I started out by driving to North Hero State Park, about 12 miles from the Vermont-Quebec border, the day before. The park has very minimal services -- clean water and portajohns -- but it's a great place to camp for the night and leave the car for a week. North Hero is on a peninsula that sticks into Lake Champlain. Before bridges were built, you could reach in from the US on a ferry -- or drive to it from Canada. I took the ferry in, just because I like ferries.



On Sunday morning, after saying good-bye to the park ranger and giving her my phone number in case there's a problem with the car, I start pedalling around 9:00 AM. I cross the border with no more than, "you're going how far?" for trouble. Get to Noyan, QC and almost immediately "bonk".


Have a huge breakfast a diner on Rt 202. Cross Lake Champlain and start riding along the "Route Verte 2", part of a network of official provincial bike paths. Get caught in the rain: cows to my right, corn to my left, rain above and puddles below. The rain clears up by the time I get to Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu.


There, the path moves from streets to a mostly-gravelled former canal towpath to Chambly. The canal, as you can see, is still in use.


Each house along the canal has its own little dock. The bike path takes up more pavement than the one-way street does!


Somewhere in here, I realize that I've vastly underestimated my planned first day's travel. I had thought the ride to Montreal, where I have hostel reservations, would be about 70 miles, but somehow it's looking a lot longer.

I follow the Route Verte through Chambly into suburbs of Montreal. Briefly lost when the signage fails to indicate a right turn, I recover with help from my GPS. Then I come to a decision point: do I cross the St. Lawrence river at a ferry (turn right, go 26km) or at a bridge (turn left, go 20km)? I choose the shorter route. As night begins to fall, I realize that I have chosen unwisely: the bridge is closed for a NASCAR race! (Of course, they put this notice just before the bridge, instead of at the decision point.) With a GPS that's schitzing out in the rain, I desperately ride north, looking for another way across the river. My map shows another bridge _somewhere_ north of me. Pedalling frantically as night begins to fall, I realize that I'm on the far side of the main road. There are very few people around. It's starting to feel like one of those neighborhoods my mother has taught be to avoid!

More and more nervous, I miss the bridge (cars only, as near as I can tell), but eventually find the ferry, which miraculously is still running. I get to Old Montreal and my hostel after dark, after the restaurants have closed, but safe. The hostel maintains a collection of food that previous guests have left behind in the shared kitchen; dinner is Earl Grey tea and someone else's ramen. 90 miles.