Day 44 Part 2: Canada

JULY 22, continued

After our stop at the post office, dad and I got two enormous cinnamon doughnuts at the bakery, then raced down the street to catch the ferry across the river and into Canada. Five minutes after that, we stood in our second country of the trip. We stopped in Sombra, just over the boarder, to ask directions at a souvenier shop. Afterwards, we had a snack at the Fry House, next door; I had onion rings, which sat in my stomach for most of the day. Deep fried food and bike touring don't play nicely together. Trusting the directions given us by the man in the souvenier shop, we stuck to high way 2 all day, cutting inland across Ontario... What a mistake! Our ride on the highway was long, straight, edged by corn, and devoid of all human life. At our camp in Port Glasgow, we just climbed into our tents for the night, when a big storm hit, the torrential rains lasting for a full hour. Our last episode of such perfect timing.

JULY 23 Port Glasgow to Houghton Center, Ontario

Our first stop of the day was in Port Stanley, where we planned on a mid-morning library visit. Port Stanley, as with many Ontario towns, is situated on a river feeding into Lake Erie. These rivers run through steep and narrow valleys cutting into Southern Ontario, meaning great descents in, and brutal climbs to get back out. We descended the hill into Port Stanley, but before we turned left to go to the library, dad yelled out, "Turn right!" To our right, three loaded bikes stood in the park, and three sopping rain flies hung over the benches, and three college-age bike tourers poked through their bags, searching for clothes in need of drying. As we talked to the three riders (we never got their names), a blond woman on an unloaded mountain bike rode over.
"Hello! I'm Margaret. I just had to come over and see where you're from and where you're going!"
"We left Madison, Wisconsin a couple of days ago." One of the biker told her, "And we're headed for Boston."
"Good, good. And you?" She said, looking expectantly at dad and I.
"We rode out here from Washington... the state... and we're headed for Maine." I told her.
"Ahh! More cross country tourers! Did you two meet Rick and Rick?" dad and I shook our heads. "Oh, they stayed with my husband and I. Their heading west across the country." we couldn't help but wince, knowing what the winds are like in the prairies, especially for riders out of the east. "Well, if you need anything at all, I live in that brown tower house just over the river. Feel free to come on over!" she extended the invitation to all of us, then rode away, followed shortly by the three boys (one rode wearing flip-flops!) Dad and I decided to stay for a snack, but soon it started to rain, forcing us on.
We had gone less than a mile and were stopped at an intersection, staring at our maps, when Margaret rode up again, "Lost alreaedy?"
"Well, yeah..." dad admitted.
"To get out of town, you need to go up that hill." she saw both of us cringe at the suggestion, "Or you could come have breakfast with me. I have eggs and bacon, and I just got this bread at the library." I could tell part of dad wanted to press on through the rain, but he also looked tempted. "Curvy hill, or breakfast.... curvy hill, or breakfast..." Margaret pretended to weigh the options with her hands.
"What do you want to do, Seth?" dad asked, "It's up to you."
I only had to think about it for a moment, "Let's go with her... if that's okay with you."
"Sounds good." he said.
"Great!" Margaret said, "It's just down this road. We let strays... that's what we call you, the bike tourists we take in... we let you put your bikes in the garage."
As we propped up our bikes in the garage, I looked outside to see the rain falling harder, "Looks like we timed this stop well, dad."
"Dad?" Margaret asked, "A father and son? Oh, you're so lucky!" she looked at dad, "And you're so lucky!" she said at me.
Minutes later, she had whisked us into her kitchen (I noticed the rain had stopped while we spoke.... so much for our timing!) and pulled out a pair of stools for us, "Washroom's just around the corner!" she told us.

The house itself was pretty amazing. As Margaret cooked the bacon, she told us about it, "All the houses round here used to be fishing cottages. We bought two of them and built the tower here in the middle. Nine levels, or something like that." The house looked like a dream for hide-and-go-seek (well, maybe not for the seeker) with lots of small rooms and nooks tucked away into various corners. Margaret also let me use her lap top to catch up on my blog some, "You're that far behind? Well get writing! Do your homework!" In truth, I didn't get very much written... I had too much fun trading stories with Margaret.

After our brunch of egg and bacon sandwiches, Margaret offered us ice cream, "...or popsicles! Oh, who can say no to popsicles!" She hurried off, and soon returned with three frozen snacks. Reluctantly, dad and I left all of the hospitality (both of us wished we could have stayed the night, but we needed to be in Niagara by Friday). We said goodbye and thankyou to Margaret, the most full-time road angel we have met, then headed up the "curvy hill."

While at Margaret, we had watched the weather channel, where a glowing red banner flashed across the bottom of the screen, warning about 75 mm (3 inches) of rain in the next 3-4 hours in Eastern Ontario... where we were headed. As we crested the curvy hill, the sky decided to prove the weather man true. I had taken my rain jacket off during the climb because I was overheating, and I never bothered to put it back on. Surprisingly, my mood only got better in the rain, as I shouted out snatches of the Phantom of the Opera into the storm, the rain slowly soaking through my clothes.

After half-an-hour, the rain stopped for most of the afternoon, but just a mile from our campground it started again. We checked in, then unloaded our bikes under a covered picnic area. It stopped raining, and we set up our tents, then made dinner, then went to bed.