The first priority on getting into Ottawa was to find a Vespa shop and get a new rear tire and an oil change. The oil change possibly could wait, but it's never a good idea to leave it too long. The back tire couldn't wait. It had a few hundred miles left and I needed more than a thousand. The crew at Gearhead had me back on the road in a little over 2 hours. I have a Kenda tire on the scoot now, a little more rugged tread than I'm used to but it feels great to ride on fresh rubber.
Ottawa has a nice parkway along the river that the guys at the shop told me about. It takes you down by the old town and head of state buildings, all very pretty. I sat down for a map check and a few pictures of the river. I had a chat with a lady who pulled into the lot. She was waiting for her boyfriend who had ridden his bike into work but didn't want to fight the wind on the way home. She was lean and muscular, reminded me of friends who are training for an ironman. I told her about my night in the four wheeled hotel. She had a fun travel story about staying in a rich man's shed in Lima, Peru. He offered nicer accommodations, but they came with a price she didn't want to pay. Her accent sounded very strong to me.
I picked a rural route and a campsite destination that was a little ambitious. I was headed to a campsite called Driftwood park. It was on a man made lake just west of Pembroke. I was in Pembroke about ninety minutes before sundown to grab some dinner and wifi access and had a fun talk with two couples that I guess were all in thier eighties. The prime talker, a white haired matron prone whose dentures were not very convincing as teeth, told me she grew up in the thirties. Everyone had been poor, no one had money or much need for it. They were all farmers and mostly self sufficient. Now, she says that it's sad that there is now such a separation between those with a lot of money and those with little. She's been in the same community for more than 60 years and seen it change a lot. To my eyes, the town was more rural than any I have lived in.
I broke off the conversation and hit the road. The wind had been strong all day long. The weather channel website said twenty five mph but it felt worse than that. It would roar down the river vally and swirl and gust. It added to the fatigue and increased my gas consumption. I made it to the campground and set up the tent in the fading light. The sunset over the lake was very pretty. I hope the pics turn out. Even though there was no attendant at the park, I did the self registration. Provincial parks are expensive, forty bucks. I payed it because I planned to sleep in. I slept very well even though the temps dropped to the mid forties and the wind continued to blow.
Showers. Thank god finally showers. I'm surprised I didn't use up all the hot water I stayed in there so long. I lounged around the campground until eleven thirty soaking in the sun and the sights. I was camped right on the shore.
The wind wasn't as bad today, but I was starting to develop a hot spot of muscle ache below the left shoulder blade. I think it was from having to always be alert and ready for the next gust no matter where it came from. It may also have something to do with sleeping in a van the previous night. I casually passed a gas station because the trip meter said I had only gone eighty miles since the last fill up. Foolish. I usually fill up every 120 miles. It would be another 60 miles to the next gas station. I have to thank the people of the Modern Vespa forums for reminding me to buy a spare fuel bottle and keep it filled. It wouldn't have been a show stopper, but it would have eaten a lot of time if I didn't have it. I spent a little quality time with my scoot on the side of the road. When I gassed up, I stopped by a full service gas station. The lady there was nice but she overfilled both the scoot and the fuel bottle. The pump flow was too fast. For those that don't know, the fuel tank access is under the seat and when it's overfilled, the gas often flows into your underseat storage. It isn't anything that I haven't done myself so I wasn't angry. I was mostly overcome with the novelty. I can't remember the last time I saw a full service station in the states.
Sudbury is cool, the basalt bedrock is cresting thru the topsoil everywhere and the city is built on those sparse bits of soil in between. I wandered around town for a while, unsuccessfully looking for free wifi access. Really Canada, get with it. How do you expect anyone to visit. Clear skies and vast wilderness... Is that all? ;) I stumbled across the Vespa dealer and town forty five minutes after they closed. Bummer. Before I had my next destination plotted though, Perry had spotted me out of the window as he was closing up shop for the night. He came out and chatted with me for a while. Great guy. I told him a little about my trip and we talked a little about Vespas. He has a trip in mind too, to ride out to the west coast for some training from Vespa ( I think that was the reason). He gave me a business card and offered any asssistance if I needed it going down the road. He gave me a die cast model of a 1953 Vespa 125 for being the "kick ass rider of the year". The model is gorgeous. I have a photo of one as desktop background at work. The suggestion of taking old 55 was nice too. People drive a little fast on the Trans-Canada Highway.
I made it to Chutes Provincial Park. Again, just as the sun sets. A quick tent set up and some typing before the netbook battery dies on me. I think it will be another early start in the morning. The mosquitoes are hungrily watching me and I think there is a small critter sniffing around the scoot. The clif bars are safely stashed under the seat.
No comments:
Post a Comment