Jun 04 – Onward to Mattawa, Ontario, center of the known world

Last night I slept like I was comatose, must have been due to the quality of the motel or something. In any event I felt really refreshed this morning and after showering I headed to join the feeding frenzy at the motel’s dining area. No Grape Nuts Flakes for me today, today it was Sugar Frosted Flakes or just muffins and toast. I went with the flakes and the muffins. Then I spent the better part of an hour listening to an old Canadian geezer tell me everything that was wrong with those damn modern bikes, especially those Ninja things that go way too damn fast and you could get killed on one. I listened patiently and dropped the bomb letting him know that was my ride of choice. He swallowed most of his tongue and moved right into how unreliable modern electronics are on those damn BMW bikes. I queried him to see what he was actually referring to and he listed those damn electric vests and electric heated grips and how all of that would go wrong and leave a guy stranded, yadda yadda. I dropped bomb #2. Moving right along he gave up on modern bikes and told me the tale of how he’d inherited 3 bikes from a friend, 2 were original Indians and one was an old Harley 74. He gave them to his kids and they loved them, yadda yadda. I liked him.
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There were two other bikers staying in the motel and they parked next to the Ninja. I was glad it was covered up as their bikes were clean and pretty whereas the Ninja is a filthy beast and not fit to be seen next to pretty iron. I tried to make conversation with them but they weren’t too interested in swapping road stories with an old geezer so I let it go. Sometimes you meet friendly guys and sometimes they like to stay within their own boundaries. Riding alone sort of forces you to open up to strangers and you get to meet interesting people.
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Once I got moving I realized how late it was, nearly 10:30am by the time I got on the road. I let the GPS pick the route and instead of following the main highway it took me through some of the Indian reservation land. Spotting an interesting bit of graffiti on a railroad bridge I turned around and headed back for a photo shoot. Just about the time I got the kickstand down one of the Reservation Police guys pulled up and asked if everything was alright. I was clearly parked where I shouldn’t have been but being on two wheels sometimes gives me the notion I can get away with small infringements of the law. I told him I wanted to take a photo of the bridge and he seemed to like that. I said thanks for stopping and he took off. Nice guy. That’s the 2nd time that’s happened on this trip. I must look like I need help a lot. So where the hell was he when I dropped my bike yesterday?
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Not much happened after that, I continued my ride through little reservation towns and open farm lands until the road detoured me back onto the main highway, then things got pretty boring. I rode the rest of the morning sort of zombie-like until I realized the lunch bell had rang and I’d slept right through it. Lunch choices in that part of the world weren’t many and when I spotted one of the Dixie Lee chicken joints I bailed. They’re running head to head with the Colonel but they also offer other items such as perogies or whatever the heck they’re called. Those are the little dumpling thingies with potato stuffing and covered with onions & bacon & a side of sour cream. You may recall I tried them a couple of days back? The other guys really know how to make them and Dixie Lee should stick with chicken. End of story.
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With lunch out of the way I flew on down highway 17 again but after awhile I noticed I was having difficulty keeping the seating position I liked. I kept sliding around and my butt was beginning to feel a bit tired, like maybe the Anti-Monkey Butt powder wasn’t working or something. The more I got to thinking about it the more I suspected foul play and began to wonder if one of the biker boys at the motel had managed to stick a kick-me sign on my butt or something. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and pulled into a view point of Lake Huron to have a look. Bad news, the Air Hawk inflatable seat cushion was flatter than yesterday’s tortilla. I hadn’t blown air into it since the day I’d received it, more than 20,000 miles ago so I figured maybe it was time for a refill. The inflation valve is just like the one on a bicycle tire and it seemed OK so I blew it up and took off. My efforts lasted for around 20 minutes and then it was flat again. It was time to shop for a tube repair kit.
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I also needed a new pair or reading glasses, some Scotch tape to repair the map with – it was really falling apart, and I wanted to buy some extra ear plugs, the squishy kind that fit kids’ ears. They’re made of a pliable silicone material and they’re perfect for wearing under a crash helmet. Rolling through Sturgeon Falls I spotted a brand new RexAll Drugstore and figured I’d hit the big one. Sure enough, they had Scotch tape and the ear plugs I wanted but their reading glasses were priced at $32.95! Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, I buy those things at home for a buck at the Dollar Store. Grumbling at the clerk about it – I didn’t bother to take any – she acknowledged how pricey everything was in their store and suggested I keep an eye out for the Canadian version of the Dollar Store as her brother-in-law buys them all the time for that price. Nice lady.
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Next I headed to the local bike parts shop where I picked up a can of chain oil spray and got back on the road to Oz, aka Mattawa. Actually I hadn’t a clue where I was going to land for the day, just figured I’d ride until I was pooped and take the first place I could find. Riding into Mattawa I came upon a True Value Hardware store and popped in for a tube repair kit to use on the Air Hawk. While there I happened to ask if they sold reading glasses and out comes a box of cellophane wrapped specs in just my size. And for only a buck and a half. My kind of place.
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On the way into town I’d spotted the Two Rivers Motel so I back tracked and after checking things out decided it was my best bet unless I wanted to ride another 100 clicks. The lady who owns the place has this gigantic Malamute dog who must weigh at least 100 lbs and he seemed to like me. Like maybe I was one of his littermates or something. First he sniffed me over, then he bit me, then he wanted me to scratch his big fat butt, etc., etc. What a hound, and named Wiley Coyote to boot. I'm really glad I was wearing my black cotton long-sleeve shirt.
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The owner lady told me about a restaurant up the road that had great food so I shucked out of big red and the electric vest thingy and rode in for dinner. I can’t recall the last time I had a hot roast beef sandwich with mashed potatoes and 2 cups of brown gravy but tonight was the night for it. Damn it was good, and they included homemade coleslaw that was to die for. Sometimes you just get lucky.
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Back at the motel I banged on the owner’s door begging for ice – this place’s ice machine is evidently the icemaker in her kitchen reefer. With a cute little silver bucket of frozen goodies I ferreted myself away in my room where I experimented with the tube repair kit. The leak is right on one of the edges of material and if it holds air I’ll be amazed. One thing I can tell you for sure, I ain’t about to ride several thousand more miles without the Air Hawk. If it’s done in then I’m going on a mission to find another one or at least an equivalent for the rest of the trip. My skinny old butt just isn’t cut out for riding without one. Bet the Harley shops have something….