Brockville to Kingston, ON

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Odometer: 39300km

Up with the neighbours and their bloody TV. Oh joy. There was no solution but to get up and leave. I packed up, making as much noise as possible, wiped down the dew on the bike and headed off to breakfast. The dew down here is incredible. In the mornings the bike looks like there has been a full fledged prairie rainstorm overnight.

At Tate's Bakery, THE place to go for breakfast in Brockville, I talked to a group of cyclists who were carbing up for their day's ride. They were travelling from Halifax to Toronto and were nearing the end of their trip. I asked them how they kept safe on the roads in Ontariio. What I had seen were roads with no paved shoulders, a lot of traffic, and an exceptional number of reckless drivers. One of the women in the group explained that they had hardly needed to ride on any roads as they came down the St. Lawrence River shore from Montreal. She said there are excellent bike paths, paved, and routed though pretty contryside with great views of the river and its enviorons. Another fellow spoke up, saying that the back roads in Quebec were fun and they had no problem there either. It sounded to me that they were having a memorable trip.

My goal for today was to get to Peterborough and off the road before the forecast thunderstorms hit. I never made it that far. The locals I talked to warned me that the St. Lawrence from Brockville down to Coberg was known for its storms. Evidently the area around Trenton is the worst.

I had booked some time at the Brockville Library to do some blog writing, so I had to wait around until they opened at 10am. After an hour there and the much needed morning coffee, I didn't get on the road heading west until noon. I kept on Highway 2, the secondary highway that hugs the short of the St. Lawrence. There were some great views along the rivier. About 50km east of Kingston, the skies darkened and it was clear I needed to find shelter and soon.

As a prairie boy I had a difficult time interpretting the skies in Quebec and Ontario. On many days the skies were cloud covered and grey with short, light rain showers happening about every half-hour. The bad storms appeared first as a darkening section of an already dark sky, but with no clear definition. On the prairies you can seen the ominous cumulus clouds arching into the sky with their black bottom looking like it broke and the cloud is falling out of it. If you ride into that you can expect terrible winds driving cold rain and, worse, it could be hail. The only indication I got on this occassion in Ontario was lightning appearing directly ahead of me and a slight increase in wind. Nevertheless, I was convinced I was riding into something nasty and I had no interest in testing to see if I could make it through. They get hail there as well and that can be a nasty experience on a motorcycle.

In a panic, I rode into a new housing development hoping I could find a partially finished house with a garage that was open, but no luck. As I turned back onto the highway the rain started. Not with a sprinkle of a rain shower, but with those fat raindrops that hit like a little bomb and explode water spray - the ones that mean there is a powerful storm to follow. I knew I only had minutes to find some shelter.

Alongside the road I saw a house with a double car garage and both doors were opened. There was my answer, so I wheeled into the gravel driveway and rushed up to the house, parking in front of the garage wondering how I was going to pull off this brazen approach. Now, I had to be humble and hope for some sympathy from the home owner. I jumped off the bike and ran up to the front door. There was no doorbell. I knocked and listened, but there was no sound inside. As I looked about I noticed the growth around the front sidewalk and realized this entry was never used. I rushed around to the back and tried the same thing. Nothing. I concluded there was nobody there, so I decided to take my chance and run the bike into the garage. As I came around to the front of the garage, one of the doors started to close.

"Hello, is anybody there," I shouted. The door stopped closing.

"Hello? Who is there?" came a voice from inside the garage, a little hesitant.

By this time I had my helmet off, showing off my grey hair and trying to look as unintimidating as possible. As I rounded the corner a man, who looked a bit older than me, came out of the garage. I didn't wait for his obvious question.

"Hi. I'm travelling on my motorcycle and I've been caught without any cover from this storm. I hope you don't think this is too forward, but could I please put my bike up alongside your garage or inside? I am worried about being hit by hail as it will damage my bike."

I could see the wheels turning as he thought about my appearance at his house. I couldn't think of anything else to say. It was a long five seconds as he thought about the situation. The storm was closing in and the wind was now at a gale force pushing some saplings in his yard right over to the horizontal. I have a feeling that helped him make a decision.

"Look, get your bike into the garage. This thing will be on us in a moment."

There was only space on one side of the garage and his car was still outside. It seemed unfair to leave his car out in a bad storm, so I asked "What about your car? Do you want me to pull the bike up to the front so you can get it in."

"Oh that car sits out all the time. My wife has the good car so just get your bike in here."

I started the bike up and ride it in just as the heavy rain started. We stood in the open doorway and watched the storm hit in full force. It was a bad one and I would have been blown off the road or knocked down by the wind. The ensuing hail would have definitely done some damage, if not to the bike then to me. I wanted to start up some sort of conversation, so I introduced myself.

"My name is Jack Blair. I'm from Calgary and on a cross-country motorcycle trip. I've been out to Cape Breton and now I'm on my way back. I guess I've been lucky so far, because I've never run into a storm like this."

We shook hands and he introduced himself. "Oh, I'm Layne. Glad to meet you. I didn't think this was going to be so bad. Don't worry, they are usually pretty short."

Just than lightning struck very close and was immediately followed by a thunder crash that made me jump. This storm was really a nasty piece of work. I guessed that it was going to take a bit of time to pass, so I started telling him about my trip and why I was doing it. He seemed to be interested and it opened the door to more conversation.

He started telling me a bit about himself. "I retired when I was 54 in order to paint. I was in the military, but had always wanted to have time to paint."

"That is interesting, I too have wanted to get the other side of my brain working. I am doing some fine art, black and white photography, and some writing. I'm am not very accomplished yet, but I have some goals that I am working to and I've given myself about five years to do something significant. I just don't know what it will be." It was at this moment that I noticed his engineering ring.

"I see your an engineer," I added, "I am too, but I don't wear my ring anymore. I did my engineering in the electrical power industry but moved into project management and then into IT with TransCanada Pipelines." Now we had a basis for discussion and the conversation flowed.

"Look, this storm will take some time to pass, how about some tea?" he offerred.

"Wonderful. That will be nice break for me."

As we went into his house I couldn't help wondering about his painting. We've all heard the plans people have to learn to paint when they retire. We have also seen the results: slightly disproportionate views of mountain streams with technicolor skies covered in whispy clouds that look like they've been applied with cotton wool. I asked if he had any of his work that I could see.

He hesitated, "I have a few pieces that are not complete that we can look at. I sell almost everything I paint as soon as it is finished, but I have a couple of commissioned pieces you can see."

My goodness, I thought, what does this mean? He definitely is not a paint by numbers painter if he is in that sort of demand. He took me back to his painting studio, which was a converted bedroom. What I saw there completely took me aback.

His full name is Layne Larsen. He paints in watercolour and, as I found out later, is very well known in Ontario. I saw his paintings of wildlife that had the quality of some of Bateman's work and some military paintings, especially of aircraft and action scenes from the war of fighter planes. I was particularily drawn to a large painting of a Lancaster bomber being serviced on the ground. It was very realistic.

I was in the presence of a very accomplished artist. What an incredible coincidence that I should turn into his driveway. I asked Layne if he had always painted.

"Oh yes, I use to win contests when I was ten years old, but I knew I had to have a job that would pay so I took engineering and went to work in the military. I moved up the ladder over time and just before I retired I was an interim commander on a base. But I always wanted to have the time to paint and I knew there was no other way than to retire. I got an opportunity at 54 so I took it. I've never regretted that decision."

Layne's art is second to none in my mind. Go ahead and treat yourself. Look at his website and see the examples of his work. I know you will be impressed. I didn't ask him what his art sold for, but I'm sure it will not be cheap.

Layne Larsen's art

The storm finally passed and I took my leave thankful that I had the luck to meet Layne. It will be a moment of my trip that I will remember for ever.

I drove into Kingston and after encountering the crowds and traffic jams downtown realized that I should stay there for the night and have a look around very early in the morning before the tourist riff raff choked the streets again. I found out, too late, there was a Scottish Tattoo at Fort Henry that night. I consoled myself that I had seen some excellent pipe bands in Halifax and that Fort Henry was basically not much different from the Citidal. The tickets could be bought in advance, so I wasn't even sure I could get in. Still, it would have made for a perfect day if I could have seen that pipe band display.

I went to bed early in anticipation of an early start and a need to make up for some of the travel that I didn't accomplish today.

Odometer at the end of the day: 39480km

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Photos

Along the St. Lawrence
You can see one of the many islands in the river. They are dotted all along the river at this point.

Another riverside view
There were some incredible homes and cottages dotted everywhere on the mainland and on the islands.