Atlanticade: It’s Nice to Feel Wanted

“Moncton hosts a number of high profile events and it seems that Atlanticade, perhaps because it’s a local organization, sometimes gets lost in the shuffle. People in city hall never seemed to grasp the concept of this event even though there was a 3.7 million-dollar spin-off last year.
Last year [2009] the city booked the Bon Jovi concert on the same weekend as Atlanticade. Now while this sounds like a great opportunity the reality is that hotel room rates throughout the city get increased for these big concerts and this affects the wallets of those coming to Moncton for the rally. Furthermore, the powers-that-be in city hall never notified Atlanticade organizers and the news of this concert was learned through the grapevine and too late to make scheduling changes for the rally. Every year there seemed to be some municipal issue, but the Bon Jovi concert essentially was the straw that broke the camel’s back." – interview with Dan Hicks, founder and promoter of Atlanticade.

Divorce is an ugly word, but sometimes a relationship has such irreconcilable differences that there’s no other choice but separation. So the city of Moncton and the Atlanticade rally parted ways last year. But there were other suitors for this motorcycle event and the pretty little city of Saint-Andrews-by-the-Sea was hosting the 4th Annual Atlanticade Rally for the very first time.
Make no mistake about it: it’s nice to feel wanted. John Craig, the mayor of Saint Andrews wanted it. Tim Henderson, the city’s chief administrative officer wanted it. Just as importantly, Karen Young of the Fairmont Algonquin hotel wanted it. The only question was whether riders would travel almost to the border of Maine to attend it.

The Algonquin is a five-star resort hotel that smells of old money, but when I arrived it was all about motorcycles. The blue and white striped Bud Beer tent was set up in one area while bikers lounged in polychrome Adirondack chairs on the front lawn by a makeshift bar. Bikes were parked everywhere and this is where I met Dan Hicks, the promoter of this event.
Atlanticade was taking places from July 1st to 5th. I’d already heard about the Canada Day fireworks extravaganza of the night before from folks encountered along the road earlier today. That certainly was a success, but the vast influx of residents from towns as much as an hour away from Saint Andrews prevented any count estimates of the number of motorcyclist on hand. Today I’d encountered hundreds of bikes on roads along the Fundy coast. It was often hard to distinguish between groups of riders and large numbers of individual riders who happened to be in the same place at the same time and that were going in the same direction. How many of these were simply passing through via Route 1 and how many were attending the rally was impossible to determine.
Dinner was sitting around with the mayor, Heather Ireland and the Biker TV crew, Tim Henderson, and Dan Hicks eating sausages and drinking beer in the gorgeous Kingsbrae Gardens. There were other events going on downtown, but by the time I wandered back to the hotel it was dark and time for bed. However, not for those folks in the blue and white striped tent – with live music they rocked on to who knows when.
Seven AM on Saturday downtown Saint Andrews was practically deserted and I was searching for that first cup of coffee. The morning light was perfect for photography and Water Street with its attractive facades was cordoned off for motorcycle-only parking, but you could count the number of bikes on one hand. However, by high noon both sides of the street were lined by a several thousand scoots parked cheek to jowl for several blocks. Scooters, dirt bikes, chopped Harleys, baggers, Brit bikes, Beemers, crotch rockets, dual sports, and trikes were mixed together in an eclectic jumble that is distinctly Canadian. Up here it’s not important what you ride, only that you do ride.

This tiny city can honestly lay claim to being the prettiest one to be found on the Fundy Coast and possibly even in the entire province. I can’t believe I missed it in the past: probably too much in a hurry to drop down and check it out. There’s a blockhouse at one end of Water Street and a large campground on the other at Indian Point. The National Historic District is composed of street after street of beautiful homes and the Kingsbrae Gardens are gorgeous. Katy’s Cove has a beach; Brandy Cove has the Huntsman Marine Sceince Centre and Aquarium. Minsters Island is accessible during low tide via a tidal road that crosses the ocean floor. This island was where Sir William Van Horne, the builder of the Canadian Pacific Railway, constructed his 50-room summer cottage from local sandstone as well as other outbuildings and a unique tidal swimming pool. In other words, there’s plenty to see and do in Saint Andrews.

Just in case local attractions weren’t enough, three guided tours were offered on a daily basis: the Charlotte County Coastal, McAdam Train Station, and International Island. Directions for these were posted for those who wished to travel on their own. Eldridge’s H-D/Honda threw a BBQ on Saturday at their Saint John showroom and some took off on that jaunt. There also was the Charlotte County Treasure Hunt and other touring activities that kept riders on the road day after day in perfect summer weather. There are several operators based in Saint Andrews who offer whale-watching tours and many took to the boats and headed out into the Bay of Fundy. The day was too perfect, so I got on the Street Glide and headed out of town.
In the narrow channel between Eastport, Maine and Deer Island, New Brunswick there is The Old Sow. This is the second-largest whirlpool in the world, a phenomenon that takes place twice a day as the incoming Fundy tide battles against the outflow of the St. Croix River. It’s something I’ve always wanted to see. Arriving at the site, imagine my surprise to find scuba divers suiting up, families on the beach, and the ferry making passage to the U.S. shore! I did get to witness the gyre and numerous “piglet” whirlpools, but it was fairly anti-climatic. However, the roads of Deer Island proved to be a delight to ride and I even had a whitetail dash across my path—how apropos.

There are two ferry routes into New Brunswick from Maine: one from Campobello Island and the other from Eastport. Actually Campobello Island is reached via the International Bridge at Lubec, Maine and Eastport on Moose Island is connected to the mainland by a causeway, but both are linked to Deer Island by ferry. From Deer Island another ferry weaves through the islands to reach the tip of a peninsula at Letete, so this route requires a bit of island hopping. Saint Andrews actually lies directly north and slightly west of Eastport and Lubec, but one has to ride counter-clockwise around Passamaquoddy Bay to reach it. Most people simply make the international crossing at Calais, Maine and go east around the head of the bay on Route 1 and then south on Route 127 to reach Saint Andrews at the very tip of this peninsula. It’s quite scenic regardless of which is chosen.

There were vendors and hundreds of bikes parked at the Arena when I returned to town. More in the parking lot at the Algonquin, and still a couple thousand downtown. Not everyone registered for Atlanticade so it’s difficult to determine how many showed up. I asked the local sheriff and he was of the opinion that 5-6,000 motorcycles were in town. No matter what the “official” count is deemed to be, the 4th Annual Atlanticade turned out to be more successful than any that had been held in Moncton. It seems that everyone had a good time and there were no problems so I expect word-of-mouth will increase attendance next year [2011]. Oh by the way, it will be held in Saint-Andrews-by-the-Sea. It’s nice to feel wanted.

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.


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Motorcycling Montreal

Motorcycling Montreal

by Ken Aiken

Leaning back against the gray-stone wall and soaking up heat from the spring sun, I savor my first cappuccino of the day as sibilant sounds of French and the clicking of stiletto heels on cobblestones reach my ears. Across the street the horizon is defined by the top deck and smokestacks of an ocean-going vessel and white seagulls that soar on motionless wings against a flawless blue sky. It’s early Saturday and with little traffic on Rue de la Commune I’m able to park my scoot directly in front of the café – something that will be nearly impossible in a couple of hours. It feels like I’m back in Europe, but in fact I’m just an hour’s ride from Vermont.

Montreal is the second largest French-speaking city in the world; only 18.5% of the slightly fewer than two million inhabitants consider English to be their primary language. Despite their diverse ethnic backgrounds, residents are fervently French in culture, but communication poses few problems since most have English as their second or third language.

This is an island city. Situated in the middle of the St. Lawrence River at the mouth of the Ottawa River, 994 miles from the Atlantic Ocean, Montreal became North America’s second-busiest port until the St. Lawrence Seaway opened in 1959 and is still the largest inland port in the world. Discovered in 1535 by Jacques Cartier while he searched for the elusive Northwest Passage, its strategic military and trade location caused it to play a pivotal role in the development of both Canada and the United States.

Vieux (Old) Montreal – with its narrow cobbled streets flanked by gray stone buildings housing restaurants, shops, and art galleries – has a distinctive European feel and the greatest concentration of 17^th, 18^th, and 19^th century buildings in North America. A promenade of a communal green and the King Edward and Alexandria piers lay between Rue de la Commune and the river. Reclaimed from their former roles as major international docking quays, they now support an IMAX theater, food vendors, and the city’s science center. It’s just one of the city’s many “green zones,” but definitely a choice one for people watching.

Riding over the low ridge that divides the tourist-oriented port from the modern city, I find a parking space on Boulevard Saint Laurent only half a block from the red-and-gold gate that leads into Chinatown. The narrow sidewalks are overflowing and small grocery stores packed as Asians come from all over the city to shop in this small, unique district. Distinctly foreign, I could be in any small Asian city once under the dominion of France.

I take time just to ride around the city, cruising through canyons of glass and steel and eventually winding up Mont-Royal between the Cemetery of Notre-Dame and the 500-acre park. Stopping at the only observation point accessible to vehicles I gaze at the expanse of the eastern part of the city. Sticking up like a sore thumb, the futuristic leaning tower of the “Big O” (Olympic Stadium and former home of the Montreal Expos) is an unmistakable landmark of Montreal Est (East) and I orient myself in relation to it.

Cruising down into The Plateau, the stadium is centered at the end of Avenue du Mont-Royal like the front sight on a rifle. Sidewalks are crowded as residents of this ethnically diverse area browse trendy shops and run Saturday errands at specialty stores. The ambiance reminds me of the Haight district of San Francisco in the 70s: head shops, music stores, and funky galleries intermingled with straight retail establishments. Once again the bike gets parked and I become a tourist on foot.

On Rue St. Denis, I ride by another of Montreal’s numerous tree-filled parks. Intrigued, I loop around and park in front of a row of townhouses in which each otherwise identical residence has its window frames and front door painted in a different vibrant color. The architecture on these streets is pure eye candy and judging from the plethora of turrets and parapets, 19th-century Montrealers took the expression “a man’s home is his castle” to heart.

From St. Louis Square (a park) it’s a short stroll down Côte Prince Arthur Est, a pedestrian-only avenue of ethnic restaurants where BYOB is the trendy norm, to Boulevard St. Laurent. On the northern edge of the Latin Quarter, this is the center of Montreal’s noted restaurant and nightclub district. This is a place where it’s easy to drop $300 for dinner, but dozens of restaurants offering midi (mid-day) la table d’hôte (complete meal specials) for) for less than ten bucks.

Quebec drivers are among the worst I’ve encountered in my travels and busy mid-day traffic means it’s now impossible to sightsee and ride safely. Parking places have become especially scarce, so I park illegally the next time, squeezing in alongside a Honda VFR in a space reserved for taxis across from Place Des Art on Rue St. Catherine Ouest (West). The smell of reefer is everywhere. This casual, but not blatant, openness on one of the city’s busiest streets surprises me. Strip clubs and tacky tourist shops blend with international clothing outlets, fine restaurants, books stores, offices, and performing arts theaters; it’s a heady mix for a country boy. After an enjoyable half an hour of people watching I return to my scoot. A police officer tries to explain in English and French that I’m parked in a reserved space. I answer in Italian and indicate that I’m leaving – it satisfies him and I escape without a ticket.

Aided by directions and a map of the city I find my way to Little Italy. My first impression is one of disappointment, but that changes once I begin to enter storefronts strung along upper St. Laurent. In a very small bottega (shop) that has large burlap bags of coffee beans stacked against the front windows and espresso machines awaiting repair lining shelves on the back wall, I discover a typical Italian bar. Ah, you don’t know coffee until you’ve had a real Italian espresso. A couple of businesses away there’s a supermarket and I end up dropping a hundred bucks on essential staples that will barely fit into my reorganized saddlebags. Best of all is the fact that I can now converse with shop owners and understand some of the conversations that swirl past me on the street.

I feel like I’ve spent a day in Europe, but with the orange glow of the setting sun reflecting from the city’s mirrored towers, I head back to the States on two wheels – which is better than a long plane ride!

Addendum

Written for a national magazine in 2002, this assignment left such an impression that I moved to the Plateau district in Montreal and have maintained a residence in the city ever since.