it.
By the end of day three we crossed into New Brunswick, again noticing profound changes. Apparently, New Brunswick cannot afford road paint - lanes are not marked. Twice I turned my bike onto a street, only to quickly veer off, wondering if it was a one-way or two-way? I can just see the headline now.
We stopped at sundown, enjoying a scenic view of Grand Falls. Stewbert and I parked the bikes for the night and grabbed a sample of New Brunswick's finest; you have to love the microbrews, especially in Canadian blueberry.
Well, folks, tomorrow we head to Maine. Until then, "merci beaucoup!"
Although I only saw Quebec from the road, at about 80 miles per hour, I can tell you that the change was profound. I could have been in Minnesota, thanks to an abundance of even, fertile farmland running along the St. Lawrence River. For the first time since leaving Wisconsin I noticed tidy, well-kept dairy operations and smelled the lushness of fresh-cut alfalfa.
Cruising along on my motorcycle, I noticed another odd, but unmistakable difference about Quebec - nobody waves. You see, there is a recognition among motorcyclists that transcends makes and models. If you are on two wheels, you wave. Well folks, apparently this universal credo does not exist in the French-speaking part of Canada - even Stewbert noticed it.
By the end of day three we crossed into New Brunswick, again noticing profound changes. Apparently, New Brunswick cannot afford road paint - lanes are not marked. Twice I turned my bike onto a street, only to quickly veer off, wondering if it was a one-way or two-way? I can just see the headline now.
We stopped at sundown, enjoying a scenic view of Grand Falls. Stewbert and I parked the bikes for the night and grabbed a sample of New Brunswick's finest; you have to love the microbrews, especially in Canadian blueberry.
Well, folks, tomorrow we head to Maine. Until then, "merci beaucoup!"