Tuesday, May 28, 2019
Toronto, Ontario

At this point, on the road for a full lunar cycle, life has taken on a familiar, dreamy quality. And it's warmer. I'm more healthy and fit and it takes less "maintenance" to maintain my spirits and bodily needs. It's why I do bike trips. To get back to some wistful, misty youthful reality of years gone by. At least, in my mind.

Crawling my way along the shore of Lake Erie, a few things stand out. It's a Birdland, and at every quiet moment, when traffic sound fades away, you hear the diverse chirping and singing of species. One morning, heading out on the road after a camp-out, I swear I heard one bird flying past, calling out "hey Dave, hey Dave, hey Dave..." and I've thought that I've heard other things too. Always, it's an affirmative. But once I heard a bird saying "yeah right..."

What strikes me most about the Erie shore is how non-urbanized it is. Not a single city. Only sparse modest towns, and mostly, it's farms, cottages, and windmills. With solar panels beginning to catch up. Life is quiet. I pull into Port Stanley. Like the abundant songbirds, I see big groups of colourful beautifully attired cyclists, riding over the bridge, zooming past me in small pelotons, and draped over deck chairs at the fashionable cafés. They stare at me slightly; understanding what I'm about, but nobody jumps up and beckons me to join their group or their table. They don't seem to wish that their bikes weighed 100 lbs. But it's nice to see them. Port Stanley is as pretty a town as you could imagine, and the tourist information centre is thorough. Washrooms, good drinking water, comfortable indoor seats, maps, staff that behave like they've been waiting to serve you. I learn that yes, there is a TD bank machine just over that bridge.

I don't rely upon GPS or the internet to find my way. I like the good old tradition of asking strangers for directions. Maybe I just need the brief human interaction. And nobody ever minds sending me off on my course...

"You can go either way. At the water tower, make your turn. There's only one way to go"...

I head off from my bank machine corner. At a gas bar, I get concerned so I stop in for more directions. It's a gas bar, a small convenience store, and, behind that, the most delicious smells are emanating. My store manager is helpful, but another man emerges from behind the scenes, looking resplendent in his customary ethnic clothing; sort of robes and a turban, and I say "smells so good, wow!" And he says "oh yes we have a full restaurant in back. You just go up to the water tower". He smiles and I make a promise to be back someday to eat at the Green Roof Café. Away I go, sure that I can't miss.

A right at East Road. There's the water tower, and no wonder everyone's mentioning it. I gaze up, up...and I glide along, twisted into that amazed state, thinking about water, about how civilized we can be. It's the biggest water tower I've seen. It's a beautiful day.

Along, faster, I'll miss this town I'm thinking. I see another cyclist. We wave. The speed picks up. I roll past subdivisions, the downhill speed increases, now I'm swooping down a steep curve, braking cautiously, and...

I'm back at my bank machine. What the--?

It's a lost time loop. It's the twilight zone. I've heard about this happening. After more help from strangers, I try again, and eventually reconstruct that while coasting along, head turned up at the tower, I'd glided right past my turn. Okay; five extra kilometres can't hurt. In a way, I'm glad. I feel now, like I've really "done" Port Stanley.

And Port Bruce is lovely. And Port Burwell, well, hello old friend! This is where I had hooked up with Lake Erie, way back in '98, on the first epic trip. That was the first "El Niño" year. Before we'd heard the term Climate Change. I'm only hoping it doesn't rain much.

In Port Burwell, I am headed for a reunion with my sister Leslie, who's visiting her friend Pat, who just happens to be right in my route! The rain arrives ten minutes after I arrive. No problem, I'm inside a house all safe and warm, and dinner is on the way...

Two nights go by easily. My hosts, Pat and Brian, are wonderful. Brian suggests at one point that I'm "just plain nuts". I answer that, it's the "plain" part that I disagree with.

After a great catch up with Leslie, it's time to push on. More quiet roads, warm weather, singing birds, green-blue calm Lake Erie. Riding from Port Burwell brings back more of that youthful dreaminess. I think "I was only 38 last time..."

I see a sign. "Campground of the year!" and instinctively turn in to the Knight's Beach Campground. Terryn is really helpful. There is a scarcity of trees for my hammock, but with some extra rope I get situated. It's a good thing I chose an actual campground tonight, because the next morning, the weather tests me like never before (on this trip).

Rain, cold, wind. Gear getting soaked. I manage to finish making lousy coffee when it really gets bad. Quickly, I bundle gear up, steeling myself to face the elements. This is where you need to dig deep into your reserves of calm. Luckily, the place is empty, and so are the washrooms. So, functioning as safe haven, laundry, toilet and washing station for the next hour, I emerge, looking up at clearing skies, and hearing more singing birds. Everything is going to be okay.

In Selkirk, a very compassionate biker, (as in motorcyclist) who'd passed me earlier, says I really should make a right, and head along the very shoreline. He gives me the best steer yet, and now I'm riding past cottages, while the road hugs the beach. Or more accurately, what's left of the beach. It winds, it has no hills, people wave, and I tell myself I've never been on a prettier route than this. I've never been happier, riding my bike, than right now...

And this keeps up, all the way to Port Colborne, and, as a bonus, I pass by Wainfleet. That's the birthplace of my sister-in-law Kellie, whose Mom I'd stayed with in Chapter II...and I'm struck by the number of churches. In Port Colborne, as if things could get any better, I find The Friendship Trail, and it leads all the way to Fort Erie. And from there, another bike trail leads right to Niagara Falls and beyond.

Feeling so buoyed by being done with the whole length of Lake Erie, I ride along. More chats with strangers. Advice on where to camp. And the next day, rounding a turn, there it is. Niagara Falls. One of the Seven Wonders of the World...

I see across the river again to America. It looks exactly the same as here and totally different. I'd quickly sketched Buffalo, but when I get to the Falls, I stop to take in the view of this town from the south. An enormous cloud of mist envelops the centre of the city. It looks like no other place. I feel excited anticipation, and soon I'm slowly weaving in amongst the crowds along the railing. It's been 30, maybe 40 years since I've seen them. And I just can't believe much bigger and beautiful they've gotten since...

Go down, again, to Niagara Falls, if you can. Everyone who gave me directions emphasized how they're always amazing, no matter how many times one sees them. And this holds true for me. So much so that it blows my mind. I need Chinese food, again. Lots of it...

On and on. To Niagara on the Lake. To St. Catharines, and Tony's place. That's where we'll leave it for now. Hello, Lake Ontario!

D. Robinson
Southampton