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Published: August 18th 2006
The Forks
This is the old trading area between the CPR station and the Red River. It is now a very nice park.Odometer: 42546 km
The day started overcast and warm with a promise of being clear and hot. My plan was to look at the main sights of Winnipeg downtown, have a visit with Les’s cousin, Bob, and then spend the afternoon on the road. That is about how it unfolded.
In conversations last winter, Bob said he would love to have me visit, show me some of the sights about town, and take me out for a meal. Unfortunately for me, in the meantime, he decided to sell his house. The sale occurred two weeks ago and the movers were coming today to start his move. He was apologetic and I understood. Still, we did get together for an hour or so and had a nice visit. Bob is in his eighties and is still sharp. His old home is in one of the ritzier districts of Winnipeg, located almost in the centre of town. He said, when he was working, it was only a five minute drive to work, yet his district is quiet and serene. You would think you were a long way from a big city centre. It must have been a wonderful place to live,
Bridge over the Red River
I thought this new bridge quite a piece of engineering and architecture. You can see a part of the bridge at the right, but the supporting structure is what makes it special. yet, Bob said it was time to go and he was very happy about his decision. I was happy for him.
The main visual sights of Winnipeg are down in the centre, both on the city side of the Red River and in the French quarter on the opposite bank. On the city side the area is called The Forks and is named for the fact that it is beside the fork between the Assinaboia River and Red River. The still operational CPR train station shares the ground and in the most recent past, the area that the the park now takes was the railway yard that included engine servicing and freight car storage. Prior to that the area use to be the main trading place in the city bringing river and land transportation together for the transfer of goods and people. When the railway arrived it was natural to place that transportation medium at the existing nucleous of transportation in this gateway to the West. Today the area is developed as a park, with some old buildings, revitalized, and used for various purposes. The most interesting one for me was an old warehouse or railway building that has
been transformed into a childrens’ activity centre. It was very busy and I assume it is also busy in the winter, because it is covered and heated. I daresay the children are exposed to a lot of history of the area when they play there.
I didn’t need to spend a lot of time to gain a sense of the place, but if I lived in Winnipeg, I’m sure it would be place to come for walks.
The Red River itself is slow moving and murky. The murk is created by the fact that the river flows through wide earth bottomed river beds and not mountain rock, so the murk is not a bad thing as would be the case with murk caused by pollution.
On the other side of the river is are several parks, but the main one contains St. Boniface Catholic Cathedral, its cemetery where Louis Reil is buried, and College Univ de St. Boniface. The sight of the present state of St. Boniface, which was the fourth cathedral in this location and built in 1908, is impressive, but only the front of the church and some of the rear are left from the
St. Bonafice Cathedral
This is the old front wall of the cathedral that burned in 1968. Even this remnant was impressive. fire of 1968. The new sanctuary built into the remains is an impressive, modern building, but, again, the sanctuary didn’t do much for me and appeared rather cold, even in the sweltering heat.
I could not be in Winnipeg and miss Portage and Main. This is the Canadian icon for the definition of what winters are like. The cold winter winds at Portage and Main are, evidently, unequalled. As an historic place and refered to in almost any book or article on Winnipeg, it doesn't look very historic. The only old building on the junction is the Bank of Montreal, which is an impressive structure. The rest are the modern concrete, brick, and glass of the new world. Still, it is a special place in Canada that serves as part of Canada's definition.
I was on the road by 1pm and started to enjoy my prairie ride which was to go on for three days. The smells were familiar and made me feel at home. Passing fields of ripened grain brought the smell of dry wheat; after a shower, the smell of wet grasses; and passing sloughs or small lakes, a clean smell of the cooler air from
Family Grave
As I walked away from Riel's grave, this one caught my attention. Read the inscription. What a tale of sorrow it tells. It is hard to imagine such loss today. the water. All these are sensed on a motorcycle and, for me, add to the ride. I guess the high humidity in the east tends to mask smells, because I don’t ever remember sensing anything other than fields spread with manure. Mind you, there were lots of opportunities to take in that smell on the prairies as well.
I really am on the prairies. With straight roads and flat land you get a sense that the world never ends. Here you don’t just catch a glimpse of trains through the trees, you get to see the whole thing and for a long time. I find it a bit mystical to see a hundred car freight train. three to four kilometres away. silhouetted against a blue sky, seeming to almost ooze through the atmosphere over the prairie fields. Yet, with all this flatness, there is a lot to see for those who wish to consider the images presented. I witness the differences in the crops, some flowered; the very dark, turned soil indicative of Manitoba fields and that give way to more brown coloured soil as I travel west; the small lakes or sloughs with reeds along the shore and
Saskatchewan Border
Just before I reached Moosomin, I crossed the border. At that moment I felt partially home. ducks with their tails in the air as they pull up wet grass from the bottom; the farm houses, the fields being worked by large combines with grain trucks lined up to allow the combines to evacuate their innards; and the towns that pop up from time to time, but can only be seen when you are upon them rather than having their grain elevators, now gone, broadcast their arrival long before you get there. Although there are some images that immediately excite me, the involvement for me is secondary, through my thoughts triggered by the sights. Those thoughts probably belong in a book of their own that will never be written.
About 60km east of Brandon I entered a forest of trees that start so suddenly you could imagine a line along their edge stretching north and south as far as the eye can see. The land becomes low rolling hills and the whole thing is rather refreshing. The trees open up into what looks like parkland and farms start to appear in the openings. When I looked carefully on the map I saw that this north-south band can be seen at Duck Mountain Provincial Park, continuing to Riding Mountain National Park and further south to Spruce Woods Provincial Park which is south of the highway. I also came across the wide Grand Valley, which is filled with prosperous looking crops. No doubt the top soil goes down a long way here and provides for excellent farming.
I decided to not go into Brandon on my break. I was pulled between going in to find a nice coffee house and see what the town was about, and carry on to get as far as I could before supper. My decision was supported by my concept from the start of the trip and that was not to spend time touring anywhere that was within a two day drive of Calgary. I can always do that on a shorter trip sometime in the future. I will come back to Brandon and also make sure I get to Neepawa to the north. I did make a stop though, at Tim’s on the highway. It was one of the busiest and noisiest Tim’s I’ve ever been in. From the conversations, I could tell these were mostly locals. Many seemed to know each other and, by their dress, I assumed most were farmers. I guess this is the meeting place these days.
My eyes opened wide when I saw another ST1100 motorcycle pull up outside. This is the first other ST that I’ve seen up close on the trip. There have been a few others, but they have been on the other side of the road going the other way. I had to stay a bit longer and meet the owner.
The other ST owner's name was Len. He was not feeling well and he explained that he was a lot better than he was the day before. Len is from a small town near Beausejour in eastern Manitoba. Three days before he had headed out to meet the requirements for an ‘Iron Butt’ rider. That requires the motorcyclist to ride 1000 miles or 1600 km within 24 hours. You document your travel by getting gas receipts along the way. The Iron Butt Association call themselves the ‘Toughest Riders in the World.’ Len had about half the distance under his wheels when he got stomach flu and was resigned to live in a motel for two days until it subsided. He was a disappointed man. All I could do was sypathize, but not empathize. That is not something I need to accomplish. It is definitely NOT on 'the list'.
We had a great chat about our machines, each confirming how comfortable and reliable they were. We parted, promising to keep in touch via the internet. Len heading east and I west.
The rest of the day was ordinary riding, with more of the same country passing by. I got into Moosomin at about 5:30pm and decided to call it a day. Thankfully, there was still some motel space left. Most of the motels were filled with people temporarily working in the area.
When I asked, the owner of the motel suggested a restaurant called Broadway Gourmet for supper. How could I not go to a place in Moosomin, Saskatchewan, with a name like that.
The food was good and the people friendly. A young couple (everybody is young these days) started this place up nine months ago. There are challenges attracting the locals to the type of food they serve, but they said the volume is slowly increasing.
As I was finishing off some nice bruschetta, Bruce, as he introduced himself, walked up to the counter.
“Well I tried to get the crew to come here and get some good food, but they wanted to eat at the bar. I don’t get it. I really thought they were going to come, but a couple of the popular guys said they were going to the bar and everyone else tagged along.” His comments roused my interest.
“I can serve them stewed coffee and put all the food into the deep fryer if that is what they want,” replied the chef, tongue-in-cheek. “But really, what do they want?”
“I’m not sure. They eat crap for the rest of the day, you would think they would want one good meal a day. They can go to the bar afterward. Never mind, I’ll have my regular.”
I wanted to get in on this, so I suggested, “You should try this bruschetta. It is really good.”
Bruce sat down in the booth next to me and we started talking. He didn’t need much prompting.
“What are you working at out here?” I asked.
“I have a crew tearing down a pumping station on the pipeline.”
“I use to work for TransCanada,” I said, “is it one of ours?”
“Yep. We should be done in a couple of weeks. I got this crew of young guys working on it. They drink and talk until 2am then they are on the job at six in the morning. They’re aren’t as sharp as I would like them early on, and they always wake me up when they come in, so I’m wiped out in the morning as well.”
Oh, do I remember those times. I was a young field engineer once, responsible for the quality of work at a site, trying to get proper sleep and stay smart, when the working crew just want to party and get paid. I would never want to go back to that again.
“Why don’t you move to a different motel,” I suggested.
“I’m staying at the better place in town. Have you seen the others?”
“Oh yeah. I’m staying in one of them. I got in too late and all the choices were gone.”
“Well, I guess I don’t want to give up my nice room. The crew gets to go home for four days every ten, so it is nice and quiet for me then.” He had made his choice and seemed happy to live with it. I guess he felt like crabbing to a stranger for something to talk about.
We continued chatting about a bit of everything, politics included, which can be dangerous. An old, local guy came in for a snack, so we got him involved as well. A short while later the chef and his wife, who are the owners, came out to talk to Bruce about supplying sandwiches to his job site for lunch, putting away the chairs as they talked in preparation for closing. I left them in negotiations. I hope they are able to supply some of the nice food I got tonight and the workers like what they get. It was a great opportunity for the young couple who owned the place, and they weren’t going to let it go. Good for them.
Odometer at the end of the day: 42920 km
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Len
non-member comment
Aug 9 2006
Great read Jack! In my mind I can feel,smell and see everything you wrote about as if I was riding beside you. Your words paint a real picture in my mind. Oh yes and the smells are very real. LOL