We thought we were prepared for anything. But we were wrong. Setting out from Rimouski, which turned out to be a very bike-friendly city with a wonderful system of cycling paths, already a light rain was falling. We waved and grinned at other cyclists, united in our resistance to the conditions and considering ourselves among the hard core. We convinced ourselves that it was better than facing stiff headwinds. That it wouldn't last. And that we could make 60 miles today.

Ten miles into the ride the rain was coming down hard. The temperature dropped into the 40s, and the wind whipped away what little warmth we had. The big highway that had drained off the major traffic the day before joined our route. Semis thundered by, not only sucking us into their slipstream but dousing us with their heavy road spray.

Stopping under the awning of a gas station to wait out a particularly heavy burst of rain, I added a layer of clothing and even Rich began to shiver. We made a pact – next motel we find, we stop. Checking with the gas station attendant, we learned the bad news. The next motel was 12 miles down the road – at least an hour away for us. There was nothing to do but forge on. The good news was that he was right – as promised we found a “Resto-Motel” which would satisfy not only our need for warmth and shelter, but also conquer our hunger. We limped in on our icy feet and tried to thaw our hands to sign the registration forms.

We only made 20 miles today. But the beauty of this trip is that we have no firm schedule. No need to press on foolishly. We can bail out when we want. And so we did.

Huddling under the porch of an abandoned restaurant

Drying out in our motel room

Living it up with a gourmet dinner and wine from the local store

They were as different as night and day. Fortunately!

Day 1: Getting Nowhere, Slowly

Yesterday started off nicely enough. Having tired of dreary motels, we'd opted for a small B&B the night before. As we lounged in the early morning, sunshine poured in through the window, which we were happy to see again. We had a wonderful breakfast and good conversation with the innkeeper and a pleasant couple from France. Yes, it was a very good start to the day.

Breakfast at the B&B

Leaving La Maison entre Mer et Montagnes in Cap-Chat

But it all ended there. By the time we got to the end of the driveway, we were hit with the full force of a raging wind. Coming out of the West, of course. Straight at us. From the first pedal push, we were battling an enormous headwind. It was the 6th straight day in a row that we had to push into the wind, and it was the strongest of our whole trip so far, blowing up to 30mph. The whole day was spent just trying to make headway. Our normal speed of 12mph was reduced to a paltry 8mph, and many times we struggled to maintain 6mph. It's a good thing we had planned a short ride – it took us all day to finish just 40 miles.

On the positive side, it was a flat ride and the scenery was pleasant. But it was hard for us to appreciate those facts. We did have a bit of fun with the enormous Adirondack chairs we found. But always we had to return to the wind. It wore us down, and I couldn't help but think “How many more days can we keep this up?”

Molly relaxing out of the wind

Day 2: Nirvana!

Today was the return of summer and good cycling. Although we started off with a light headwind, by noon the wind switched and turned to – get this – a tailwind! Add in sunshine, mild temperatures and flat terrain and we had a fabulous day made for cycling.

In addition, we rode through a beautiful area. Each town offered a small local road that allowed us to get off the highway. We traveled down pretty quiet streets through prosperous areas where there were homes and cottages right on the water. Many of them were large old historic buildings, still well preserved. Others were small summer homes, also well-kept. Flowers were blooming everywhere, the sun was shining on the water, and it could not have been more pleasant.

It was easy to dawdle along the way, have a picnic lunch, and stop for many photos. And it did wonders to restore our battered souls to happy touring cyclists.

The road through Metis-sur-Mer

Picnic lunch in Metis-sur-Mer

Molly found a friend

Even the lighthouse population was favorable today, with three of them on our route!

Lighthouses in Matane, Metis-sur-Mer and Rimouski

I don't know what tomorrow will bring. There's a good chance for rain. But after a day like today, we're ready for anything.

We'd been warned that things started shutting down in Gaspésie after Labor Day. Since this is an area that is sparsely populated to begin with, that could be significant. Fortunately, that has not been a problem for us. Until now.

Yesterday's afternoon rain prompted us to begin looking for a motel earlier than usual. We'd picked out a couple of towns as potential targets for the night, but if anything came up sooner, we were prepared to take it. We had no such luck, so we were relieved to finally get to the first town where there were a few lodging options. We located them easily enough, but not one answered the door. Three appeared to be either closed for the season or shut down for good. The fourth left a note saying they'd be back at 4:30, but we were not interested in hanging around in the rain for another hour and a half. While we'd kept warm enough while cycling, traipsing up and down the main street knocking on doors had left us cold and wet.

The next target town was another nine miles down the road. We weren't too excited about getting back on our bikes again, but had no choice at that point. So we were very pleased to round the next cape after only a couple of miles and find several motels and restaurants at our disposal! Hallelujah! A tired motel room never looked so good, and a hot shower felt heavenly. Even the skies rewarded us with a beautiful sunset somewhere behind the mountains, glowing around the headland that evening.

Sunset in Mont-Saint-Pierre

To get an early start the next morning, we passed up a sure thing for breakfast and put our bets on finding a restaurant down the road. Our waitress at dinner had recommended one, but we arrived to find it closed. Same thing for the little convenience store. The next option was 15 miles down the road, so out came our reserves. Bagels and peanut butter. You'd be surprised how good they taste when it's the only food in town. By noon we finally found a proper breakfast at our favorite kind of place to stop – a simple homey cafe with good plain food. It was worth the extra journey.

Oh yum! Bagels and peanut butter.

Despite our trials, we still took in the sights along the way. Today's lighthouse is one that I'd read about months ago, and was eager to see. It was a cold and dismal morning when we arrived, and I took refuge in the souvenir shop as long as I could to try and thaw my frosty toes. What surprises me most about the lighthouses we've see in just how small they are. But they are on such high land, that they needn't be tall in order to be high enough to be seen by the ships. This one at La Martre has been in continuous operation since 1906. Indeed it's light was rotating when we were there.

La Martre lighthouse

Not all sights are impressive or historic. Rich took rather a liking to this mermaid in Sainte-Anne-des-Monts. He dubbed it a Purple Cow.

Rich and his mermaid

It seemed we were chasing that slim line of blue sky on the horizon all day. It was always just a few miles beyond our reach. The best I could do was to capture it in a calm pool when the tide was out.

Elusive blue skies

We've been on our bicycles for five weeks now. And we've proven that we can rise above cold, rain, hunger and bad luck. We just keep on cycling, knowing it will all work out in the end.

Progress to date: 37 days, 1630 mikes

The Gaspé Peninsula is divided into several regions. For the last few days we have been in La Haute Gaspésie, which can mean the high or the upper portion of Gaspésie. I choose to go with the high interpretation, as it clearly reflects the geography. Leaving behind the steep red cliffs, here the mountains stretch right down to the water, creating impressive forested headlands. It's a pattern that repeats all along the shoreline – huge capes that jut out into the water with semi-circular bays in between, which typically host small towns, rivers and curved beaches. With the tail end of the Appalachian Mountains as a backdrop, it presents a beauty all its own.

Even in the mist you can see the numerous headlands

It also means hills to climb. Naturally. So imagine our surprise when the road suddenly ceased to mount each ridge, and instead was built at the base of each headland. Perched out on the edge of the steep incline, hugging the edge of the land, immediately adjacent to the water – and perfectly flat! We thought we were in heaven! And it could not have come at a better time. With a light spitting drizzle as a warning, we had just donned our rain jackets and begun cycling through a steady rain. We were so amazed and happy about the flats that the wind and rain were almost immaterial.

Views of the coastal road

The first mileage sign told us that this wonderful road, which was also a designated bike route, would last for 7 kilometers. We were happy with that. But as soon as we passed through a town, we were granted another 8k. And another 6k after that – and so it went for the last 18 miles of our ride for the day! In fact, we followed it for yet another 25 miles today. And by that time, we were nearing the end of La Haute Gaspésie and the mountainous ridges were abating.

Not a soul had told us about this wonderful phenomenon. How could anyone have failed to mention something so significant? Regardless, we were thrilled with it. It was a happy surprise and a true gift.

12% grade. That's the answer to the question: How steep is the hill before Molly will walk her bike? I figured it out very quickly today. We knew that crossing the tip of the Gaspé Peninsula in the Forillon National Park would mean long steep hills. We stopped at the bottom for a fortifying snack before beginning our ascent. The pause was more to gather our wits than it was about needing sustenance. I gritted my way though the first big hill, surmounting it only by standing and pedaling. And breathing hard. After only a brief downhill we were soon ascending again. The road rose, increased in pitch and turned into an even steeper grade. That's the one that did me in. I set my sights on a reasonable goal up the hill, reached it and then allowed myself to succumb to gravity. Rich long ago determined that walking requires far less energy, and sticks to that philosophy. I still prefer to try and conquer each hill under pedal power, but I do have limits. I found them today. But only on one hill!

Molly walks her first hill

Rich pauses at the top of the hill

That passage through the hills also divided our day in two. We started off under calm and sunny skies as we skirted Gaspé Bay. The quiet protected waters provided pastoral views reflected in the bay. It was easy cycling which we savored, knowing what was yet to come.

Scenic view across Gaspé Bay

Morning sun and clouds make an interesting view

Upon reaching the other side of the peninsula, we were greeted by the Cap-des-Rosiers lighthouse. Loving lighthouses as much as I do fishing harbors, I was thrilled by the sight. It happens to be the highest lighthouse in Canada. For us it also marked the entrance to the St. Lawrence Seaway. For two Duluthians, that has particular significance, as we live on the extreme opposite end of the seaway. One could sail from that lighthouse all the way through the Great Lakes to our home town!

Cap-des-Rosier lighthouse

The St. Lawrence Seaway also changed our day dramatically. Suddenly open to the large body of water we were slammed by the wind racing down the seaway. It brought a bitter chill off the water, and combined with the clouds that materialized, it quickly became the coldest day of cycling that we've had yet. The coastline also delivered its own set of steep repeating hills. We hadn't expected to encounter them quite so soon, and combined with the headwind we got quite a workout. It was an easy decision not to camp for the evening. We both heaved a sigh of relief when we checked into a motel, with red wind blown faces and chilled fingers and toes. Was it really just this morning we cycled on the flats in the warm sunshine?

Looking ahead, the forecast is for continued headwinds. We already know that BIG hills lay ahead. And I know I'm going to have to walk again. But I'm not going to apologize for it. That's life.

Progress to date: 33 days, 1466 miles

A year ago I'd never even heard of Gaspé. That all changed when Rich came up with the outrageous idea of the Grand Gaspé Cycling Tour. And today, 1466 miles later we're in Gaspé! Throughout all of our planning and certainly as we cycled through the miles, Gaspé has felt like the pinnacle of our trip. Even though we are still only 2/3 of the way done, we can't help but feel like we've made it. Just getting to Gaspé is an accomplishment in itself.

There's really little of value I can add. For now it's enough just to be here. I'll let the pictures show the lead up to Gaspé and our arrival.

Early morning fog just burning off, with the headlands of Percé in the background

Rich by the Coin-du-Banc salt marshes

I'm always happy when we find a good coffee shop!

Coastal view

Cliffs getting higher - as are the cycling hills!

Indian Head Rock

We arrive in Gaspé!

Time to celebrate!

Percé presented us with a dilemma. It is the eastern-most point of Gaspésie situated in a valley between two high ridges, reached by steep and winding roads. I'd read about the spectacular beauty of the area and had my heart set on seeing it. Rich took stock in the advice of another long distance cyclist who sang the praises of the flatter road that bypassed it all. Fortunately, our Warm Showers host enabled us to do both!

But let me back up. For days the weather reports have been predicting rain. So far, it hadn't materialized except at night. Yesterday the threat seemed more ominous as we started out under dark clouds, so we pressed on leaving Port-Daniel early in the morning hoping to beat the raindrops. But we also encountered the beginning of the steep hills in Gaspésie, as well as a stiff headwind coming right off the water. So we had our work cut out for us. Miraculously, the skies cleared once again and we felt comfortable backing off our pace. I thought it even made the wind more tolerable (“ocean breezes” I called them), but Rich begged to differ on that point.

The payoff for the hill work was the increasingly dramatic coastline. The cliffs began to have the same reddish color we'd seen on PEI. And the views were captivating. Beaches still alternated with cliffs along the shore, and the wind whipped the water into reasonable sized waves that pounded the sand. It may not have been a calm warm day, but it had its own appeal.

Coastal View

View of Grande-Rivière

Our host home for the night was in Cap-d'Espoir, just south of Percé. We were surprised to see the return of rural farmland on the landscape, and delighted to find the home inland on a mile of undeveloped land. We were warmly greeted by Nathalie, who also delivered the latest weather report: 90% chance of rain overnight and throughout the next day, accumulating up to 2″ of rain. Would we like to stay a second night? They were the sweetest words we ever heard!

With certain impending rain, she offered to take us into Percé to see the sights. We didn't hesitate for a moment, knowing it might be our only chance. Nathalie was poised to be an excellent tour guide, as she works in the tourism industry, and she enthusiastically showed us the best sights. The Rocher-Percé dominates the seacoast right from the town – I had not expected it to be so close and I imposing! Even in the dreary weather we could appreciate its massive size and unique structure. We walked up the steep hills near the Rocher where there are attracitve red and white buildings belonging to the university and Haritage Canada. Walking the beach and out on the wharf in the brisk air was envigorating and a nice change from cycling.

Our first view of Rocher-Percé

Rich and the Rocher-Percé

Close-up of Rocher--Percé

Shoreline opposite the Rocher

We could see Bonaventure island opposite the town, with its historic buildings. The opposite side of the island is home to over 200,000 northern gannets (cool looking white birds), but it was not the type of day for a boat ride to see them.

Although the drive into town involved some impressive hills, when Nathalie pointed out the continuation of that road going north we began to get the idea. At 13% grade for almost 2 kilometers, it would most certainly be a cycling challenge! But that was only the tip of the iceberg. She then drove us along that stretch, and it is a sight that will forever be etched in my mind! Over the summit, the road twisted and turned with sheer cliff walls on one side and plummeting straight down into the water on the other. Add to that more steep grades, alternating up and down, and I knew I would feel sheer terror trying to navigate it on my bike. I didn't know whether to be relieved that I would be spared the challenge or disappointed not to see those gorgeous views at close range.

There's no doubt that we will be taking the bypass road tomorrow when we forge on. But thanks to Nathalie, we were still able to take in the beauty of Percé. She was right about the rain. It finally caught up with us. And we've spent a relaxing day staying dry with her warm hospitality. She's been a wealth of information and fascinating conversation, and like us appreciates lingering over a bottle of wine in the evenings. Yes, there are many jewels in Percé.

Thank you Nathalie for a great stay!

In many ways we are an unlikely pair. Rich at 6'2″ towers over my 5'1″ frame, and even his bike dwarfs mine. But we have no problem cycling together, trading the lead depending in the conditions and stopping as necessary to accommodate each others' needs.

When it comes to weather, our differences truly surface. While Rich can't tolerate the heat, my capacity for handling the cold is severely limited. Now that the days are shortening, and the weather is cooling off, we look all the more incongruous traveling together. Take yesterday, for example. Clouds obscured the sun for much of the day, preventing its warming rays from raising the temperature our of the 50s. We faced a stiff headwind with a distinct chill off the Gulf of St. Lawrence. My early morning extra layers of warmth never came off. And Rich? He thought it was still mid-summer! We were both comfortable.

Each night we plan the next day's ride in detail. More accurately, Rich plans it out with Google Maps conveniently downloaded to his tablet. That gets transcribed to turn by turn riding directions which he places in his front pack for easy reference. That becomes his bible for the day. Me, I refold my map. The first thing I do upon entering a new province is visit the tourist info center and get a new paper map. I'm a very visual person, and love that tactical reference point in my front pack. It's my reference point for the day, following our progress town by town. We each cling to our own method. But we always make it to the same destination at the end of the day.

Photography is a common interest of ours. We even have nearly identical cameras. But subject matters tend to vary. Rich constantly keeps a lookout for birds, craving an opportunity to either capture a new species or catch an interesting shot of a favorite fowl. Wildflowers are another passion of his. I think he documented every single flower on the Confederation Trail on PEI. For my part, I can't resist harbors. I traipse down to every wharf, pause at each inlet and look for interesting angles on the docked boats. Fishing boats have become a particular favorite of mine. It's rather nice to have two perspectives on the sights we pass.

Two people. One trip. We will probably each tell the stories differently when we get back. But that's the spice of life. It's worked for 1,400 miles so far. I expect it will last for another 800 miles.