Since our last bicycle trip in 1995 (see From Montréal to New York in 4½ days on this site), Scott and I have been planning several long rides but, for one reason or another, nothing happened. However, last summer, a scaled­down alternative looked feasible. I had already rented a cottage on Lake Nominingue, 200 km (120 miles) north of Montréal. This lake happens to be about 50 km (30 miles) from the end of the P'tit train du Nord bicycle trail (literally, the "Li'll Northbound Train Trail"), a 200 km­long trail on a decommissioned railroad passing through forests, fields, small towns, and snaking around beautiful lakes and mountains, from St­Jérôme to Mont­Laurier. Scott liked the idea and arrived in Montréal on Thursday, July 24.

The route

Most people who ride the P'tit train du Nord bicycle trail prefer to start at the beginning of the trail in St­Jérôme. Others go there for the special shuttle bus that take cyclists and their gear right to the end of the trail in Mont­Laurier, to take advantage of the gentle north to south slope (3­4 %). As for us, our destination was Lake Nominingue, and to rough it up a little bit, we decided to start form my place, right in the middle of the island of Montréal, and from there, to take the shortest route to St­Jérôme, 50 km (30 miles) due north, which happens to be busy Route 117.

DAY 1 ­ Friday, July 25 - From Montréal to Val­David (100 km ­ 60 miles)

We left Outremont at about 11 in the morning. It was a cool and sunny day, just right for cycling. We quickly reached Montréal's north­south bicycle trail, going through the small residential streets of the northern part of the island. We soon crossed the Ahuntsic Bridge to reach Laval, a vast nondescript suburban expanse crisscrossed by buzzing highways. The shortest way is Boulevard des Laurentides (Route 335), and the only nice thing I can say about it is that it is direct and relatively flat. We were lucky to cross Laval in the morning because the day was already getting hot. In front of us, there was a tall, thin girl heading north just like us. She didn't look like an athlete, but she lead most of the time until she went her way, on the north shore. We were impressed (to be fair, let's say that she was not carrying heavy panniers like us). Scott boasted that he could pass her, but then he wouldn't see her anymore.

To reach the north shore, we had to pedal a few more kilometers eastward because the bridge connecting with Route 117 was being rebuilt. From Bois­des­Filion to the 117, we followed pleasant Route 344 along Rivière des Mille­Îles. Riding on Route 117 is not my idea of fun; visually, it looks like an unending anonymous suburban street with small businesses interspersed with patches of countryside. However, it is rather flat and its large shoulder is very convenient for cyclists. Later, Scott noticed a bad wobble on the back wheel of his rental bicycle; it had a couple of loose spokes, and we had nothing to fix it. It was about 1:00 p.m. and the asphalt was getting hot. Fortunately, we were not very far from St­Jérôme, where we easily found a bicycle repair shop. "It'll be ready in twenty minutes", the lady said. This is how we got stranded in a dairy bar for two hours, nibbling frozen yogurt and other delicacies, and chatting with friendly locals who were so glad to explain to us with minute details how to reach the start of the trail at the former station. From St­Jérôme and up, most people are French and many of them don't speak English, but they will gladly direct you to somebody who does. Finally, everything was ready; Scott kept the bill to claim it later to the bicycle rental store, and we bought the special tool to tighten spokes, which should be part of any standard cyclist tool kit anyway.

That forced pit stop was good for Scott's bicycle, but it proved to be disastrous for our nutritional balance. Needless to say, we spoiled our appetite completely there and, not hungry anymore, we decided to skip lunch and we hit the trail around 3 p.m. The trail is a smooth, two­lane, generally well tended graveled path. The hybrid bicycles we were riding are just about perfect for the mixed road and trail itinerary we were following. The fresh shaded trail on the bank of the Rivière du Nord is quite a break for anybody just out of torrid 117. Some people were swimming or picnicking on the shallow beaches, but we had to move on to make up for the time lost. We were hoping to find a decent place for coffee in Mont­Rolland, but there was none near the station, and we had no time to look for one. A few kilometers up the trail, we went by lake Raymond and its municipal beach, a nice place indeed. Traffic was light now, but on that part of the trail, it can get quite dense on weekends. You can get stuck behind toddlers, old folks or even pedestrians with their dogs trotting along. Thank God, you won't see any skaters there, because the designers of the trail had the good sense not to pave the thing (more likely, they were denied the money).
 

Around 6 p.m., we were closing in on Val­David, our first stage, but we were feeling weak because we didn't eat the right food in St­Jérôme. We could have stopped for a bite in Ste­Adèle, a cute resort place we passed by, but on the other end, we had to get to Val­David as soon as we could in order to reserve a camp site, a risky business on a hot Friday afternoon. The grade was steeper now and we could certainly feel it after riding 100 kilometers on an empty stomach. I was thinking that they didn't call this region "les Pays d'en­haut" ("the Country on the top") for nothing. Worse, we were riding straight into the sun; blinded by the sunset, I almost cut off a beautiful blonde who was going at breakneck speed on the opposite side of the trail.

We finally made it to Val­David at 7 p.m., and the first thing we did was to visit the municipal tourist office to get a camp site. We were lucky: there was one left in a camping ground a few kilometers out. At last, the only thing left for us to do was to choose a decent place to eat and rest. Val­David, a small town thriving on tourism, offers a wide variety of restaurants and entertainment spots, but we went straight to the nearest good­looking place, sporting a terrace and a signer. However, the food was expensive and so­so.The music wasn't much better and the signer had the nerve to complain because the patrons weren't showing enough appreciation for his art. A little stiff, we laboriously climbed back on our bicycles and headed for the camping ground. It was getting dark now. As luck would have it, we got lost and had to ask for our way. Folks up there are friendly and will gladly direct you to any place, even if they don't have the slightest idea about where you want to go (a good trick is to ask at least two different people and hope for a consensus). We finally reached the camping ground, a family outfit in a dip near noisy 117. The "last site" was exactly that: a small lot in the middle of a trailer park that we had to share with other latecomers. We took a dip in the muddy pond and went straight to sleep. I must have slept very well; according to Scott, five minutes after I went in my pup tent, I was snoring like a badly greased engine.

Scott in the Labelle Train Museum
 

DAY 2 Saturday, July 26 - From Val­David to Lac­Nominingue (100 km ­ 60 miles)

The second day was fair and fresh, just like the first one. Around 9 a.m., we went back to town for breakfast but only two restaurants were open at that ungodly hour in sleepy Val­David. The first one was full and the second one, empty, but it was advertising expresso, cappuccino and all sorts of yummies that made my mouth water. This joint was tended by a sturdy man in his sixties, Vladimir, manager, cook, waiter and janitor of the premises. We ordered a classic bacon and eggs with toast breakfast, with double espresso. Soon after, the coffee is served; but there is a burnt coffeepot aftertaste to it and worst, it's lukewarm; bad omen! Then the breakfast: the black Polish bread toast is cold and dripping with melted butter, the overeasy eggs are overcooked and scorched, and the bacon is badly burnt. At this time of day, I am not in a mood for an argument, so, resigned, I start chewing. Then Vladimir, probably bored, comes to our table for small talk. Scott tells him squarely that the coffee is undrinkable, and as Vladimir picks up our cups, Scott slips his toast on the tray and says: "You might as well replace these too, they're inedible." Nonplussed, Vladimir leaves with his tray. Scott tells me that he feels bad because he didn't return the eggs and bacon too! A little later, Vladimir is back with the toasts and coffee (he didn't bother to change our cups). He apologizes; he is alone and it is kind of hard to do everything perfectly all at once, you know. Then he graces us with the story of his life. Son of a poor Polish emigrant, he was raised in the streets of Montréal, where he learned both French and English. Later, he emigrated to the United States, joined the Marines and fought in the Korean War as a captain. Taken prisoner in a North Korean camp, he learned both Korean and Chinese. When he came back to the United States, he worked for the CIA to prepare for the Bay of Pigs invasion (I cannot help thinking that his participation must have something to do with the monumental fiasco that followed), and now he is retired and he goes fishing for Arctic char in a bush plane on some lake way up north (but he never eats fish).
 

Then Vadimir, having recognized Scott's American accent, asks him about his ethnic origins. To which Scott replies that he is "100 % American". But this is not good enough for Vladimir. Scott has to specify that his ancestors emigrated from Poland and Latvia a century ago to flee the pogroms. Vladimir, detecting thin ice under his wooden shoes, moves on and starts blasting Québec's economic and political situation which is, according to him, "an unstable mess". Now it's my turn to take offence: I can tolerate bad food or poor table service from a waiter, but political science lectures given by same are more than I can take. I correct him, pointing out that Québec is rather "a stable mess" ­ which, at any rate, is not so much better and, should I say, can be said of most other North American administrations. So much for Vladimir the Terrible, the poor slob who stumbled upon the restaurant trade. Needless to say, we left no tip.

Still dumbfounded, we climbed back on our bicycles to do the thing we liked best, kicking up some more gravel and dust. The kilometer gulping machines were back on. This time, we were carrying digestible carbohydrates, like cookies and bran muffins we bought in Val­David. The trail was almost empty and very pleasant. We were riding side by side, chatting and having fun. Sometimes, we were riding near Route 117, crossing mixed forests, going up or down mild slopes. We went by Ste­Agathe, a nice little town with a fine restored train station just for cyclists. Later, we zipped by the St­Faustin trout hatchery. We didn't stopped there either because we wanted to have lunch in Mont­Tremblant Village, past St­Jovite. This is a small resort town in a valley near Mont­Tremblant Park, on the shore of beautiful lake Mercier. After some rest and a bite in a setting of lakes, hills and mountains, we moved on. Near the 100-km post which marks halfway to Mont­Laurier, in the middle of nowhere, there is a vegetarian restaurant located on an ecological camping ground, where you can nibble a blueberry muffin and sip some herbal tea, if you are so inclined. We stopped at the former train station of Labelle, which had been converted into a very pleasant stop, complete with a small restaurant and a railway museum. Then we moved on to the town of L'Annonciation, riding at a brisk pace.

From Labelle and up, there is a dramatic change in the scenery. Obviously, with its lakes, mountains, parks, ski and summer resorts, the Laurentian region is the natural playground of Montréal, but Labelle is the limit. As you move further north, the bicycle trail goes trough fields, pastures and logging areas; now, it follows mighty Rivière Rouge, which was used to float wood down to the South (now the wood is trucked on Route 117, which is only two lanes wide, not a very pleasant ride). This is wild country; you don't see too many cyclists either. In La Macaza (a former Bomarc missile base during the Cold War), the trail crosses a small canyon on a former railroad bridge. A few people were picnicking and swimming on a gorgeous sandy beach, and there was a beautiful covered bridge upstream.

A few kilometers before L'Annonciation, Scott broke a spoke, and we had no spare. This was bad news because on a rough surface, a broken spoke can puncture a tire at any moment. We had to slow down. In L'Annonciation, the last town before lake Nominingue, we looked in vain for a bicycle shop. It was 3 p.m. and most places except food stores were already closed for the weekend. To put all the chances on our side, we left the bumpy trail and switched to the dreaded, but smooth­surfaced 117. After a few more kilometers, we turned left on Route 321 and soon hit some real hills, the first since the beginning of the trip. We were really close now; if Scott's wheel gave out at that point, what an anticlimactic end it would be! So up we went, then down again to the lake. That was a wonderful sight. It was about 4 p.m., and Huguette was waiting for us in the cottage she had just finished cleaning: our timing was perfect. There was even some cold beer in the refrigerator. But first, we went for a swim in the lake to give some slack to our constricted muscles. The sun was still shining and the water was warm. Oh! what a beautiful day!

According to the plan, Scott and I were supposed to go to Mont­Laurier a couple of days later to see the end of the trail, but we had to cancel that project because Scott's fingers were still numb from the trip. This is one of the problem you can expect with a rented bicycle, or any bicycle you're not used to. We decided to take it easy and two days later, the three of us went up the trail to Lac­Saguay, some 20 kilometers north. The trail is nice and easy, but there is not much to see there, and the food at the local eatery was lousy (I couldn't even get a decent poutine). So that was it for our ride on the P'tit train du Nord trail. We certainly enjoyed canoeing, picnicking and swimming on the pristine lakes of the Papineau­Labelle Wildlife Refuge, but this is another story. If you enjoy visiting vast and uninhabited expanses of wildlife, the Hautes­Laurentides (Upper Laurentian Region) is for you. And, except if you live in Yukon, it is probably a lot closer than Alaska.

Conclusions

A word about the name of places in Québec. Many visitors are surprised by the abundance of towns named after weird­named saints who, obviously, never set foot in North America. The explanation is simple. Most of these towns were founded by settlers one century or two ago. In those days, the Catholic parish priest was often the only person who could read or write and for that reason, his duties also included those of representative of the government for civil matters like, for instance, registering births, marriages and deaths. When a name had to be selected for a new settlement, to avoid petty disputes between the settlers, the good man would simply open his prayer book and pick up the name of the saint of the day. That "saint du jour" approach gave Québec a profusion of toponyms honoring mostly Greek and Latin saints from the I^st to the IV^th century because these early saints, virgins and martyrs simply monopolized the Catholic church calendar (which, like most calendars, has only 365 days).

A word about eating well in Québec. This trip report probably gives a negative impression as to the gastronomic possibilities of the P'tit train du Nord bicycle trail. It is a fact that we were not lucky on this trip but then, we took little time to explore. I would advise cyclists who want something better than the usual fast food not to stay on the trail but to go directly to the nearby towns. There are plenty of good restaurants in places like Ste­Adèle, Ste­Agate, St­Jovite and around Mont­Tremblant Park, which are ski resorts in winter time and attracts a lot of tourists all year round. Good restaurants may be harder to find past the park, but the task is probably not impossible. Read the excellent trail guide, which shows, kilometer by kilometer, all the resources available for the travelers. Ask fellow cyclists you will meet everywhere or get some advice from the tourist office people. Bonne randonnée et bon appétit!

References

• Laurentians Tourist Guide ­ Association touristique des Laurentides / Tourisme Québec,

Official Park Services Guide, "P'tit train du Nord" Linear Park.
• The Tourisme Québec Web Site.
• The Vélo du Nord shuttle bus (from St-Jérôme to Mont-Laurier): (514) 436-3637 or 1-888-500-VELO.
• The Association touristique des Laurentides Web Site (under construction; French only now, but see the neat clickable map under "Parc linéaire").

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