As I approach the Canadian border, the rain has subsided significantly but it is still windy and the sky is gray and heavy. It’s now 7:45am. I need gas and I’m feeling a little battered. I stop by at the last service station before the border crossing and again, head straight for the washroom. I cycle that electric dryer for what seems like a good twenty or thirty times while I dry out as much as possible. The station manager, who has not seen me come in, is wondering what is going on in there. When I finally come out, I share a few words with him. This re-assures him.

He asks me where I’m coming from and I mention that I left Duluth last night (I omit to mention that I originally left Thunder Bay yesterday morning). He seems to sense that this is a longish ride but I can tell that it’s outside his frame of reference and he does not grasp it, nor do I dwell on it. He wishes me a safe ride as I head towards the Canadian border.

At the border I find zero traffic. It’s very damp out, with that wispy-like mist in the air. I pull up and am grateful to find a friendly border guard. He asks me where I’ve been and I answer. Only, I give him a rapid synopsis of my entire trip; of where I was originally headed (Prince Rupert), what I thought of doing to circumvent the weather (go by Duluth and then towards North Dakota), and what I finally resolved myself to do (come back home).

As I’m wearing earplugs, I speak louder than probably necessary. I give him this information in a rapid-fire tumbling-out of connected sentences. I wonder what must appear to him, as he looks at this soaking wet, gesticulating rider, bellowing out a whole trip itinerary machine-gun style!

He looks at me a little overwhelmed by this unexpected outpouring of information and waves me by, wishing me a safe journey. As I ride off, I wonder what border guards think when they see a motorcycle rider pull up dressed in full battle gear during bad weather. Do they pity us? Do they feel sorry for us? Would they be surprised to know that, most often, we would not want to trade our mounts for the warm and dry interior of car?

Going through the Soo, I ride by a panoply of motels but realise that I have no desire to stop at this point. Determining that I’m still feeling fine, and wanting to distance myself from the area, I push on towards Sudbury. The rain is now light to moderate while cycling on and off. I’m looking forward to an easy three-hour ride to Sudbury where I plan to stop.

Though the temperature is now warmer than it has been since last night and hovers around 7C (44F), I feel the need to crank up my electric vest. Though the vest feels very hot next to my skin, I still would like more heat; a sure sign that I’m a little battle-weary.

Though I have no trouble running at a good clip, my progress is slowed by more frequent and longer breaks. Stopping at gas stations, I seem to want to linger a little as I chat with a revolving-door of patrons while sipping a hot beverage or a juice. I realise that I’m feeling weary from the rain and wind, having ridden through it all night. Not surprisingly, being inside in the warm and dry just feels good at this point. It seems to take an eternity to reach my destination.

I finally make Sudbury by 12:30. By the time I find an adequate room, settle in, and go through the routine of spreading out my gear for drying, it is 1pm. At this point, a hot shower seems like just the ticket.

As I dress, I notice a red spot under my ribs about the size of a dime. I pass my finger on it gently and the skin just slides right off! This is a skin burn from the vest and I immediately know why. My kidney belt has a Velcro waistband that I wear over my vest. This keeps it in very close contact with my skin. Apparently, this is too close for higher heat settings, especially given my slightly hunched-over sportbike riding position. I get my first-aid kit and make a small dressing for it. It will have to do.

I get in bed for a nap and am out like a light. I wake up at 6pm. To my surprise, there is much lightning followed almost immediately by thunder, always a bad sign. Surprisingly, this is the first time this trip that I’m treated to lightning and thunder. On the cheerful side of things, the forecast for tomorrow is for partly cloudy with little risk of precipitation. I’m hoping that this system is in its dying throes.

I reflect on the weather that I’ve experienced from Duluth to the Soo. I’ve discovered that the system that I had encountered during my leg from Wawa to Thunder Bay was coming from the west and tracking east, intensifying near the Upper Peninsula. It was also intersecting with the remnants of Hurricane Lili coming from the south.

In Thunder Bay, and certainly as I moved towards Duluth, I was escaping its range. However, as I tracked east from Duluth, I progressively rode towards and into it. This would explain why the rain became worse as I approached its centre.

Well, I’m glad that’s over. I grab a bite, re-arrange equipment, decadently relax while watching some TV, and am back asleep by 1am. Pure bliss!

Daily Miles: 1575km 976mi

Bruno
Montreal, Canada