French Speaking Friends

Day 78. Mount Citadel to Edmonston. 65 mi. 4,885 TTD. 1,278 ft elevation. Weather perfect and a tailwind..

It’s possible that I’m staying in too nice of a hotel for tonight. This is the TV in my room personally welcoming me. I will probably need to eat about 30 lb of breakfast to make it worth the cost. I’m a wimp for not camping out, but I’ve had some interesting motel experiences. In fact, last night, I finally got to use my water filter. Entering the motel last night, the sign said. ” Water not drinking.” Once again, Quebec was trying to kill me, but at least this notice was in confused English, so I knew to use my filter.

If you needed to take an antidepressant after reading yesterday’s post, I apologize. When I used to run ultras, I learned that there would be bad times, but if you just keep going, things will get better or at least change into different bad. Thankfully, as bad as yesterday was, today was the opposite and wonderful. Within a few minutes of leaving the motel, I was back on this glorious trail. The trail took me all the way to Edmonston, and along the way, it was delightful.

About 7 miles into the ride, I came to a trail closure. These are usually terrifying, but I had been forewarned, and there was a car with a gentleman sitting in front of the trail closure. In Quebec, if they can’t provide a safe detour, they provide a safe shuttle. The gentleman called the shuttle, and then we proceeded to visit in his broken English and my non-existent French. This would normally terrify me, knowing that I had to carry on a conversation, even if he spoke the same language, until the shuttle arrived. However, I had set my mind to my three goals again, and we had a wonderful visit. He was semi-retired, having moved from Montreal. The city was too busy. He was enjoying his job, and the housing prices were markedly lower. French Speaking Friend #1 (FSF).

When the shuttle arrived it was similarly an older gentleman with a little less English but we also enjoyed a conversation while he drove me safely through the construction zone and over to the trail making sure I knew exactly where it was and how to get on it. When I asked him how many shuttle runs he made a day, he said about 10, but even if they made one, it was very important. That’s the emphasis on biking in Quebec, which I greatly appreciate. FSF#2

The trail continued pleasantly through the woods, and I soon found myself in the very nice town of Cabano on the shores of Lake Temiscuoata ( I think I put all the vowels in that name).  Coming out of the public bathroom (perfectly clean and with flush toilets), an older gentleman, probably about my age now that I think about it, started talking to me in broken English. He and his wife were biking. He was amazed when he found out the ride I had done to this point. We chatted for quite a while again in his broken English and my non-existent French. Since we weren’t talking about climbing, I couldn’t even use the word belay.

Since I was becoming so fluent in not speaking French, I decided I should at least get a French pastry before leaving Quebec. I found a little bakery just off the trail. The young lady taking care of me seemed excited to use her English, and between her broken English and my pointing and sign language, I was able to get a wonderful almond croissant and oatmeal cookie. I gave up on getting milk and settled for juice since my sign language — pointing to my breast — didn’t seem to make sense to her (just kidding). FSF #4.

Sorry, but I do have to make note of the fact that on a dirt trail for bikes and pedestrians, there is actually a sign for where the next Tim Hortons can be found. Tim Hortons is serious in Canada.

There is no way I could take enough pictures or good enough pictures to share the wonders of this rail trail along Lake Temiscuoata. It went on wonderfully for some 20 mi. There were trestles, rest stops, beaches, and fun little places to get snacks and treats. There were many people riding . It was so nice, I briefly considered changing our family bike ride this year from Prince Edward Island to this trail. I even stopped being mad about all the signs in Quebec only being in French.

Eventually, I came to the end of the lake, but the trail didn’t lessen in quality. It followed along the river Madawaska and took me all the way into Edmonston. The river was almost as lovely as the lake.

It’s hard to make out, but that’s the welcome to New Brunswick sign in English and French. It turns out that New Brunswick is the only province to have two official languages. You guessed it, French and English. This is turning out to be a blessing for me because here everybody is truly bilingual, unlike what everybody keeps telling me about the people in Quebec. Of course, I’m ready now to learn French and move to Quebec because of my newfound friends and this incredibly beautiful area. Yep, sometimes you just keep plugging on when things are bad and they get better.