I wonder how many different calls the common loon can produce?  Most birds have one or two.  I do believe I counted four or five distinct calls from the loons very early this morning--all of them haunting, yet beautiful.  And LOUD.  They definitely have some powerful vocal chords.  The bald eagle has been my favorite bird for as long as I can remember, but after the last few days I think the loon is becoming my new #1.

Number three just might be the red-headed (pileated) woodpecker.  I sat and watched a big one this morning as it did its work on the trunk of a big tree.  That red head of his rattled back and forth at what seemed like the speed of hummingbird wings, and I got the feeling that it KNEW I was watching him.  Just as a musician plays his/her instrument with a little extra flourish in front of an audience, I think he gave that beak of his an extra workout just to impress me.

Woody Woodpecker indeed!  Speaking of cartoons, I forgot to mention that International Falls, where I spent the night a couple of days ago, was the inspiration for the "Frostbite Falls" of Rocky and Bullwinkle fame.  And while I'm on the subject of cartoons . . .

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Back on the road, it wasn't long before I saw another deer rush across the road in front of me.  And not long after that I spoke with an eastbound cross-Canada rider named Vivian who was on her way to Newfoundland.  Her companion was a short distance behind and we waved to each other as he cruised downhill and I pedaled uphill.

"Have a great trip to Newfoundland," I shouted.  He turned his head back toward me with a look on his face like "how the hell did you know?"  *[see footnote]

Half an hour later a light rain moved in and that shut down the picture-taking for the day.  It's alright though because they would have only been more pictures of hills and billions of trees anyway, and I'm sure you've seen enough of those here on this journal.

The east end of the city of Kenora presents a significant problem for a bicyclist in the rain because the streets are narrow, there's a lot of traffic, and the rainwater doesn't drain.  It's not worth breaking my no-complaints pledge over, but I did have to plow through some pretty deep water in order to avoid swerving into traffic--and it's a special kind of murky water mixed with sand, mud, sludge, and insects that sticks to your bike, your shoes, your rain gear, and your panniers.

I made it to a Tim Horton's, which is apparently a Canadian cultural icon, and nursed a coffee and doughnut (both very average) for over an hour trying to wait out the rain.  Tim Horton's had a staff of about 12 people on duty and they were scrambling to serve a line of customers that never seemed to end--and it wasn't even during one of the mealtime rush hours.

Finally, when I could no longer pretend there was any coffee left in my cup, I gave up the wait and pedaled through the rain to a motel.

-

*[Footnote]  (This is an updated version of the original footnote)

THE MAN WHO BIKED TO CANADA (and didn't stop to talk to a very famous cycle touring writer)

For the second time in this journal, I must address an elephant in the parentheses--in this case, the part about me failing to stop to talk to a famous bike tourist/author.  I really must get over this bad case of overparenthesiasis, which is defined in at least one respected Journal of Literary Abnormalities as "the excessive use of parenthetical statements in one's cycle touring journals."  GUILTY!  (I am also guilty of fabricating pseudo-scientific references to explain my behaviors.)

Look, I'm no Alfred Hitchcock, so there's no use in trying to build up the suspense any longer.  I'll get right to the point of this essay:  It took me a few weeks to verify it, but the guy who looked at me in the "how-the-hell-did-you-know" kind of way was Chris Pountney, the around-the-world cyclist and author of two great books--"No Wrong Turns" and "Into the Sunrise"--as well as many famous on-line posts, Tweets, and blogs.  (Including the recent Cycleblaze journal "The Not So Long Way Down.")  (More overparenthesiasis)

Shortly after I yelled across the road to him I got the feeling of "Hey, I think I know that guy."  But I wasn't sure of it and I certainly wasn't going to ride back down the hill on the long shot that it might actually be Chris, only to be proved wrong and then have to struggle back up the hill afterward.  Big mistake.

This possible missed opportunity continued to bug me throughout the rest of my trip.  I knew from his blog that Chris was probably in Canada but, because he hadn't written for several weeks, I had no idea where in Canada he might be.  When my trip was over and I had been home for at least a couple of weeks, I saw Chris had updated his blog and he had, indeed, been traveling with a young woman named Vivian.  I wrote to him on his Guestbook and was able to confirm that we had had a brief encounter.

In the original Crazyguyonabike version of this journal, I related a transcript of our conversation.  Alas, that no longer exists.  But very briefly, I asked him if he remembered a goofball who yelled across the road, "Have a great trip to Newfoundland."  I told him that I had talked to Vivian for a while about her trip and that she mentioned a companion without naming him.  So I certainly didn't feel like I needed to hear the whole story again from what I assumed was her boyfriend when we passed each other.

I took a certain amount of pride in the fact that he said he DID remember a goofball who yelled that from across the road.  (Especially since he never had the intent to go to Newfoundland.  That was Vivian's destination.)