I had come into the kitchen at Gite de la Pisciculture early and found a quiet corner to write. Suzanne poked her head in, still in her bathrobe. “You are early. Breakfast will not be served for another hour”. “I am not looking for breakfast,” I answer, “just a quiet place to sit. I was heading for the front porch, but the light here in the kitchen is perfect, and the breakfast table called to me. May I stay?” Suzanne nodded and disappeared. Jacques appeared a few minutes later and offered me a cup of coffee while he started breakfast. It is my favorite time of day and occasionally, on a morning such as this, I catch an off-the-record glimpse into the day-to-day goings on in a small community. It wasn’t long before Ron found me, still early, but breakfast was ready, and Jacques even joined us. “I never eat the breakfasts I prepare for the guest. Who has the time?” But on this day, Jacques finds the time. The food disappeared in minutes - fresh fruits, thick toast with Suzanne’s homemade strawberry jam, crepes, and of course scrambled eggs. Suzanne’s chickens had guarded our bikes faithfully all night and still managed to lay eggs!
Fresh legs, lots of sleep, and a hardy breakfast. On à va! Let’s go!
I could barely pull the hill from the B&B back up to the trail. Yikes! I have 24 gears on my bike, 3 rings in the front, 8 in the back, and I was already maxed out. “Ron, I think I’m in trouble…” But as soon as we were back on the trail, we leveled off to a manageable climb. We averaged about 6-7 mph and just took it easy. In a little over 5 km, we reached the top and were rewarded for our efforts once again. This time with a quarry. The pictures do not do justice to the size and scope of the operation.
For the next two hours, we rode the ridge line. Not much up and down, but we encountered a very strong headwind with little to shelter us. The trail followed the highway for much of the day, and even when we couldn’t see it, we heard it.
We rode by fields of wildflowers in brilliant bloom: tiny yellow daisies, tall prickly purple bull thistles, white baby's breath. Close to the water's edge cat-tails swayed in the breeze. On the water, lily pads floated, a few hanging on to the last of their white summer blooms.
We stopped for lunch at Sainte-Agathe-des-Monts, a pretty little restored train station. The ice rink visible just beyond our bikes gives us a peek at winter recreation along the trail.
Finally, we began our descent! The trail was now packed-gravel, and signs reminded us that the speed limit was 22 km/hour (about 14 mph). Yea, right! It felt good to fly!!!!
Suddenly, the traffic changed as if someone threw a switch. The trail widened, was paved, and sprouted a center line. Walkers emerged from nowhere – a lot of them! The cyclists were either serious bikers on très expensive road bikes or average bikers on très expensive e-bikes.
We had arrived in Val-David, a resort town, and from here to Val-Morin (about 4 km away) the trail took on a new personality. Ski chalets lined shallow canyons, golf courses appeared around every bend, and majestic “sport” farmhouses replaced the old and tired, sagging barns.
Can you find the golf flag in the front yard of this one?
There was a lot of money here. We heard children laughing and splashing and realized that just beyond the tree-lined trail to our right was a wide stream dotted with summer homes and cabins. The ice rink at the Val-David Train Station doubled as a sand volleyball court in the summer.
As we left Val-Morin, the “switch” was thrown again, and the trail resumed its tranquil pace and pleasantries. Bonjour. Smile. Nod. Bon Randonez.
Just past the train station at Sainte-Marguerite, we found our turn-off for the B&B we had booked for the night, the Alpine Inn. We stood at the intersection for a long moment. The highway dropped straight down and out of sight. It was not unlike the view from the top of a roller coaster. How would we ever get back up?
Brakes engaged (until fingers cramped) we rolled down and down and down.
“This doesn't look right.” Quickly came the reply: “How do we know what it's supposed to look like?!” Then, like always, we arrived.
The Alpine Inn is reminiscent of the summer resorts portrayed in Dirty Dancing and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. It was the only accommodation available - what a lucky find!
We checked in at the Lodge, and from the décor, little had changed since it opened in 1924. The helpful receptionist reserved us a table for dinner while a young man waited for us to remove our saddlebags so that he could store our bikes. We were not exactly roughing it.
There were several buildings around the beautiful, heavily wooded grounds, and a swimming pool was perfectly situated on a sunny rise. Again, I wished for my swimsuit! Fortunately, the lodge is popular in winter and our room had both a fireplace and a hot tub, allowing us to soak out the soreness of our long days on the trail without shocking our fellow guests by sneaking into the pool without the proper attire.
Dinner was superb and we lingered over dessert and coffee as a light rain began to fall. Ron studied the French being spoken all around us. “It is different from the French in France,” he observed for at least the hundredth time since our arrival in Quebec. “I can't make out the words”. Fortunately, reading French is easier than speaking it. Even I can decipher some of the signage. Ron studied the menu. The name of the restaurant here at The Alpine Inn is L’Entrecôte. “The Hungry Heifer” Ron confidently translates. Please don’t repeat that to the chef. In any language.
Bike Talk
Saint-Faustin-Lac-Carré (km 75) to Sainte-Adèle (km33)
Distance: 27.7 miles (44.5 km)
Biking Time: 3 hours, 6 minutes
Average Speed: 8.9 mph
Top Speed: 17.6 mph
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