Day 9: Rivière-Ouelle to St-Louis-du-Ha! Ha! (135 km)

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Day 9: Rivière-Ouelle to St-Louis-du-Ha! Ha! (135 km)

Written by Eric Mathurin

Friday, 16 June 2000

I woke throughout the night, often to the sound of rain softly falling on the tent. Early in the morning I could feel the wind buffetting the tent and I could only hope it was coming from the West. When I crawled out of bed around 7:00am the sky was clear and the sun was shining down. The wind was also fierce, but was going to be a tailwind for me. No one had come to collect money for my campsite, so I snuck out. (Just kidding. I went to the office and paid.)

The author riding a tailwind along the deserted highway.

As I hit the main route the cycling was incredibly easy—the strong wind was pushing me along. Sometimes I'd forget there even WAS a wind until I'd stop —then I could feel it! The route was dull—flat with grassy fields—but the contrast with the blue sky was pretty. The mountains across the St-Laurent, hazy in the distance, seemed so far away and mysterious that I couldn't help but think of The Lord of the Rings. I cruised along the road with next to no traffic, sometimes taking my hands off the handlebars and just cranking it along. At one point I met an older man walking down the road. He spoke French, and we chatted only briefly—he's been on the road for a month and is hiking/hitchhiking from Halifax to Vancouver. I reached Rivière-du-Loup— about 65km from the campsite—in about 2 1/2 hours.

In town I connected to the Internet from a payphone, but the wind and the trucks were so loud the transmission got cut off at 28% completion. So I gave up. I went to the tourist office where I got some information on the 120km cycling trail to Edmunston. Then I went for lunch at Dunkin' Donuts.

Finding the trail was a little difficult, and when I did find it I understood why it wasn't advertised that you could take it from this far in: the trail was rough with gravel and passed by ugly city scenery and then yet more farms. I was beginning to regret my choice. Then, fortunately, as I got farther in, the road got nicer and so did the scenery. Although it wasn't the nicest trail in the world in some sections I was enjoying it better than the highway. I was certainly glad for the trees that blocked the wind (that now was going against me since my course had veered Southwards) and there were some very nice views of mountain and forest from time-to-time.

The Monk (also known as Terry Alexander) from Toronto.

Near one of the rest-stops overlooking a small brook I stopped to talk to a tanned, bearded man with a backpack and a tall walking stick that was approaching. His name is Terry "The Monk" Alexander and he's from Toronto. Seventy-seven days ago he began hiking from Newfoundland—through blizzards and God-knows-what—and will continue until he hits Victoria. So far he's walked about 1500–1800 miles. We spent at least an hour together chatting about our journeys and many other things. Running into a fellow traveller made both of our days—neither of us have seen very many up until this point. We talked about the Pierre Berton quote about adventure and misery. We agreed with him. We also talked about the loneliness, and shared some common ground there, too. When we finally left each other I felt elated. I felt inspired. This was the kind of encounter I was hoping for as I travelled... but I don't expect any more for a while yet.

I took my time as I cycled up the trail. It was a bit difficult at times because it was a steady rise, but fortunately the grade was small since it used to be a railroad line. (I should note that the blackflies are horrendous, and I kept finding spots of blood on me.) I didn't see another person since leaving The Monk. Eventually I decided I should find a campsite, so around St-Louis-du-Ha! Ha! (don't ask me) I veered off course down to a campground by a small lake. I am the only tenter here. I set up my tent in the empty plot set aside for tenters. I did the usual campstuff and went into the small lodge where I had a nice spaghetti dinner.

Since my encounter earlier today I only feel a tad of loneliness, and quite a bit more confident. I'm looking forward to meeting more English speaking people once I hit New Brunswick, which will be tomorrow—although I'm not sure how nice the going will be. I've found, though, that I usually feel good not long into the morning rides. Afternoons can be tiring, but it's only when I come to stop for the night that I start to feel a bit out of place. Alas. Right now I can hear the buzzing of the hundreds of mosquitos clinging to the tent screening. I'm afraid to go out again to get my laundry.

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