June 25, 2019
Ours to Discover
Wallaceburg to Port Glasgow
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Jackie’s avg speed: 11.6 mph
Scott’s avg speed: 13.2
Weather: 75-80 degrees, 10-12 mph westerly breezes
“Breakfast” at the chain motels is so bad, we made a pact on this day to never take it again, even though it is “included” in the cost. We had coffee and tea and headed out for real food.
Other cyclists had written in their blogs about Tim Horton’s, a pretty decent Canadian fast food chain. (Horton grew up in rural Ontario and played for the Toronto Maple Leafs hockey team when it won four NHL championships). We sampled the mini omelets with bacon and cheese and another type with feta and spinach, plus a yoghurt parfait with granola, two donuts, and coffee. We took two bagels with cream cheese and a chocolate donut for the road.
Maybe it’s our age and our clothes, but people are always approaching us, asking what we’re up to and then offering us advice. Two elderly gentlemen at a neighboring table advised me to watch the weather and know the route so I can take shelter from the rain under an overpass. I said the rain wouldn’t hurt us, but we did keep track of towns where we might take shelter in case of a storm with lightning.
The route was on busy two-lane roads with a smooth surface and a maximum posted speed of 90 kilometers per hour (55 mph). “Share the Road” signs were posted at regular intervals, and drivers were polite, slowed down, and waited to pass. But by the end of our riding day, roughly 16:00, the truck traffic had increased and we were ready to camp. We can’t complain too much, because we had a tail wind for the first 15 miles, then corner winds that helped more than hindered. (My average speed was the fastest average so far, Scott had a higher speed from Browning to Cut Bank, Montana, 15.1).
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4 years ago
Our stay at the Port Glasgow Trailer Park will be one of our fondest memories of Ontario. It’s a large compound of small trailers, RVs, and tent sites in a back corner, like other RV campgrounds where we’ve stayed. Here the tent sites are set among shade trees and next to a path that leads down to a beach on Lake Erie.
No one was at the registration desk on Tuesday at 16:00. The owners were away for a family event, but some of the long term campers had been deputized to help out. After a few minutes, a guy in his 70s drove up in a Dodge Ram pickup and led us to the back. We set up the tent, then heeded the call of Erie’s surf. The lake is high and the waves made it way too rough for swimming. We waded on the sandy and fine gravel beach and splashed water to rinse off the the salt and grime from the road. Man, that water was cold! But how could we not go in Lake Erie?
After showering in a renovated (nice and clean!) shower facility, we walked through the camp. As we went along, other campers stopped us and asked us about our trip. We mentioned our dalliance on the lake shore and were told the beach used to extend out about 30 feet, but is now up close to the bank. Guests of the trailer park in years past could walk along the beach to the marina. Not this year. Our fellow guests also said there’s no WiFi at the moment, but someone in the village is supposed to be working on getting a node. The cell signal was weak, so we were cut off from tech. Not a bad thing for a short time.
We stopped by the trailer at the entrance where the designated camp manager lives. She said she had spoken to the owner and told them we had just a tiny tent, so the charge would be $20 Canadian. The owner had told me on the phone it would be $45, so this was a nice surprise. The deputy apologized about the WiFi and told us the marina had a node and would give us the password. We could take the golf cart over there if we wanted.
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Scott and I looked at each other a couple seconds, then got in. No ATVs or dirt bikes are allowed on the campground, but noiseless electric golf carts are okay. No WiFi at the Marina, no cook for the grill, but they did have ice cream. We ate our dessert, then rode the cart back to the manager’s trailer.
While we were boiling water for our lasagna, another fellow came up. (We had the feeling news of cyclists in their 60s had been passed among the regulars). He had hiked the Appalachian Trail some years ago and been the beneficiary of “trail magic,” the hospitality of locals who bring hikers small comforts like cold water and homemade cookies. He offered us red wine, Prosecco, beer, water, anything we wanted. At first we demurred. No, really, we didn’t need anything. But he kept pressing, so I admitted Prosecco would be lovely. He went away and came back with seven or eight bottles of water. He went away again and returned with a bowl full of ice and the Prosecco sticking out. We thanked him profusely, happy to accept his kindness. He gave us the password for one of the WiFi nodes and said we could sit on his lawn chairs while he drove over to Sarnia to check out the marijuana dispensaries. It was legalized in Canada last year, he informed us. Oh yes, we knew. (And no, we do not indulge. THC is not compatible with the exertion of covering 50+ miles/day).
Lying in the sleeping bag, listening to the surf, I thought about Ontario’s slogan, “Yours to Discover.” In our first two days we had discovered the province’s extraordinary kindness to visitors.
Today's ride: 57 miles (92 km)
Total: 2,008 miles (3,232 km)
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