2/12 – Back to Canada: Bethany, Ontario – 10-14

Leaving Stu behind I headed towards my stop for the night in Saratoga Springs and my hostess Denise. She had warned me that she had big dogs, and she hadn’t exaggerated. She breeds Old English Mastiffs, and had one male, 4 bitches and 4 puppies remaining from the latest litter. To say the place was a hive of activity wouldn’t be overstating the case.

Denise is from Long Island, and had moved “up-state” on retirement and decided to follow in her Mother’s footsteps in breeding dogs and was doing so very successfully. We spent a great night with her friend Adam and we put the world to rights on many issues. Like many New Yorkers, I met over subsequent days, with Denise, what you see is what you get; I mean that is the nicest possible way, New Yorkers tell it like it is! This results in stimulating, and sometimes noisy conversations. J

I left Denise and Adam, heading off to visit his girlfriend and I set out for Herkimer, my next stop. En route I had a stop to don my rain gear; I used a post box shelter, and met several guys from the village coming to close t their mail. The rain didn’t last too long and I soon felt in serious need of a coffee. I found a little place on Google Maps called “Second Wind Café” in Johnstown; it took me a while to find it, but the wait was worth it.

Run by Shawn McNamara, assisted, on this day at least, by his Mother, Rosemary, Second Wind Café has been decorated in a 50’s retro style. Shawn told me that the week before he had a Harley in the window and another on a table to one side; he sold both. The seats were comfortable, and the coffee delicious. Shawn has plans to expand backwards to open a restaurant, and if it is as cool as the café, it’ll definitely be worth a visit.

Whatever he does, the café is one of those oases that give a welcome respite from the soulless fast-food drive-throughs that deface the landscape and serve poison that is passed off as coffee. (I’m joking … but only a bit)

I was staying the night with Gail, another Harley rider. She took me out to her local – 13 km away – where we spent the evening greeting locals well-known to her. These HD-riding ladies – at least the two I have met so far – surprised me by their independence and manual skills. Denise was a union carpenter before retiring, and Gail, although an office worker by day, was currently renovating her camper van that had suffered from water damage. From what she said, this involved a complete stripping and replacement of whole panels. In her spare time, she embroiders, grows plants and makes handicraft. 

On the Sunday, it was raining again, so Gail did not depart at 0730 to work on the camper. This was good for me as it meant I didn’t have to leave so early. All the same I was on my way by 0900 towards the border.

On my way, I stopped for breakfast in a little diner. Optimistically called Friede’s Restaurant, it had a good rating score on Google, but, when I got there, it was a run-down looking shack. With some trepidation, I went in to find it full and a warm friendly atmosphere. The serving lady was a bit reserved at first, but soon came around and was as friendly towards me as to the locals. Breakfast was a scrambled Spanish-style omelette, with an odd name that I cannot remember.

The ride to the border was along a soul-less highway, on which I was the only one driving at the speed limit – cop cars included. I actually dropped off momentarily, it was so boring, so had to have another coffee break. The border crossing was painless and the view going over the bridge at Alexandria Bay was quite spectacular.

Once into Canada, it was back to long straight roads; I suppose when they were being built there was nothing in the way, so the shortest way between 2 points …. No rolling English drunkard here!

I arrived at John and Maya DeMaria’s in the late afternoon to a warm welcome. Maya was visiting their daughter and would not come home that evening. John was ample company and since Maya had prepared some food before leaving, we dined well whilst exchanging partial life and other stories.

Prior to dinner we had some excitement; John didn’t really believe me when I casually said, “There are two horses coming up the drive.” John tried to call some neighbours to see who owned them, while I followed them up the hill to see if I could catch them when the reached the fence; all my tracking skill were put to the test, following the deep hoof marks in the soft ground. Finally, when I reached the edge of the property, they were nowhere in sight. On returning to the house John informed me that they had made it to another gate, where the owner had managed to get hold of them and lead them home.

Next day I got to see Johns fantastic workshop and the CB750 Sandcast – No 000258 – that he had acquired for next to nothing and was currently restoring. He also has a enviable collection of other bikes, seven CB750s in all!

 We took another look at my gear changing problems. We adjusted the clutch, again, several times and eventually amended the procedure somewhat to try to make things better. We made it worse. We set out for a ride and got as far as the end of the road; the clutch was slipping so badly I barely made it back. Reverting to the approved method, a final adjustment fixed things. I too a short ride and all was well. After all the fuss, I was starting to wonder was it all in my head!

Next day, Tuesday, while John worked on the CB750 K8 he had just sold, I tried to update this blog. Then it was back to the workshop where we changed out my started motor, as it was sounding a bit scrunchy, and fitted some crash bars John had in a box. So by the end of the day the K8 was ready but for the new tyres required to replace the existing 19-year-old ones and my bike was ready for anything Ontario could throw at it.

All this may sound like we did nothing but work on the bikes, but this is far from the truth. Much time was spent just enjoying John and Maya’s company, hearing stories of their life their, anecdotes about their neighbours and generally benefitting from wandering round their beautiful property. But all good things must end, so I packed up ready to depart.

Not  quite as a parting gesture, but as a final gift, John had arranged for me to stay with a friend close to my next destination, Belfast, Ontario, so I set off towards Waynes l’Hereux’s home at Arthur.