Somewhere North of Superior

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy...

Canadian singer and songwriter Gordon Lightfoot knew what he was talking about when he wrote 'The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald', a song about the Great Lake Superior. Having spent a week on the shores of North Superior, I have developed an appreciation for its name and legend. During our journey from Thunder Bay to Sault Ste. Marie, we have experienced dramatic weather, incredible campsites and spectacular scenery. Not to mention six days of long, hilly riding that rivals the Rockies in level of difficulty. But the greater challenge always equals a greater sense of accomplishment at the end of the day.

Other than small towns located about 100km apart, North of Superior is pure wilderness. In White River, we were visited by one of the many black bears that has recently been found feasting on the town's garbage cans. Luckily, the bear - the biggest black one I have ever seen - got no closer than 200 meters from our tent. This was close enough to make me want to book it over the motel across the street (which we didn't; and thankfully, both we and our food was left untouched). A local told us that in 100 square kilometers, there were and estimated 60 bears. I'm not sure, but it'd be a pretty good guess to say that this beats the human population in the area.

It amazes me how the highway finds its way through this landscape of such concentrated rock and boreal forest. It's absolutely superb riding, through majestic rock faces on either side of the road, with each rock a slightly different shape, colour and pattern than the last: green, red, grey, pink, and purple; jagged, curvy, flat and cubic, with each covered with an assortment of mosses, lichens, plants and fungi. The closer you look, the more you see. I could spend hours gazing at these rocks in wonder; bus alas, we must get back on the bike and ride another 100k.

The shores of Superior have damned us and blessed us on separate occasions. One day, it rained from 11 to 6 without stopping, and we cursed the world as we peddled, soaked to the bone. Just the day before, we spent the afternoon on the shoreline, soaking in the sunny, cloudless sky. We spent another night on the beach of Superior, surrounded by a dense fog that made me feel more like I was in a dream than in Florida. (The frigid temperature of the water was another reminder). For two days, we were riding in and out of clouds; sunny and warm one minute, cold and foggy the next. Talk about a constant change of scenery! I love riding in Ontario because, unlike other provinces, you never get bored.

The last couple days have been our longest stretch yet: 165 km each day. We are currently resting in the the Soo. It will be sad leaving Superior tomorrow, a lake I have developed a sort of connection to. It's now time to discover Huron, as we continue across the wonderous province of Ontario with its plethora of lakes, rivers, wildlife, rocks and trees. As the license plates attest to, it truly is "ours to discover." Ciao!