Coop's Corner: Canada Motorcycle Week

Friday, September 25, 2015

Canada Motorcycle Week

Well maybe not an official designation, at least as far as I know but it certainly seemed that way in my little world. It was all a matter of chance that these two reads dropped into my lap last week. Reading, or at least any large quantity of it is something I normally save for weather more foul. Nothing wrong with an early start this season or so it seems.

A week ago on Saturday, I made one of my more rare in-season visits to Diamond's for Saturday morning coffee. Richard was there and once off his new-to-him Vstrom, he handed me a nicely used copy of Neil Peart's Ghost Rider.

Photo courtesy of Amazon

Only vaguely familiar with Peart's background, his role with the band Rush and relatively recent family tragedies as well as his love of riding, I was very anxious to dig right in and start the book. As Richard handed the book to me, there were more than one of the other fellows mentioning...."when you're done...."

Richard's words were, "pass it on when you finish."

So, Saturday evening I found a quiet spot at home (most of them are) and got started.

Sunday, at least I think it was on Sunday, I finally took the time to try and get caught up with some of the other blogs that I follow and one of the Comments on Sonja's blog regarding her current Maritime ride caught my eye. Made by Conchscooter, a book recommendation that really sounded interesting and right up my alley was suggested. The Kindle version he mentioned specifically made it even more so. In an hour my copy of Nick Adams' book was waiting on my own personal device. Mr. Adams' book is Beyond The Coffee Shop: Riding 1970's Moto Guzzi Motorcycles in Northern Canada. See what I mean?...it has everything going for it; I can't imagine more engrossing subject matter.

Photo courtesy of Amazon

Peart's Ghost Rider starts out from Quebec though he's ridden on more continents and in 10X more countries than I'll ever visit let alone ride in. By the beginning of chapter 5, he's ridden across the Canadian prairies, north of the Arctic Circle, back 'down' to Anchorage, boarded a ferry and is with family in Vancouver. From what I understand, this trip has just begun.

Nick Adam's book was a quick and fun read, his rides described took him from southeastern Ontario to the northeast up the St. Lawrence valley into Labrador, northern Quebec teasing the eastern side of James Bay and/or to the northwest towards far north Ontario. Low tech, older Moto Guzzi's and long, desolate gravel or worse roads are what make Nick happy. He's owned more modern versions of the Italian marque but he's no hesitation whatsoever about heading towards the remotest sections of the northern Provinces on the old '70's bikes.

It has been a week full of Canada and that is not bad.

Two summers ago I toyed with the idea of visiting the Canadian National Moto Guzzi Rally near Lavigne, ONT. Had I gone, I'd at least have had the chance to meet Nick. Whether the Ontario group hosts their own or the National Rally, Nick attends.

4 comments:

SonjaMSeptember 26, 2015 at 7:49 AM
I haven't had the time to read Nick Adams' book yet, but I also downloaded it as per Michael's recommendation. Looking forward to getting to it during fall.
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CanajunSeptember 26, 2015 at 8:03 AM
A couple more to add to the must read list. Thanks.
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RichardMSeptember 26, 2015 at 9:29 PM
I may have to break down and actually read a book... (I'm a huge fan of audiobooks)
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"it was auspicious to approach any situation from a deferential, inquisitive place. Conceding that there is much to learn is the best blueprint for discovering something new." ----B. Fuller

The Man straightened stiffly above the block of salt fixed to the stake and looked at the young cattle ringed about him. The pasture was holding out well and the stock was looking good. This bunch would be ready to sell in another month, maybe sooner if the market was right.

A stir among the cattle down near the river brought him round to face the swinging bridge he'd built years before. Someone was coming toward him from the bridge. Someone in breeches, but it didn't look like a man, somehow. What was a woman doing in his pasture this time of night?

He bent over the salt again; maybe if he paid her no heed she'd go on past and let him mind his own business. He heard her footsteps come nearer and stop. "Good evening," she said.

Her voice was smooth with book learning but friendlier than most, and somehow almost shy. When he made no answer she went on, "I've been sitting on your swinging bridge....I thought I'd like to say thank-you...." Her voice stumbled a little, then she tried once more.

"You are Mr. ____". His name sounded strange in her voice, but she went on to tell her own.

"That's what they've called me the last sixty-eight years," he said, looking past her face to the hills fast darkening under a single star. "I reckon the woods are free for those that like to walk there."

The unfamiliar voice laughed a little. "That's what Emerson said: the grove belongs to the man who walks in it with an open heart....On that basis I guess I've owned part of your woods for a good many years.....". She made a final effort. "I've always wanted to thank you....."

Something deeply hidden stirred in him. "There's a stump up there, in the notch of the woods", he said slowly, "that before the timber grew so tall you could stand on it and see all over this country."

He kept still a minute, remembering, then, "I used to stand up there an' look at things, an' wonder how they come to be like they was, an' how the hills was created, an' all the things in Nature.... I told my wife I guessed all the religion I ever had I got standin' on that old stump, a-wonderin'..." He turned his face away from her.

She helped him out. "I know about that, a little. This afternoon I saw......." Her account of a thing she had really taken time to look at eased him, and he answered with telling of the badger den at the foot of the swinging bridge.

When she had gone, he turned to watch her. After a moment she stood clear and unmoving against the sky. You could hear the sounds of the river where she stood. She was one that could stand still long enough, he thought, really to hear what a body was saying, or a river.

Then she walked down the farther side of the slope and was gone. ------Margaret Snyder from A Chosen Valley

Fall was the end of harvest, end of the growing season, a burst of color and sun-warmth before killing frost turned the land gray and cold. Fall was a moody time, full of both life and death, a time when we were reminded of the power outside of us, reminded that the seasons happen to us. We do not invite the change to come.-------Ben Logan, from The Land Remembers

When you get those rare moments of clarity, those flashes when the universe makes sense, you try desperately to hold onto them. They are the lifeboats for the darker times, when the vastness of it all, the incomprehensible nature of life is completely elusive. So the question becomes or should have been all along, what would you do if you knew you only had one day, or one week, or one month to live. What lifeboat would you grab onto? What secret would you tell? What band would you see? What person would you declare your love to? What wish would you fulfill? What exotic locale would you fly to for coffee? What book would you write? ------- Ben Tyler

We were also cautioned about journeying far from home. As an example of the dangers, the town had a badly crippled lady named Lucy, who as a girl had traveled to New York City. As she traveled along a sidewalk, sightseeing, she was struck by the outstretched hand of a suicide who had leapt from high above. Her spine had been shattered and for the rest of her life, she was to walk bent forward at the waist, tapping the sidewalk with two black canes. Whenever the subject of travel to a big city was raised, someone would say, "Just remember what happened to Miss Tripp." ---- Ted Kooser, from Local Wonders

"Steamboats are like wedding cakes without the complications...." ----Mark Twain

"It's not about having lots of money, it's about having lots of options......." -----Chris Rock

As the very proud father of three former ponytail wearers, hopefully I can get away with this....."For the past few years it's been fashionable for young women to wear ball caps and to snap the strap on the back under their ponytails. I like the looks of that, their shiny ponytails jauntily swinging, but it's hard not to think of the rear ends of horses. There's a piece of harness called the crupper that goes just under a horse's tail to keep its nose down. If the horse lifts its head to look for a way out of whatever predicament it's in, the crupper tightens and hurts the horse. But it's foolish for parents to think that a ball cap might keep a young woman from running away. Anybody can see they're made for running." ------Ted Kooser, Local Wonders

"I tell the guy's girlfriend that the only difference between the book's main character Phaedrus and myself is that I am neither brilliant, tortured or insane, she looks at my bike and there is an uncomfortable silence." --------ahendepe (a.k.a. Vermin)