Day 4 Recap

After limping around montreal, looking for a coffee shop with free wifi, doing a little route planning and hotel finding and checking out of the Delta, it was off to Fort Kent, ME.

Not a lot to say about most of the ride. 300 miles of interstate is hard to talk about. It doesn't mean the ride wasn't great, it's just that the things that make it great don't translate. The road is flat, straight and kind of unremarkable. But that doesn't mean it was boring. It's hard to explain. We spent 10 minutes last night rte-hashing a single pass of a tractor trailer. And 5 talking helmet air flow. And in their own way, these things are as exciting as a twisty road, or a cool fort, or a casino.

One thing we rehashed, which I want to bring up, is how the Canadians always ride in the right lane unless they are passing. People who camp out in the passing lane and block it up are one of my biggest pet peeves. It's a uniquely American thing. Everywhere else, people understand the concept of a "passing lane". It was so nice to do 300 miles and not see some jerk clogging up the left lane once.

Quebec, north of Maine, is some pretty country. Logging towns, mostly.  Beautiful woods, pretty lakes. 289 Sud is a fine road. The north end is pretty remote. The gas station up there feels like the kind of place you'd come across in the desert, with a sign that says "Last gas for 400 miles".

We fixed Connie's fairing at a little service station in Nowhere, QC. The place was manned by a cute little girl who couldn't have been more than 16, named Sabatina. She didn't speak english, ECG and I only speak restaurant French (and not much of it). But we managed to gesture our way through it and get the right parts.

The border at Fort Kent was manned by the nicest border agent I've ever come across. We talked for about 5 minutes about road recommendations, places to go, things to do. I don't remember his name, but he was a great guy.

The Swamp Buck wasn't much to speak of. Average steaks, decent vegetables. Still waiting for the salad to show up.  Bee-Jays was fine enough, until the sad old broken guy busted into our conversation to talk about being sad and old and broken.

Once we figure out how much we have to pay for using the hotel towels to wipe down the motorbikes, we're off to Bangor.