Hello Canada. Said goodbye to Buffalo in the morning, and found my way through the west side to the Peace Bridge. Following signs with border, I was yet again funneled onto the highway. So I resorted to my tried-and-true method: look lost, get called out by man in uniform, and then get personally escorted by him to the right spot. Works every time. Due to construction on the Canadian side, I was sent on the American sidewalk and could have easily walked right into Canada, no questions asked, but decided going through customs was probably in my best interest. I crossed traffic, slipped in front of a car into a toll booth, and this time got redirected to immigration. After waiting behind a family of Hasidic Jews with nearly eight kids, I was seen by an immigration officer. He seemed sympathetic, told me to have my passport next time, and then handing my driver's license back to me, he smiled and said, "cocaine's a hell of a drug isn't it?" I wasn't sure if it was a joke of some kind of test, so I just chuckled nervously, took my license, and left.
The views of Buffalo from the sites of the old Erie beach Park we're incredible.
After that initial tour on the waterfront, the bike path continued in a straight line through Ridgway and Port Colborne, both Canadian versions of the American small town. Noticeably cleaner, with smaller streets, and halfway decent bike infrastructure!
For much of the journey after Port Colborne, I rode along a Lakeshore Drive with lake houses on the left and agricultural fields on the right. Lake houses felt a little more low-key as there was so much like to go around no one was really scrambling for lakefront property. Wind turbines started to appear everywhere. I thought " way to go, Canada. Take advantage of the strong Westerly winds." Just then, I passed the hand-painted sign a farmer had put up that read, "Wind turbines: another big waste of tax money by the liberal government." I guess people are resistant to change everywhere.
Not too much longer I rode through the town of Dunville. Riding down Main Street I was struck with a feeling of how European it felt. At the end of Main Street I heard live music in the park, and rode up to check it out. Turns out I had run across dunville's famous Mudcat Festival.
The band was playing helpless by Neil Young... "there is a toooown, in North Ontariooooooooo..." a lady walked by and looked at me and "said nice weather for riding, eh?" It was all so much Canada at once, I wasn't sure what to do. The only reasonable solution seem to be to get some poutine.
It was great. A lady I spoke to while I was finishing up the last fries, said I had come to Dunnville on the right weekend; Mudcat Festival is the weekend everyone in Dunnville weights for all year, and if I wanted to meet some folks of my age I should stick around all weekend. Then a friend of hers came over, and we all started talking. These people were so nice I was seriously considering sticking around. But I had some miles to make had to hit the road.
A big gray cloud of started to come over in the sky, and the road wasn't great leaving Dunville, but I rode on. Suddenly, a big black lab came out from a house and started to run alongside me. A car came around the corner and the darted off the road, but as the car passed me and I rode a little ways on, I heard a thump and a howl from the dog. Give me a sinking feeling in my heart because I knew what had happened. It really put a damper on the day.
Sometime later while taking a break on the side of the road, a car sporting two Canadian flags stopped alongside and asked if I needed any help. I said I was fine and we got to talking, and the fellow was so intrigued he got out and took my photo. He asked if it was all right, he'd send it to the local newspaper. I said sure! So we exchanged cards, and before leaving he pulled off one of the flags from his car and gave it to me. What a guy. Now Breezy is repping both countries.
In the last miles of the day I passed a free museum on the side of the road, made entirely of things found on the shore of Lake Erie.
A true gem. Finally after more than 70 miles, I found my way to a Provincial park outside of Selkirk. I pitched my tent, crawled in and passed out. A long day.
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