Fingerbanging along the Gaspé peninsula PART TWO: Some things we did on the way to Rimouski, IN PICTURES!

Pssst, guys.

Wanna hear a bike touring secret?

I had no idea until this last trip, but if you tour in the fall everything belongs to you.

I shit you not. We had our own private beaches. Our own private no-charge camp site behind a microbrewery (on multiple occasions). Our own private parks. Sometimes even our own private roads.

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My own private meat counter.

So yes. We very stylishly left Quebec City in a boat which delivered us back to the south shore of the St. Laurent. Here we jumped on and off the TransCanada until about Rimouski, about another 300km.

It was not uneventful. For instance, we met this man, who is old enough to be my grandfather, yet disappeared over the horizon while we very much did not disappear over the horizon.

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We also found this thing. Omen or artwork, we weren’t sure. But it spun okay.

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And we took shelter from the rain in this barn.

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We were assholes in Trois-Pistoles.

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And we watched seals in Le Bic

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Oh, also I walked my bike up this mean hill.

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And then, 300ishkm later, ta-da RIMOUSKI.

If memory serves me correctly, Rimouski was the last place I remember before the hills  really started. It’s a cute enough town by the water. We visited a local microbrewery, stayed in the ‘burbs with our lovely warmshowers host and terrorized the local Walmart (because by this point we were feral cycletourists and you couldn’t take us anywhere).

We will return to the past in my next post, BUT GUESS WHAT. We are presently gearing up for a three month tour through Scandinavia and northern Europe. Quit our jobs? Check. Buy new rain gear? Check. Dehydrate EVERYTHING? Check.

For the first time EVER I am going to attempt to keep this blog updated in real-time. So you (is anyone out there?) can bare witness to our flats and sunburns and stroopwafles. Fingers and toes crossed.

 

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