TINBUTTU RALLY 

For the past few months I have been cooking up a plan to take the farthest north route honors at this years Tinbuttu Rally. Last year my brother and I won the title with a trip around Gaspe Peninsula in Canada. It’s also been my desire for about a year or so to venture up the northern side of the St. Lawrence River to see what can be seen. I reasoned if Gaspe was far enough north last year, then across the river to the north had to capture this year's plaque. To make it even more interesting I planned to ride the extra 2 1/2 hours (in each direction) all the way to the end of road. This gesture, I thought, might also capture the most unique ride title.

Sometime this summer I talked Joe Kuchinski into riding with me on my quest. We had recently accomplished a 50CC together with Pete Murray.   For the Tinbuttu, we did little of the planning that was required on our 50CC, because preparation of the bikes remained installed from that ride. Basically all we needed to do was meet at the rally location (Red Apple Rest - Route 17, Southfields, NY) at 5:00pm Friday night and take off from there. Rules of the rally: plan your own trip and be back in 48 hours.

The ride that night was quick; we were up to Montreal via the NY thruway in 4 ½ hours. We next jumped on autoroute 20 to Quebec City. That road is always an olfactory sensation. Smells ranging from farm animals to chocolate factories and many things in between fill the air with baffling potency. We turned into Quebec City around midnight and passed thru to the eastern suburbs where we picked up road #138. As we traveled northeast on 138 the pieces of city and suburb started to dwindle. Nighttime views of the St. Lawrence River would pass in and out of sight between the pine-lined hi-way. About every 50-100 miles we would approach a village/town. As we drove more northeast these spots of civilization became smaller in size. At that time of night the gas stations were seldom open for business.

 Most of our concentration was on safe driving and with that, observation of the environs was limited to the roadway and things that might jump into it. The ride along the river had a special climate of its own. The road, which began to climb up and dip back down, brought with its ride a bath of warm air followed by a dip into a cool chill.

We knew by our pre-planning that we had a ferry crossing to make and it was our tentative plan to stop for some sleep near that location. We arrived at the ferry in Tadoussal at about 2:30am Saturday morning. The ferry was on our side of the river and was loading. It was perfect timing. The village of Tadoussal lay on the out going side of the terminal. As we headed up into the village it was clear that hotels were a-plenty. We started towards the closest establishment. Driving past we saw that no lights were on. And so we went to the next and then the next, and found out that night, a hotel room must be bargained for during a respectable hour in this town. We keep rolling with a plan to hit the next open establishment. As we went on it was clear that any place was not coming soon. So at about 3:00am we found a warm patch of air, which happened to meet up at a small roadside park. There we decided to retire to the ironbutt motel. I set the screaming Meanie for two hours and hit the ground for a nap.

We woke to the same warm breeze when our allotted nap was up. The light began to fill the sky and we found that we had been sleeping on a grassy knoll along the banks of the St. Lawrence. Climbing back on our bikes we picked up where we left off two hours earlier. Day was now breaking into a full stage of splendor. The road made its way thru short rolling mountains, which curved on and over their contours. Deep blue lakes laden with fog mist met up at unsuspecting bends of the roadside. As we rose on the ascending mountain we could look down on these lake views like birds soaring above with great speed. The sun broke thru the mist in fantastic bursts of brilliances against the blue sky. As a background to this light show there was the mountain greenery of pine and scrub cedar. Traveling on between the mountain passes we found large open valleys. The height of the mountain's ascent increased and between apexes, the highway became a roller coaster for our riding pleasure. 

The road led us to the town of Baie Comeau, which had all the services a traveler could need. In this area you find the junction of the road that goes to Labrador. I know I’ll find myself back there again someday. Soon after passing this town the geology changes. We were driving into the terrain where the St. Lawrence River turns into the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Here the landscape begins to somewhat resemble the Maine coastline, starting as a mixture of the landscape I have just described - mixed in with large, irregular shaped beige stone mounds that show their eons of erosion.  The sight line around gave way to views with longer distances.  Sand worked itself into the landscape replacing the mountain area's mulched dirt beds. The more we drove, the more the rockscape took over as the prominent backdrop. As the lands flattened, I saw in the distant north the continuation of the mountain range we had departed. Pine trees remained a major element of the scenery, but their groupings were more spread out than in the forests of the mountainsides. By 9:00am we had made it to the city of Sept-Iles. When I was looking over this ride I had placed a picture of this town in my mind. Nothing could have been further from that image. I was thinking small fishing village, maybe two gas stations etc…Well, Sept-Iles is a full-grown, small but modern city with all the shopping conveniences you would find in the Montreal area. It's as if five years ago, the Canadian government decided that all national shopping-chain stores had to build a branch in this town. There are new streets, government buildings and a new airport to boot. Where they find enough customers to keep the town alive was beyond my passing analysis. We grabbed some hot food and gas and headed our motorcycles to the last stretch of road before its end.

We were now riding through the coastline rock. It had the feeling of a coastal edge, but it was so deep inland that they placed the roadway right on the scenery. As I looked around at the rock, sand, and mountains, in the far distance, I could see that this land was once the bottom of the gulf floor. Lack of traffic made a fast journey possible. Every 75 miles or so we came to a small fishing village. The speed limit would drop to 30, which let us get a good close view of the local flavor. The last 150 miles of the roadway was recently installed and smooth sailing. As we got closer to Natashquan the road became winding and swelled mildly from frost heaving. This place would make a great sucker bonus on an ironbutt rally! As I sped around one curve I saw a bridge ahead. Thinking that the bridge would be up to the standard of the new roadway, I proceed without caution. OUCH, that was a mistake. My front wheel took a hit like driving into a pothole. The road stayed twisting till the end. It also had a few more bridges made to the same specification as the last. We approached these with more respect.

We pulled into the small village of Natashquan and gassed up at the general store. A few of the locals came around to have a look. The guy working the gas pump insisted on filling my rear fuel cell. When I went inside to get my receipt, I got into a broken French/English conversation on “What a great machine that the BMW she makes”. I had to agree. There I asked where I might find the post office. I thought it might be nice to have a picture of the bikes with a sign showing where we were. I understood none of the direction given, except to know that traveling further past the road where we stood might get us there. So Joe and I remounted our “great machines” and kept driving east. The road took us about 3 miles more to an Inuit village called Point-Parent and there found what we were really looking for: THE SIGN 138/est/fin. Where the pavement ended a new stone road was being built. Off in the distance was a Canadian government billboard describing the new destination the road would be taking. I think the plan is to extend it to Newfoundland someday. We got off our bikes took both pees and photos and jump back on to start our long trip back.

As we sailed back we proceeded with knowledge we had just acquired; where the road was tight, where to open it up and where to slow down for the local constable. Our familiarity with the highway gave us the chance to take in even more of the scenery. On the return trip, the reversed view became a whole new experience. The miles seemed to fly past and by 8:00pm we had made it back to Baie Comeau. Joe needed a rest stop so we pulled into a gas station even though we still had plenty of fuel from our pit stop in Sept-Iles. By this time I noticed that our thinking was getting a little fuzzy. When Joe got back on his bike and rode up to me to talk strategy for the next stage, there was a distinct hesitation in our planning. I knew it was time for a break.  After all, it had been 27 hours, we took off late the day before, and we only had 2 hours of sleep so far. Involved in our decision was the fact that across the street was most likely the only Comfort Inn to be had for the next few hours. As we went on discussing the possibilities, time ticked away. This is a bad thing when you’re trying to run in a rally. The more we stayed stationary, the clumsier our thinking got. A look at the clock smacked us back into reality. Let’s gas up now for a quick take off tomorrow and get into that hotel across the street ASAP. We made quick work of it and by 8:30pm we were both fast asleep. While Joe was in the bathroom I set the Screaming Meanie for 2:00am and at the same time I was busy translating the weather forecast from the French weather channel. When Joe returned I gave him the news that the weather should be great the rest of the way back. 

In the morning, Joe woke me with a “shouldn’t we be up by now?” I grabbed the Screaming Meanie and wiped my eyes for some clarity. The damn thing had not even been running!  That’s the design flaw of this timer. It takes a full minute to unfold to see if it is going. With my attention on the weather forecast, I forgot to look to see if the timer was running. It was now 4:10am; we had taken a full 7-1/2 hours rest at a time when we could not afford such a luxury.  By 4:30am we were off and running. I set my GPS to route to the Rally destination in Southfields, NY. We had 12 ½ hours on the clock and the GPS read 11:00 hours for our ride. OK, we can do this, as long as the ferry at Tadoussal runs smoothly and all gas stops are efficiently paced. We raced to the ferry location as fast as it was safe to travel that time of morning. As we descended to the landing it was clear that an instant departure would be impossible. The sun was up on a clear day and there across the river was the ferry - motionless at its dock. There was no fighting it, we had to sit there and wait. By the time we were on the road again an hour had burnt away and we had a whole day of riding ahead of us.

With the light of day now filling our spirits, we ran the empty highway with all the gusto a competitor dare chance. We now were driving the road that had been cloaked in darkness on the way up. It was again more of the green mountain splendor we saw yesterday. We kept a keen eye open for wildlife, but the only encounter was a small black bear along a sweeping curve – running from the roar of our engines. As we approached small villages and towns we inevitably met up with a local driver, who like all good Canadians, drove under the already low-posted speed limit. With all due respect we would follow at a safe distance until the posted speed and extra lane permitted a stealthy passing and re-launch back to the posted 90mph. (authors note: research the speed limits in Canada: was it 90kph or 90mph? Duh!) Before long we had made our way back to Quebec City. The GPS had been giving me some weird directions and we ended up following posted signs to make our way through the area. Time was ticking away but we kept a positive attitude.  We made our way to autoroute 20 and headed for Montreal. Within 20 minutes the GPS was sending us off the highway again. I took the turn thinking it may have been a short cut. I quickly realized that this turn was a mistake and pulled back on the autoroute on the next entrance down. In another 10 minutes The GPS was telling us to turn off to a highway that would have sent us into Vermont. I pulled to the side of the road and checked my GPS. Sure enough the navigation unit was heading me into Vermont. I pushed the GPS to reroute to our destination but again it wanted Vermont. So I next set a point at the border crossing on the top of the NY Thruway and pressed reroute. While the unit continued to compute, we jumped back on the road and drove on – confident that autoroute 20 was indeed the right direction.  When the GPS had finally completed it’s routing, it was clear that something was a-muck. Again the path was in error.

This GPS unit has worked so well for me in the past and in fact quite well on the trip up, that making a paper map of our intended path did not come to mind. The question of timing came to the forefront of my thinking. Was there enough time to make it back for the rally finish? What to do?  This is when the gloves came off! Literally. I pulled off my gloves to operate the GPS manually as we pushed on. By zooming in and out on the base map I could see that something was missing from my map. Ignoring that information I worked the info it had available and set routes by signs and sight (the old fashioned way). By the time we made it to the border crossing the GPS maps seem it be working normally. When I noticed this, I rerouted to the rally location and to our surprise we had an hour and half to spare. Phew!

Although it had traffic, the NY Thruway was a breeze. We simply clung on to a few unwilling four wheelers that were sporting radar detectors and used them as likely bait for the coming state enforcement. By 4 o’clock we were getting off our bikes at home base. All proud of ourselves, we signed in with rally master, Dan Morrow, and proceeded to predict our capture of the most northern route title. We even thought that with our OD reading of 2240 miles, we could take the most miles-ridden title as well. We received our congratulations, but never a confirmation on a win. We got some drinks and sat around with the other riders and rally supporters. As the conversation worked around the tables we heard mention of the name Martin. As in … “Martin is not back yet?” , and “he called and should be here soon”, and. …”Radisson”.  RADISSON?  What say you?  RRRRRRadisson?  I knew well what Radisson meant.  On the way up the Thruway on Friday night, not far out of the gate, we met and rode up with another rally participant(and RT rider). Could this be Martin? Joe and I had wondered where this dude was heading -  but soon after, a stop at a gas station divided our group of three and his ride slipped out of my mind. Radisson had been that other “end of the road” ride I had been dreaming about these past months. Was Radisson possible? I never did the math. I was so sure that Natashquan was north enough that Radisson was just an icy distance place in my mind. In fact my buddy Pete Murray had said a few day earlier that if he were running the rally, Radisson would be his destination. Within 25 minutes Martin pulled into the lot. I had to smile.  This guy had guts. I knew what a lonely road it was up to that place, and he deserved full kudos. So Martin took most northern point, but as it turned out, Joe and I got most eastern point - and a great ride to boot.