-
Welcome! You are currently logged out of the forum. Some forum content will be hidden from you if you remain logged out. If you want to view all content, please LOG IN!If you are not an MOA member, why not take the time to join the club, so you can enjoy posting on the forum, the BMW Owners News magazine, and all of the benefits of membership? If you click here, you have the opportunity to take us for a test ride at our expense. Enter the code 'FORUM25' in the activation code box to try the first year of the MOA on us!
Canadian Odyssey - James Bay Road
- Thread starter testinglogin
- Start date
testinglogin
Hogaan!
Here's a real long one; with lots of photos. This is another two-parter day. The second half is coming. I left a nice cliffhanger for everyone, again. 
Glad to hear everyone is enjoying it; I'm enjoying writing it.
Note: I had to split this story into two posts; I'm several thousand characters over limit.
-----
When you have a sleeping bag rated down to 40 degrees and you're wearing woolen socks, insulated leggings (BMW brand), a t-shirt, a hat, and piling your riding jacket on top of the sleeping bag, you know it's a bit cold outside. When you have to do all of this in July and know you have a few hundred miles to cover by motorcycle, things get serious pretty quick.
I woke up terribly early; around 5:15am, and it was already light outside. I dozed in the early morning light trying to get a few more minutes of sleep, but it just wasn't going to happen. It was a pretty calm morning; I could no longer hear the waves from Lake Matagami crashing into shore, and even the forest was strangely quiet. Suddenly I was snapped to full awake by what sounded like someone walking around on gravel; strangely close to my bike. Too quiet for a bear; is a person checking out my gear? Stealing something? I coughed a bit to see what would happen. Silence. Then more sounds of something moving around on gravel; slowly getting closer to my tent. I quietly sat up inside my sleeping bag and listened for the slightest sounds - breathing, panting, anything. Surely a bear would be MUCH louder, right? Every few minutes I'd hear another sound, and each time it would be closer to my tent. I cleared my throat again. I decided there was no way I could get out of my bag and through two zipper safely if it was some nasty forest beast. Bigfoot?
"Twang!" Whatever it was had just brushed against one of the guy lines on my tent. Adrenaline was rushing through my veins now; whatever it was had to be within 3 or 4 feet of my tent; probably closer. I was now protected only by a double layer of tent fabric. I grabbed the can of bear spray and removed the safety from the trigger. If a bear suddenly tore through my tent I was going to make sure I was nicely marinate for him. Maybe I should grab the lighter and set my tent on fire, as well. More crunching gravel, and another "twang!" on the guy line. Now it's behind the tent. No way to get out from there. Several more minutes pass with only the occasional sound of crunching gravel and my breathing. Something touches the bottom of the rainfly and I consider cutting myself out of my tent with my Leatherman until I realize what it is as it crawls along the bottom of my rain fly. I am officially an idiot; it's nothing more than a small salamander. I am likely the only person to ever mistake a salamander for a bear. I can see the news report now: "Shoeless man seen running down James Bay Road in burned clothing. He appears to be crying, or blinded by pepper spray. Mumbling about a killer salamander." It must have been "hopping" or something, making the gravel crunch and hitting my guy lines. I lay back down and put the safety back under the bear spray trigger. I tell myself nobody will ever hear of this; and then consider changing "salamander" to "moose" or at least "fox". After wasting 20 minutes being terrified of a salamander, I decide it's now a good time to get out of bed and get moving; it's still before 6:00am, though.
I get out of my tent, don all my gear, and pace around eating breakfast, again. It's really cold outside, and I can see my breath. I can't wait until the sun gets higher in the sky and warms things up, a bit. There are still a few black flies who are undeterred by the cold. I quickly pack my gear and stuff my soaked rainfly into a mesh bag attached to the back of my bike. I hope the wind will dry it off a bit. The bike roars to life and settles into that familiar "noisy sewing machine" sound of the Airhead boxer. The valves sound just fine. I click into gear and work my way down the gravel driveway and back onto the James Bay Road. I get moving at a pretty good pace; still watching for wildlife. This was sure to be a quick and easy ride with a few sightseeing stops. 30 minutes of riding all by myself brought me to my first stop for photos. There had been a forest fire here years ago (started by a lightning strike), and the devastation is amazing. I had never seen a forest completely burned; pretty shocking. In some areas the pile of charred wood stretched on forever; with not even a hint of anything green trying to peek through. In another area there were miles of burned trees still standing, but stripped of almost all their limbs; a ghost forest. It's hard to imagine that this area was once teeming with life; lush and green. Already moss and other ground cover was starting to reclaim the area; mother nature is not to be stopped.
As I made my way along the JBR, I was noticing small orange diamond signs on the side of the road. It didn't take me long to realize these were to let you know a large bump was approaching. These weren't simply potholes; these were cracks that ran across the road, so there was no option to maneuver around, although I kept trying. Frost heave must be a big issue up here. The first few I ignored and kept riding. Finally I hit one that bounced me hard enough to dislodge me from my seat and leave me standing on my pegs. Ouch. From here on in, most of the ride involved slowing to 45-50mph as I approached these signs. Later on, I came around a bend in the road and encountered a sign with three orange diamonds on it, which had me hitting my brakes. I had heard stories of people coming up here and running flat out for a few hours; that must have been back when the road was in better condition; now you would be bounced off the road into the trees.
Another 30 minutes of riding, and I realized my mesh glove covered hand was getting a bit cold. The heated grip wasn't quite cutting it. I was also getting scattered drops of rain hitting me. I pulled off and started digging through my tankbag. Out came my silk glove liners and some heat packs. I had nearly left these single use heat packs at home, but at the last minute I decided to grab them since they took up very little space. I'm so glad I did. I ignored the warnings about placing the packs directly on your skin; I put one on the back of my hand and one on my palm, then donned both silk liners, then shoved the whole mess back into the mesh glove. It was a bit bulky, but I still had decent movement, and could still get to my brake lever quickly, if necessary. Once back on the road, my fingers started to warm up a bit, so I cracked the throttle open a bit further. Finally I was settling in to a nice pace, and I was plenty comfortable on the bike. The sun peeked through the clouds, traffic was non-existent, and I was happy to see the JBR actually had a few bends in it. After nearly an hour I saw something else on the road; a small red fox sitting just off the birm watched me tear by. Cool! Later on I saw a sizable caribou run across the road as well, although once I got to that point he had disappeared into the forest. I was keeping my eyes peeled for bears and moose; I was really hoping to see a moose. It took me nearly an hour before I saw any other cars on the road - I was really out on my own. A little further and three motorcycles were head south on the JBR; all three BMW's. We are a crazy bunch. At least they were heading towards warmer climates and denser population.
Glad to hear everyone is enjoying it; I'm enjoying writing it.Note: I had to split this story into two posts; I'm several thousand characters over limit.
-----
When you have a sleeping bag rated down to 40 degrees and you're wearing woolen socks, insulated leggings (BMW brand), a t-shirt, a hat, and piling your riding jacket on top of the sleeping bag, you know it's a bit cold outside. When you have to do all of this in July and know you have a few hundred miles to cover by motorcycle, things get serious pretty quick.
I woke up terribly early; around 5:15am, and it was already light outside. I dozed in the early morning light trying to get a few more minutes of sleep, but it just wasn't going to happen. It was a pretty calm morning; I could no longer hear the waves from Lake Matagami crashing into shore, and even the forest was strangely quiet. Suddenly I was snapped to full awake by what sounded like someone walking around on gravel; strangely close to my bike. Too quiet for a bear; is a person checking out my gear? Stealing something? I coughed a bit to see what would happen. Silence. Then more sounds of something moving around on gravel; slowly getting closer to my tent. I quietly sat up inside my sleeping bag and listened for the slightest sounds - breathing, panting, anything. Surely a bear would be MUCH louder, right? Every few minutes I'd hear another sound, and each time it would be closer to my tent. I cleared my throat again. I decided there was no way I could get out of my bag and through two zipper safely if it was some nasty forest beast. Bigfoot?
"Twang!" Whatever it was had just brushed against one of the guy lines on my tent. Adrenaline was rushing through my veins now; whatever it was had to be within 3 or 4 feet of my tent; probably closer. I was now protected only by a double layer of tent fabric. I grabbed the can of bear spray and removed the safety from the trigger. If a bear suddenly tore through my tent I was going to make sure I was nicely marinate for him. Maybe I should grab the lighter and set my tent on fire, as well. More crunching gravel, and another "twang!" on the guy line. Now it's behind the tent. No way to get out from there. Several more minutes pass with only the occasional sound of crunching gravel and my breathing. Something touches the bottom of the rainfly and I consider cutting myself out of my tent with my Leatherman until I realize what it is as it crawls along the bottom of my rain fly. I am officially an idiot; it's nothing more than a small salamander. I am likely the only person to ever mistake a salamander for a bear. I can see the news report now: "Shoeless man seen running down James Bay Road in burned clothing. He appears to be crying, or blinded by pepper spray. Mumbling about a killer salamander." It must have been "hopping" or something, making the gravel crunch and hitting my guy lines. I lay back down and put the safety back under the bear spray trigger. I tell myself nobody will ever hear of this; and then consider changing "salamander" to "moose" or at least "fox". After wasting 20 minutes being terrified of a salamander, I decide it's now a good time to get out of bed and get moving; it's still before 6:00am, though.
I get out of my tent, don all my gear, and pace around eating breakfast, again. It's really cold outside, and I can see my breath. I can't wait until the sun gets higher in the sky and warms things up, a bit. There are still a few black flies who are undeterred by the cold. I quickly pack my gear and stuff my soaked rainfly into a mesh bag attached to the back of my bike. I hope the wind will dry it off a bit. The bike roars to life and settles into that familiar "noisy sewing machine" sound of the Airhead boxer. The valves sound just fine. I click into gear and work my way down the gravel driveway and back onto the James Bay Road. I get moving at a pretty good pace; still watching for wildlife. This was sure to be a quick and easy ride with a few sightseeing stops. 30 minutes of riding all by myself brought me to my first stop for photos. There had been a forest fire here years ago (started by a lightning strike), and the devastation is amazing. I had never seen a forest completely burned; pretty shocking. In some areas the pile of charred wood stretched on forever; with not even a hint of anything green trying to peek through. In another area there were miles of burned trees still standing, but stripped of almost all their limbs; a ghost forest. It's hard to imagine that this area was once teeming with life; lush and green. Already moss and other ground cover was starting to reclaim the area; mother nature is not to be stopped.
As I made my way along the JBR, I was noticing small orange diamond signs on the side of the road. It didn't take me long to realize these were to let you know a large bump was approaching. These weren't simply potholes; these were cracks that ran across the road, so there was no option to maneuver around, although I kept trying. Frost heave must be a big issue up here. The first few I ignored and kept riding. Finally I hit one that bounced me hard enough to dislodge me from my seat and leave me standing on my pegs. Ouch. From here on in, most of the ride involved slowing to 45-50mph as I approached these signs. Later on, I came around a bend in the road and encountered a sign with three orange diamonds on it, which had me hitting my brakes. I had heard stories of people coming up here and running flat out for a few hours; that must have been back when the road was in better condition; now you would be bounced off the road into the trees.
Another 30 minutes of riding, and I realized my mesh glove covered hand was getting a bit cold. The heated grip wasn't quite cutting it. I was also getting scattered drops of rain hitting me. I pulled off and started digging through my tankbag. Out came my silk glove liners and some heat packs. I had nearly left these single use heat packs at home, but at the last minute I decided to grab them since they took up very little space. I'm so glad I did. I ignored the warnings about placing the packs directly on your skin; I put one on the back of my hand and one on my palm, then donned both silk liners, then shoved the whole mess back into the mesh glove. It was a bit bulky, but I still had decent movement, and could still get to my brake lever quickly, if necessary. Once back on the road, my fingers started to warm up a bit, so I cracked the throttle open a bit further. Finally I was settling in to a nice pace, and I was plenty comfortable on the bike. The sun peeked through the clouds, traffic was non-existent, and I was happy to see the JBR actually had a few bends in it. After nearly an hour I saw something else on the road; a small red fox sitting just off the birm watched me tear by. Cool! Later on I saw a sizable caribou run across the road as well, although once I got to that point he had disappeared into the forest. I was keeping my eyes peeled for bears and moose; I was really hoping to see a moose. It took me nearly an hour before I saw any other cars on the road - I was really out on my own. A little further and three motorcycles were head south on the JBR; all three BMW's. We are a crazy bunch. At least they were heading towards warmer climates and denser population.
Last edited:
testinglogin
Hogaan!
Continued...
-----
My ride finally brought me to one of the most important destinations for my whole trip. the Rupert River. Part of my decision to come up here was to see this river which crosses the JBR. Increased electricity demand in Canada and the US has Hydro-Quebec looking for more "green" power. The result of this is plans for the mighty Rupert to be diverted, turning the raging rapids into a tiny stream. It's really a beautiful area, and the water is said to be clean enough to drink untreated. They are currently in the process of building the dam, and full diversion is expected by late '08 or early '09. I wanted to see this before it was too late. I immediately pulled off into the small lot on the south side of the river to get off the bike and take some photos. I was surprised to find I wasn't alone; there was a single van parked there, along with a woman and her two dogs. I was rather amused at the stop sign in the lot; printed in both French and Cree.
I walked around a bit, took some photos, walked onto the bridge for more photos and video of this amazing river. I was feeling pretty excited to finally be here; a place I had been reading about for months. It really was beautiful; more impressive than I expected. There was an extremely strong current, and the rapids pushed mist high into the air. Raw power. From across the river I could see a small lookout stand on the opposite side. I had read about this, and was ready to hike the nature trail leading to it so I could get some spectacular photos. Before heading across, I decided now was a good time to add the two gallons of gas from my gas can; I'd rather have it in the tank of the bike, even if I wasn't on reserve, yet. I pulled out the can, extended the filler neck, and managed to spill a bunch of gas all over my gas tank. No problem; I finished getting most of the gas into the tank and then rinsed it off with water from one of my water bottles. I did make one more terrible mistake by re-attaching the gas can to the rear rack with gas spilled on the outside. That would be fine, except my tent rain fly was in a mesh bag directly against it. Gasoline on a rain fly can't be a good thing. Merde.
The bridge over the Rupert River
View of the rapids from the bridge
Video of the Rupert River from the bridge on the JBR. I started looking down from the bridge to show how fast the water is moving (youtube seems to decrease the quality a bit):
<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WOJxOpM2dB8&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WOJxOpM2dB8&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>
Back on the bike for a very brief ride to the "nature trail" on the north side of the river. There was no parking area so I simply parked on the birm; leaving my helmet. Traffic was so light I had doubts a car would come by while I'm gone, and even if they did; I doubted they would stop to try to take my helmet, or anything else. It was rather odd; there was a painted wooden structure at the start of the trail, but they failed to make an opening in the guardrail, so I had to hop over. I walked down and was immediately on a rather narrow trail through the forest. It was 1.2km to the scenic lookout. All alone, walking through the forest in bear country. Surely this is a good idea. In one hand was my camera, and in the other was the can of bear spray. All my riding gear made plenty of noise as I walked, but I still whistled; hoping it would help keep me from sneaking up on anything. The trail went from soft, spongy ground through a stand of pine trees to a rocky narrow trail through dead trees and lots of scrub bushes. It continued to get worse as there were small trees laying across the trail, and then larger ones I had to climb over. Apparently there was also a forest fire in this area, and the trail has been woefully unmaintained. I considered turning back, but my adventurous spirit got the best of me, thankfully.
Start of the trail:
Further down the trail:
I think there is still a trail here, somewhere:
There was several more minutes of scrambling over downed trees until I finally reached the scenic lookout, and was it ever worth it. I stood there enjoying the site as the water roared past. I've been to Niagara Falls before, and this had a very similar sound to it. Totally amazing - unbelievable amounts of water were roaring past every second. The hail was worth it. I've read that several people have tried to run these rapids in a kayak; I was not surprised that nobody has ever done it. Due to the pending diversion, I'm sure nobody ever will.
Massive rapids:
Here is a short video of the rapids from the lookout stand:
<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/GkoQkGZUc-c&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/GkoQkGZUc-c&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>
I eventually turned back, safely reaching the bike. The gear went back on, the bike started, and I was back on the road; next stop, fuel at Kilometer 381. It was a cool ride with small amounts of drizzle, but nothing serious. I would see a car or truck every 30 minutes or so, but for the most part I was all alone. I really loved it. I stopped once and pulled my helmet off, just to enjoy the solitude. Most of the large trees were going away, and now the scenery was mostly small bogs, scrub bushes, and short coniferous trees. They were probably pretty old by the time they reached 4 or 5 feet; the growing season is terribly short up here. I had read you can hear cars approach for miles up here, and it turned out to be true; a sound I heard 10 minutes ago eventually grew louder until a truck rolled past. Wild. I continued on; passing emergency phone towers, and passing a sign letting me know I had reached the 52nd parallel. I'm not sure what the significance is; I never saw another sign like it. I was getting a bit cool, but suddenly found refuge at the Kilometer 381 stop.
This is no scenic rest area. Totally utilitarian; mobile home trailers where you can rent a room for the night, a large corrugated steel building for working on their trucks (snowplows and so on) which also contained the cafeteria. There were also some stacked 55 gallon drums, and some gas pumps far in the back. I cruised back to the pumps and saw my two choices; "diesel" or "essence". I'm assuming "essence" is whatever fuel they can get up there, and I was suddenly very glad I dual-plugged my Airhead, so it no longer required premium. There was a sign telling me in no uncertain terms to not pump gas, and instead wait for the "gas boy". In the meantime I pulled off my helmet, expecting a chance to warm up without the 70mph wind blowing in my face. How wrong I was. If anything, the temperature had dropped even more; I could see my breath, and a cold wind was blowing across the lot. I still had a way to go until Radisson. It was still a quiet place, and the only sound aside from the wind was the 55 gallon drums "ticking" as the metal expanded and contracted in the weather. Rather soon the "boy" approached; a man who was at least twice my age. He was an interesting guy; I can't imagine wanting to work in a place like this. He did speak English and would chat with me a bit - I'm sure he meets some interesting people up here. After filling the bike and my gas can, we walked into a tiny building to pay. I considered hanging around, as it was heated. Total price of unleaded fuel at KM381 for 5.5 gallons; about $36. Ouch. I didn't really think much about it; I knew it would be pricey, and it's not like I had a choice. I ate a bit more breakfast bar for strength and hopped back on the bike to finish off this last bit of cold, overcast riding.
After a while of endless riding through this deserted wilderness, I was freezing cold, and it continued to lightly rain on me. Keeping my feet on th pegs, I started to "bounce" my legs in an attempt to warm up. At the same time I was tensing and releasing my arm muscles and wiggling my fingers. Each time I would look at my GPS and see the kilometers slowly tick by. I was talking myself into continuing on. "160km. That's not far. That's like riding to bike night and back. I can do this." The rain continued, and I went as fast as I safely could. Any faster and I was worried I might slide off the road in a turn, off into the scrub. I'd probably lay there for days or weeks before anyone found me. By then I'd probably be bear food. 120km. "That's like riding to one of the Michigan offices from work." That's nothing. Each time I would check the GPS and see I had gone a shorter and shorter distance. I thought about pulling off the side of the road and firing up my camp stove to try to warm up; maybe make some coffee. it seemed like a waste of time, and if I stopped, I'm not sure I'd be able to convince myself to get going again. There were also a few unmaintained camping areas I could pull off into, but it was still cold, and sitting outside wasn't going to do me much good. My body was getting stiff, and I started to shiver a little bit. Now under 100km. Just a touch more than my ride to "bike night". I can do this... I'm almost there. Hot food, hot shower... it was going to be so nice. Time dragged by. This isn't what I signed up for. What the heck ever convinced me to come up here? What kind of moron rides a motorcycle to the James Bay? Isn't the average July temperature supposed to be 63; with highs possible to 90? Why couldn't I be suffering THAT fate? 50km. I'm almost there now. I'm going to make it; I MUST make it. In my mind, failure was not an option - I hadn't come this far to not make it to Radisson and Chisasibi. I needed to touch the James Bay.
I knew I was getting close to my destination as I passed by a small airport and started to see more road signs counting down the kilometers to Radisson. I slowed down a bit and started to slowly stretch my legs out. I was crippled from the cold and began to worry I wouldn't be able to support the bike when I stopped. Eventually I pulled up to a small security booth. This doesn't seem right. I managed to fumble around with my cold leg and foot to get the side stand down, followed by a numb fingered struggle to pull my helmet off so I could see what was going on. The guard was friendly, even if he didn't speak much English. It seems I somehow managed to miss a left turn to get me into Radisson; this was the entrance to the large Hydro-Quebec installation, which is strictly off-limits to civilians without an escort. I got my helmet back on and struggled with weak, cold muscles to turn my bike around to get heading back the way I came. A minute later I was making the correct turn into Radisson; now so close to my warm hotel room. Radisson was not what I expected. Although I knew it wasn't a large town, the transition from pavement to a muddy, rock-strewn main street made it feel like I was pulling into some old west town. You would think they would pave the last 1/2 mile. Everything appeared dirty and utilitarian; definitely not a tourist spot. A few hotels, a gas station/store, one restaurant, and a building housing hydro-Quebec employees. All the cars were coated in mud, and most parking spaces had a place to plug in your engine block heater in the winter. I quickly found my hotel (one of the few multi-level building in Radisson) and turned myself into the lot, again struggling to get my frozen body off of the bike.
I made my triumphant walk into the hotel, slightly hunched over, still very chilled, helmet in hand, looking forward to some heat and a nice shower. A smile came over my frozen face. "Welcome to Auberge Radisson, how can I help you?" I provided my name to the puzzled looking receptionist, and quickly realized why she looked so confused. "We don't seem to have you in our reservation system; are you sure your reservation was made here? We are all full.".
Merde.
-----
My ride finally brought me to one of the most important destinations for my whole trip. the Rupert River. Part of my decision to come up here was to see this river which crosses the JBR. Increased electricity demand in Canada and the US has Hydro-Quebec looking for more "green" power. The result of this is plans for the mighty Rupert to be diverted, turning the raging rapids into a tiny stream. It's really a beautiful area, and the water is said to be clean enough to drink untreated. They are currently in the process of building the dam, and full diversion is expected by late '08 or early '09. I wanted to see this before it was too late. I immediately pulled off into the small lot on the south side of the river to get off the bike and take some photos. I was surprised to find I wasn't alone; there was a single van parked there, along with a woman and her two dogs. I was rather amused at the stop sign in the lot; printed in both French and Cree.
I walked around a bit, took some photos, walked onto the bridge for more photos and video of this amazing river. I was feeling pretty excited to finally be here; a place I had been reading about for months. It really was beautiful; more impressive than I expected. There was an extremely strong current, and the rapids pushed mist high into the air. Raw power. From across the river I could see a small lookout stand on the opposite side. I had read about this, and was ready to hike the nature trail leading to it so I could get some spectacular photos. Before heading across, I decided now was a good time to add the two gallons of gas from my gas can; I'd rather have it in the tank of the bike, even if I wasn't on reserve, yet. I pulled out the can, extended the filler neck, and managed to spill a bunch of gas all over my gas tank. No problem; I finished getting most of the gas into the tank and then rinsed it off with water from one of my water bottles. I did make one more terrible mistake by re-attaching the gas can to the rear rack with gas spilled on the outside. That would be fine, except my tent rain fly was in a mesh bag directly against it. Gasoline on a rain fly can't be a good thing. Merde.
The bridge over the Rupert River
View of the rapids from the bridge
Video of the Rupert River from the bridge on the JBR. I started looking down from the bridge to show how fast the water is moving (youtube seems to decrease the quality a bit):
<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WOJxOpM2dB8&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WOJxOpM2dB8&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>
Back on the bike for a very brief ride to the "nature trail" on the north side of the river. There was no parking area so I simply parked on the birm; leaving my helmet. Traffic was so light I had doubts a car would come by while I'm gone, and even if they did; I doubted they would stop to try to take my helmet, or anything else. It was rather odd; there was a painted wooden structure at the start of the trail, but they failed to make an opening in the guardrail, so I had to hop over. I walked down and was immediately on a rather narrow trail through the forest. It was 1.2km to the scenic lookout. All alone, walking through the forest in bear country. Surely this is a good idea. In one hand was my camera, and in the other was the can of bear spray. All my riding gear made plenty of noise as I walked, but I still whistled; hoping it would help keep me from sneaking up on anything. The trail went from soft, spongy ground through a stand of pine trees to a rocky narrow trail through dead trees and lots of scrub bushes. It continued to get worse as there were small trees laying across the trail, and then larger ones I had to climb over. Apparently there was also a forest fire in this area, and the trail has been woefully unmaintained. I considered turning back, but my adventurous spirit got the best of me, thankfully.
Start of the trail:
Further down the trail:
I think there is still a trail here, somewhere:
There was several more minutes of scrambling over downed trees until I finally reached the scenic lookout, and was it ever worth it. I stood there enjoying the site as the water roared past. I've been to Niagara Falls before, and this had a very similar sound to it. Totally amazing - unbelievable amounts of water were roaring past every second. The hail was worth it. I've read that several people have tried to run these rapids in a kayak; I was not surprised that nobody has ever done it. Due to the pending diversion, I'm sure nobody ever will.
Massive rapids:
Here is a short video of the rapids from the lookout stand:
<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/GkoQkGZUc-c&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/GkoQkGZUc-c&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>
I eventually turned back, safely reaching the bike. The gear went back on, the bike started, and I was back on the road; next stop, fuel at Kilometer 381. It was a cool ride with small amounts of drizzle, but nothing serious. I would see a car or truck every 30 minutes or so, but for the most part I was all alone. I really loved it. I stopped once and pulled my helmet off, just to enjoy the solitude. Most of the large trees were going away, and now the scenery was mostly small bogs, scrub bushes, and short coniferous trees. They were probably pretty old by the time they reached 4 or 5 feet; the growing season is terribly short up here. I had read you can hear cars approach for miles up here, and it turned out to be true; a sound I heard 10 minutes ago eventually grew louder until a truck rolled past. Wild. I continued on; passing emergency phone towers, and passing a sign letting me know I had reached the 52nd parallel. I'm not sure what the significance is; I never saw another sign like it. I was getting a bit cool, but suddenly found refuge at the Kilometer 381 stop.
This is no scenic rest area. Totally utilitarian; mobile home trailers where you can rent a room for the night, a large corrugated steel building for working on their trucks (snowplows and so on) which also contained the cafeteria. There were also some stacked 55 gallon drums, and some gas pumps far in the back. I cruised back to the pumps and saw my two choices; "diesel" or "essence". I'm assuming "essence" is whatever fuel they can get up there, and I was suddenly very glad I dual-plugged my Airhead, so it no longer required premium. There was a sign telling me in no uncertain terms to not pump gas, and instead wait for the "gas boy". In the meantime I pulled off my helmet, expecting a chance to warm up without the 70mph wind blowing in my face. How wrong I was. If anything, the temperature had dropped even more; I could see my breath, and a cold wind was blowing across the lot. I still had a way to go until Radisson. It was still a quiet place, and the only sound aside from the wind was the 55 gallon drums "ticking" as the metal expanded and contracted in the weather. Rather soon the "boy" approached; a man who was at least twice my age. He was an interesting guy; I can't imagine wanting to work in a place like this. He did speak English and would chat with me a bit - I'm sure he meets some interesting people up here. After filling the bike and my gas can, we walked into a tiny building to pay. I considered hanging around, as it was heated. Total price of unleaded fuel at KM381 for 5.5 gallons; about $36. Ouch. I didn't really think much about it; I knew it would be pricey, and it's not like I had a choice. I ate a bit more breakfast bar for strength and hopped back on the bike to finish off this last bit of cold, overcast riding.
After a while of endless riding through this deserted wilderness, I was freezing cold, and it continued to lightly rain on me. Keeping my feet on th pegs, I started to "bounce" my legs in an attempt to warm up. At the same time I was tensing and releasing my arm muscles and wiggling my fingers. Each time I would look at my GPS and see the kilometers slowly tick by. I was talking myself into continuing on. "160km. That's not far. That's like riding to bike night and back. I can do this." The rain continued, and I went as fast as I safely could. Any faster and I was worried I might slide off the road in a turn, off into the scrub. I'd probably lay there for days or weeks before anyone found me. By then I'd probably be bear food. 120km. "That's like riding to one of the Michigan offices from work." That's nothing. Each time I would check the GPS and see I had gone a shorter and shorter distance. I thought about pulling off the side of the road and firing up my camp stove to try to warm up; maybe make some coffee. it seemed like a waste of time, and if I stopped, I'm not sure I'd be able to convince myself to get going again. There were also a few unmaintained camping areas I could pull off into, but it was still cold, and sitting outside wasn't going to do me much good. My body was getting stiff, and I started to shiver a little bit. Now under 100km. Just a touch more than my ride to "bike night". I can do this... I'm almost there. Hot food, hot shower... it was going to be so nice. Time dragged by. This isn't what I signed up for. What the heck ever convinced me to come up here? What kind of moron rides a motorcycle to the James Bay? Isn't the average July temperature supposed to be 63; with highs possible to 90? Why couldn't I be suffering THAT fate? 50km. I'm almost there now. I'm going to make it; I MUST make it. In my mind, failure was not an option - I hadn't come this far to not make it to Radisson and Chisasibi. I needed to touch the James Bay.
I knew I was getting close to my destination as I passed by a small airport and started to see more road signs counting down the kilometers to Radisson. I slowed down a bit and started to slowly stretch my legs out. I was crippled from the cold and began to worry I wouldn't be able to support the bike when I stopped. Eventually I pulled up to a small security booth. This doesn't seem right. I managed to fumble around with my cold leg and foot to get the side stand down, followed by a numb fingered struggle to pull my helmet off so I could see what was going on. The guard was friendly, even if he didn't speak much English. It seems I somehow managed to miss a left turn to get me into Radisson; this was the entrance to the large Hydro-Quebec installation, which is strictly off-limits to civilians without an escort. I got my helmet back on and struggled with weak, cold muscles to turn my bike around to get heading back the way I came. A minute later I was making the correct turn into Radisson; now so close to my warm hotel room. Radisson was not what I expected. Although I knew it wasn't a large town, the transition from pavement to a muddy, rock-strewn main street made it feel like I was pulling into some old west town. You would think they would pave the last 1/2 mile. Everything appeared dirty and utilitarian; definitely not a tourist spot. A few hotels, a gas station/store, one restaurant, and a building housing hydro-Quebec employees. All the cars were coated in mud, and most parking spaces had a place to plug in your engine block heater in the winter. I quickly found my hotel (one of the few multi-level building in Radisson) and turned myself into the lot, again struggling to get my frozen body off of the bike.
I made my triumphant walk into the hotel, slightly hunched over, still very chilled, helmet in hand, looking forward to some heat and a nice shower. A smile came over my frozen face. "Welcome to Auberge Radisson, how can I help you?" I provided my name to the puzzled looking receptionist, and quickly realized why she looked so confused. "We don't seem to have you in our reservation system; are you sure your reservation was made here? We are all full.".
Merde.
Last edited:
R
rkasal
Guest
Salamanders make great breakfasts! 
Did you find a local lady for the night or did they come up with a room? Don't leave us hanging like that!
Did you find a local lady for the night or did they come up with a room? Don't leave us hanging like that!
M
mrich12000
Guest
And now the rest of the story
This has been the best story surly it needs space in the ON. the writing is so descriptive, it's like reading Hemmingway, so good are your words.
This has been the best story surly it needs space in the ON. the writing is so descriptive, it's like reading Hemmingway, so good are your words.
F
franze
Guest
?????? you're not honoring the Hollywood writers' strike are you???Very enjoyable so far.........
testinglogin
Hogaan!
And now the rest of the story
This has been the best story surly it needs space in the ON. the writing is so descriptive, it's like reading Hemmingway, so good are your words.
Thank you so very much. I don't believe my writing has ever received such a compliment!
Thanks everyone else, as well! The next part is headed your way; along with more photos.
R
REBECCAV
Guest
testinglogin
Hogaan!
Very enjoyable so far.........
I've avoided the union. Since everyone seems to like this, maybe I should consider a career change.
Bud
It is what it is.
Damn you. Leaving us on the edge of our seats. Again. 
I have to agree with everyone else. This is ON cover story material. Heck, you posted it here, they probably own it anyways.
Looking forward to the next installment and at the same time wishing it didn't have to have an ending.
Let's see, new career, riding to remote places, taking pictures, writing story about trip, collect them into a book and next thing you know .......
you are a published author.
I have to agree with everyone else. This is ON cover story material. Heck, you posted it here, they probably own it anyways.
Looking forward to the next installment and at the same time wishing it didn't have to have an ending.
Let's see, new career, riding to remote places, taking pictures, writing story about trip, collect them into a book and next thing you know .......
you are a published author.
Let me guess they directed you to the flea bag motel down the road with the dirt parking lot. Thats what happen to us when we got there and were told we didn't have our reservations and they were booked solid. Maybe they have an unwritten policy of not allowing bikers to stay at the Hotel.
testinglogin
Hogaan!
A light mist continued to fall on me as I ambled back out to my bike to dig into my tank bag. I knew I had my confirmation number for the hotel somewhere, and I was determined to find it. It took several minutes of digging around as half of the tank bags contents ended up on the ground. Finally, I pulled out a folded up piece of paper with the confirmation number I had received several months ago when the reservation was made. I walked back in to the hotel triumphantly; surely they couldn't turn me away, now. The receptionist looked worried as I walked back up the the front desk and handed her the slip of paper. A bit of typing on the computer and more confusion as she walked across the hall into her supervisors office. More talk, and out come both women to the computer. This was not looking good. I set my helmet down and walked over to the wall to check out the weather reports. No wonder I had been so cold riding in; the minimum temperature was in the mid 30's; with the high listed in the low 50's. It was nowhere near 50, currently. "Sir?", the receptionist beckoned me over. "This has never happened to us before; you have a valid confirmation number for our system, but it is linked to someone who stayed here months ago. I'm sorry, I have no idea how this could have happened. Unfortunately, we have no empty rooms for you, so there is nothing we can do." This wasn't the answer I wanted to hear. Keeping my building anger in check, I suggested I might set my tent up in their lobby for the night, but was told that wouldn't be possible. I decided not to press the issue; I didn't want to end up jailed in Radisson. I wasn't sure anyone would drive this far to bail me out. She quickly returned to her office to call the other hotels in town for me. Sadly, they too, were full. Both the receptionist and the manager were eying me wearily. You could cut the tension with a knife as I stood there staring at them in disbelief. I wasn't wearing club patches or any of the usual "scary biker" type of clothing, but I'm sure they didn't like the idea of having an angry, tired, cold biker on their hands. Realizing this was a fight I could not win, I grabbed my helmet and turned to speak with them once more. I think they both expected my helmet to come flying their way, as they both flinched noticeably. Who throws a $400 helmet? In a calm but sarcastic voice, I thanked them for all of their help and wished them a good day as I made my way back out into the drizzle. The sky looked grayer than ever. My spirits were at an all-time low. I thumbed the starter button on the bike and my old friend roared to life. My only friend.
I made my way across the street to the only restaurant in town and walked in, peeling off most of my gear and sitting down at the bar. I was the only patron at the time. A rather attractive looking girl came out and welcomed me with a smile. The beaten look on my face must have been obvious as she began to ask me about my trip; looking suitably concerned about my wellbeing. Note to self: tip well. I leaned back in my chair as I sipped on my can of Pepsi and thought about my choices. I could ride over to the only campground in town; I had plenty of warm clothing and gear, and I could probably pile everything on myself and sleep well enough to get back. My other choice would be to ride a few hours back the way I came and get a room back at the Kilometer 381 stop. I didn't like either option. On top of that, I was tired and cold, and failure was staring me in the face; I might not reach Chisasibi and the James Bay. I couldn't see riding the 150 or so miles to get there and back, it would be just too far. As the waitress ran back to put in my pizza order, the door swung open and two guys stepped in; stopping and smiling at me. Did they know something I didn't? Turns out they were two brothers from Hamilton, ON who also came up this way by motorcycle. All my gear piled next to me and the BMW parked out front made it obvious I had done the same. I joined them at their table and struck up a conversation; a welcome diversion to my current problems. Turns out they had been a few steps ahead of me and missed the rain and hail from the day before, and had ridden about half the distance I had, today. As we ate our lunches, an invite was made, and a plan was hatched. They were also planning on going to Chisasibi, so I would join them. They would allow me to unload most of my gear into their hotel room until we got back, so I wouldn't be riding with the extra weight through the gravel I knew we would encounter. My spirits began to lift. I still had no place to stay, but the company was doing me good, and I could still accomplish all of my goals. To add to the good luck, I stepped outside to find the rain had stopped. Although the sun wasn't out, it was definitely getting a bit brighter outside. Nice. We fueled up and made out way to Chisasibi.
Heading back a bit South on the James Bay Road, I was riding in the back of the group. They were running a bit slower than I would have, but it was a nice change to slow down a bit. Getting to Chisasibi is pretty easy since there are few roads up here. Just head back south on the James Bay Road until you see the sign for Chisasibi, turn right, and follow that until you get there. We ran up on the turn a little fast and had to slow down quickly to make the turn. I pulled in the clutch and began downshifting, except I got stuck between gears. Strange. I came to a stop and rolled the bike forward and back, playing with the shifter until it popped into gear, and then down into first. That was weird. I made my turn and continued on. There is very little to look at out here; just miles of scrub grass and the two bikes ahead of me. We picked up the pace and approached 130kph. Suddenly I felt the bike stumble briefly; like it missed a spark or two. Or did my hand slip on the throttle a bit? More strangeness. I swear the James Bay is cursed. We continued on. Suddenly I saw a brake light come on and immediately saw why; there was a wide section of road missing; going from smooth pavement to gravel for about 10 feet. I jumped on the brakes and downshifted. Again I got hung up between gears, but managed to get unstuck without stopping. I was growing a bit concerned about my transmission. Further down the road we came upon a road crew that required us to ride through some loose gravel in the birm; this time I made sure to double-clutch on my downshift; pull handle in, downshift, release handle. Pull handle in, downshift, release, all the way through the gears. That seems to be working fine - I could deal with it. We eventually rolled into Chisasibi; I had made it. In my mind I was already standing on the shore of the James Bay.
Chisasibi, finally:
Once you get to Chisasibi, it's a bit hard to find your way to the bay. There are no signs, and no obvious route. The road we came in on dead ends into a 4-lane wide gravel road, and that seemed to be the only obvious route. We made our way a few hundred yards at a rather slow pace; none of us very comfortable riding on loose gravel. Rounding a bend, we saw the road seemed to continue on for miles and miles, so we stopped to consider our options. We could ride back into town and ask the way, we could continue riding on for a while, or we could walk over and ask some workers in a lot off to our left. We went with the last plan. Since I was outnumbered (two Canadians to one American) I was elected to be the motorcycling ambassador who would go ask directions. It turned out to be a good thing. The workers were very friendly, spoke English, and told me we wanted to take the first left turn we saw. Continuing down the large gravel road would not take us to the bay. Back on the bikes, we headed off and started to make our left turn as a Geo Metro came racing up to us. Turns out they worked for the tourist office. I felt a bit rude not having stopped in town before coming out here, but I was focused on getting there, and so were my new riding companions. They verified the route we were taking was the correct way to go (stay left!) and warned us it wasn't overly scenic and was littered with boats and snowmobiles. They also offered a boat ride out to some of the islands in the area; if I had the time I would have enjoyed taking that trip. Next time, maybe. Again, we ventured off onto the smaller gravel road and followed it for what seemed like miles, never quite reaching the bay. One of the Canadians stopped his bike, and discussions started as to continuing on or turning back. The gravel was making all of us a bit tired, but the sun was now shining on and off, and I was determined to go on. Checking out my GPS I could see we were less than a mile from water, and that was the information everyone needed to go on. Minutes later we crested a small hill and there it was; the James Bay. I was elated. I had done it! WE had done it. I patted the tank of my bike, thanked it, and then hopped off to get some photos. Now there was more blue sky than clouds, and it had finally warmed up. It was still in the mid 50's, but it felt like a heat wave. We all walked around and got our photos, I tested my Sidi's by standing IN the bay, and I made sure to get my hand wet. For a while I forgot all about my other problems; the fact that I still had no place to stay for the night, or that the bike was acting up a bit. Everything was perfect.
James Bay, dirty bike:
Our hero, and the guy who's been riding:
Not exactly a smooth, sandy beach... but there IS sunlight:
Standing in the bay; smiling, even (I'm not fat, I have 4 or 5 layers of clothing/riding gear/rain gear on!):
We stayed for a while before finally deciding to head back to Radisson. This time I was put in the lead position, and I wasted no time getting out of there. I had gotten a bit more comfortable on the gravel and upon reaching the pavement I had to stop to let the others catch up. One was close to me, the other was lagging back. Now on pavement, I cracked open the throttle and raced back to Radisson, making sure to watch out for missing sections of road. Again the bike stumbled on me once or twice, and the worry crept back in. The sky also went back to cloudy and overcast; possibly it was the James Bay Road itself that was cursed. My spirits began to sink as I got back to thinking about my lack of lodging; I was on an emotional roller coaster.
Slowing to make my turn into Radisson I double-clutched my way down to second gear and pulled back in to the hotel so I could re-pack my bike. I was met by a somewhat welcome sight; two Oilhead GS's parked directly outside my Canadian friend's room. I wondered if they were at the Wisconsin rally. As I began to gather my saddlebags, my Ortleib bag, and my gas can and re-attach everything to the bike, a door swung open and out came the two GS owners. They were very friendly guys who had indeed spent time at the Wisconsin MOA rally. They were Gene and Andy; both from Baton Rouge, LA. The group of us talked about our ride; again I was the only person to get caught in hail. I must be living a charmed life. Eventually I recounted my hotel problems and right away Gene and Andy suggested I grab my sleeping bag and set up on their floor. I gave them a sigh, a weak smile, and a heartfelt "thank you". I really should have been jumping up and down for joy, but the past two days had worn on me, and I was simply exhausted. I was beginning to feel like I was no longer in control of anything and just responding reflexively. I almost felt like I was watching everything happen as a spectator. Still, here was a glimmer of hope. I had a place to sleep that didn't require more riding, and didn't require erecting a tent. I perked up a bit, gabbed my stuff, moved it into their room, and pulled out some money for my second new set of friend for the day. They quickly declined; under no circumstances were they going to take my money. This must be that southern hospitality I've head so much about! A short time later we walked back to the restaurant for dinner and I decided to get myself a beer; the tastiest Labatt I ever drank. It was surely earned. Finishing dinner, my new friends again refused to accept my offer to pay, and instead paid for my meal. Unbelievable. It's possible I WAS living a charmed life. Walking out of the restaurant, all five of us stood outside in the hotel's gravel parking lot in the dark, wondering what ever possessed us to come to such a place. It was definitely a hard trip, and I know I was questioning my sanity.
Crawling into bed, the fog of exhaustion began to creep in as I tried to figure out the mysterious issues my bike was having. My transmission was acting up, the engine was occasionally stumbling, and I was a long way from home. For now I had a warm, safe place to sleep - I'd settle for any victory I could get. Tomorrow was another day, and I could worry then. My schedule had me heading back south to the campground on Matagami Lake. I wondered if I would make it.
I made my way across the street to the only restaurant in town and walked in, peeling off most of my gear and sitting down at the bar. I was the only patron at the time. A rather attractive looking girl came out and welcomed me with a smile. The beaten look on my face must have been obvious as she began to ask me about my trip; looking suitably concerned about my wellbeing. Note to self: tip well. I leaned back in my chair as I sipped on my can of Pepsi and thought about my choices. I could ride over to the only campground in town; I had plenty of warm clothing and gear, and I could probably pile everything on myself and sleep well enough to get back. My other choice would be to ride a few hours back the way I came and get a room back at the Kilometer 381 stop. I didn't like either option. On top of that, I was tired and cold, and failure was staring me in the face; I might not reach Chisasibi and the James Bay. I couldn't see riding the 150 or so miles to get there and back, it would be just too far. As the waitress ran back to put in my pizza order, the door swung open and two guys stepped in; stopping and smiling at me. Did they know something I didn't? Turns out they were two brothers from Hamilton, ON who also came up this way by motorcycle. All my gear piled next to me and the BMW parked out front made it obvious I had done the same. I joined them at their table and struck up a conversation; a welcome diversion to my current problems. Turns out they had been a few steps ahead of me and missed the rain and hail from the day before, and had ridden about half the distance I had, today. As we ate our lunches, an invite was made, and a plan was hatched. They were also planning on going to Chisasibi, so I would join them. They would allow me to unload most of my gear into their hotel room until we got back, so I wouldn't be riding with the extra weight through the gravel I knew we would encounter. My spirits began to lift. I still had no place to stay, but the company was doing me good, and I could still accomplish all of my goals. To add to the good luck, I stepped outside to find the rain had stopped. Although the sun wasn't out, it was definitely getting a bit brighter outside. Nice. We fueled up and made out way to Chisasibi.
Heading back a bit South on the James Bay Road, I was riding in the back of the group. They were running a bit slower than I would have, but it was a nice change to slow down a bit. Getting to Chisasibi is pretty easy since there are few roads up here. Just head back south on the James Bay Road until you see the sign for Chisasibi, turn right, and follow that until you get there. We ran up on the turn a little fast and had to slow down quickly to make the turn. I pulled in the clutch and began downshifting, except I got stuck between gears. Strange. I came to a stop and rolled the bike forward and back, playing with the shifter until it popped into gear, and then down into first. That was weird. I made my turn and continued on. There is very little to look at out here; just miles of scrub grass and the two bikes ahead of me. We picked up the pace and approached 130kph. Suddenly I felt the bike stumble briefly; like it missed a spark or two. Or did my hand slip on the throttle a bit? More strangeness. I swear the James Bay is cursed. We continued on. Suddenly I saw a brake light come on and immediately saw why; there was a wide section of road missing; going from smooth pavement to gravel for about 10 feet. I jumped on the brakes and downshifted. Again I got hung up between gears, but managed to get unstuck without stopping. I was growing a bit concerned about my transmission. Further down the road we came upon a road crew that required us to ride through some loose gravel in the birm; this time I made sure to double-clutch on my downshift; pull handle in, downshift, release handle. Pull handle in, downshift, release, all the way through the gears. That seems to be working fine - I could deal with it. We eventually rolled into Chisasibi; I had made it. In my mind I was already standing on the shore of the James Bay.
Chisasibi, finally:
Once you get to Chisasibi, it's a bit hard to find your way to the bay. There are no signs, and no obvious route. The road we came in on dead ends into a 4-lane wide gravel road, and that seemed to be the only obvious route. We made our way a few hundred yards at a rather slow pace; none of us very comfortable riding on loose gravel. Rounding a bend, we saw the road seemed to continue on for miles and miles, so we stopped to consider our options. We could ride back into town and ask the way, we could continue riding on for a while, or we could walk over and ask some workers in a lot off to our left. We went with the last plan. Since I was outnumbered (two Canadians to one American) I was elected to be the motorcycling ambassador who would go ask directions. It turned out to be a good thing. The workers were very friendly, spoke English, and told me we wanted to take the first left turn we saw. Continuing down the large gravel road would not take us to the bay. Back on the bikes, we headed off and started to make our left turn as a Geo Metro came racing up to us. Turns out they worked for the tourist office. I felt a bit rude not having stopped in town before coming out here, but I was focused on getting there, and so were my new riding companions. They verified the route we were taking was the correct way to go (stay left!) and warned us it wasn't overly scenic and was littered with boats and snowmobiles. They also offered a boat ride out to some of the islands in the area; if I had the time I would have enjoyed taking that trip. Next time, maybe. Again, we ventured off onto the smaller gravel road and followed it for what seemed like miles, never quite reaching the bay. One of the Canadians stopped his bike, and discussions started as to continuing on or turning back. The gravel was making all of us a bit tired, but the sun was now shining on and off, and I was determined to go on. Checking out my GPS I could see we were less than a mile from water, and that was the information everyone needed to go on. Minutes later we crested a small hill and there it was; the James Bay. I was elated. I had done it! WE had done it. I patted the tank of my bike, thanked it, and then hopped off to get some photos. Now there was more blue sky than clouds, and it had finally warmed up. It was still in the mid 50's, but it felt like a heat wave. We all walked around and got our photos, I tested my Sidi's by standing IN the bay, and I made sure to get my hand wet. For a while I forgot all about my other problems; the fact that I still had no place to stay for the night, or that the bike was acting up a bit. Everything was perfect.
James Bay, dirty bike:
Our hero, and the guy who's been riding:
Not exactly a smooth, sandy beach... but there IS sunlight:
Standing in the bay; smiling, even (I'm not fat, I have 4 or 5 layers of clothing/riding gear/rain gear on!):
We stayed for a while before finally deciding to head back to Radisson. This time I was put in the lead position, and I wasted no time getting out of there. I had gotten a bit more comfortable on the gravel and upon reaching the pavement I had to stop to let the others catch up. One was close to me, the other was lagging back. Now on pavement, I cracked open the throttle and raced back to Radisson, making sure to watch out for missing sections of road. Again the bike stumbled on me once or twice, and the worry crept back in. The sky also went back to cloudy and overcast; possibly it was the James Bay Road itself that was cursed. My spirits began to sink as I got back to thinking about my lack of lodging; I was on an emotional roller coaster.
Slowing to make my turn into Radisson I double-clutched my way down to second gear and pulled back in to the hotel so I could re-pack my bike. I was met by a somewhat welcome sight; two Oilhead GS's parked directly outside my Canadian friend's room. I wondered if they were at the Wisconsin rally. As I began to gather my saddlebags, my Ortleib bag, and my gas can and re-attach everything to the bike, a door swung open and out came the two GS owners. They were very friendly guys who had indeed spent time at the Wisconsin MOA rally. They were Gene and Andy; both from Baton Rouge, LA. The group of us talked about our ride; again I was the only person to get caught in hail. I must be living a charmed life. Eventually I recounted my hotel problems and right away Gene and Andy suggested I grab my sleeping bag and set up on their floor. I gave them a sigh, a weak smile, and a heartfelt "thank you". I really should have been jumping up and down for joy, but the past two days had worn on me, and I was simply exhausted. I was beginning to feel like I was no longer in control of anything and just responding reflexively. I almost felt like I was watching everything happen as a spectator. Still, here was a glimmer of hope. I had a place to sleep that didn't require more riding, and didn't require erecting a tent. I perked up a bit, gabbed my stuff, moved it into their room, and pulled out some money for my second new set of friend for the day. They quickly declined; under no circumstances were they going to take my money. This must be that southern hospitality I've head so much about! A short time later we walked back to the restaurant for dinner and I decided to get myself a beer; the tastiest Labatt I ever drank. It was surely earned. Finishing dinner, my new friends again refused to accept my offer to pay, and instead paid for my meal. Unbelievable. It's possible I WAS living a charmed life. Walking out of the restaurant, all five of us stood outside in the hotel's gravel parking lot in the dark, wondering what ever possessed us to come to such a place. It was definitely a hard trip, and I know I was questioning my sanity.
Crawling into bed, the fog of exhaustion began to creep in as I tried to figure out the mysterious issues my bike was having. My transmission was acting up, the engine was occasionally stumbling, and I was a long way from home. For now I had a warm, safe place to sleep - I'd settle for any victory I could get. Tomorrow was another day, and I could worry then. My schedule had me heading back south to the campground on Matagami Lake. I wondered if I would make it.
Last edited:
testinglogin
Hogaan!
I'm fairly certain they were actually full, though I still can't excuse losing the reservation. Back when the reservation was made, I had gotten the "last room they had" available, and it was one of the "Executive rooms". Nothing was said about arriving by motorcycle at the time. I'm not sure what was going on that everything was booked two months in advance. The whole town was full up, as it was.
I find it surprising that I'm not the first person this happened to. I make sure to suggest everyone book anywhere BUT that hotel. Then again, it made for an interesting (but stressful) trip...
One thing I forgot to mention (adding this 10 minutes later) through the course of my exchanges with the receptionist, I saw the confirmation number I gave punched into the computer, and I saw it come up as they said; linked to someone who stayed previously. I also saw the screen as they searched by name when I first walked in, and I wasn't in there. I'm not sure that they are anti-biker; it might just be they don't know how to handle reservations.
Last edited:
