After a long ride along long roads, I managed to find my way to Wayne’s in spite of the odd, to me, road naming system. The roads in this part of Canada are laid out in a grid pattern; some have a name, some have a number and some are called things like “Side Road 6 West”. West of what I’ve no idea. It appeared that roads running N-S were called “Concession Rd No 6” or some-such, and the E-W roads were Side Road Whaatever. So maybe there is a method in the madness.
Maybe if you turn onto a side road west, then you are heading west; but at the other end if you turned onto it, you’d be then be heading east?? Who knows, maybe ther’s no method after all.
The other thing is that some of these roads are paved whilst others are not. After getting frustrated with my GPS – I was finally sitting at Wayne’s side road and my GPS wanted me to continue for a few miles along the road I was on, then turn right for a couple of miles and then turn right again – I decided, not for the first time, to ignore it and turned into the road. Of course, this one was gravel! Happily it was well maintained gravel and it was dry, so shortly afterwards, I finally found myself outside Wayne’s home, easily recognisable by the gleaming K1 parked in the driveway.
I was greeted warmly and told I had nearly missed dinner; he has a dry sense of humour, Wayne. I was brought inside and introduced to Kathy, who showed me my room and invited me to make myself at home. Having divested myself of my leathers, I was then treated to a fine steak dinner. We then had a very pleasant evening chatting before bed called loudly.
Next morning, after a hearty breakfast, I was getting the bike packed when Wayne appeared carrying a small windshield. He suggested that if we could attach this to my shield, it might take the air up over my head; I had mentioned earlier that the current screen directed the air to the top of my helmet. So, we attached it using some Velcro stickers and Gorilla tape, and having bid Kathy farewell, set off to find Belfast, Ontario.
We met up with Wayne’s friend Brian, who was on a trike, and, after some coffee, we finally arrived at Belfast.
Belfast, Ontario is a 4-way road junction! Apart from the road sign naming it, there was nothing around save extensive fields and some houses. Picture duly taken, I saw someone coming out of a field on a 4-wheeler, so I thought, “If he’s farming here, he might know something about the place, or someone else who might.”
“Not really,” he replied, “but it you go up tho the house, my mum will surely be able to help you.” I said goodbye to Wayne and Brian, who were continuing on their ride, and headed up to the house, which was literally just across the road.
Donna Alton, greeted my with a smile and suggested I move my bike a bit as she was having a concrete pathway and patio poured. In doing so I nearly dropped it on the uneven gravelly driveway but managed to avoid the embarrassment of having to ask the concrete guys to help me up.
On the porch she then produced some very detailed family history books, written by a relative. The Altons have been on this farm for 180 years. Donna’s husband, Stuart, was born in the house they currently lived in, and she grew up a few miles away. He went to the one-room school that used to be at the other side of the cross-roads. Belfast also used to have a hotel and a post office and a store, and was once quite a busy place. However, the hotel burned down and after this activity decreased dramatically.
Now the name! The first settlers to the area were called, surprisingly, Alton and came from Limerick in 1847/48. Sam Alton had died before the family left Ireland, so his wife, Rachel, emigrated with her seven children. These genealogy things always confuse me, but one Daniel Alton – he was the second to bear the name – came to Belfast in 1848, according to the family history.
However, as with PEI, although the place was called Altonville, the book records it as Belfast. It seems that in 1857, it was still called Altonville, Joseph Alton sold some lots to someone called Phillips who sold on to several Irish families. One was a William Crosby, who had been a blacksmith in Belfast, N Ireland. The place became known as Belfast, although there is no official record of this name change, and the earliest mention found in print is in the Belden Atlas of 1879.
Donna offered to do some more research for me but was also now curious herself. To date, however, I haven’t heard anything; she is probably too busy organising her daughter’s wedding, set for June. This celebration was the reason for the concreting of the path, something Donna had been saving for 20 years to accomplish!
So it would seem that Belfast was named by these Irish arrivals, in or around 1869, and William Crosby is the likely culprit. I await an update from Donna with interest.
Belfast-2-Belfast-By-Bike 