A Day in Montréal

To wrap up our adventure, Doug and I headed to Montréal. We arrive late Saturday afternoon and checked into the hotel Doug had found - right in the middle of Vieux Montréal - on a cobblestone street for heavens sake.

I must say that the best shower in the world is the one that you have after cycling in the heat and dust for six hours and then driving in your dirty sweaty clothes for an hour to Montréal. Especially when the shower has lots of pressure and lots of heat. The water was turning brown at my feet as the stone dust washed off and I felt more and more human as I worked out the kinks in my shoulders.  

After washing off the remains of Le Petit Train du Nord, we changed into big girl and big boy clothes and headed out onto the cobblestone streets of Montréal. 

Joseff Ribkoff - the only designer I know and recognize - thanks to the dress my mother bought for my sister's wedding last year. 

We explored the old town. We marvelled at the stone architecture and the old stone columns.

After having spent four days in rural Québec, do you know what we noticed? Montréal isn't nearly as French as it seems. It sounds French and you hear people speaking French wherever you go but, if you speak with the slightest hint of an English accent, they immediately switch to English even if, as I did, you continue to respond to their English with French. 

Not that we were complaining - it just seemed odd after having spent so many days surrounded by people who didn't speak much if any English. 

We bought maple fudge and I found a funky ring and matching earrings that I bought as a souvenir.

We ate dinner in a fancy french restaurant.  

We lingered over Sunday breakfast reading the newspapers and sipping our coffees. 

We had Sunday brunch in a lovely outdoor spot tucked away between buildings.

We knew we had to leave but the relaxed pace of the week lingered over us and we didn't feel pressure to do so. 

When we finally did climb into the car for the long drive, a peaceful silence followed us home. We hardly talked. Having spent so much time together, we were just happy to be in each other's company. Quietly lost in our thoughts, looking out the window, reliving the journey we had just been on together. 

Petit Train Du Nord - Part Three

Friday morning was bright and sunny. We lazed around a bit and I enjoyed a birthday call from my sister and her husband in Israel. Guy and Dianne fed us a gourmet breakfast to rival dinner the night before and sent us on our way.

Day two had us cycling from Nominingue to St. Faustin-Lac Carré, about 80km down the trail. The trail was paved for a little while but, as the map had warned, it switched to crushed stone. I was a little worried about that it because we had our road bikes but it turned out to be ok....for the most part. The path was packed and hard but there were tiny sections that were loose sand and, every once in a while, our bike tires would fishtail a bit.

It was at that point that I was grateful that we decided to forgo the clip in shoes in favour of regular pedals and running shoes. I was much more comfortable riding over the slippery sections knowing that I could plant my feet any time I needed to.

Before breakfast, I had decided to switch my basal rates to 70% for 7 hours. It seemed kinda crazy but we were planning to be out there for a long time and I didn't want to be fighting lows the whole way. Turns out that was a pretty good plan. I had great blood sugar all day (staying between 5-8) and only dropped below four once, when we were about 5k from our B&B at 4:00pm.

The day turned out to be a scorcher. Thankfully, you don't feel the heat as much on a bike because of the breeze. Every time we stopped, we immediately realized how hot it was. The trail is quite well organized though and, every few kilometres you can find water and washroom. And every 10-15k there is another converted train station with shade, water fountains, nice washrooms and often a restaurant too. So we cycled, we chatted, we stopped, we changed our one and only flat tire of the trip and we enjoyed just being part of this wonderful little cycling world.

One of the many gares we stopped at: water refills, washrooms breaks and friendly French-speaking staff there to answer any and all questions. 

We'll take your photo if you take ours. Photo courtesy of the lovely family we saw multiple times each day and who stayed at the same B&Bs that we did every night.

We discovered about 10k from our B&B that not all rail trails are flat. While there were never any arduous climbs, we found out that there are slow, long, gradual ones. Like 10k of long slow gradual. At first it felt fine, then it felt a little less fine, then we were slowing down and then I felt like I was pedalling through sand. That's when I begged for a blood sugar check. It shouldn't be this hard I panted. A quick check confirmed a 3.8 so I had a quick snack. That's when Doug told me that we had been cycling uphill for several kilometres. "So it's not just my sugar then? This is really getting harder?"

"Yep"

Sufficiently recovered, we made it to our B&B but with significantly less energy than the night before. No hikes through the woods or swims in the lake. I just wanted a shower and a glass of wine. And dinner.

And that's what we did. The family of three also arrived and we were all happy and thoroughly enjoying ourselves but significantly less energetic than the first night.

Gîte La Bonne Adresse

Funny thing though - a good night's sleep and I was ready to hop back on the bike again the next morning. My body was loving all the fresh air and exercise.

One of the many rivers that kept us company along the route. And a cute little water sprite I found.

Hip-hopping back to shore

Day three and I dropped my basal rate to 60% for 7 hours. I wanted to avoid that end of the day low if possible. We hopped back on the trail and found ourselves heading uphill immediately. For probably 30 minutes straight. Between my increasingly sore behind and the slow, constant climb - I was quickly developing a lot of respect for the Tour de France guys.

Once we crested whatever mountain it was that we were climbing, we found ourselves going down...fast. We coasted through several kilometres at 26-30km/hour hardly touching our pedals. Long slow uphills = long downhills. We made great time and found ourselves in Val David by 11am. A quaint little town with a Saturday market and lots of tiny shops. We parked our bikes and headed off to explore. It felt like a tiny town in France.

We found a fun little spot for lunch and I ordered "Un croque-monsieur et de l'eau svp". I expected Doug to say "la même chose svp" (the same thing please) but instead he said, without a moment's hesitation "un croque monsieur svp et est-ce-que vous avez du thé glacé?" (one croque monsieur please and do you have some iced tea?)

Wow! Three days in Québec and the man is bilingual.

Monsieur Thé Glacé

Croque-Monsieur (aka a very yummy ham and cheese sandwich)

We ate, we laughed, we refilled our water bottles for the upteenth time and we headed out for our last 42km of the trip. Two hours later, we pulled in to St. Jérome and rode under the arch we had first seen three days before.

Three days. Two hundred kilometres. Countless French accents, lots of stories, pile of photos and enough memories to last until our next adventure.

Petit Train du Nord - Part Two

Thursday morning at 6am. We were up, dressed in our cycling digs and having our 'continental' hotel breakfast. We jammed our bags back into the car, under the bikes, and headed to Tim Hortons for our morning coffee. I gallantly offered to go in to order for us. I was, after all, the French-speaking half of this partnership.

Our order was simple. One medium decaf - black. One medium with milk.

I went in and listened to the people ahead of me place their order. Tim Hortons, after all, has its own lingo and it is not something you learn in OAC French class. When my turn came, I asked for "deux cafés moyens svp. Un décaf et un avec du lait".

My order was greeted with a very confused look and the question "est-ce que tu parles français?" "Do you speak French?".

Ummm yes, I am currently speaking French actually....

I tried again and this time my order was met with a hesitant "Ah d'accord" and the price. I paid her and walked out with what turned out to be one medium decaf - black and a medium vanilla latté with extra milk.

At least Doug got his order.

And I got to try my first ever vanilla latté which, as it turns out, has a LOT of sugar in it. By the time we got to the station my blood sugar was a whopping 18 and climbing. I bolused and Doug agreed that he would be in charge of coffee orders for the remainder of the trip.

At the station we were greeted by a very fun sight. A bus with a trailer attached for our bikes plus a mini van for our luggage. The bikes were strapped in within an inch of their lives - they weren't going anywhere.

Holding my café avec du lait (aka Vanilla latté)

Our luggage was weighed and, if it was less than the allowable 15kg, it was allowed into the van. If not, you had to pay for the extra weight. Doug's weighed in a 9kg. Mine weighed in at 21kg.

Back to the car I went to dump my running shoes, my sandals, my running belt, hair dryer and water bottles. I got down to 17kg and they waved me on without a comment...other than Doug's teasing jibes about how much crap I bring with me.

The cool thing about this trip is that it's all organized for you. The mini van transports your luggage to the first B&B (or gîte as it's called in French) and the bus takes you and your bike to Mont Laurier, 200km up the trail. We are told where our B&Bs are and we have to be there in time for dinner. When we arrive, our luggage is in our room and when we leave in the morning, we leave it at the door and it gets moved for us.

Sweet.

By 10:30am, we were in Mont Laurier. We were dropped off in a grocery store parking lot, our bikes were unloaded and we were left to fend for ourselves.

Two hundred kilometres of cycling and three days - here goes nothing!

Day one was the shortest day - only 55km. I say only with a bit of trepidation - we normally cycle 30km when we go out - I've done 60km once and never anything longer than that. I had no idea how my legs were going to hold up. How my neck and shoulders were going to survive. How my blood sugar was going to do. We hadn't trained for this other than our usual fitness routine of running, cycling and swimming. I hoped it would be enough.

Turns out it was more than enough.

Day one was lovely. The trail was paved and fairly quiet. I had pictured a much busier route where we would have to ride single file most of the way. Instead, we could cycle for 30 minutes without seeing anyone at all so Doug and I rode side by side. Sometimes we chatted, sometimes we pointed things out to each other, sometimes we quietly enjoyed the adventure.

We had too far to go to the B&B without stopping somewhere for lunch. This far up the trail the towns were few and far between so, when we found a place that looked even mildly inhabited, we stopped. The only restaurant we could see in any direction was a quintessential chip truck. Nothing says Québec to me like one of those. When in Rome...

I flexed my French muscles and ordered "deux cheeseburger, une poutine et une frites". I got an odd look from the man but he seemed to understand. He did comment on my accent though. He also thought Doug and I were completely crazy because we only wanted la moutarde on our burgers. No relish? No ketchup? Rien??

Nope, seulement la moutarde.

Some things, like homemade pizzas or soups, taste different when made by different cooks. Poutine in Québec tastes exactly the same no matter who makes it. One of the reasons going to Québec feels a little like going home.

Suitably full of calories, we resumed our ride to Nominingue, stopping en route to admire the scenery, take photos and check blood sugar. At two-thirty, we emerged from the trees to find ourselves at a lovely little train station. We had arrived.

We parked our bikes and headed into la gare where we met a lovely and very helpful woman who told us all about the history of the place and its people...in French. When I responded to her stories with more questions  - she commented on my lovely French and accent.

From St. Jérome where they didn't think I was speaking French to the chip truck where I had a funny accent to Nominingue where I have a lovely accent. We were quickly discovering that there are pockets of people in Québec and each pocket has its own little accent and vernacular. I could understand them all but they couldn't all understand me. Funny.

We cycled the few kilometres through town to our B&B - Le Provincialart. A lovely house run by Guy and Dianne. Guy is Mr. Social who met us at the door with water and lime, who helped us put our bikes away and told us all about the house the town in about five minutes. They obviously cater to cyclists and their barn was all set up for our bikes. Guy assured us that they would be fed and watered and ready for us in the morning.

Dianne, his wife, kept more out of sight but we quickly discovered her talents at dinner. She is a trained chef.

We had a few hours before that though so we changed and headed down a path to the lake where we enjoyed a very refreshing, or freezing cold depending on how you looked at it, swim in the lake. We followed that up with a shower, a bottle of wine from the local dépanneur, and a pre-dinner game of cribbage. A family of three arrived (they had taken the bus up with us that morning) and another couple who were cycling the route from South to North. We all settled down for a four course gourmet dinner.

One post-dinner card game and it was lights out for everyone. Fresh air and hours of cycling makes for early bed times.

Petit Train Du Nord - Part One

Oh mon dieu - j'aime les vacances.

Yes folks, I love being on vacation.

Particularly with someone who loves the same things that I do and who thinks cycling for five hours a day in the blazing sun is fun. Someone who is willing to practice French for weeks before going just so he can order his own ice tea and speak to the locals.

Last week was my birthday week. Not because I'm one of those people who likes to celebrate their birthday for days on end but because it's the week I normally book off in the summer. Where I work we get our birthdays off so it only takes four vacation days to give me a 9-day holiday. Last year, we did the Simcoe Shores Relay Race and then headed to Gravenhurst in the Muskokas for a few days. This year, we decided to explore Québec for five days. We had heard about a cycling trail called Le Petit Train du Nord (The Little Train of the North). It's a 200km rail trail that has been converted into a cycling trail. It starts in Mont Laurier and heads down to St. Jérome (about 50k north of Montréal).

We headed to St. Jérome last Wednesday at the crack of dawn. It was a seven-hour drive (if the traffic was good) plus lunch and water refill breaks and we wanted a bit of time to explore the town. We took my little Nissan Versa and had worked out a system for getting two suitcases (mine being much much larger as Doug pointed out on multiple occasions), two bikes, helmets, bike bags, purses (well, ok one purse), water bottles, coffee mugs, and enough snacks to feed everyone on the trail into my hatchback. It wasn't very elegant but it worked and we were able to keep everything relatively out of sight and inside the car. I've never had a bike rack before and didn't like the idea of whizzing down the highway, possibly in the rain, with our two bikes exposed to the elements.

The drive to Québec is fun. Eighty percent of our journey was in Ontario and then, not long after we passed Cornwall, we saw the Bienvenue à Québec sign and everything immediately changed. English was no longer the language of choice and the Canadian flag was replaced with the Fleur de Lys. Instead of Swiss Chalet - it's St. Hubert and Giant Tiger is now Le Tigre Géant. I grew up speaking English and French fluently but, having little opportunity to practice French now that I'm finished school, I'm a bit rusty. I was excited to have the opportunity to practice my Joual.

We had to be at the train station (la gare) in St. Jérome at 7:30am on Thursday morning so we figured we had better find it the night before. After a quick check-in at the hotel, we headed into town. As we got closer, I knew that we were headed somewhere fun. Bikes were everywhere. On cars, in cars, being walked, being ridden. We got the sense that we were approaching a cycling mecca.

We pulled into a very large parking lot full of cars with bike racks. There was an old caboose, a train station and a huge archway that read: Parc Linéaire Petit Train du Nord Kilomètre 0.

We had arrived!

Cyclists were everywhere. Hardcore folks riding Cérvelo with their clip in shoes. Grandparents and kids, people preparing to head out for a short ride and others coming in looking like they had just cycled all 200km in one day.

We went into the Bureau Touristique and got a map of the route - and yes, I asked for it in French. We explored the downtown, walked along the rivière, had a lovely dinner of mussels and veal parmesan and headed back to the hotel. It was a long day, a long drive and we had a long bike ride ahead of us.

Lights out at 8:30pm like good little cyclists

Off the Grid

It's vacation time folks!

A week full of lazy days, long drives, yummy food, cycling, running, swimming, speaking French, being together and getting away from it all.

I may take a moment or two to blog.

I may not.

Either way, I'm not worried and I don't want you to either.

We're fine, we're happy, we're having adventures!

Talk to you on the other side.

Countdown

When you train for a race, typically, you build up your mileage and then you taper down.

Build up

10k
12k
14k
16k
18k
20k
22k

Build down

18k
16k
10k

Half marathon

Tomorrow I'm running 16k. It's my build up for the Niagara Falls half marathon on October 21st.

The next time I see 16k will be when I'm tapering for the race.

That also happens to be the day that Doug and I are running the Twin Cities 10-miler in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

The one where I get to wear the Global Heroes singlet.

Just the thought is enough to send shivers.

I'm excited and can't wait to be there.

I'm excited and hope it takes forever to arrive because I don't want it to be over.

I'm just exited.

A Different Kind of Marathon

Last year - I was all about the marathon.

The 42.2k marathon to be exact.

You know, the one that you complete by running?

Well, now I have a new kind of marathon bebopping around in my head.

The marathon swim.

For those of you who don't know - a marathon swim is a long distance swim but the distance varies. And, if you watched the Olympic marathon swim, you may have noticed that Canadians are apparently good marathon swimmers. We won the bronze for swimming 10k in under 2 hours.

I am more and more drawn to open water swimming and am more and more drawn to longer distances. But, like running, it should be done one step at a time. You don't go from 5k to 42.2k. You go from 5k to 10k to 21.1k to 30k to 42.2k.

Same idea with swimming I would guess.

I swim between 2-3k three times a week. So I'm guessing that 5k would be next...and then 10k?

Which, in swimming terms, is a marathon of sorts.

And, based on my current swim time, it would take me 4-5 hours. Kinda like my predicted running marathon time.

It's appealing to say the least.