Imagine riding into an unfamiliar city in the Friday night peak hour. We were now in Quebec Province and all the traffic signs had magically converted into French (no English). It had been raining intermittently for most of the day but had decided to turn into a downpour as we were funnelled towards Montreal. The speed limit was posted at 100 kph but nobody was doing less than 110 kph. The motorway was old and had lots of uneven surfaces and in many places wheel tracks was concentrating runoff up to an inch deep. I opted to remain in the outside (fast lane) as we could avoid all of the new traffic (including trucks) that was entering what could be only described as a survival test. Suddenly the motorway began to climb and as if we were being propelled into space. The light was fading fast as we were constantly moving east and the days getting shorter. Through the dim spray in front of us I could just make out a very long bridge crossing that was several kilometers long over water.

Just as I was hoping this motorway would take us clean through Montreal, the GPS seemed to indicate that we should get off and turn south. I could barely see the GPS because of the constant jetstream of spray off the traffic all around us. I asked Dell at the first traffic light if her GPS had sent her off in this dubious direction. She replied gingerly that her GPS had gone AWOL and was not cooperating. Every puddle we hit created a hard jet of water aimed straight at my feet because of the volume of water on the road. It was fortunate that we had opted to acquire extra wet weather gear such as gloves with a 'showerproof' overmits, rain jackets and pants and overboot protection (none of which was designed for fire hydrant volumes of water to be projected at it).

All of a sudden we turned left onto our next even more challenging obstacle. The new outward bound motorway was full of angry workers just wanting to get home ASAP out of this dreadful storm. The road surface was diabolically bad allowing water to build into puddles in milli-seconds. Fortunately the GPS kept indicating we were following its intructions. The outside lane seemed to be the safest place to be but it was risky as everyone wanted to travel as fast as was possible in the relenting storm. The road climbed again but this time it seemed like we were being separated from the other lanes. It was a classic spaghetti over-pass that bleakly appeared like a horror movie. What sort of torture was coming next! To her credit Dell had remained as close as possible behind me. The drivers were agressive and impatient and she had to fight at times to stay a safe distance but without allowing locals the opportunity of gaining just one more space on their crusade to make it home to their 'waterproof' homes. Suddenly the road divided without warning whilst still up in the sky above the city. The light was now gone and it was just instinct that kept us moving. At the same instant a car had entered from behind preventing me from seeing whether Dell had taken the same lane. It was impossible for me to tell in the mist (that now included fog) if Dell was riding parallel in another lane that gradually departed away in mid-air as if we were flying. There was nothing I could do but keep going as the lanes did not allow any space for stopping. We finally came back down to mother earth in several kilometers and to my relief Dell was following close behind the car. Nothing had prepared us for this ride especially as we had put in the biggest day of our entire trip to try and gain some time in the eastern Provinces.

It had been nearly two weeks since leaving the Yukon and Alaska and we had covered over 5,000 miles with only meagre breaks at Cass Lake in Minnesota and a beautiful day on the southern shore of Lake Superior that could be only described as idealyic. Once we left the more remote Yukon and on to Alberta, the country flattened out and became a continuous big sky of flatness, open fields of hay and eventually grain cropping and most noticeably a dramatic increase in oil and gas activities. Our final sigtings of roaming bison and black bears was now far behind us. It was a shock to us as the road and towns were now dominated by an army of grossly over-sized pickup trucks, huge lots full of machinery and incessant shopping centres with acres of carparks . It was as if the world had gone mad trying to consume as much gas as was possible before it all runs out. Why the obsession with these mega huge top-of-the-range dual wheeled gas-guzzling road munchers can only be explained by two theories. Either all the inhabitants of this region have money to burn and nothing to plan for, or they are all just acting like leemings and need to do the same thing at the risk of being labelled different. Need certainly did not seem to be the prime purpose as the rest of the modern world (outside North America) did not think that three tons of shining new metal was necessary just to drive to work.

Oil and gas may be profitable for some but not for all. Many people lived in what we term transportables. These temporary dwellings woud satisfy the needs of temporary citizens but it was obvious that many did not view their lives in these places as being permanent. Despite all this nonsense, Canadians were friendly and always helpful. We had also discovered that many small towns had community parks that offered cheap and often free camping. We took this to mean that they didn't mind us using their picnic shelters as being overnight parking and sleeping quarters for weary wet travellers. When you are on the road doing big miles every day finding camping sites is hit and miss. Occassionally we just pitched the tent on someones mowed grass paddock. Mowing grass had become the number one obsession of all Canadians who had the means to acquire a mower (ride-on or otherwise). The provinces including all highways are being mowed to death. And this tidy-town habit is well within the bigger more worrying obsession with dominating ones lives with machinery.

We had observed more than 10,000 oil wells by the time we made it through North Dakota and on into Minnesota. The scenery had not changed dramatically from that of the Canadian prairies but at least there were a few hills making the road more interesting. With all this free time riding, one begins to create plans for the future and I couldn't help noticing that the majority of North Americans who have the space also have at least one trailer (caravan) parked at their house. Now we can confirm by now that no-one likes camping.....in tents! We have often been the only residents not staying in a trailer of even more upmarket in a motorhome. It has taken us a long time to get used to this obsessive luxury but thats just the way it is over here. Well I could not help but notice in several places an acre of retired yellow school buses. After some enquiries, in Rugby, North Dakota, it turns out that no-one seems to want these buses that are simply discarded after 10 years of use as the schools simply budget for a replacement. With just 250,000 kms on them they sell for a meagre $1500. Now Dell and I figured that we could furnish and fit out a bus in about 3-4 days of resourceful shopping at second-hand shops and Walmart. No luxuries! Just the basic leather lounge suite, kitchen dinette, gas stove and a port-a-loo/shower. Hmmmmm!! This is one of the problems of having too much time to think when on the road.

Anyhow we continued sleeping at picnic shelters and meeting some of the nicest people in the world. One morning in Towner, North Dakota, we were awoken by an old guy at 7am who had turned up to set up his stand for the farmers market. Turned out we were sleeping in his spot that he had used for nearly 40 years. At 85 years old he was not too bothered by our company as we briskly got dressed and had breakfast whilst chatting to him. By the time we had packed, bought some fresh veges, a further 6 market stalls had been set up and we had got to know the whole town before departing at out usual 10am.

I cannot say that it rained every day all day but it was regular and continued to follow us all the way from Alaska. We camped at a Cass Lake (Stony Point Resort) where we were given 'permission' to pitch a tent on their lawn. Camping (in a tent) was not the norm for this little resort that housed more than one thousand resident 'campers' in motorhomes, trailers, log housettes that sure looked pretty quaint and very permanent. We made good friends with Marilyn and Gary who came down from Canada regularly to this resort for a break. They ran a large tire/tyre Caltire franchise and sported a very luxurious motorhome. There are some people you just click with and Marilyn and Gary were one of them. They invited us into their motorhome that sported cream leather everything, 4 TV's (including one outside in a side opening door for outdoor entertaining). The outdoor area had a black and white checker mat with LED lights surrounding the mat for effect. They had everything and this million dollar mansion on wheels was far removed from the concept I have of 'camping'. Gary proudly showed me pics of his latest 1969 Chevy Camaro resto. This guy had the means and the passion to create the ultimate Street Car and was very quickly acquiring a string of awards for showing the gleaming creation at a number of Street Car shows throughout the US including one in Las Vegas in the coming months. You meet all sorts if people when travelling on bikes and it didn't seem to matter where we went there was always good people to talk and eat with.

The route east followed the shores of Lake Superior where possible. A night at Bayfield turned into a muso's delight. We camped next to Butch and Lori, a couple from Minnieapolis who had come up especially to hear Greg Brown a local folk singer/songwriter perform at the Big Tent an annual event. We were invited to come along and what a night! Greg Brown raw voice and lyrics were full of meaning and status about society today. He did not mince his words and we enjoyed his music and especially his brisk and guterall guitar style. Our friends were riding a KLR650 and GS 650 and both were avid trail bike enthusiasts with a list of bikes as long as your arm. The new 1200RT gained pride of place in the fleet.

At Lake Superior we were chatting with our neighbours from Winnipeg, Canada. I mentioned a good friend who had emigrated to Australia in 1981 to live continuously in Alice Springs. Craig White said bluntly to me, that would be Grant Allan. He had not seen Grant for 35 years when he used 'Curl' with him in Winnipeg in the 1970's. It is indeed a small world. On arriving at dusk I couldn't help but go for a swim. The Lake has the greatest surface area of any fresh water body on the planet. It was mirror smooth with the sun setting to the north west. Somehow I didn't imagine that beach settings such as this were possible. We rode into town and dined out at the Sydney Resturant a left over that used to serve all sorts of 'Aussie' seafood delights. Upon leaving we were admiring a gaggle of shiny Harley's. One of the owners came out and began chatting to us. She was a ride instructor and safety officer for a big Harley outlet. As we turned to leave she looked at out footwear. This was to be the most embarrassing moment of our lives. We had decided to ride to the resturant as it was an unknown distance without helmets, gloves and footwear etc....for the very first time in our lives since arriving in the US. We had bagged so many people for not wearing protective clothing. The one time we go without, we get caught by a Harley Davidson safety officer with our pants down. It will not happen ever again!!

Our passage back into Canada via Sault Ste Marie a major key that allowed massive container ships to drop 30' between the Lake Superior and Lake Huron was interupted by a visit to the Ship Museum that housed facinating historic aspects to the use of ships and their development over several hundred years. I was keen to find out more about the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald that went down in 1974. Gordon Lightfoot sang a great song describing the fate of one of the greatest carriers within the Great Lakes. The museum was situated on a retired container ship in the harbour. We did a quick shop once back in Canada as the supermarkets were more diverse and easier to navigate. A guy in the carpark recommended a campground on Josephs Island 45kms east of the city and we headed out there just in time to catch the most serene sunset. Like most campsites, it was full of RV's and transportable homes that resembled a refugee camp. People just love returning to same place year after year and it suited many who were retired.

It was a long haul through Ontario and we knew we would have to put in a big day. Sudbury was a huge mining town about half way through the day. I stopped to investigate further the situation relating to the acquisition of a Yellow School bus. I was rather consumed by the prospect of getting one of these and the head service manager was appropriately encouraging about my enquiries. These buses sport a V8 Catapillar diesel or 6.4L Cummins diesel and an 5 speed auto transmission. Just the ticket for hauling a couple of campers with two bikes in the back.

Again we were plagued by showers but there were magnificent landscapes associated with the Canadian Shield that consisted of exposed rugged rocky hills, lakes and soggy valleys. I could understand why so many holiday makers flock to this area for recreation. By now, you would think we would complain bitterly about being wet every day. We rode until just after dark and found a cosy camp by the Ontario River. The campsters were very friendly many of whom had been coming to this exact spot all their lives. It was hard for us to appreciate why one would want to return to the same place continuously when there is a whole world to explore but I guess many people want that comfort zone and familiarity just to relax. We headed off late as usual after long conversations with the locals. Our neighbour was looking after his mum after his Dad had passed away recently. I could hear Mum giving all the orders clearly with her son filling the shoes of her lost partner. The son was retired and was 10 years older than me.

I pick up the story that began being jetted along a motorway eventually out of Montreal. It raged continuously for more than two hours as we ended up stopping near Sherbrooke and staying in a motel. This was our second night of the trip in a motel. My we were getting soft!! Both of us were wet through half of our gear. Every bag had water penetrating through into places that had not been wet previously. Sod it! This was damm inconvenient!

I was trying to remember how many times we had crossed the border between the US and Canada as it had been quite a few. Every border was different and they all asked different questions. Some wanted our capicums, tomatoes etc and others were more interested if we were carrying tobacco, firearms, alcohol and drugs. I mean how much can you carry on a bike anyhow? We were constantly amused by the questions that were confronted us. But believe me, none of these officers Canadian or US possessed one once of humour.

Back in the US we crossed into Maine a quiet, pretty place dominated by forestry and alternative back-wooders. Maine was facinating as a place with idealyic little cottages and neatly mowed front yards. I am not sure whether anyone works or how they derive an income but it was sure nice! The back roads were perfect on the bikes and we spent two wet but pleasant days crossing eventually into New Brunswick, Canada. Our campsite for the night was located in Abbott Lake a beautiful picnic spot by a lake shrouded in a dense dense fog. Legally we were not supposed to camp in these little gems but we guessed nobody was going to come by at night in this dense fog and evict us. Dell had by sheer coincidence had a dose of the runs that night and that my friends was going to be our excuse for not moving. It didn't happen and the only memorable event that night was fireworks at midnight at the other end of the lake. How they managed to set these off in the drizzling rain was a mystery, but fireworks are big in North America. The supermarkets are huge all located inconveniently out in the country somewhere. Apparrently no licenses are required to burn a ton of fireworks that resembles a mini-third world war.

We spent out third night in a motel in Fredericton, New Brunswick. Even our nerves were becoming sodden as we rode for the last 3 hours through the border in the rain....again. Several travellers had recommended Prince Edward Is, so we decided to head there in an attempt to dry out. It paid off handsomely! The 13km long bridge to get there is certainly novel. The weather was warm, even humid and very sunny. Just like going on holidays at the beach!! The KOA Campground was located about 5 kms outside Charlottetown the capital. It was a very cosmopolitan city reminding me very much of the UK. This was our chance to rest up and catch up with some essential chores. The bikes were in need of another service and some tyres. So we spent several days changing oils and getting new tyres fitted. Typically they had just one tyre (Battlax Sport Touring) that was the correct sze for the front. So Dell took it and I fitted a Harley sized (heavy-duty) Dunlop 404F 120/90/17 . Like my Michellin Anakee (rear on front) it was too big and I had to shave the heads of the bolts holding the front guard on. My Anakee had worn badly and the scolloping of the tread made the front end feel like I had fitted the wrong tyre from the start. Nevertheless, it had now done a humongous 15,000 miles. But eventually it all worked out and I was now experiencing a smooth and comfortable ride once more. The locals had a real island hospitality including the bikeshop and Midas shop that aloowed us to change oils. Even a local potato grower's wife whom Dell met in the campground came over and presented us with a sample bag of their produce. They grow 23 varieties of potatoes and appear to be very successful. PEI thrives on agriculture and tourism and its rural scenery makes for a very attractive ride and stay.

Tomorrow we were heading around the Island and eventually onto Novo Scotia and Newfoundland within 2 days. We hoped to spend about 2 weeks cruising around this glorious place that was recommended by absolutely everyone who had either lived there of visited at least once.