Days 26 to 29: Gaspésie

Day 26

Kilometer 2090

Petit-Matane, QC

At one point today, I looked down at my odometer and saw that I had reached kilometer 1993 (my birth year) and my speed at that moment in kph was 24.6 (my birth day). So, you know, miracles do happen once in a while.

The water is looking less and less like a river and more and more like a sea. The north shore has slowly faded into the horizon, now just a faint sliver of darkness over the water. The air smells like saltwater and seafood restaurants have started appearing by the side of the road. The river officially continues for another couple hundred miles, though. I've got a ways to go.

Day 27

Kilometer 2173

Sainte-Anne-des-Monts, QC

I crossed the boundary into the Gaspésie Region today, which, if I've read the locator map on my tourist flyer correctly, is the ninth and last of Québec's 17 regions that I'll visit. It took me longer than I'll admit to figure out whether nine seventeenths was slightly more or slightly less than 50%. (The answer is left as an exercise to the reader.)

In no particular order, here are five of many songs that have been playing in my head the past few days: The "Ping Pong Song" by Enrique Iglesias (a mix of the Spanish lyrics and the English lyrics), "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" from Mary Poppins (thank you to the kids I walked by speed-singing it in Québec City), "Wagon Wheel" by Old Crow Medicine Show (thank you to the live country musician playing until 12:30 at the bar beneath my window two nights ago), the Game of Thrones theme song, and, for reasons I'm not sure of, 2007 Eurovision Song of the Year "Molitva" by Marija Šerifović.

I bought a dozen bagels yesterday and I've almost finished them. Pretty sick of bagels now, though. As proof of how rural this region is: I got to the first town I crossed today at ten, looking for something to put on my bagels, but the town's only store didn't open until 10:30. The owner's granddaughter saw me standing in front of the door, though, reading the hours, and ran across the street to open up for me. I got a jar of peanut butter.

I'm in Sainte-Anne-des-Monts as I write this. Turns out "Monts" means "Mountains." That's a vocab word my thighs are not forgetting any time soon.

Day 28

Kilometer 2277

La-Rivière-Madeleine, QC

More mountains today.

I also hit the northern most point of the Gaspé Peninsula, and therefore of the trip, today. I looked it up, and it's just about exactly the latitude of Minnesota's Northwest Angle, the northernmost point in the continental US. So, I suppose that's sort of interesting.

If I didn't feel quite so dead, I would probably have something to say about how beautiful this region is.

Day 29

Kilometer 2378

Cap-des-Rosiers, QC

Another day of walking my bike up hills I can't possibly ride and careening down them at ridiculous speeds. Another day of watching my phone battery slowly deplete itself, even on airplane mode, even turned off most of the time, hoping that someday soon I'll find a restaurant and that it will have an outlet. Another day of swatting at the swarms of blood-sucking insects that only seem to abate during the occasional bout of heavy rain. (Side note: Did we for sure decide against the whole DDT thing? Because if the alternative is a mind-numbing, never-ending buzz, then maybe our Springs are better off Silent.)

All the repetitiveness, though, takes a back seat to today's exciting new development: I took a left turn today. That may not seem noteworthy, but it felt pretty momentous to me. I haven't taken a turn—in either direction—in six days, as I've just been hugging the shoreline on Route 132. Granted, I took that left turn in order to keep hugging the shoreline on Route 132, and, granted, I'm going to be shoreline-hugging on Route 132 until I get to New Brunswick, but let's not nitpick.

The village I'm in now is both the traditional end of the St. Lawrence River (about time!) and home to Canada's tallest lighthouse. Tomorrow morning I'll reach the eastern tip of the peninsula, and then I'll have to turn around and head west again.

Days 22 to 25: Chaudière-Appalaches and Bas-Saint-Laurent

Day 22

Kilometer 1648

Québec, QC

I got on my bike today, so I suppose that means a blog entry is required.

It hasn't been much of "rest and relaxation" the past two days. Yesterday my host took me hiking in the mountains, and today I took my bike (for God-knows-what reason) to Île d'Orléans, for the views of the city. And of course, there was much exploring of the (beautiful, stunning, amazing, fantastic, etc) city itself.

Day 23

Kilometer 1776

Saint-Roch-des-Aulnaies, QC

Well, that was an unexpectedly patriotic kilometer to stop at.

The St. Lawrence is definitely much wider now than it was before. And the rugged mountains on the north side have been making me simultaneously crane my neck all day to get a good view, and pat myself on the back for having the cowardice required to take the flat, south shore instead.

My "campground" tonight is a rocky outcropping on the shore with a breathtaking view of the mountains. I'm not complaining.

Day 24

Kilometer 1860

Rivière-du-Loup, QC

This is how most of my interactions in this province have gone so far:

Them, faster than my ears can even register: Rémpligny-rèmplîdou-à-qu'estijoù-fêttes-cherchu-fou-pèr-portaluristent?

Me: Uh... quoi?

Them, now in flawless English: Oh, no French? I just said hello.

Day 25

Kilometer 1955

Bic, QC

Today, June 24, is both my 23rd birthday and the national holiday of Québec, Saint-Jean-Baptiste Day. And (thank you Mom and Dad) I'm staying in a bed-and-breakfast tonight. I'm not completely sure what a "bed-and-breakfast" entails (besides the two rather obvious things), as my only exposure comes from Gilmore Girls, but if my assumptions are correct, I'm about to receive a knock on the door from an elderly Nova Scotian couple inviting me to a rousing game of shuffleboard. (What even is "shuffleboard"? The picture I have in my head is a somewhat odd mixture of curling, backgammon, and euchre.)

This is what I've eaten today: three bagels, three doughnuts, a tube of Pringles, a Starbucks frappuccino, a chocolate chip-peanut butter cookie, and a big plate of poutine with chicken and peas on top. I looked for some ice cream since it's my birthday, but it appears this town doesn't have any.

Days 14 to 20: Montreal to Québec City

Day 14

Kilometer 1092

Montréal, QC

Milestones today: I reached 1000 kilometers, then a few minutes later, I crossed the border into Québec. I reached the westernmost point on the trip just before arriving in Montréal. (And yes, I'm keeping that accent there.) Perhaps most important of all: I went to Tim Hortons for the first time.

Day 17

Kilometer 1224

Louiseville, QC

After two days of exploring that beautiful city on foot and, by God, not sitting on that god-damned bicycle, I am now, once again, sitting on that god-damned bicycle. Eastward now (just in case my right side felt left out of the barrage of sun my left side was enjoying), I begin following the long St. Lawrence River to its mouth, many hundreds of miles from here.

This is big cows-and-cornfields country, with nary a patch of trees in sight, somewhat complicating my efforts to find a suitable place to camp (read: hide) for the night. Tonight gets the award for least comfortable spot yet: a cement block underneath a railroad bridge. Come at me, back pain.

Day 18

Kilometer 1311

Grand-Mère, QC

There are two things that Québec has substantially more of than the United States. The first is bicycles. And bicyclists riding those bicycles, and bike lanes and bike trails upon which they ride. Even the backwoodsiest of country roads somehow all seem to have some kind of bicycle-centered infrastructure, and when it comes to cities, Montréal has any US city I've been to beat by a mile.

The second thing is life-sized, and occasionally larger-than life, statues of the crucifixion of Jesus. He's in people's front yards; He's in prominent public places in small towns; He's everywhere you turn your head. Apparently, Conspicuous Catholicism is a central part of Québec's "national patrimony". (Yes, national: in everything I've seen, Québec refers to itself as a "nation." What the nine other provinces with which it supposedly shares a government have to say about that remains to be seen.)

I followed the river down to Trois Rivières, where the St. Maurice River meets the St. Lawrence (my math may be off, but I'm only counting deux rivières here), then up Maurice to the foot of the mountains. I stopped in Grand-Mère mostly for the name. Tomorrow, into La Mauricie National Park before I start for Québec City.

Day 19

Kilometer 1424

Grand-Mère, QC (again)

I have two words. The first is "Uff." The second is "Da."

Day 20

Kilometer 1587

Québec, QC

After a ride yesterday that, while beautiful, was a little, um, rough, I had some ground to make up. And I did. One hundred miles today, just about exactly. Most Canadian thing I saw in that time? It's a toss-up between the moose farm I passed in the morning and the massive pile of poutine I had for lunch (and dinner).

Days 7 to 13: Massachusetts and Vermont

Day 7
Kilometer 474

Norwell, MA

I'm going to call this Day 7, even though no biking occurred on days five or six. Instead, I attended several graduations and graduation parties and got bombarded with questions about biking.

Getting back on was kinda tough today. My calves were having none of it. Luckily I didn't go as much as I was going before, since I had fixed endpoints—one aunt and uncle's house to another aunt and uncle's house. Kinda handy to have family scattered across the state.

Less convenient, though, are the locations where my bike chooses to malfunction. I'm calling this Sam's Law: whenever someone (and by someone, I mean me) is as far as possible from a bike shop is when something goes wrong and whenever he's as far as possible from a source of food is when he's hungriest. Take this afternoon, for instance: where did my front right brake pad abruptly decide to loosen itself and fall off, rendering my front brakes useless? Naturally, on the emptiest stretch of highway on the South Shore. 

Day 8

Kilometer 513

Milton, MA

The minute I hit kilometer 500, I started singing "I Would Bike 500 Kilometers" to the tune of "500 Miles." It didn't really fit.

The threat of thunderstorms cut short the day. And some day I'll have to pitch my tent under the rumble of clouds, but today, I redirect myself to yet another aunt's house, making this the fifth night in a row that I'm sleeping with a roof over my head. This, truly, is the high life.

Day 9

Kilometer 611

Westminster, MA

I don't think "every day is a new challenge" is a particularly apt aphorism, because some days present the same old challenges you've seen again and again. Like when your inner tube needs to be changed for the third time in a week. I found and removed a shard of metal from it this time, though, so maybe this'll be the last time. Fingers crossed.

Day 10

Kilometer 673

Keene, NH

On today's edition of "What Song Gets Stuck in Sam's Head for Ten Hours": "Three is a Magic Number" from Schoolhouse Rock. I now know my multiples of three very well, trust me.

I just about froze my fingers off this morning, but I made it out of Massachusetts. My hosts (friends of my parents) tell me that Keene is where the movie Jumanji was filmed, and as soon as they say it, I see the elephants and lions and monkeys running around the town square.

Day 11

Kilometer 808

Rutland, VT

I feel like I've complained a lot here about bike troubles or poor weather. But today I have absolutely nothing to whine about. The weather was perfect and the scenery was beautiful. I crossed the Connecticut River this morning and then (with such inspired lyrics as "Three times ten is thirty/Three times nine is twenty-seven/Three times eight is twenty-four" still reverberating through my skull) I watched as hilly turned into hillier and hillier gave way to mountainous.

At noon, I stopped at the Vermont Country Store and tried their (many, many) free samples of cheese, crackers, dips, sauces, cookies, and toffee. I circled the store until I was full. "Lunch". I stopped for a maple-glazed Belgian waffle ("mid-afternoon snack") at the Ludlow Farmers' Market, and in the evening I crossed the Green Mountains and descended into Rutland. Over eighty miles today.

Day 12

Kilometer 861

Middlebury, VT

I think I heard a bear outside my tent last night. I frantically googled what to do about bears at campsites and was helpfully told to hang my food from a tree.

People here are obsessively friendly. Just today, I've gotten two waves and a honk from passing cars, two offers for help when I was pulled over to check my phone, and unsolicited directions to the Birthplace of Stephen A Douglas. (I went.)

Day 13

Kilometer 958

South Hero, VT

My first real rainy day. Made good use of it, though. I moseyed my way north along the foot of the Green Mountains, then stopped for a bagel in Burlington before following a bike path along Lake Champlain and, eventually, into Lake Champlain via bike trail causeway. To cap it off, a bike ferry connecting the break in the causeway between Burlington and Grand Isle. Given that it's 54 degrees and raining, I was the sole passenger. Now I'm in a field on the island with the most spectacular view of the lake and the mountains behind. I'm calling it a day.

Days 1 to 4: New York to Cape Cod

Day 1

Kilometer 98

Port Jefferson Station, NY

It wasn't the auspicious beginning I would have hoped for.

I set my alarm for seven, but didn't wake up till eight. By the time I pulled my heavy, luggage-laden bike out the door, it was after 8:30, and then the minute wheel touched pavement, the zip-tie contraption connecting my bag rack to my bicycle that I'd jury-rigged the night before snapped. Six blocks to Rite-Aid for duct tape, six blocks back. I didn't leave the neighborhood until 9:30, and even then got lost a few times in the maze of paths that is Flushing Meadows. But all is good. Smooth sailing for hours past the strip malls and chain stores of Nassau County. Until I lost my keys.

I checked and double-checked the pocket where I usually keep them. Then another pocket, and another, and another. Shit. And now that I think of it, hadn't I heard a little clink of something falling a few miles back? I'm sure I did. In retrospect, though, it might have been smart to triple-check that first pocket before I wasted seven kilometers retracing my steps to find the keys, given that the second I reached into my backpack to retrieve my phone is when, instead, I put my hand upon my keys. Hmph.

I'm in Dunkin Donuts in Stony Brook, NY now. I got my dinner at the Domino's next door, and came in here to use the bathroom and the wifi. But the part of the day I'm most nervous for is still ahead of me. That's the part where I pitch my tent somewhere and go to sleep. Now, the "pitch my tent" and "go to sleep" parts of that are not what concerns me. What concerns me is "somewhere." I don't have a campsite. I'm just looking for a nice patch of trees where hopefully no one will find me before I wake up. I read online that other people do this. I think it's called, like, "stealth camping" or something. But it's one thing to read it somewhere, and it's another to attempt it myself. We'll see how it goes. I'll keep you posted.

Day 2

Kilometer 208

Stonington, CT

I survived. A clearing in the woods just off the bike path. And somehow, even though I was convinced that every squirrel's footstep and every leaf's rustle was some angry security guard going to throw me out, I woke up feeling well-rested at five in the morning. Not sure that's ever happened before.

Lucky, though, because I had to make up some time from yesterday. Which, it turns out, was no easy task. I'm more weighed down with luggage and exhausted from the previous day than I ever have been before. But I managed. I reached Orient Point, the end of Long Island, at three, after nearly ten hours, on and off, of biking. I hopped on the ferry to Connecticut, Land of Nutmeg and Constitutions, and biked as much as I could before I collapsed and found somewhere to sleep. I imagine that last phrase is going to become a familiar sentiment these next two months.

Day 3

Kilometer 334

Freetown, MA

There's three things you should know. First: if, for some reason, you are reading this despite not being my mother, then you may not know what I'm writing about, though I suppose you'd have to be pretty oblivious not to notice that I've been biking for the past three days. That's because I left my job and my apartment in New York City and I got on a bike two days ago, Tuesday, May 31, and left. I'm going north first, to Quebec, then east, along the St. Lawrence Seaway to the Maritime Provinces, then back down the coast of New England to Cape Cod. But wait, responds the astute reader, consulting his road atlas, you've been going east, but Canada is north of you. Well, yes. The short term goal is two cousins' graduations in Massachusetts this weekend. A pit stop of sorts.

Second, the odometer on my bike is in kilometers, and I can't change it to miles without reseting it and losing my progress, which means I now spend roughly 80% of my time mentally converting between the two.

Third, I biked across an entire state today. Smallest state in the union, but still. I woke up in Connecticut, crossed Rhode Island, and am sleeping in Massachusetts.

Bonus fourth thing: Every part of my body is sore.

Day 4

Kilometer 390

Falmouth, MA

I made it to Cape Cod! Now to sleep for twenty hours.