invasion of amer... canada - bon voyage

Michigan - Montreal

750 miles

It was pitch black outside and I was 60 miles outside of Sault Ste Marie, which is where I wanted to stop for the night. Sault Ste Marie sits on the border between America and Canada and I felt that it gave me the best jumping off point for the last leg of the trip. But the darkness was lulling me to sleep and not even the sky filled with twinking stars could keep my eyes from dragging. Thankfully the winds had ceased and I didn't have to waste any energy keeping the bike upright. There was nothing out there. Nothing.

Then, the oddest thing; A gas station appeared out of nowhere. And it was open! It was a teeny tiny gas station with two old fashion pumps from the seventies sitting out front. These don't have the digital display, the pay at the pump or the receipt dispenser on them, these only have rolling numbers to indicate your sale and everything else that is really important about pumping gas. An old lady came out of the tiny station to talk to me while I was pumping my gas and she was carrying a plate of donuts - Freshly made. That always makes pumping gas a little easier. I likey donuts. Freshly made cake donuts with nothing on them are scrumpdeliumptious.

"You don't look like you should be going on any further tonight. Why don't you stay here." she said with a seductive twinkle in her eye.

I have been hit on before by women in rural gas stations that are bearing freshly made donuts and that are old enough to be my grandmother, and I am not above using sex for a place to stay, so this didn't really seem all that strange to me. NOTHING on this trip seems strange. And donuts always make sleeping with someone easier.

"You can stay here. I have room. I'll give you my biker discount."

She's a pro. She knows just what to say to bikers. "discount". You don't often hear that associated with "biker". Very cool. However, the thought of this old broad humping a ton of fat, hairy old crack smoking bikers before I got here didn't sound all that appealing. BUT, older hookers that make donuts are still very, very sexy.

When I went in to pay for the gas I indicated that I would be wiling to stay for the night and she said, "30 bucks". The reoccuring theme of this trip has been - hookers mean warm beds. I paid the woman her money and prepped myself for what has to be one of the worst sexual experiences of my life. Then she handed me a key that said "ten" on it and she pointed off behind me and said that the building was half a mile down a dirt road behind the station. I am not sure if my surprise was defeat, discourgement, rejection, or relief.

I never saw the building from the road and I know why now. It was buried deep in the forest behind the gas station and you couldn't even see the lights from the gas station when you pulled up to the building. It was back, back, back in the thicket. I got to my room and I started to think about all the cheap 70's horror movies that I had seen about young travelers that stop in to a pleasant little family gas stations in the middle of nowhere and then end up being made into beef jerky and eaten by other travelers. I mean NO ONE knows I'm here AT ALL! Just me and the donut lady. My phone barely works out here and I am surrounded by Daniel-eating bear infested woods. If this woman wanted to kill me, smoke me and sell me to customers, no one would ever know. I bet there is a huge collection of motorcycles just behind the hotel. All stacked up and rusting out from years of exposure and neglect. Next to that pile is a pile of leather jackets and tiny little biker bells. As I drift off to sleep I kept wondering, "what was in those donuts?"

I survived the night without being cooked or BBQed and my sanity was safe for another day. I woke up to the beauty of the Upper Penisula's grand forest and massive... RAIN!

Lots of it. Tons of it. Dangerous amounts of it.

It was a miserable ride to Sault Ste Marie. Water on the roadway likes to fishtail off the back tire and create a skunk trail down your back as you ride. It's a huge problem and there is no way to avoid it. But that problem seemed trivial to the hydroplaning that occurs with a fast moving bike over water. I truly believe that I could drive over a lake if I was going fast enough. It's that's easy to do. The rain blocks out your visor and you're basically blind the entire time you're riding. Next time I say I want a helmet, remind me that I want one with a sun and rain visor on it. By the time I pulled in to Sault Ste Marie, I was soaked and so was all my gear.

I finished up some last minute details before I jumped the border into Canada. I made some calls and then rode the two miles across the narrows bridge into Canada. It's a beautiful bridge that spans two of the world's Great Lakes. It's like riding down a hallway of water. I wish there were sharks in these waters.

Then, with the end in sight and the smell of fresh mayonaise slowing filling the air, I became Canadian again.

600 miles to go.

I love riding in Ontario. Yes, it's true; they don't like motorcycles in Canada. Yes, it's true; they don't like Americans in Canada. Yes it's true; their gas is more expensive. But the roads in Canada are perfect and they are nothing but ideal for someone that wants to lollygag along and see the flora and fauna.

I wasn't able to make it the full 600 miles that I had hoped. I knew I wasn't going to be able to. 400 miles is a long way on a bike, 600 miles would be murder. So I had to stop in Pembroke, Ontario for the night. Interesting - The closer I get to Montreal, the less and less English I hear at my stops. The accents are starting to change to a more "French" twang and I am slowly getting more and more turned on, even with the ugly ones.

When I stopped in Pembroke for the night, I knew that I could have made it all the way to Montreal if I hadn't stopped, but I wanted to see some of the landscape in the day light and I really wanted to see the Canadian capital of Ottawa. I should have just kept going.

I took a hot bath and I turned on the weather channel to see if the wind was ever going to stop. It wasn't as bad in Canada but there was still a strong head wind and I was hoping that I would eventually find the head waters of this tempest, just so I could get behind it. The Weather Channel had a map of the region and there, just below Montreal, was a MASSIVE storm. "Days of endless rain" they kept saying. "High winds. Standing water. Danger. Daniel-eating bears!!! Go home!!!" Shit. If I push on now, I could beat the rain, but I would get there at 1 in the morning and miss some of what I wanted to see OR, I can press my luck and just pray for the best the next day.

I woke up the next morning and the rain was over an inch thick(a couple of centimeters - metric) on the road way. Loading up my bike, everything got soaked and in a snap, my spirits dropped. So it didn't matters when it took me six hours longer to get to Montreal with the weather. I never saw any of the landscape and I never saw the capital. I did almost die over a dozen times. Road construction is a killer for motorcycles. (and bears!)

I arrived in Monteal in the midele of the afternoon and crawled into my friend's house with the greatest smile on my face. I DID IT!

It's a beautiful home in an old neighborhood that looks a lot like the neighborhood from The Cosby Show. Montreal is a lot of three story walk ups all crammed together, block after block, that have long winding staircases in front of them as opposed to the large cement stoops that I am used to in other cities. Everything here is French - the people, the food, the language and the politics. It's very cute. Makes me horny all the time. I almost moved here but choose Tacoma instead. That's how much I like it.

One hour after I arrived, A young man entered his high school/junior college cafeteria and opened fire on his fellow students with a handgun. He killed one girl, wounded ten and then killed himself. In the midst of the tragedy and the shock the only thing the media could say about the matter was that, "He was wearing a trenchcoat". For some reason the trenchcoat industry must have pissed off some media tycoon and now that media tycoon is going to ruin the trenchcoat industry forever. What the coat had to do with the killing means nothing. The fact that the media is trying to blame the killing on the coat I think says everything about the media's detective abilities.

The killing took place across the street from where I am performing this weekend. I mean it's directly across the street.

I unloaded my gear and got some laundry started. I took it easy. Rested and tried not to lose my mind over what I had just accomplished and how much further I still had to go. To make things easier on me, we went out to eat in one of the greatest dining cities in the world. Everything here is supposed to be amazing and I was really looking forward to a huge banquet. We took the subway into downtown and got off in one of the more exciting neighborhoods in the city. I love the subway, I guess it's because I have never lived anywhere that had one so I really get off on taking them when I get the chance. It's my adult amusement park ride. However, unlike other cities that try to accomodate other languages in their mass transit, here it's just French and the rest of the world can fuck right off. But it was still fun.

So for all of the glory that is Montreal dining, all the choices, the experiences (you can eat at a restuarant that serves you in completely in the dark with blind waiters. NO LIGHT AT ALL!!)We ate.... Smoked Meat. Yes. Smoked Meat. What is smoked meat? Well, it's pastrami. That's it. Just pastrami and it's held in the highest regard here. In fact, this restaurant only served the one item: Smoked meat. I couldn't stop laughing through the whole meal. It was excellent meat. Nice and tender like I have never had Pastrami/smoked meat before. The experience was great save for the dining companions - You have to sit at tables that you share with other diners and sadly, we had to share our table with some LOUD New Yorkers that were incredibly Seinfeld-esque. Lots of whining. It was a lot to handle. I didn't stop laughing until the food was completely digested.

I ate my smoked meat. I keep saying smoked meat because they can't get enough of this stuff and I think it's funny to say a lot. You would think that this stuff was heroin the way the Montrealers talk about it, seek it out and devour it. It's just pastrami, but you would think it was keeping them alive or making it possible for them to breathe. I wonder if Ottawa is this crazy about Corned beef? After dinner we headed out on the town to see the sights: Old town - the part of Montreal that is covered with cobble stones; The famous church where Celine Dion got married; The college where William Shatner attended and has a building named in his honor. It was still raining pretty heavily but it was still a good experience. It was very nice to be walking and talking and experiencing with friends. That made the whole trip worth it. Almost dying and being made into, well, smoked meat, makes you really appreciate where ever you are.

Another oddity - Wednesday is the day that Montreal takes off. Nothing is open and nothing is happening. It's their Sunday. They're French, they like to be weird (and sexy)

The only real thing happening in town on this day was the shooting. The media circus was huge and the flowers and the candles were coming out as fast as people could run out and buy them. There were people crying and people trying to get interviewed. The whole thing was only a few hours old and the whole town wanted in on the action. So did I. As it turns out that this kid picked Wednesday because it was the day of the week when all the students gather in the cafeteria to "mingle". He picked his time, his targets and he made a mess. The media jumped on his outfit like the judges on Project Runway. It would seem that the only thing that really mattered in this shooting was what he was wearing. Not unlike the shooting in Red Lake, Minnesota or the one in Columbine or Arkansas or Portland, OR or the one at the rave in Seattle this year - the world needed a scape goat and some thing else to blame the insanity on. No one wanted to admit that the real cause of this shooting was the same as the cause for almost every shooting - parenting and apathy. That's way too much honesty. It's best to blame the clothes, the music and the video games and not have to shine the bright light of truth on yourself. One girl died at the scene in this shooting. The rest of the victims are in differing stages of recovery. There will be other victims just like this in the future; more dead children, more grieving families, more questions to answer. A lot more, until someone has the strength to be honest about these things. For all the flowers, and cards, and notes that were left for the victims - no one left anything for the dead shooter. His life will be remembered as all great tragic figures - as living evil. The injustice that this kid knew in life will be carried over into his death.

The rest of my time in Montreal is hopefully more happy; I have shows, some sight seeing and some bike repair to get finished before Sunday's return to America. Thanks for your patience on this week and I will try to keep you updated as the trip continues on.

Coming up this week.... Stops in New York City to see CBGB's, World Trade Center and Conedy Island. The baseball hall of fame in Cooperstown, New York. The Mutter Museum in Philadelphia. Albert Einstein's house in Princeton, New Jersey. All that stuff in Washington DC. Edgar Allen Poe's Grave in Baltimore. A pit stop in Pittsburgh for some bike talk, and then on to Jackson, Michigan to earn some money. Stay Tuned.