Traveling, with luck!

One version of luck is that God has given you a break.  I have had many miles these last few days along the southern half of the Cote du Nord to reflect on our luck.  Here I sit today, in Chicoutimi, Saguenay, on the last biking day of this trip, feeling quite lucky.

We were lucky to make all our ferry connections, including the final one up the fjord to Sainte Rose du Nord, a small, quaint village nestled into a hollow valley between high steep hills, reminiscent of the rural sections of the Appalachians.  Indeed, it was suggested that if the fog was too thick, the ferry would not run from St. Barbe to Blanc Sablon, that would have caused us to miss this entire Cote du Nord stretch for want of the next Bella Desgagnes ferry one a week hence.

We were lucky to have seen so much music on this trip, more than any other, and quite unexpectedly.  Yesterday, as we were checking into the Gite au Jardin Potager in Sainte Rose du Nord, a couple of gentlemen standing in the small front hallway spoke English, and suggested there would be music tonight - at 9:30 - in the tent.  We soon came to realize that we arrived in this village during the Festival of the Artisans, and were treated to two concerts: a local folk-ish group from Chicoutimi (our final destination today), and then these five fellow guests at the Gite - Les Charbonniers - a sensational five-person Quebec based a capella group formed in the 1990's with a very powerful, perfectly timed rhythm and blended voice.  Incorporating two sticks and drumming feet on a board for the percussion, this group ran through 60+ minutes of pure vocal energy.

Les Charbonniers a capella group playing in Sainte Rose du Nord

How would we have even come to know "mummers" in Woody Point, or a "kitchen party" in Rocky Harbor, or an Acadian vocalist in the church at Riviere de Tonnera, or a local open mike session in Port au Choix, featuring a couple playing much traditional Newfie music?  And what of the Saguenay International Rythym of the World  festival in Chicoutimi, featuring a young, award winning Latin jazz fusion group El Son Sono, lead by a brother and sister team on guitar and vocals, respectively.  Dancing in the streets!

What luck!

Ahh, but there is so much else, the small things that happen on such a trip, the biggest of which is being lucky enough to even make such a trip.  Of my body still able to handle the rigors (for I don't know how long). Of not having any accidents or mishaps given the number of miles on roads with little or no shoulder and trucks rumbling by.  Of not getting sick from drinking bad water - the potential certainly existed in a few places. But speaking of water, seeing so many waterfalls along the way that one took them for granted, except perhaps, the giant Manitou Falls and those towering cascades in Western Brook in Gros Morne National Park.

The Chute - the second of two successive waterfalls 

Wildlife is hard to see by bicycle. I was lucky to see two moose, even though everybody warned of the moose in Newfoundland - one cow that was standing roadside as I rounded an uphill curve, unable to get  its picture before it wandered into the bush.  And of wildlife, lucky to not have been spiked by several porcupines, nor struck by an angry kildeer, dive bombing me with an angry squawk as its little chick was scampering across the road. 

Lucky to hold this little fella, who was dizzy from striking a window
in St. Anthony.  We talked for awhile - chickadee whisperer!

Moose kill a lot of drivers in Newfoundland - and vice versa!

Of riding 15 days predominantly with tailwinds, and a few kilometers and one full day into the wind, beating the expected odds of headwinds along the entirety of the Cote-du-Nord!  Of Nelson, our cabbie, who showed up in Sept Isle in his Toyota cab, saw our bikes, and went home and got his own pickup to haul us 30+ miles down the road in a rain storm.

Of rolling to a bicycle shop in Baie Comeau, a fine small town with a great brewery, just as my pedal fell apart, which would have been an unexpected disaster - easily replaced so the trip could continue.  After all, there were only three bicycle shops on the entire stretch, near the beginning and two near the end.  And certainly, at least for me, only one flat before the first kilometer could be recorded (Richard had 4 in one day, but none hence).

That pedal has thousands of miles on it - poor fella!

What luck to stop for a moment at the main church in Les Bergeronnes, constructed in 1915, open, yet empty but for a church member/docent who could speak English well enough to give me a personal tour and history of this grand wooded edifice, including the old theater pipe organ purchased in the 1950's from an American theater in Philadelphia that now graces the sanctuary.

The Church of Our Lady of Good Desire in Les Bergeronnes
(Eglise de Notre Dame du Bon Desir)

My tour guide, delighted I was an  architect with whom he could
share the history and details of changes made over the years.

1950's Theater Organ

And speaking of humanly encounters, I would be remiss in not expressing our good luck in meeting so many people along the way, something that happens a lot on a bicycle. Most especially to Clara, who is still riding somewhere in eastern Canada and gives us updates.  To Christine and Nathalie, with whom a bottle of wine was split on their deck, just talking, watching for whales.  To our cabbies who spread their knowledge.  To the fisherman who gave us his story behind his fish house, and so many others.

 

Chatting with a fisherman along the way.

Christine and Nathalie - from Montreal

To Clara - wherever you are - grinding up those hills in flip flops!

And what luck, after seeing piles of tourists in Tadoussac, the first real quaint, yet touristy destination of our trip, piling into whale watching tour boats, to have Captain Keith give us a personal tour of the bay in St. Lunaire-Griguere, and get close to the whales in his small homemade 12 person launch.

Cap'n Keith - what a highlight you provided in your little launch!

What luck that we didn't have to sleep outside with no equipment, that all of our reservations came through without a hitch, even having navigated many of them in French.  The potential for a surprising error was certainly possible.

Or that we found food when we needed it, and never pulled out the first aid kit.  And of the food, the luck of experiencing some great (and not so great) traditional fare - French: meat pies and salmon pies, and Newfie: dried capelin, Newfie steak (bologna), brewis (fish and hard tack), bakeapples (not apples but single berries from a ground hugging, abundant plant), Cod tongues (yes, just as it sounds), and jiggs dinner (boiled salt beef and root vegetables).  And anywhere, abundant seafood (mainly cod and halibut), seafood soups and any manner of crustaceans and shellfish.  Not to mention the great luck in discovering some great ale's!

St. Pancrace Brown Ale - the best!  Especially with 1960's James Brown tunes
to accompany every swallow

Dried Capelin and deep fried Cod tongues

And what luck that I rode ahead of Richard most times, and that he was there to pick up that which I dropped: an inner tube case and one sandal that had fallen off unbeknownst to me.  And what luck that Richard was able to retrieve his cell phone in the car from his housemate Abby in time before we even took off from the airport on this trip, without knowing her phone number!  (thanks for taking our call for help, Carmen!).

Dare'nt I dwell on the bad luck of the trip?  The weather?  The crushing climbs?  The aches and pains?

No, that is expected on a bicycle trip - it's the law of averages at work.  Bad luck is just an opportunity to find good luck in its place.

Luck is truly a product of the unexpected, and this trip had so much of that as to dwarf those soggy climbs.

The end of the ride!  Lucky to be here.