When I first arrived in New England I was deceived by the summer like temperatures, clear skies and warm sun.   After a quick tour of New York I returned to find the weather in the northeast was back to normal.  A spring storm parked in the North Atlantic was spitting rain and high winds on the coast and I quickly realized my once thick Canadian blood had thinned considerably in the south.

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During the Second World War a very important meeting took place in Bretton Woods… at least that’s what the sign told me.  When I saw the grand hotel it stood out impressively from the deep green background of the Appalachians and I knew I wanted to camp nearby.  An hour later I was set up having my own conference with a moose and about forty thousand mosquitos.  But we weren’t talking money.

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The mosquitos harassed me as I fiddled with my chin strap in the camp site at Lac Fraser.  It was 9PM, the sun had gone down an hour earlier and now I sat on the bike waiting for it to warm up.  Two hours earlier when I was setting up camp it was still hot but after the park warden told me to vacate the closed Provincial Park I sparked her up for an encore.

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I had gone to Montreal to see cars.  Fast, seductive, over the top F1 makes like Ferraris and McLarens.  Hearing one of those eight cylinder engines scream scream at 18,000 rpms would be a nice change from the rattle and hum of the boxer that carried me so far.  But in the end I settled for a sandwich… a great sandwich but one more akin to my mode of transportation then the sleek million dollar cars in town. Continue Reading…

I was meeting a friend in Laconia in several days and a quick check of the hotel situation online had me worried.  I new it would be a long ride today so I could take a first hand look at the area and find myself a place for the coming week.  If I got an early start, ate lunch on the road and kept a careful eye for speed traps I would get there with time to spare.  Continue Reading…

As the day draws closer to when the journey will end there are thoughts and ideas swirling around in my head.  At times I will lose track of where I am and I find it necessary to pull over and think things out in an area where less attention to the road is required.  So the ride to Lake George was perfect as it snaked along rivers and by lakes through the Adirondacks and a long running bike rally. Continue Reading…

Tony had joked the day before about his wife’s reaction when I arrived.  She called him after the ugly, smelly guy with the funny Canadian accent landed in her yard and told him to get back right away.  Meg was tough and helped me feel welcome the entire time while Tony said he had no worries about inviting the drifter to stay.  Just more remarkable hospitality from strangers helping me out along the way. Continue Reading…

When someone mentions a motorcycle rally and specifically Motorcycle Week in Laconia, New Hampshire I envision thousands of bikes, big crowds and a great party.  As imagined, all of these things were happening when I arrived in the small New England town but the realities of living from a small dry bag put the bash on the backburner till the chores were done. Continue Reading…

The journey was supposed finish after exploring Northern Maine and New Brunswick’s remote wilderness.  I figured a quick run up Mt Washington in the morning before heading into the bush was a great way to pass the day… but the bike had other ideas.  The ‘Ol Girl protested the plan with big tears of hydraulic fluid from the rear shock and after one final climb we limped our way back to familiar territory.

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I knew every mile, each corner and sign that approached on the road I travelled countless times before but still it felt odd.  I struggled all morning with the feeling and it was not until I approached the coast near Halifax that the reason for my apprehension became clear.  Months of unplanned events, the constant feeling of anticipation and never ending surprise was being replaced with the unfamiliarity of familiar.

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