Vermont Part 3: Ten Miles in Canada

9/21/12: TEN MILES IN CANADA

Two cars, five bikes, a half hour drive north and we’re at the shrine of Saint Anne on Isle de Mott.

 "Laura!  Get the twisted fence post," Larry commands.

We make a loop around the island first.  The wind, supposedly only 15 mph, pushes us north.  As soon as we turn we’re hit full force with gusts that feel like 25 mph.  Crossing the causeway to Alburgh is, well, interesting.

To the west the sky is ominous.  Tomorrow’s forecast is for rain by mid-day.

The bridge to Rouse’s Point, NY, is an arching, east-west span.  One lane is being paved.  We wait for five minutes for the light to change.  A sailboat passes in front of something that looks like a castle on the New York side.

The ride up the bridge is unnerving.  The ride down is downright scary, the crosswind forcing us to slow and steady ourselves.  At Rouse’s Point is the Canadian border crossing.  It’s to the right.  We turn left into town instead.  The road is milled, which makes the headwind even more fun.

We find nirvana at Lakeview Coffee.  Over the hum of the roaster we drink from ceramic cups and share pastries. 

Cheryl teaches Larry how to use her cell phone.  He’s going to keep it while the rest of us, those of us with passports, cross the border for ten miles.  He’ll meet us five miles from here, at a crossing on the other side of the bridge.  We beg him to be careful and head for the border.

Getting through is quick.  Instead we get stuck behind a paving crew.

When we’re finally let through we’re sent to the left side of the road. We can feel the heat coming off the fresh blacktop on our right.  Our tires sound as if we’re riding on a wet road, a sort of squishy, masking tape noise.

The tailwind pushes us through miles of farmland.  I stop for a panorama to show Larry later.
 

If I weren't in a hurry to get these posted, I'd try to figure out how to stitch them together.  But then wouldn't it be too small?

We turn east and south again, pushing against the wind towards the border.  There’s nobody at the crossing.  Obeying the signs, we wait behind a line.  We wait and wait.  No cars are behind us.  Cheryl ventures forward towards the window.  Lynne and Tom follow.  I stay put.  I’m not messing with border patrol.  A bright flash emanates from a large, rectangular camera positioned at driver’s seat level as they pass.  Cheryl knocks on the window.  A conversation happens and the others wave me forward.

The border guard wants us all to remove our sunglasses.  He peers at each of our faces before he hands back our passports at once.

“I scared him,” Cheryl says.  “He didn’t see us.”  She’d pissed him off by not staying behind the line.

We’re on Border Road, at the end of which Larry is supposed to meet us.

Tom sees his bright yellow jacket first.  “How long have you been waiting here?”  I ask him as I pull up.  “A while,” he answers.

We’ve got fifteen miles to go, most of it into the wind.

We turn onto a lane to see three cows at the top of a hill. The closest one is wary of us.  He moves away from the road, watching me warily as I stop for another picture.

Later, I pause for an obligatory hay bale photo.

Five miles from the end I get far behind for a marsh, my camera doing something funny and unplanned.  The setting knob got turned in my pocket and now the camera is trying to take a picture of the stars again.  I have to wait 15 seconds for the exposure and fifteen more for the processing.  By the time I take the pictures I want to take, I can barely see Larry’s fluorescent jersey in the distance.  I sprint into the headwind to catch up.

“This ride was work!”  I tell Tom at the finish.

Cheryl and Lynne set out snacks at the house while we take turns showering.  Cheryl makes coffee for herself and Larry.

In the evening we drive to Burlington for dinner.  We wander through the touristy pedestrian mall.  I get ditched when I enter a used bookstore to buy a novel I see in the window.  Two phone calls to Cheryl reunite me with them in front of a chocolate shop.  “We’ll have to come back here,” I tell Cheryl, “After dinner.”  Which we do.  Then it’s off to Ben and Jerry’s because Tom says it’s a must.

While we’re eating I check the weather.  “I’m making an executive decision.  We’re not biking tomorrow.”  I turn my phone towards Tom to show him the predicted 20 mph winds with 40 mph gusts.

Burlington is a bike town.  Among the beaters we find two that need to be remembered.

Back at the house Cheryl makes more coffee for herself and Larry.  Tom and I fire up our computers, me to blog and Tom to map out a ride or a walk or a drive to somewhere or whatever we end up doing.  He looks over his pictures from today.  I’m about to do the same.

I’m getting ready for bed.  Larry pads in.  “Laura?”

“Yep?”

“I’m trying to think of a better word than ‘masking tape.’  It’s not quite right.”

I make the sound.  “Paint off a roller,” I suggest.

“Yeah,” he says, and disappears around the corner.