Why would you do that?

When we crossed from Quebec into Vermont and explained that we had ridden our bikes from Oregon, the border inspector had just one follow-up: “Why would you do that?” I answered,  “Good question,” and he waved us through. I’ll be thinking about his essential query on the final day of our trip tomorrow and in the days to come as long as the trip spell holds.

The last few days into Montreal, down through Quebec, into Vermont and New Hampshire, and now in Maine have been delicious. We’re sick of cycling and are eager to get home, but this stretch has been undeniably interesting. We’ve had headwinds, hills, and rain, but we aren’t much bothered as we’ve developed some toughness in these two months+ of biking.

I keep smiling to myself. We are in landscape I love, and we get home tomorrow.

A few days ago, after a foggy start, we had the wind with us as we followed the north shore of the St. Lawrence River toward Montreal.

At a picnic table just beyond the Quebec border, we talked with some local cyclists and got great advice how to get across the St. Lawrence by hopping through the islands upstream of Montreal. How lucky we were to talk to them because Google Maps’ biking directions would have taken us right into the city and then across the big, scary bridge I always dread when driving.

Chance meetings with local cyclists have taught me a lot on this trip. I credit a big jump in my confidence in traffic to a cyclist who came riding beside us while I was white knuckled on a four lane road with no shoulder. He was chatting away as the trucks and cars passed close beside us.  He asked questions and told us how cool we were to be riding across the country, a conversation we certainly enjoyed. I told him I was scared on this road, and he said, looking over companionably, “Oh well, if you’re going to bike here you have to be in traffic sometimes.” Hunh. Right! I decided that with my flashing rear light and orange helmet I was plenty visible, and the vehicles were indeed giving me enough space.

We found our way over the St. Lawrence islands and bridges. At one point the route took us right on top of a dam on the St. Lawrence Seaway.  Looking down at the water rushing through in terrible races, eddies, whirlpools, and holes made me feel sick. Please, Noah and Hania, never think of kayaking here. I have a video, but for now this inadequate photo will have to do.
Once on the south side, we found a remarkable, cheap hotel in Chateauguay that was a cross between a monastery, conference center, and hostel. Though one had to hold one’s breath in the staircases and elevators to avoid the mold, the location overlooking the St. Lawrence was sublime. I spread our long-wet tent to dry below a statue of Virgin Mary.

Escaping the fast-growing Montreal suburbs on the south side of the river was slow and hard to figure out. There were bike lanes on most streets; the municipalities have obviously long commited to encouraging people to bike. We even got sick of the bike lanes. Where there’s little traffic, it’s faster on the street because all the driveway crossings slow the bike lanes and because steep concrete curbs that would be fine for mountain bikes but are tough on more delicate wheels. I kept imagining my roadbike wheels suddenly collapsing on a curb too far. However, once we found Quebec’s “Route Verte” bike trails, we were fine.

It’s astonishing how many signed bike routes there are in Quebec.  Many routes bring many bikers — it’s a big tourism success.

The routes can be separated bike lanes along highways, rail trails, or bike paths wandering through countryside.

Once again I felt that a bike route in a tunnel of trees is pretty darn boring, but every once in a while there’s something to wake you up.

Bikers were everywhere. Our “gite” (inexpensive hotel) in Waterloo had a Welcome Cyclists sign, and the nicest facility in town was the bike information center. Especially in Quebec given its separatist streak I was glad to see the beautiful decorations the town had made to celebrate Canada’s 150th anniversary.

Quebec has a sense of humor and a sense of design.

We discovered that our French is extremely rusty. Caroline says that I’m just not used to the Québécois accent, but I can’t blame the accent for my misreading a menu and then having to go to bed hungry because I thought my dinner salad would be more than just lettuce. I did renew my delight in the delicacy of French terms around car repair: dépanneur, pneu, pare-brise, essui-glace, pot d’echappement.

The suburbs finally gave way to beautiful, rolling farmland. We had some tough riding in strong headwinds.

We passed through Magog and enjoyed the views of Lake Memphremagog.

Finally we saw the cleared corridor that is the USA’s northern border.

Though I much enjoyed Canada, I was thrilled to cross the border. I had a surge of feeling that my home landscape is truly the hills, forests, and rivers of Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine. With the perspective of long absence, I realize how rare our corner of the US is in having relatively clean rivers, extensive forests, and much land still unclaimed by agriculture and development.

With our legs now adapted for cycling, Dixville Notch and Grafton Notch were easy climbs.

Coming into Errol, NH, from the north was really fun. I’d always come from the south for paddling practice on the Androscoggin River. We were happy to see the rapids and even to be able to watch someone dump, as you see in the distance in this photo.

Maine has welcomed us with rain and headwinds, but we know that there’s a price to be paid for living here.

We’re starting to think what will be the first order of business when we get home. Here’s Mark refueling in Errol and contemplating trading his bike for the lawnmower.

Last spring when we estimated how long this trip would take, it seemed impossible that we’d be back before September. We thought we’d average 60 miles a day, a distance that we considered comfortable with a bare bike and a worthy effort with panniers. It turns out that becoming hardened to cycling all day lets us average more than that, and we’ll be home much sooner than we thought. The early arrival gives us a sense of ease and possibility and the chance to enjoy a chunk of Maine’s unbeatable summer. We’ll even be home in time to celebrate Mark’s father’s 102nd birthday on Monday.

I think I have another blog post to do with some wrap up thoughts and random items that I just have to tell you. I much appreciate your following my “blogress,” as Sam nailed it. In a few hours we’re going to forgo the scenic route and beeline down Route 26.  Home!