A Long Trudge

I was dreading the section of road between Pohenagamook and my next destination St Alexandre de Kamarouska, as it was the only route to the south of the Trans Canada Highway linking New Brunswick and Laurentian Quebec, and as I feared I soon heard the rumble and roar of heavy trucks passing along it even before the sun rose on Monday October 20th. 
A few kilometres out of town there was an ATV track running parallel to the road and I had conflicting advice on the safety of using it during the moose season.  But if it was a toss up between being killed by traffic or hunters, I chose the latter, and for around seven kilometres I had a peaceful and pleasant ride through the woods and survived to tell the tale..

But then I was forced back onto the road.  Although there were occasional traffic free gaps...

...it was inevitable that within seconds a terrifying convoy of enormous tractor-trailers (as they call the huge truck-trailers here) would hurtle past within inches. None slowed down a smidgin.   My main worry was that a moose or deer would jump out and spook Lady into the road in front of one of these monsters, and there were ample reminders of the presence of moose....

 

The only safe solution was to lead Lady, and lead her I did for over twenty kilometres.  I had grave worries that my knee would not last out, but Sian had lent me a knee brace which enabled me to hobble along, taking frequent rest breaks en route.  And actually to my surprise after a while my knee began to fell better, though my leg ached.

The marshy tip of Lac Morin

but at last we leave the wilderness behind and come out into the cultivated St Lawrence valley..

It was another two or three hours ride to the house of  Dave and Marie-Helene Malenfant, who provided Lady with a stable and me with bed, shower and supper.  Frustratingly it transpired that their house was actually six kilometres south of St Alexandre, so it was an even longer day that I had been expecting. But I was relieved to get this nasty section over and I arrived tired but content.

Dave and Marie-Helene with children Youri and Jessy, not forgetting the daft dog

The Malenfants run a tack shop in Riviere du Loup, and Dave had kindly brought back a selection of riding helmets for me to choose from and I left Helene's helmet there to be picked up. I am now sporting a rather weird black helmet decorated with roses to replace my admittedly even more outlandish 'Chinese hat'.

Just the Two of Us

 Manon picked me up from the bus station Riviere du Loup on Saturday October 18th.  I had another slight panic when I discovered I had left my riding helmet behind, as I refuse to ride without one. Regrettably, relatively few people wear safety helmets in North America, but after phoning around we found one to borrow, and Manon kindly drove me over to fetch it.
I was fearing a traumatic separation between the two horses, but it was trouble free.  We put Del in the stable with the other horses, and Lady trudged off up the road without a whimper. 
It was a fairly short ride to our night's lodging at St Alzear...

.......where we were staying with charming Helene Durette who had lent me the helmet.  Helene and husband Regis used to run a restaurant in Toronto before moving to St Alzear where Helene runs a bakery and they keep horses.  Here are the family demolishing a very tasty cottage pie she had cooked for the occasion.  Regis and Helene with three of their four lovely sons, Carl, Gabriel and Alexis (who generously vacated his bedroom for me).. 

Lady with her bovine barn mates the following morning, Sunday October 19th....

Not only did Helene let me continue to borrow the helmet, but she sent me off armed with a substantial packed lunch.

Because I had been ordered off the Trans Canada Trail and the Highway was off limits, I was now forced to strike southwards to Pohenagamook on the border with the United States. The first part was along a quiet gravel road, though I kept a wary eye out for moose hunters as I had once again managed to coincide with the local moose hunting season..

I heard a few shots in the distance and at one point a truck and trailer rattled past with the ungainly legs of a moose carcase waving around awkwardly in the air, but both Lady and I were liberally covered in hunting orange to keep the bullets at bay.

At Pohenagamook we hit the main road running west that we needed to follow, though being Sunday we were spared the lorry traffic.   We reach Lac Pohemagamook..

 I still needed to find somewhere to kip down for the night, but fortuitously when we reached St Altheure further along the lake, amiable local resident Francis (shown below holding Lady) took us under his wing and organised lodging with a friend - a garden to tether Lady......

....beside which was a large shed where they had thoughtfully put a mattress on a pool table for me to sleep on..

..though it looked a bit too much like some sort of ghastly operating table from a horror film for my liking.  On top of this I realised it was going to be a bit too much to scramble up with my bad knees, so I moved the mattress to the floor.   I found a cosy spot to snuggle down in my sleeping bag and read my Kindle, while Francis kept turning up at intervals with items of food to revitalise me.  

Putting My Feet Up...

...which is exactly what I did for five days after I arrived chez MacFarlane on Thursday morning.  I was immensely grateful to them, particularly as their house was already bursting at the seams with extra guests - at one point they even nearly moved out to make room for me!  But I had the house to myself at the weekend apart from son Jonathon, and was able to rest in bed, read, potter to the shops and generally recuperate peacefully.  Monday October 13th was Thanksgiving, and my knee felt well enough for me to drive out to visit Barb and Neil in Nortondale - here they are with talkative family member...

In the evening David and Marion arrived home from a trip to Montreal, and I was most happy to join them for a glass of bubbly and a piece of wonderful Pavlova made by Jonathon...

I had been hoping to reach Ottawa by horse this autumn, and had arranged to leave the horses over the winter at the International Equestrian Centre run by fellow compatriot Sian Thomas and her Argentinian husband and ex polo player Sebastian Rodrigeuz.   My accident threw all my plans in the air as it was obvious that I would not have time to reach my planned destination, though I should be able to reach Quebec city.  So where to winter the horses? But the wonderful Jacques Charlesbois (a friend of Sian and Sebastian), kindly offered to pick me up in his trailer from wherever I ended up.
So the following day I set off on the long drive to deliver my truck to Sian's where it would also spend the winter, picking up my pack saddle and baggage from Manon's en route. I also took the opportunity to research a few places to stay as the cold weather was creeping in and I would no longer be able to carry a tent.

Supper at Sian's.  L to R:  Jacques wife Louise,  Argentinian horseman Martin Hardoy who has come to help out for a few months, Helen, Sebastian, son Lucas - out of sight are Jacques and Sian.

...But Not For Long.

Tuesday Oct 7th and as I loaded the horses in the morning Del seemed unsettled, high blowing at something invisible across the fields. The two horses pulled me along the track as I set off walking, and quite suddenly took fright at a falling leaf or somesuch and took off down the trail, leaving me face down on the gravel.  After a few hundred yards they stopped at an anti ATV gate, but my relief was short lived as Lady squeezed through the narrow gap in the barrier, complete with baggage packs, one containing my brand new tablet. The two horses disappeared across the golf course on the other side, leaving skid marks across the greens in their wake, while I trudged morosely behind, wondering if I would ever see them again.
But suddenly they reappeared, and having had her fun, Lady came trotting straight up to me.
Not a good start to the morning and I led them for a few kilometres until I thought they had calmed down.  We happened to be passing ,...

....and  I must say I wondered if St Louis was having a laugh at my expense.

This section of the trail was blocked at regular intervals by gates as shown below...

..and I was glad it was not raining as I could dispense with the tarpaulin and securing rope, which meant I only had to unload and reload the two packs every time - still quite a bother.

The day proceeded without further incident, and I arrived safely at St Honore de Temiscouata, where Paulo had arranged a place to stay with Manon Damours, shown below with Lady and the fluent English speaking mayor of St Honore Richard Dube who came to greet me...

Manon not only provided us with food and accommodation, but phoned around and sorted out places for us to stay for the following three nights!

Perhaps a portent of things to come was a phone call from David and Marion Macfarlane to say my truck had been broken into, but though they thought petrol had been taken from the tank and they could not find my car documents, nothing else appeared to have been stolen.

It was a wet morning on Wenesday Oct 8th as we left St Honore for the long ride to the stables of Denis Fortin in Riviere Verte..

 

 

..but the horses seemed far more settled and we made good progress for the first ten kilometres. My spirits lifted, but not for long as around the corner came a vehicle bearing a trio of jobsworth officials who insisted I get off the trail immediately as it was only for bicycles.  No amount of pleading would sway them. This in spite of the fact that only motorised vehicles were banned on the warning signs, and I had not seen a single bicycle for miles. Does this also mean one has to take a bicycle with you if you want to walk the trail?  They even went so far to call the police, though the policeman who turned up as I was riding miserably back along the gravel road to St Honore was very sympathetic even if he could not do anything.

 

Del had already been unsettled by the bother with the officials, and as the policeman drove off something upset her again. This in turn unsettled Lady and suddenly the two of them bolted flat out down the road and I was completely unable to stop them.  I had been pulled off-balance by Lady and had no idea where I was headed, so decided in the circumstances to make as much of a controlled dismount as is possible at full gallop.  I managed to land on my feet but inevitably crashed forward onto my knees, while the reprobates disappeared round the corner.  Battered and bruised, I struggled to my feet, but at least the fact that I could hobble along meant it was unlikely I had broken anything.  Dreadful images of the horses crashing into lorries flashed through my mind, but thankfully I found them grazing peacefully on the roadside about a kilometre further on, though only a few hundred yards from the Trans Canada Highway.  Then it was a long limp of around 7 kilometres back to Manon's.with the horses in tow.

The horses went in the corral and I lay on the sofa while Manon plied me with ice for my right knee which was most badly swollen.  Mayor Richard Dube kindly came round to help discuss my next course of action.  It was obvious I could not carry on riding until my knees had recovered, and I also made the decision that having been bolted on twice, I could not risk a third episode, particularly at my advanced age!  I would leave Del behind and continue with Lady once I was better, and in the meantime I would take the coach to Fredericton to rest at the Macfarlanes', and sort out and move the truck.   Although I was sure there was nothing broken, a nurse who keeps her horse at Manon's looked at my knee and advised me to go to hospital first.

 

So after quickly sorting out a few essentials I was driven to Riviere du Loup and dropped at the hospital, where after several hours of hanging around it was pronounced that I had not broken anything (as I thought) and did not have any infection (as the nurse had feared).  But I was advised to rest my leg completely and use crutches.  An unedifying sight but where has my knobbly knee gone?...

 

  After all this palaver there was just time to catch a middle-of-the-night bus to Fredericton, where David picked me up from the station.

Things look up.

Saturday October 4th and our little caravan was on the road again in better shape after our rest and renovations and ready for the excitements ahead.
  It may only be the beginning of October, but it looks as if a buzz is already building up for one future excitement - the pumpkins could be a clue...

I was happy to get back on the Trans Canada Trail which recommences from Edmundston..

Rain was forecast for the evening, so I was lucky to bump into (not literally!) local cyclist Gil Lisotte just outside St Jacques, who invited me home for tea and cake with his wife....

...and gave me some sound advice on places to stay overnight.  Which is how I came to be staying warm and dry in this bijou hotel on a prime waterfront location in the Jardins de La Republique Provincial Park.

 

Just as well, as it started raining almost as soon as I had settled in, and carried on all night and into Sunday. 

Sadly my camera temporarily gave up the ghost in the damp after this photo was taken the following morning, and as I have not yet worked out how to download photos from my mobile phone, images of my momentous entry into Quebec will have to wait until another day.

Paulo had sorted out some contacts for the horses and me to stay with, and in my sodden state I was glad to be able to dry out at the cosy home of Serge Grondin at Degelis.  Serge and girlfriend Lise made me most welcome, and I joined the family for a very French introduction to Quebec in the evening - a delicious meat fondue with a bottle of wine.

 

Serge and Lise form bookends in the photo, with Lise's father, daughter Alexandra and boyfriend in between.

 Entering Quebec is like entering France, as everyone speaks French, and many people have limited if any English.  Unfortunately as a result I am impelled to inflict my dreadful schoolgirl French on the poor Quebecois, but they are very understanding and are even sometimes nobly prepared to lie through their teeth and compliment me on my 'good French'!.  If only.

 About to cross the Temiscouata barrage on the morning of Monday 6th October.

 

 This holds back the waters of Lake Temiscouata. and we spent a fabulous day following a glorious section of Trans Canada Trail along the lakeside to beyond the town of Temiscouata.

A beautiful autumn morning..

.....with mist rising off the lake.. 

The trail is well kept with picnic spots and even toilets, though they are sometimes boarded up.

 A narrow defile..

 View from a lakeside house....

 

I had a slight panic when we were faced with this blocked off section of the trail near Notre Dame du Lac where major drainage works were in progress -

 

 As the only alternative route was the Trans Canada Highway it was a worrying moment, but luckily the nice young foreman took pity on me and let me lead the horses through one by one along the narrow side path - "just this once" though it is most unlikely I will be riding this way again!

A lovely spot to brew up a cuppa..

 

Another stunning lake view..

As dusk was falling, I found a safe grassy camp spot by a river just beyond Temiscouata town.

 I had places to stay arranged for the next couple of days, Del's lameness issues seem to have been solved by Paul's trimming and shoeing, and things seemed to be looking up...

 

The Beaulieus to the Rescue.

I set off from Bellefleure on the first day of October feeling decidedly down in the mouth with a lame horse, a broken laptop, and to cap it all I had lost another filling in my teeth.  The prospect of another tramp along the main road (as I was leading Del most of the way) did not fill me with delight.  At least the sun was shining and my progress was cheered by these three friendly French horsemen who came to chat..

...and by these ladies with a houseful of cats who invited the horses to graze in their garden for a while and gave me a welcome can of lemonade.......

But I was nearly at the end of my tether, and it is an understatement to say I was relieved to see Jean Pierre Beaulieu turn up with his trailer to where we were waiting at the abandoned New Moon restaurant on the old highway....

 

 

 to take us back to his lovely home at St Basile near Edmundston. 

Jean Pierre had also hosted Kimber Sider, a young Canadian woman who rode across Canada in 2008 with her horse Kat.  Kimber was one of the contacts provided for me by Rhonas Taylor of Sumac farms in Nova Scotia, as she had also helped Kimber when she started from the coast near New Glasgow. And it was Kimber who passed on the contact details for Jean Pierre.  More of Kimber later.

What a luxury to have a good meal, a comfortable bed, and relax in front of the television!  While the horses had comfortable loose boxes and then a grassy paddock with access to a barn with hay.

On Thursday I had a day off and the Beaulieus helped to sort out all my problems.  Jean Pierre's wife Linda drove me around untiringly, back and forth to Staples to sort out a new tablet to replace the laptop which was beyond repair, and to an emergency appointment she booked with a local dentist, while Jean Pierre organised friend Paulo over to reshoe the horses. Paulo is a very experienced farrier who was forced to give up full time farriery due to heart problems. He reckoned that Del's soles needed trimming and opening out. 

On Friday Jean Pierre trailered Lady and me down to the New Moon to ride back to the house while Del had another day's rest.  I enjoyed cabin and barn parties in Newfoundland, but here a productive couple of days were rounded off with a tack room party! 

L to R: Paulo, neighbour Ghislaine, Jen-Pierre and Linda, neighbour Olivier.

 

 



It Never Rains.....

Although we were making good progress, I started to face continual little setbacks, not least because Del was displaying an intermittent unsoundness.  Lady also managed to acquire a nasty girth gall one day, ironically as I had adjusted the pack saddle girth so it was more centred, which caused a rib on the girth to rub behind her elbow.  The girth is back off centre again now!
Monday 29th September. A wet day again - you can see we are now on the other side of the river which we crossed at Perth..

Crossing the bridge at Aroostock - this is where Lady stepped on my expensive waterproof trousers and ripped a leg zip so they are no longer waterproof..

Del's unsoundness seemed worse so I got off and walked for much of the way..

Arriving wet and tired at a damp camp spot beside a potato shed...

 

But I perked up enormously when Rosie from the house opposite invited me in for supper with husband Gaston.  And insisted I come for breakfast the following morning Tuesday 30th September.. 

 I needed cheering up as I had just discovered that the horses (I suspect Lady) had raided the baggage for food, removed the protective tarpaulin and distributed my chattels around in the rain.  Del also lost the strap for her hobbles, though I managed to replace it with a soft rope from a hardware store on our way round Grand Falls, attracting a certain amount of surprise when I parked the horses outside.
I stomped on in the rain, and in the circumstances was not best pleased to find an unavoidable anti ATV gate at the bridge across the river at Grand Falls.  The photo below is after I have just spent twenty minutes unloading Lady, leading her through the gap, re-loading the bags and re-roping the tarpaulin.

 The air was even more blue when I reached the other side to find another gate. On top of this the trail disappeared into thicker and thicker vegetation...

It transpired that this section of the trail has not been developed yet, but it took some bumbling around to find the alternative road route north to St Leonard - an hour and a half wasted and a long trudge ahead.

Not a happy bunny...

 In the late afternoon I managed at last to find a safe grassy spot to overnight the horses at Bellefleure behind the house of French Acadian Burton Bellefleure, shown here with son Richard and daughter-in-law Brenda Madore, a former truck driver!   Richard is the one with the crow on his head.

Warm-hearted Brenda came up trumps and provided a very weary and grateful traveller with meal, shower and bed for the night.
But when I settled down to go on my laptop, I discovered the screen was shattered - Lady must have trodden on it during her midnight rampage...