Trois Rivieres--First Long Ride on Kermit
Posted: Sat May 17, 2008 10:24 pm
Victoria Day Weekend! A hold-over from the days of British Canada, when we would celebrate the reign of the Great Queen. The modern day version has morphed into a three day weekend that marks the unofficial beginning of summer. I have a Metro 125 with fresh 15W40 in the crankcase and new 75W140 in the transmission. Break in is done. Let's ride.
Oh. Rain all weekend...
Well, not this Saturday. I knew the rain front was coming from the south, so going to Vermont was a bad idea. I cast about for an easy ride to a place where I wouldn't mind a short visit before heading home. Choice: Trois Rivieres, a small city midway between Montreal and Quebec. Directions couldn't be easier: head to the South Shore, turn east on 132, and go until you get to the only big-ass bridge between here and Quebec. Waking up to blue skies, I chug some coffee and get geared up. A quick fifteen minute ride to the Jacques Cartier Bridge gets me on track.
Kermit is firing on all--well, its only--cylinder. 132 overlaps with Autoroute 30, which *technically* I am not allowed to be on. However, Kermit is at an indicated 100km/h, which is enough to stick to the right lane. After a hairy ten minute ride 132 becomes a slower divided median highway, then a simple two lane route that parallels the St. Lawrence River. Gentle curves run between tree-lined streets and small villages. Every so often the vista to the left opens up to reveal the river in all its glory. The St. Lawrence is a big river, even in the "narrows" before it opens up at Quebec city. It is I-95 for the Great Lakes trade--you can see everything from power boats to freighters using the channel. Industry uses it too. Amid the bucolic countryside and towns are huge industrial complexes and power stations that rise up like ancient beasts to spew smoke high into the sky.
132 turns inward into the countryside of Central Quebec at Sorel, leaving the river behind. I get re-acquainted with a familiar scent one finds on country roads flanked by farms. A *pungent* scent. Aka, fertilizer. It seems insects find this an agreeable smell. Soon a fair few unfortunate bugs find themselves roadkill on my full-face's visor. I have to dodge the odd squashed squirrel that ventured out at a poorly-chosen moment. Still, at least the sun is out and I'm out of the city. Kermit burbles along at 90 km/h, held just below wide open throttle to avoid stressing the engine.
The first hint of trouble comes when I take a curve just past Nicolet. The engine skips then resumes. It feels like it has just a little less power. I put it down to disruption from the wake of an oncoming truck in the other lane I passed in the curve. Just before Becancour, as the Laviolette Bridge rears up, things go sour. I lose power and judder to a stop by the roadside. I get up and do several checks of the scooter. Oil is fine, the gear oil drain plug I tightened is still dry of any leaks and on firm, lights work. I mentally shrug and figure it is carb icing--it *has* been a cool May morning--or gas contamination from the last fill up. I put it on the stand and fire up the scooter after a couple stabs of the starter button. I let Kermit idle for a bit before heading out.
Like the combined stretch of 30/132, the Laviolette is technically part of an autoroute. By displacement my scooter shouldn't be on it. However, I figure cops aren't likely to stop me if I get off at the first exit ramp on the other bank. It is posted at 80 km/h, well within Kermit's speed limits. The only problem is a lingering worry that the power loss might recur. This gets MUCH more evident once I realise that a) the Laviolette is a slot track with no shoulder and b) if I lose power, there'll be the automotive equivalent of George Micheal dropping the soap in the shower rooms of Pelican Bay. You could have shoved coal up my ass and given DeBeers some competition while I screamed over the bridge.
Kermit was good. He only sputtered out *just* as I was coasting into the off ramp right at the northern end of the bridge.
I admit to being a tad worried. I'm a good hundred or so kilometers from home with a potentially failed scooter. I wheel Kermit a block away to do another check and start-up. The fuel gauge is on E, but a glance into the tank indicates that I have at least 2 litres left of reserve. A few attempts to use the electric start produce bupkiss. I am about to lose my mind when I belatedly remember the kick start. I don't use it much, as I'm wary of the reports of cracked engine casings. However, this is precisely the reason they leave kick starts on motorcycles. A slow nudge to get the cylinder to TDC, rear brake clutched in, a sharp shove down...and WIN! Kermit starts up and idles. With relief, I turn onto Route 138 to head into downtown Trois Rivieres.
From previous visits, I know there is motorcycle parking in the center of town. The city seems to be something of a destination for the cruiser set. Possibly because it is on a scenic coastal route midway between the province's two major cities. After parking and quickly getting change for the meter, I wander around the city. It isn't very large. No high buildings, small houses, older buildings dating from the early twentieth century near the river. A street in the "old town" has a bunch of chi chi restaurants and cafes. High priced and meant for the tourist trade and crowds who come to events on the nearby racetrack. I saunter along, my riding pants and helmet secured under the seat and on the helmet hook, in my garish orange jacket and chunky boots. Luckily there are enough other leather-clad bikers that I'm not an unusual site. Road-hunger lures me to my natural habitat: an all you can eat Chinese buffet north of the touristy area. My inner food slob is sated by a thorough gorge at the steam table paradise. General Tao's chicken *and* reheated roast beef...truly, Chinese cuisine at its most evolved!
More wandering and lingering by the harbourfront park. Trois Rivieres' harbourfront is a sort of boardwalk/promenade where you can watch the freighters go by on the might St. Lo, with the bridge as a backdrop. It really is a handsome sight. So was the skirted girl with a bunch of younger travellers--hostellers or backpackers, by the sound of them--who were my neighbours on a park bench. I idled away the rest of my time between napping and checking out her legs. Now that is sightseeing.
After two and a half hours I felt I had "done" Trois Rivieres. There was likely more to see, but I had to get home before the afternoon showers began. I headed out! Then realized that the drivers were screaming I was trying to go left on a one way right street. OOOOOPS! Shades of "Planes Trains and Automobiles". I headed out! Into a maze of one ways that *refused* to turn west. Ten minutes later, I finally found 138 west and followed it to a gas station on the edge of T-R. After my usual 4 litres and change--I've never gone more than five litres down--I head home. 138 west follows the river more closely and is a shorter route than 132. This was good...because I was bucking a head wind the whole way. 90 km/h became "throttle pinned" rather than cruise. I also had quite a scare when the power loss happened again. It happened at higher speeds when I was near the last quarter tank before hitting the red zone. I cut throttle and drifted to the shoulder. Within a minute power would return. I repeated this about three times before the mysterious gremlin in my fuel system resolved itself.
I was damn tired by the time I hit Repentigny, a bedroom community to the west of Montreal. I damn near cheered when I saw the bridge leading to the eastern tip of Montreal island. I still had a bit to go. 138 becomes Sherbrooke Street and runs halfway through the island. In fact, one of my routes to Quebec City is "go north a half block and turn lright for 286 kilometers". I refueled at a gas station/depanneur just past the roundabout that lead into Sherbrooke. 120 kilometers on 4.2 litres. About 70 mpg--my average mileage, and not bad for an unbroken ride that mixed high speed runs and slow crawls through small towns. After slurping down an orange juice and...er..."draining" another important tank, I headed home through the wilds of the east island. I had to acclimatize myself back to urban surface streets. Going at the speed limit felt like molasses after blasting along the highway. As I approached downtown I saw a wall of cloud covering the western half of Montreal. I got home just as the first few droplets came down.
All in all, a satisfying ride. Kermit kept all its nuts and bolts together, despite a couple of scary moments. I may bring it in to have the spark plug checked--which, come to think of it, should have been examined at first service. I suspect either fuel contamination or carb icing was the problem, exacerbated by sustained high speeds. Otherwise Kermit performed like a champ. I saw a lot of the river and a lot of farmland, had a decadent lunch, girlwatched in a strange city, and did it all for about forty bucks in food and gas.
Tell me another way you can do the same in a cage for that kind of money.
Oh. Rain all weekend...
Well, not this Saturday. I knew the rain front was coming from the south, so going to Vermont was a bad idea. I cast about for an easy ride to a place where I wouldn't mind a short visit before heading home. Choice: Trois Rivieres, a small city midway between Montreal and Quebec. Directions couldn't be easier: head to the South Shore, turn east on 132, and go until you get to the only big-ass bridge between here and Quebec. Waking up to blue skies, I chug some coffee and get geared up. A quick fifteen minute ride to the Jacques Cartier Bridge gets me on track.
Kermit is firing on all--well, its only--cylinder. 132 overlaps with Autoroute 30, which *technically* I am not allowed to be on. However, Kermit is at an indicated 100km/h, which is enough to stick to the right lane. After a hairy ten minute ride 132 becomes a slower divided median highway, then a simple two lane route that parallels the St. Lawrence River. Gentle curves run between tree-lined streets and small villages. Every so often the vista to the left opens up to reveal the river in all its glory. The St. Lawrence is a big river, even in the "narrows" before it opens up at Quebec city. It is I-95 for the Great Lakes trade--you can see everything from power boats to freighters using the channel. Industry uses it too. Amid the bucolic countryside and towns are huge industrial complexes and power stations that rise up like ancient beasts to spew smoke high into the sky.
132 turns inward into the countryside of Central Quebec at Sorel, leaving the river behind. I get re-acquainted with a familiar scent one finds on country roads flanked by farms. A *pungent* scent. Aka, fertilizer. It seems insects find this an agreeable smell. Soon a fair few unfortunate bugs find themselves roadkill on my full-face's visor. I have to dodge the odd squashed squirrel that ventured out at a poorly-chosen moment. Still, at least the sun is out and I'm out of the city. Kermit burbles along at 90 km/h, held just below wide open throttle to avoid stressing the engine.
The first hint of trouble comes when I take a curve just past Nicolet. The engine skips then resumes. It feels like it has just a little less power. I put it down to disruption from the wake of an oncoming truck in the other lane I passed in the curve. Just before Becancour, as the Laviolette Bridge rears up, things go sour. I lose power and judder to a stop by the roadside. I get up and do several checks of the scooter. Oil is fine, the gear oil drain plug I tightened is still dry of any leaks and on firm, lights work. I mentally shrug and figure it is carb icing--it *has* been a cool May morning--or gas contamination from the last fill up. I put it on the stand and fire up the scooter after a couple stabs of the starter button. I let Kermit idle for a bit before heading out.
Like the combined stretch of 30/132, the Laviolette is technically part of an autoroute. By displacement my scooter shouldn't be on it. However, I figure cops aren't likely to stop me if I get off at the first exit ramp on the other bank. It is posted at 80 km/h, well within Kermit's speed limits. The only problem is a lingering worry that the power loss might recur. This gets MUCH more evident once I realise that a) the Laviolette is a slot track with no shoulder and b) if I lose power, there'll be the automotive equivalent of George Micheal dropping the soap in the shower rooms of Pelican Bay. You could have shoved coal up my ass and given DeBeers some competition while I screamed over the bridge.
Kermit was good. He only sputtered out *just* as I was coasting into the off ramp right at the northern end of the bridge.
I admit to being a tad worried. I'm a good hundred or so kilometers from home with a potentially failed scooter. I wheel Kermit a block away to do another check and start-up. The fuel gauge is on E, but a glance into the tank indicates that I have at least 2 litres left of reserve. A few attempts to use the electric start produce bupkiss. I am about to lose my mind when I belatedly remember the kick start. I don't use it much, as I'm wary of the reports of cracked engine casings. However, this is precisely the reason they leave kick starts on motorcycles. A slow nudge to get the cylinder to TDC, rear brake clutched in, a sharp shove down...and WIN! Kermit starts up and idles. With relief, I turn onto Route 138 to head into downtown Trois Rivieres.
From previous visits, I know there is motorcycle parking in the center of town. The city seems to be something of a destination for the cruiser set. Possibly because it is on a scenic coastal route midway between the province's two major cities. After parking and quickly getting change for the meter, I wander around the city. It isn't very large. No high buildings, small houses, older buildings dating from the early twentieth century near the river. A street in the "old town" has a bunch of chi chi restaurants and cafes. High priced and meant for the tourist trade and crowds who come to events on the nearby racetrack. I saunter along, my riding pants and helmet secured under the seat and on the helmet hook, in my garish orange jacket and chunky boots. Luckily there are enough other leather-clad bikers that I'm not an unusual site. Road-hunger lures me to my natural habitat: an all you can eat Chinese buffet north of the touristy area. My inner food slob is sated by a thorough gorge at the steam table paradise. General Tao's chicken *and* reheated roast beef...truly, Chinese cuisine at its most evolved!
More wandering and lingering by the harbourfront park. Trois Rivieres' harbourfront is a sort of boardwalk/promenade where you can watch the freighters go by on the might St. Lo, with the bridge as a backdrop. It really is a handsome sight. So was the skirted girl with a bunch of younger travellers--hostellers or backpackers, by the sound of them--who were my neighbours on a park bench. I idled away the rest of my time between napping and checking out her legs. Now that is sightseeing.
After two and a half hours I felt I had "done" Trois Rivieres. There was likely more to see, but I had to get home before the afternoon showers began. I headed out! Then realized that the drivers were screaming I was trying to go left on a one way right street. OOOOOPS! Shades of "Planes Trains and Automobiles". I headed out! Into a maze of one ways that *refused* to turn west. Ten minutes later, I finally found 138 west and followed it to a gas station on the edge of T-R. After my usual 4 litres and change--I've never gone more than five litres down--I head home. 138 west follows the river more closely and is a shorter route than 132. This was good...because I was bucking a head wind the whole way. 90 km/h became "throttle pinned" rather than cruise. I also had quite a scare when the power loss happened again. It happened at higher speeds when I was near the last quarter tank before hitting the red zone. I cut throttle and drifted to the shoulder. Within a minute power would return. I repeated this about three times before the mysterious gremlin in my fuel system resolved itself.
I was damn tired by the time I hit Repentigny, a bedroom community to the west of Montreal. I damn near cheered when I saw the bridge leading to the eastern tip of Montreal island. I still had a bit to go. 138 becomes Sherbrooke Street and runs halfway through the island. In fact, one of my routes to Quebec City is "go north a half block and turn lright for 286 kilometers". I refueled at a gas station/depanneur just past the roundabout that lead into Sherbrooke. 120 kilometers on 4.2 litres. About 70 mpg--my average mileage, and not bad for an unbroken ride that mixed high speed runs and slow crawls through small towns. After slurping down an orange juice and...er..."draining" another important tank, I headed home through the wilds of the east island. I had to acclimatize myself back to urban surface streets. Going at the speed limit felt like molasses after blasting along the highway. As I approached downtown I saw a wall of cloud covering the western half of Montreal. I got home just as the first few droplets came down.
All in all, a satisfying ride. Kermit kept all its nuts and bolts together, despite a couple of scary moments. I may bring it in to have the spark plug checked--which, come to think of it, should have been examined at first service. I suspect either fuel contamination or carb icing was the problem, exacerbated by sustained high speeds. Otherwise Kermit performed like a champ. I saw a lot of the river and a lot of farmland, had a decadent lunch, girlwatched in a strange city, and did it all for about forty bucks in food and gas.
Tell me another way you can do the same in a cage for that kind of money.