7/11/17 Sur la Côté; Sur la Ferme
Two distinctly different scenes and scents enscribed our day.
Threatening skies dabbled us with rain as we veered onto route 132, our constant companion these past three days. Riding the edge of the black and blue, eyes to the skies, we raced the weather, roaring behind a pace bike from Newfoundland. Only slightly damp, we won the day and eased back in the saddle.
The musty, mollusky aroma of low tide blended with the perfume of clover and wild roses as we rode on. The outward flow of the gulf undressed acres of shoreline as some boats sat docked in mud. Sea birds covered the exposed rocks, searching for stranded marine life.
The far shore became clearly more visible as the gulf became the river and narrowed, making its way to Québec. Towns became more frequent and grew into cities. Rimouski, not named for a Polish explorer, but rather a mutation of the Micmac Indian word for " the land of the moose", was a culture shock for us because it was our first big city in days. Struggling through a myriad of traffic lights, we finally burst through to the other side and into a new scenario punctuated by a new scent.
Miles and miles of dairy farms hugged the river, replacing the sweet perfume of the morning ride with the not so charming bouquet of manure. Now the single spires of very ornate churches that bless each village were surrounded by tractors and silos, giving new meaning to the phrase "Holy cow!" Just as I'm sure the residents of this redolent area become inured to the odor, we soon overcame it and eyed with awe the pristine farms that rolled up to the mountains. One dairy barn even sported hanging flowers from each window.
Rising winds and more weather threat pushed us through the farmland and southwest to La Pocatiere,
our end game for the day. Just as we settled in, rain began in earnest and we smiled at our good fortune.
Low tide, high silos and church spires defined our day, the rise and fall of the road charging our senses with ever changing landscapes and fragrances. Tomorrow we will leave Gaspé as we meet Quebec City and travel toward Ontario. St. Lawrence has been a generous host and we will miss his warm hospitalité. But we are bound to begin our next adventure into the vast expanse that remains of Canada. Explorers at heart, we will ride our trusty mount into the setting sun and head into unridden territory. We've only just begun!
Threatening skies dabbled us with rain as we veered onto route 132, our constant companion these past three days. Riding the edge of the black and blue, eyes to the skies, we raced the weather, roaring behind a pace bike from Newfoundland. Only slightly damp, we won the day and eased back in the saddle.
The musty, mollusky aroma of low tide blended with the perfume of clover and wild roses as we rode on. The outward flow of the gulf undressed acres of shoreline as some boats sat docked in mud. Sea birds covered the exposed rocks, searching for stranded marine life.
The far shore became clearly more visible as the gulf became the river and narrowed, making its way to Québec. Towns became more frequent and grew into cities. Rimouski, not named for a Polish explorer, but rather a mutation of the Micmac Indian word for " the land of the moose", was a culture shock for us because it was our first big city in days. Struggling through a myriad of traffic lights, we finally burst through to the other side and into a new scenario punctuated by a new scent.
Miles and miles of dairy farms hugged the river, replacing the sweet perfume of the morning ride with the not so charming bouquet of manure. Now the single spires of very ornate churches that bless each village were surrounded by tractors and silos, giving new meaning to the phrase "Holy cow!" Just as I'm sure the residents of this redolent area become inured to the odor, we soon overcame it and eyed with awe the pristine farms that rolled up to the mountains. One dairy barn even sported hanging flowers from each window.
Rising winds and more weather threat pushed us through the farmland and southwest to La Pocatiere,
our end game for the day. Just as we settled in, rain began in earnest and we smiled at our good fortune.
Low tide, high silos and church spires defined our day, the rise and fall of the road charging our senses with ever changing landscapes and fragrances. Tomorrow we will leave Gaspé as we meet Quebec City and travel toward Ontario. St. Lawrence has been a generous host and we will miss his warm hospitalité. But we are bound to begin our next adventure into the vast expanse that remains of Canada. Explorers at heart, we will ride our trusty mount into the setting sun and head into unridden territory. We've only just begun!
We edged out this cloud
Clear sailing onto the gulf
Low tide
Musty and mollusky
Wild rose
Dairy farms in abundance
Tractors and Saints in abundance
Rascal Québécoise
Mountains growing from the sea
Neatly appointed farms from the sea to the mountains
The views never end
As green as it gets
Silos and Saints
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