Catch and Release

      I’d just left Manitou Falls, a vast cataract filled with tea-colored water whipped to a creamy white froth amid thunder and ground tremors. The woodland path to the falls was through a boreal forest with a carpet of mosses as thick as any found in the temperate rainforest around Mount Rainier. The pink granite bedrock was flecked with white and black and splattered with lichens in day-glow colors of green, orange, and red.I’d never seen anything like it without chemical enhancement.

    Running late, I fitted my earplugs and pulled onto smooth pavement. Perhaps I was preoccupied with thoughts about what I had just seen or perhaps the earplugs deadened my sense of movement through space, but when I crested the hill the approaching driver spotted me at the same time I spied him. On came the blue and red strobes as I sneaked a quick peak at the speedometer.

     My license is clean and their radio phone – yes, with the big black handset (cell phones don’t work this far east on the Côte Nord)—was having problems with reception. So they decided to let me go. But first they brought out their camera and requested that I take a photo of them with the T-Rex. A trophy shot, like those of huge Atlantic salmon with men and women dressed in khaki and poles in hand that are posted in hotels and service stations along this coast.

     “Just keep it under 115 and you’ll be okay,” I was admonished.
     It was with the gratitude of a landed trout in a catch-and-release stream that I continued my way up the coastal highway with one eye on the speedometer.

Motorcycle Touring in The Charlevoix

     The number of motorcycles on the road today in The Charlevoix would make a rally organizer jealous. Hundreds of bikes crossed the thin slice of space-time that represents my travels today.How many passed through Baie-Saint-Paul in the course of the day is anyone’s guess, but this region still remains almost unknown to U.S. riders.
     Most of my day was spent eating. Like Italians, everyone here who is not eating seems to be talking about the highlights of their last meal or the anticipation of the next. My “light” breakfast included 12-grain bread, chocolate bread, and fresh croissants with three types of homemade preserves. Okay, it also included a couple of eggs over easy, orange juice, coffee, and assortment of fresh fruit and berries. My friends were concerned that I wasn’t eating enough! The Charlevoix is foodie heaven.
     Even the most boring of the three primary routes that cut across this ancient meteorite impact crater would be considered a premier touring road almost anywhere in the United States—the River Route is consider to be one of the top ten scenic highways in Canada.

     Most of my morning was spent with Guy Paquette, one of the finest contemporary painters in this country. I’d always admired his work – at least that which I had seen in galleries – but his more personal creations are on a totally different level than his very-much-in-demand (and very pricey) work. Just to add icing on the cake, I like this guy.
      So between eating and hanging out in an artist’s retreat I really didn’t have that much time to cruise the roads of the Charlevoix today, hence my reference to a thin slice of space-time and my surprise at the number of bikes on the road. Now this is hearsay, but it comes from Manon, who is President of the Saguenay H.O.G. chapter and one of only two women in Canada to hold such an office: almost 33% of Quebec motorcycle registrations are women riders (compared to a U.S. average of 12.9%). My observations are that more than a quarter of all bikes are carrying two people. This is May and snow is visible on most mountain peaks – just wait until summer starts!
       All good things must come to an end. So I finish my glass of Chilean wine, pack the T-Rex, and head east on Route 138 seeking the end of the road. It will take me three days to get there.


View Charlevoix Motorcycle Roads Quebec in a larger map

La Baie to La Malbaie

     The Saguenay fjord is not a place for a road and there are only a few places where tributaries have cut their way to the river and former fishing villages now reel in tourists. Sainte-Rose-du-Nord is one of these. The roads into these small villages are dramatic themselves, although I can only imagine the height of tourist season the ensuing traffic jams in these cul-de-sacs.
     Between Sainte-Rose-du-Nord and Sacré-Coeur this highway follows a glacially gouged valley and a famous salmon fishing river, the Sainte Marguerite. In other places this gorgeous valley would be called a “notch” or a “canyon” and would be considered a major tourist attraction. Here the fjord gets the publicity, Route 170 on the west side of the river has the major truck traffic, and Route 172 remains a touring secret to most of the world. I don’t stop to take a photo: I’m having too much fun with the T-Rex on smooth asphalt.
     It’s another narrow road with several very narrow, quite tight, hairpin turns that leads down to the tiny marina. Again, it’s worth the effort. There is another road—Chemin de l’Anse-Creusse—that goes to Sacré-Coeur, but the low clearance on the T-Rex isn’t designed for rough pavement and I pass it by, this time.
     Tadoussac is busy. Long lines for the ferry crossing to Baie Sainte-Catherine means I’m on the third boat. The T-Rex always draws a crowd and this time is no exception.
     I meet my riding buddy, François Gariepy, on the other side and we west to La Malbaie. From La Baie to La Malbaie today’s ride should be called. There are more stories than can be fit into this short space. Another time I will schedule a day of riding followed by another of writing. This seems to be the only way such wonderful touring will find its way into print.

Laurentian Spring

     Snow in the mountains; ice on the lake. Spring came early to Canada and most of us have been riding since early March but it’s now late May and the last vestiges of winter cling to the northern shores of these mountain lakes and lie hidden in the deep boreal shade along the roadside. Accompanied by Ross, Raynald, and Manon I’m headed south on Route 381 from La Baie on the Saguenay River to Baie-St-Paul on the St. Lawrence.
     This is a motorcycle-touring road: narrow, only a couple of hamlets, and great scenery. Like all northern roads this one has its rough spots interspersed with flawless asphalt and it is shared with trucks moving cargo and timber. Unlike Route 175, the steep grades reach 19% so the only trucks on Route 381 are those that absolutely have to use it.
Spring has arrived in Baie-St-Paul and we peel off the layers to sit comfortably on the patio of Chez Bouquet to enjoy lunch with my riding buddy Francois Gariepy. This is a town to savor, but lunch is all we have time for. Mounting up we opt for the River Route (362), one of the top ten scenic roads in Canada.
     We make it no farther than the village of Les Eboulements where we stop at the old forge and chocolate makers. The forge was established at the end of the 19th century and continued in operation until 1980. The chocolates are made in the house, but this is not ordinary chocolatier: they hand make over 80 different chocolates using cacao from around the world. They offer a chocolate-coated education of the cacao bean and the Belgian tradition of turning it into the world’s favorite confection.

     Francois leaves us in Port-au-Persil while we continue to St. Simeon. We’re not taking the ferry across the St. Lawrence to Riviere-du-Loup today. We turn north on Route 170, through the Saguenay Park that borders the famous fjord. It’s another fine touring road, but to catch a glimpse of the fjord requires turning onto one of the few roads that lead to its shores. We make the detour in Petite Saguenay and follow the river through the deep canyon to reach the fjord. It’s a beautiful sight and photos just don’t do it justice.
     We make it back to La Baie just after 6 PM. It’s been thoroughly enjoyable ten-hour ride in the company of friends. Tomorrow I go solo and head down the eastern side of the fjord to Tadoussac.

Montebello Land Rover Experience Driving School

 Learning To Love A Rocky Road: The Land Rover Experience Driving School in Montebello.

 --previously published on NaturalTraveler.com  

      The vehicle slides sideways as sand-encrusted tires seek purchase on naked rock.  Even more unnerving is the radical incline angle of the Range Rover that limits the driver’s view to treetops and sky. Yet all is as it should be: I’m attending the Land Rover Experience Driving School in Montebello, Quebec.

     This is not a training school for those planning on running in the Baja 1000.  In fact, there’s rarely an opportunity to shift the vehicle out of first gear while maneuvering around the obstacle course.  The focus of instruction is to build driver confidence, teach basic off-road skills, and train owners how to properly utilize these amazing machines. 

     Following instructions, I angle the wheels and maintain gentle pressure on the accelerator.  The Range Rover Discovery (LR3) regains traction and pulls us to the top.  Now for the next lesson: descending a steep rocky trail.  With the transmission in first gear, Simon encourages me to take my foot off the accelerator (no problem) and off the brake (are you crazy!?) to allow the ABS (anti-lock braking system) to take control.  With all-wheel drive and independent suspension, the computerized system coupled with high-compression engine braking does a better job descending the trail than I could manage manually.

     There are four Land Rover Experience Driving Schools in North America and each provides a unique experience in terms of terrain.  Each of these is located at a five-star resort of international acclaim: Equinox in Manchester, Vermont; Biltmore in Ashville, North Carolina; and Quail Lodge in Carmel Valley, California.  The first Land Rover Experience was established here, at Fairmount Le Château Montebello in Quebec.

       Located on the north bank of the Ottawa River about halfway between Montreal and Ottawa, Le Château Montebello is the retreat of world leaders and movie stars.  It’s the largest log building in the world and has hosted major historical conferences including a recent G8 Summit.  Although the office and headquarters of the school are located in the relatively smaller log structure of the Sports Complex adjacent to the Château, the courses and trails are in the nearby Fairmount Kenauk Preserve, a 100-square-mile expanse of forest and pristine lakes.

      My vehicle for the day turns out to be a LR3 with an optional winch.  Built to traverse the toughest off-road trails--whether through jungle, across savannah, over desert, or in the Northern Borel Forest—the interior of this hundred-thousand-dollar technical marvel makes my Jag look almost plebian.  Make no mistake about it:  although the vast majority of these vehicles in North America are owned by soccer moms and commuting business executives whose off-road experience is limited to jumping a curb or traffic island, this Range Rover will tackle anything in the world that’s seven-feet wide and claims to be a road.

        After a couple of hours of driving through trenches and ditches, over large rocks and outcroppings, along watercourses and deeply rutted roads I “graduate” to a real-world trail through the Kenauk.  

         The beavers have been busy expanding their territory and I’m forced to drive over their dam and through the shallows to continue on the road.  The Range Rover is not an amphibious craft and there’s a technique to driving through water that’s deep enough to reach the top of the tires.  However, this is the good portion of the trail.

          Sometimes teetering on three tires or scraping the skid plates of the undercarriage we slowly crawl along a trail of deep mud ruts interspersed with rocks.  On the street there’s nothing so annoying as a driver that “rides the brake.”  Off-road requires a bit of unlearning as the brake and accelerator are utilized simultaneously to minimize suspension compression and rebound.  My calf muscles are cramping as I apply this lesson to the real-world scenario.  Occasional bangs on the undercarriage indicate how well I’m doing.

          We stop at the foot of the hill and walk the trail to the crest.  A steep incline with both loose rock and small boulders this challenge is complicated by a tricky corner in the middle with a drop-off on one side.  Simon gets out to direct me, but this stretch of road has to be traversed by a combination of memory, “feel,” and the wheel position indicators on the LCD display console. 

            Slow, but constant acceleration and careful maneuvering gets me up the hill and around the corner, but I loose traction when climbing a series of large rocks.  Now I have to back down to the corner in order to make a second attempt.  The LR3 has an onboard camera that will provide a rear view, but I’m not about to take my hands off the steering wheel to seek the proper button!  Instead I carefully follow Simon’s instructions.  The incline prevents me from seeing any portion of the trail so trust in my instructor and the capabilities of the LR3 becomes of paramount importance at this stage. 

            This school is about more than learning off-road driving techniques. Besides individual instruction, Land Rover Experience offers corporate team-building activities.  Mission Impossible, Geo-Cache, Scavenger Hunt, and Off-Road Challenge develop trust and communication skills in addition to developing personal confidence.

             We cover about six kilometers (3.7 miles) during our two-hour drive.  Leaving the Kenauk Preserve, the single-lane gravel road feels like an open freeway in comparison. No, this is not the Baja 1000, but it’s the most fun I’ve had behind the wheel of a car in many years.

A Night at Quebec's Ice Hotel

 An Ice Time In Quebec -- previously published in ThunderPress and posted on sites by Quebec Tourism.   It's not for everyone, but those looking for a very different experience should consider spending a night at the Waldorf-Astoria of igloos, the famous Ice Hotel.

Quebec bikers are crazy and get a little out there during the depths of winter.  I was in Quebec City to attend the largest bike show in the province and make the contacts necessary to carry out my summer touring plans.  Determined to figure out what riders did when the snow was ass-deep for months at a time and temperatures dropped to negative double digits, I booked a room in the Waldorf-Astoria of igloos, the world-famous Hôtel de Glace (Ice Hotel) in nearby Duchesnay.

There’s only one ice hotel in North America and, being made entirely of ice and snow, it’s not a four-season resort.  Every December a new hotel is constructed and every April it melts away in a natural rhythm that has been inescapable since the last Ice Age.  With the wind blowing out of the northwest and the temperature at minus-19 degrees it seemed that another Ice Age was imminent. I stashed my gear in the heated Pavillon Talik and headed over to the hotel.

     

I was surprised at the relative warmth even as my breath rose hard and white on the still air.  In the lobby a delicate bouquet of ivory flowers and green leaves screams in sensory contrast.  Ahead stretches a reception hall in a style that I can only describe as Tolkienesque:  walls the color of the finest Carrara marble carved in bas-relief beneath a Gothic arched ceiling supported by crystal-clear pillars of ice.  In the center of the hall a massive ice chandelier infused with ever changing spectral hues glows in dim splendor. With my steps leaving waffled imprints on a floor raked with Zen precision, I advance, expecting at any moment to encounter an ice queen or perhaps the White Witch of Narnia.  Soon joined by my cohorts we set off to explore this fantasy world of ice and snow – and to find our rooms for the night. 

Detailed descriptions are useless—the hotel is built to a different design and the sculptural theme differs each year. Embedded LED lighting transforms 500 tons of carved ice and 15,000 tons of sculpted snow into surrealistic visions.  Animal skins cover chairs and benches carved from special ice that’s made in Montreal and trucked north. Foam mattresses grace crystalline beds.  One suite has a fireplace and a hot tub; my monastic room has a floor to ceiling pierced wall of ice as the footboard to the bed.  Others feature elaborately carved walls with fantasy designs, dragons, hockey players, and artifacts or photographs embedded in blocks of ice. 

It was time out for supper.  Since the ice hotel doesn’t boast a kitchen--they should open a sushi bar--we quickly walk to the government owned and operated Pavillon Horizon.  To our surprise and delight we discover an inexpensive five-star restaurant with impeccable service, a wine list to die for, and a menu so exquisite that it nearly results in paralysis of decision for six devoted foodies.  Such was simply not expected in a rustic outpost on the edge of the Canadian wilderness. 

In our absence the public spaces of the hotel have been transformed from a Nordic ice palace into an ultra-chic nightclub.  Music pulses in the acoustically flawless Ice Bar while colors sluice through ice and soak in walls of snow a meter thick. In one corner, imprisoned on four sides by thermal glass, a fire burns in heatless, décor-designed splendor while guests frantically sculpt ice on workbenches supplied for this purpose.  The bartender pours concoctions into the rocks--the results looking like a cliché 1960s B-grade sci-fi movie--while a demonic face looks over his shoulder.  I comment that my father had always admonished that I’d earn a one-way ticket to Hell.  Bill retorts that this couldn’t be Hell, because the Devil would only allow a single drink for all eternity and we were getting refills.  Point well taken.  Meanwhile the women have disappeared and there was only one place they can be.

In the courtyard hot tubs gurgle beneath a full moon so crisp it didn’t seem real.  Fighting against the Artic night none of the tubs can push the water temperature above 98 degrees.  All guests go through a briefing before being allowed to stay the night.  One of the admonishments was not to go to bed until your hair was completely dry or risk becoming literally frozen to the bed.  Likewise, don’t put eyeglasses on the side table: they’ll freeze into the ice.  Therefore the inevitable becomes an ad hoc experiment: how many nearly naked people, whom one is not on intimate terms with, can be packed into a 6 x 4 foot sauna (eleven is the correct answer).

Dressed in a bathrobe and hiking boots I contemplate what was learned while padding back to my room through snow tunnels.  The past couple of days had been spent snowshoeing, dog sledding, and watching teams of athletes competitively push and paddle special ice canoes across the treacherous pack ice and currents of the St. Lawrence River. I had checked out arcane machines designed for winter riders and watched thousands of people of all ages reveling in Winter Carnival activities in spite –or defiance-- of the frigid weather.  Snuggling deep into my Artic sleeping bag I come to understand that Quebec bikers aren’t crazy, but rather are infused with a spirit that our puritanical American culture seems to lack.  Up here they call it joie de vivre – the joy of living.