(Almost) Everything Italian!

   It doesn’t happen regularly, but occasionally I will go off into other subject matter in this blog, so if you are only here to read about cycling, you’ve been warned: scroll down to the bottom!

   Regular readers will certainly know about my passion for Italy, and not only for the country, which I’ve been fortunate to visit a few times - it has been WAY too long since my last trip, in 2011. The beautiful land and its history, language, art, food, sports and cars all hold a fascination with me!
   I’m certainly proud of my old-French surname, which I learned years ago was derived from the word lormier (lor-mee-AY), a craftsperson of metal hardware for horse riding and harnesses - the Latin word lorum means strap or thong. However, the writer in me finds it interesting that a direct French translation of la rimer is “to rhyme”!
   I am also proud of my Scotch-Irish background with the McKennas on my father’s side and Nolands on my mother’s, and I cling passionately to the Welsh lineage that my great-great-great grandfather Hugh Edwards provided when he emigrated from Wales in 1845. However, I feel a bit disappointed that I have absolutely no Italian heritage in my family.
   Because of my love of cycling, particularly the Pinarello and Colnago brands, I was inspired to learn a little of the language, and when I homeschooled my younger son Carrick, we both dove into Italian lessons more deeply. One of my favorite travel memories was having a discussion, of sorts, with a local Roman citizen on a tram to a Lazio football match at Stadio Olimpico. Through his broken English and my awkward Italian, I learned how he mistakenly ordered the Cleveland Browns jersey he was wearing. I vividly remember the bewildered look on my mother’s face as this whole conversation was going on!
  

   I friend that I made fairly recently speaks the language fluently, and he has been very encouraging in my attempts to practice. He even sends me issues of Italian cycling magazines, as well as issues of La Gazzetta dello Sport, the famous pink-colored newspaper that is the reason for the hue of the race leader jersey in the Giro d’Italia. I can get the gist of reading, but when trying to converse, the speaker would have to slow WAY down, and the return words take too long to translate in my head and come out my mouth!
   My favorite football (soccer) team is Inter Milan, followed very closely by Fiorentina, which inspired the purple color choice (officially Passion Berry Pearl) of my 2016 Honda Fit. I even adorned the rear quarter windows with decals of the gigli rossi – the red lily symbol of the team.
   I love my Fit, as it looks great, handles well and gets good mileage. Most importantly, it is easy for my wife and I to load a couple of bikes in back and go on a cycling adventure. On the business side, I’ve always appreciated how I can deliver a bike to a customer and take along one of my bikes in order to ride somewhere new. That said, I’ve always had to settle for cars that were more on the practical side – either in the form of inexpensive (or free) hand-me-downs or family-friendly four-door sedans or mini-vans.
   In a May blog entry I mentioned my growing interest in cars, not only in their history but also how they operate, and I had been considering a long-term goal of purchasing a really cool automobile. I was initially looking to save up for a few years, finding something at a reasonable price, and the car was definitely going to be something fun, not practical at all.
   Looking back now over the years, some of the cars I’ve driven seem rather pathetic, but you can’t complain when your main goal as a young adult is just getting back and forth to work. Sue’s grandfather passed on a Plymouth Horizon, a near twin of the one pictured below, which is in its perfect environment – the junkyard! The car did allow us to put a hockey goal in the back and go off to one of the nearby frozen ponds or lakes, but it eventually came to grinding halt one evening, with a spit of molten glass beads out the exhaust, followed by me getting out and dashing away a couple hundred feet from the smoking hulk, just for safety!

   I then received a donation from Sue’s grand-aunt, a mid-1980s Cutlass Ciera. The word “cutlass” would spark visions of pirates and Spanish doubloons, but the gold color of this car didn’t really inspire any swashbuckling. I found a photo of the car online in this advertisement from back in the era:

   The only “special feel” I received from that car was the head liner coming loose and scraping on the top of my skull. I remember some electrical problems immerging in that car, but I’d say it became aesthetically tired before actually breaking down…which it eventually did.
   We became a Honda family, owning a couple of Accord sedans, an Odyssey van, a Civic and currently a pair of Fits. Because they all lasted a long time and performed reliably with very minor issues throughout their lives, we remain devoted users of the brand.
  When considering what I might want to purchase, I briefly thought of some of the cars my father owned that now are quite collectable. Dad was a big VW fan, and I recall fondly an early Beetle and a neat, dark green ‘71 squareback similar to the one below:

   Probably the coolest car he had was a ’69 Chevelle, even if his had a very conservative setup. The car's body and color were just like the one below, but only in my imagination did it have the street-rod tires:

   I started dreaming of a 1971 Plymouth Barracuda, a 1968-69 Pontiac GTO or a 1970 Chevy Camaro like the ones I had seen on various restoration shows. However, the prices I was seeing for American “muscle cars” had me quickly putting these machines out of my mind.
   Of course, the Ferraris, Porsches and most foreign sports cars were beyond reason, especially my all-time favorite street car, the Alfa Romeo Tipo 33 Stradale (photo below) from the late 1960s. The company made a modern version that looked pretty sweet and was still crazy expensive, but their Alfa 4C seemed like a compromise, if not a totally impossible goal, depending on where the prices went in a few years.

   At some point during my casual searches, I saw a couple of references made to a “baby Ferrari”, the Fiat 124 Spider. The photo that came up immediately had me hooked - I loved the lines of the small car, plus the luggage and mesh screens on the headlights (to keep pebbles from cracking the glass) were cool vintage touches!

   The story behind this particular model, the Pininfarina Azzurra from 1984, is that it was from a period when Ferrari’s design house took over the 18-year-old model, upgraded it 100 ways and sold it under their own name. The original Fiat 124 Spider, designed by American Tom Tjaarda (CHAR-dah), who is known for the Ferrari 365 California and De Tomaso Pantera, as well as some less glamorous, yet successful cars like Ford’s Maverick and Fiesta MK1 models, was conceived as the “every-man’s convertible”. From 1966 to 1981, Fiat manufactured nearly 200,000 of the affordable cars, approximately 75% of which were imported to the U.S.
   The spunky Fiat Twin Cam engine was designed by ex-Ferrari engineer Aurelio Lampredi and was used in many models of the company’s cars, in several manufactured by fellow Italian carmakers Lancia and Alfa Romeo, plus in a few made by other international builders. The 124 Spider, however, did not live up to the American standards for reliability and rustproofing. Fiat was subsequently forced out of the U.S. market, which is why Pininfarina took over in 1982.
   Despite the fact that there were only 6400 Azzurra (or ‘Spider Europa”, as it was marketed overseas) cars shipped worldwide, it seemed to be underappreciated by collectors. Looking at prices on the internet, I began to think that I would be able to push up my timeframe for purchase. As I would say later, “They only cost about as much as a couple of nice bicycles”, and if I could find a basic 124 in really good shape, my wait would be even shorter!
   As much as that silvery blue color appealed to me, and I saw one or two really nice ones out there, I began to think “Pininfarina…shouldn’t this car be red like a Ferrari?” I was also looking exclusively for cars with the beige interior, since it looked classy and would be cooler with the sun beating on it than the black version would!
   I came across a Facebook Marketplace listing in Elizabeth, New Jersey, for a 1981 Spider 2000. The 124 had been renamed in 1979 to denote the upgraded 2.0-liter engine and had distinctive double bumps in the hood (shown below), added in the early ‘70s to create room for the dual carburetors.

   The car for sale was red with beige interior and had racy pinstripes on the hood and cool orange and yellow stripes along the sides that followed the line of the body and twisted/swapped positions at the dip in the door handle. I found out that the 1981 model was the first year with fuel injection, which not only upped the horsepower, but improved fuel economy and emissions.
   Through phone conversations and a visit in early June, after a bicycle delivery in the area, I got to know Chris and Kevin, two friends who grew up together and became business partners. They owned a couple of used car dealerships and auto body shops in Elizabeth and nearby Union, New Jersey. Apparently, Kevin had purchased a property as part of an estate sale, and the Fiat was included on the premises. Their interests and their businesses involved primarily American muscle cars, so they had just cleaned the Fiat and tuned it up for a quick sale.
   Unfortunately, because of some recent family emergency, they hadn’t had the time to move the cars around the garage where the Fiat was stored, in order to free it up for a test drive. I explained to them that I hadn’t used stick shift since I was a teenager, so at that moment, probably just looking over the car was a better idea. They also knew I was early in my car search process, so no pressure was on anyone at that point.

   There was a brief period of time that I considered the modern Fiat release of the 124 Spider, which was built on the proven and well-respected Mazda Miata platform. The car shared some of the body lines of its 124 predecessor, but its designers really missed the mark by including contemporary, teardrop-shaped headlights, instead of the classic round versions. I think the whole front end look is ruined and makes the car resemble any car on the road these days:

   I hadn’t really spoken to Sue at all about any of this car buying idea, as I was really just collecting information, but the Fiat Spider 2000 really stuck with me. The one listed in New Jersey was in very nice cosmetic condition, and I really liked the fact that it was being sold by people whose business was automobiles!
   I kept looking around and had a couple test drives (as a passenger), but no cars I saw matched the NJ Fiat, as far as the overall condition, the racy look and the confidence I had in the sellers. Before I more seriously considered making a move on that car, I had to talk to Sue. She has really mellowed since her retirement last fall, but I was still a little surprised at how receptive she was to my idea. She was all ready to accompany me for a drive to Union and to serve as my “test pilot”, since she has had recent experience with her brother’s manual-shift Jeep.
   All went well with the test drive, and we had come prepared to pay for the car, so we were heading back to Royersford later that day, with me keeping a rearview mirror eye on an uncomfortable Sue driving the tiny Fiat among the HEAVY truck traffic on Interstate 78. I signaled to her to exit near Clinton, and we took more relaxing country roads across New Jersey and through Bucks County back towards home.
   Living up to the 124’s reputation for electrical problems, there were some things to work out before taking the car in for its inspection. The guys at Leading Edge in West Chester did a thorough check of the Fiat and provided me a useful list of things that will have to be attended to in the future. Unfortunately, the brake proportioning valve (balances brake pressure between the front and rear wheels) was leaking and had to be replaced, and this occurred right before we left for vacation.
   The Fiat was to be kept safe and dry in their garage until we returned from Canada, so it had been ours a long time before I actually had a chance to drive it! After some much-needed practice shifting, I have consistently been out on the road with my Fiat Spider 2000. I’ve made my rounds to give friends rides, and I even let a couple of the “stick experts” among them take the wheel. They enjoyed the opportunity to drive the car, and I found it useful to watch them in action.

   In the past (click HERE), I’ve written extensively on the COVID-induced boom and bust of the global cycling market and how it affected both the tune-up/repair and sales ends of my small business. While the fixing and upgrading of bikes for customers picked up and has never tailed off, the assembly and purchases of vintage racing bicycles, the part of the job that I love, pretty much bottomed out.
   Over the past two years, the market has been slowly coming back, and I have been really encouraged by being able to sell handful of bicycles in 2026. In fact, after an extended period of inactivity, I’m finally returning to some of my own projects, most of which happen to be Italian bicycles.
   I have builds planned for Battaglin, Basso, Colnago and Bianchi frameset that have been hanging in my rafters for months (well, for a couple of them, it’s been years). I also had custom work on one of my friend Brendan’s bikes put on hold during our vacation, as we were looking for an elusive C-Record rear derailleur.
   Turns out that buying a complete Vitus bicycle (equipped with the needed part) via Marketplace was more cost-effective for Brendan than buying just the derailleur on eBay. The bike arrived at my house a few days ago, and I’ll leave you with some photos of his completed 1990 Bianchi Proto Max:

Oh, and it is just over a week until this year's autumn social ride:

Click image for details

Sunlight in Vermont?

   It was a little windy on Thursday (Oct. 8), when Sue and I headed off on a ride around the perimeter of South Hero Island. Luckily, the breezes were coming from the west, so that they were only directly in our faces for the two shortest legs of the route.
   We first rode north a couple of miles from our Airbnb and then made a left turn to hook up with the appropriately-named West Shore Road. There was a fairly consistent line of trees to provide from shelter from the steady wind coming off of Lake Champlain, but occasional breaks would allow great views of the water and the Adirondack Mountains beyond.
   A little surprised at the high quality of the road surface, we enjoyed the gentle rises and falls of the route. Along the way we saw some attractive rocky coves (“I could live there!”) and attractive homes, before reaching the entrance to the ferry that takes passengers and their vehicles across the lake to Cumberland Head, just east of Plattsburgh, New York.
   The lower end of the island had a few more challenging climbs, though nothing tragic. We passed the historic Eagle Camp, which was practically silent at this time of the year, as well as the beautiful grounds of the Snow Farm Vineyard & Distillery, where they were setting up for a weekend wedding.
   I had seen the Roy Marsh Trail marked on the MapMyRide.com website, but as we passed the trailhead, I commented to Sue, “NOT bike-worthy!” We continued on, turning north on South Street, and pedaled past a couple of orchards into “downtown South Hero”, which consisted of a gas station and a handful of other small businesses.

   Making a left turn onto U.S Route 2, we headed up a long, curved drag to the community of Keeler Bay. I can’t say we enjoyed the climb or the cars blowing by us, but the road did have the security of a nice, wide shoulder, and we weren’t going to be on it very long. We made a left just past McKee’s Pub onto NY-Route 314, and crossed over mostly farmland back to West Shore Road.
   After a short climb up Bell Hill Road, near our apartment, I left Sue to do about fifteen miles on my own. I pedaled across the middle of the island and took East Shore Road north along the coastline. Although this road had many more ascents and descents, none were too challenging, and I noticed there were far fewer trees blocking my views of the water and Green Mountains to the east. I could spot Mt. Mansfield, Vermont’s tallest peak (4393 feet) in the distance, the “scar” of one of the Stowe resort ski trails made it obvious.
   I missed a street sign (or it was missing) somewhere along the way and ended up further north than I wanted to be. Because I had told Sue that I would only be about 45 minutes or so, and I had previously concerned her with being overdue on a ride during this trip, I abandoned my original plan to continue meandering around the perimeter of the island. I instead took the direct/fast route back, straight down U.S. 2 to reach NY-314 west.

   It seems that during our trip, Fridays have been the cursed days, as each one has had a downpour or two. The great thing about modern technology and travel is being able to receive reliable(?) forecasts, or at least use local radar and make your plans accordingly. We managed to get the most out of days that have threatened to be wet.
   We saw that the late morning/early afternoon would be our best shot to do something fun, so we ventured out to a few local trails that had been recommended online. During our long travel history together, Sue and I usually squeeze in a hike or two. We were laughing at how tame the routes were that we ended up doing here on South Hero Island. Honestly, we had done much more challenging paths with our sons when they were young.
   We were recalling one particularly route that pushed the extremes a bit, up and over Frankenstein Cliff among the White Mountains of New Hampshire. At the time, it seemed maybe a bit too long, too steep and perhaps we didn’t have an entirely comfortable supply of water and snacks, but it was exciting. After all, everyone came back alive, unhurt, and our boys were having fun!
   Our aim here was just to be outside and possibly find some good views of the lake and surrounding mountains. We discovered a very nice spot in a rocky cove and sat on a log just enjoying the scenery. There were hundreds of perfect skipping rocks nearby, and we would occasionally send some hopping across the water.

   On the way back to the apartment, we stopped at an orchard for a few apples and some (delicious) cider. Sue guiltily grabbed a cider doughnut, but I don’t begrudge anyone gluten, especially someone who makes me bread, occasional pies and other treats that are safe for my system!

   The next morning, I sat down to enjoy Il Lombardia, the last cycling “Monument” of the season, while I ate breakfast. It was exciting to see the young Frenchman, Paul Seixas, redeem himself after feeling like he had let down his teammates at the World Championship last week.
   We were having a bit of trouble deciding what to wear on our planned ride on the Island Line Trail, since temperatures were only predicted to be in the high 50s. It didn’t feel any worse than some of the mornings in Montreal, and I had gotten by then with a thin base layer and a long-sleeve cycling jersey. Spoiler alert: I chose somewhat badly!

   It was sunny, but there was a chilly breeze coming off the water when we started out over the causeway. The situation didn’t improve when passengers ahead of us filled the ferry to capacity, and we had to wait for the next crossing. It was only about a 200-foot channel that the ferry has to traverse, so approximately fifteen minutes later, I was finding a strategic position in which to sit, out of the motion of air, rubbing my arms to get some warmth back in them.

   Unfortunately, when we were back on the bikes, the pace at which had to ride in order to safely share the narrow causeway did not warm me up. Yes, I was uncomfortable, but I could still appreciate how beautiful our surroundings were!
 

   Things became a little more comfortable when we reached Colchester. We were out in the sun, yet sheltered from the wind while weaving through a residential area south of Airport Park. Free from the narrow causeway path, we could also pick up the pace, which did wonders for my core temperature! Soon we crossed the new bridge over the Winooski River:

   In a few minutes, we were riding into the heart of Burlington along Waterfront Park. We passed the Vermont Railway yard and snapped a photo of the lighthouse at the end of the marina’s breakwater:

   The trail came to an end a little over a mile later, just outside of the large playground at Oakledge Park, and we cut east through the residential neighborhood, turning left onto the bike path parallel to Champlain Parkway. We crossed west on Flynn Avenue to loop back to the Island Trail, but not before taking a photo of the World’s Tallest Filing Cabinet – it’s not as great as it sounds, and honestly, it doesn’t sound that great, either!

 

   Back into the waterfront, we stopped at a trailside soft-serve ice cream joint, where I enjoyed the Vermont special, the maple creemee, while Sue enjoyed a chocolate/vanilla swirl combined with raspberry. We reversed our inbound route, including another bike ferry trip, and Sue drove back to the apartment, while I returned alone, pedaling along the lakeside scenery on West Shore Road.
   I am starting to really enjoy doing a lengthy ride with Sue at a slightly-easier pace then doing a high-tempo stretch afterward on my own. This is the third time I’ve carried out this routine during the trip, and each time, I’ve felt a lot of jump in my legs!

   Sunday started off a little gloomy, and we didn’t really have anything major planned to do together, so I was content to watch Paris-Tours, the last really significant race on the pro cycling calendar, while Sue went off on her own to a thrift store we had passed earlier in the week. Paris-Tours used to be held on a fairly featureless, flat course between the two cities, and traditionally a sprinter won. In 2018, organizers added 12.5 kilometers of Chemins de Vigne, gravel tracks through the French vineyards, within the final 60km of the race route.

   Some people argued that the change was making the race “gimmicky”, but I feel that, as long as the feature is distinctive to the region, it gives a race an authentic flavor that makes it interesting and memorable. Events like Paris-Roubaix, with its pavé sections, and Strade Bianche, with its white gravel roads, have come to be incredibly popular with the racers and spectators!
   Despite all the recent exercise we had done, Sue also planned to run a couple of miles on the appropriately-named the Roy Marsh Trail, which bordered some wetlands. When she returned, I was catching up on some writing again, this time while listening to a favorite online jazz music station. Sue told me that out at the trailhead, she came upon a lad walking kind of aimlessly around his Jeep. She asked if he needed a jump start or something, and he flatly answered, “I lost my keys in the swamp.” Obviously, there wasn’t much she could do, and Sue said the guy looked pretty chill, despite the situation.
   Later we returned to the pub for dinner, and it was much busier with pro football games on the televisions, but the gluten-free pepperoni pizza was well worth it. We returned to the Airbnb and loaded some of our belongings into the Fit, in order to ease our workload the next morning. Not wanting to haul any big bags into my cousin’s place, we also put together a small pack with a change of clothes for each of us inside.

   Sue had a restless night of sleep, so she stayed in bed a little longer Monday morning. We were in no real hurry, and we had done most of our packing the night before. I was in the kitchen and glanced at the lovely blackboard art our hostess had done with colored chalk flowers and block lettering saying, “Welcome Sue and Glen”.
   Off and on during our travels we had been rewatching episodes of Seinfeld. A memorable storyline unfolded with George’s fiancée Susan being poisoned by the cheap wedding invitations that had been ordered. Something I had forgotten was that earlier in that episode, Kramer had mistakenly greeted the couple with, “Hey, George, Lily!” When they correct him, he explains, “Well you look like a Lily.”

 We found this particularly amusing because the name Susan is derived from a Hebrew word that means “lily”. This was also quite a coincidence, because not only had we consistently been seeing fleurs-de-lis while traveling across the Quebec province, but I also have red gigli (pronounced JEEL-yee) in the rear quarter windows of my purple Fit. The car color and lilies honor one of my favorite soccer teams, Fiorentina.

   I decided to have fun with Sue and change her name to Lily on the blackboard, re-creating the fancy block letters with the colored chalk, so that it would be less obvious. Despite the fact she was constantly walking by the board as she was gathering up the final few things, she never noticed my work. Not wanting her to miss it before we left, I stood in her way and slowly glanced toward the blackboard a couple of times. “What?” she asked and followed my sightline. Finally, she smiled and laughed at her discovery.
   The amusement was revisited a few days later, when our hostess sent an email apology for getting her name wrong. I giggled as Sue returned an apology for her husband’s prank.
   We had just over four hours of driving ahead of us to my cousin’s place in Portland, Connecticut, and most of it was going to be covering the full length of the state of Vermont. It was clear early on, despite the fall colors, why this state got its name, as the highway constantly weaved up, over, down and around gnarly, tree-covered peaks.
   Despite it being a fairly small, coastal state, Connecticut is also not flat at all. We laughed as we drove up from the state’s namesake river to Sharon’s place, as just like us, with our home up a steep hill just a few blocks from the Schuylkill, if we ever have flood issues, it’s going to have to be of NOAH proportions!

   We had a great time catching up with my cousin and her husband, reminiscing and telling new stories, including tales about our trip. I even received a bit of a bonus, adding another station for my "collection", on the way to pick up my aunt and uncle at their nearby Cromwell, CT, residence.

   During our conversation at dinner, I was left shaking my head, thinking about my crazy brothers and I as young kids. I was feeling sorry for my Aunt Vicki, who had two relatively calm daughters, having to host countless Larimer holiday gatherings with us invading their peaceful Allentown home. My Aunt Vicki kindly said that she didn’t mind the noise as much as she was concerned that we were going to kill each other!
   I relayed a story I had told Sue, when we had spotted a photo of the Three Stooges in a Montreal shop. I explained that my mother would not allow us to watch the Stooges, obviously because she was afraid that we’d try some of their dangerous antics on each other. Sue immediately chimed in, “She already had her own Three Stooges!”

   We grabbed some breakfast in the morning, and because of our simple packing strategy, we were on our way fairly early. I can’t say we were really looking forward to returning home, since we had been to some beautiful places, but living in and out of bags and being away from the convenience of our “home stuff” can grow a bit tiresome. I hope that regular readers enjoy hearing about our experiences - I know that the blog gives me a chance to go back and read some of my old entries, sparking some fantastic trip memories.

Old World, New World

(Borrowing song titles for blog titles again, this time an INXS tune) 

  Monday (Oct. 5) was rainy in the morning, and winds were kicking up, making it feel much cooler. The plus was that the strong breezes dried everything up by the afternoon. There was still a chance of rain in the air, so a bike ride wasn’t going to be a wise choice, and the winds made it seem like it wouldn’t be much fun, anyway!

   We decided that another walk into Old City with a bus ride back was in order, this time avoiding any long staircases, since we had been getting plenty of exercise during this trip. Starting off down Grande Allée, paralleling the western edge of the Plains of Abraham, we eventually turned left on Cartier Avenue. This pretty, shaded street was lined with restaurants and shops, but the obvious feature was the crazy, large lampshades on the streetlights. The shades were imprinted with images of works from the city’s National Museum of Fine Arts.

Providing this map again for reference

   Unfortunately, a dark cloud rolled in and rain started to fall, but we were lucky to be in the right place with plenty of awnings to choose from/stand under for a few minutes until the precipitation stopped. The winds accompanied quickly-moving clouds, and in short time the skies were bright blue and sunny again.
   Turning right on Chemin Sainte-Foy, we walked a couple of blocks and then took a right where the street splits, onto Rue Saint-Jean to reach the gluten-free Hansel and Gretel Bakery. I snapped up a blueberry scone, and we walked on to find something for Sue.
   Moments later we saw a man on a bakfiets, with his two children strapped into the cargo box, making a turn up the STEEP Rue de Claire-Fontaine, and we hoped for his sake that the bike had pedal assist. By the ease at which he continued to climb, it was obvious he did!
   We were nearly back at the Place d’Youville when Sue was able to duck into Les Bruleries de St. Jean for a huge and, what I thought, was a fantastic-looking pain au chocolat. Other than pulling it apart, there was no graceful way to bite into the pastry, but Sue was really hungry, so she used the sloppy technique. I consider my wife an expert on this particular pastry, and through full cheeks, she gave her review, “Good, but not enough chocolat.”
   Veering right onto the Côte de la Fabrique, we passed to the right of the attractive St. Patrick Pub (I doubt they have gluten-free beer) and encountered another wedge-shaped intersection:

   We went to the left on the lesser-travelled Rue Garneau, with the intent to come back down the other side, but we ended up being sidetracked. This turned out to be more of a back alley, and I mentioned to Sue how some of the folks I spied in the windows had to be wondering why we came this way. “They don’t know us,” was her quick reply.
   The street ended at the façade of the University of Laval School of Architecture. Intrigued, we made a left to reach the front gate, which was open. Seeing no signs that we weren’t welcome, we wandered under an archway into a pretty courtyard which was part of the adjacent Catholic secondary school. A few children were there kicking a ball around, and pair of girls were setting a volleyball back and forth to each other.

   Somehow, we had not even noticed that Notre Dame Basilica was just to the right of the gate. Unfortunately, we had just missed the hours for touring the structure, so we moved on. Now on Rue de Buade (the torn-up street we climbed up to on our bikes the other day), we resisted going into the great-looking La Boutique de Noel, since we’ll be complaining about the early start of Christmas commercials in a couple weeks. We instead ventured into Les Promenades du Vieux Quebec, intrigued by the decorative yellow sign to the right of the marquis and the placard in the window, which both stated: Délégations Générales Wallonie-Bruxelles.

   Apparently, this was a historic indoor shopping arcade – there were a couple shops and some empty storefronts here, a gallery of local artists (one who used just painting knives, instead of brushes), a currency exchange and a café. The yellow signs indicated the agency that promotes the influence of the Belgian Francophone community across Canada, through the organization of cultural events, professional meetings and participation in trade shows/conferences.
   The Promenade provided us with a nice shortcut onto a small alley that led to a craft fair at the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity. If you haven’t figured it out, we’re not really shoppers, but we casually peeked into some of the stands, just to see what these folks were creating, and made our way to the front of the church. Completed in 1804, this was the first Anglican church built outside of the British Isles. Being architecture enthusiasts, we stepped inside to see an impressive vaulted ceiling ribbed in gold and an immense pipe organ:

   Outside the church gate, we veered right and checked out the Halloween display, featuring giant toads and creepy pumpkins with arms and legs, beside City Hall:

   It was a fairly quick walk along Rue Dauphine, since it was mostly residential, with little to see except Kent Gate at the fortified wall. Soon we were at the government complex, where we caught a bus ride “home”.

   Sue and I were up at a relaxed pace the next morning, as we only had some light exercise on the agenda in the early afternoon. I had packed my skates in anticipation of a visit to a unique ice surface.
   The patinarium is a circuit-style skating track at Mega Park, a unique mall venue with a roller coaster, Ferris wheel, carousel and other rides in the center courtyard. The whole scene had a cool steam-punk vibe, and the highlight for us was the excellent 12-foot-wide ice surface that weaved through the attractions. We both played ice hockey in our twenties, so we used to be pretty good on our skates, but the years go by quickly, and an occasional open skating session at the local rink doesn’t keep the legs as agile as they used to be.

   We became pretty comfortable as the motor memory returned, and we started doing crossovers in the turns. Cycling and skating go really well together, so our quad muscles were definitely up to the task, but our hip joints didn’t necessarily agree. The rink’s regulations kept the speeds down, and skating backwards wasn’t allowed, so we weren’t going to do anything stupid, but it wasn’t very crowded, so we did sprint it out a few times when the skate guards were out of sight. The best part was that neither us fell!

   Wednesday was our next travel day, backtracking on the eastern side of the St. Lawrence, where we eventually (and somewhat sadly) caught a view of Montreal in the distance. We had a very minor run-in with the agricultural officer at the border crossing because of a red pepper and some chicken sausage. The meat had tasted one step up from cat food, so we weren’t sorry to see that go when the items were confiscated!

   A few miles into New York, we stopped in the town of Champlain for some groceries, knowing there wouldn't be many shopping opportunities out on the island. We then drove a few miles east through Rouses Point, where I found another railroad station, before crossing the U.S. Route 2 bridge into Vermont, over a narrow neck of the lake.

   After a bit of research, I had to adjust my geography, as we were actually headed to South Hero Island - Grand Isle, where we were staying, is the name of a town on that island. Our accommodations were in a modern house add-on, purpose-built as an Airbnb rental.
   As we were unpacking, Sue looked out the bedroom window and said, “Hey, they have a rooster!” I glanced out and, after a few seconds, noticed it wasn’t moving.
   “Sue, that is a statue!” For some reason, the words ‘lawn ornament’ had eluded me.
   “It is not," she replied, "I saw the fence behind it, and I swear the rooster wasn’t there before!” I scanned to the right and saw about a half-dozen chicken figures scattered in the back yard (also not moving).
   “Sue, look again at that rooster; now look to the right…”
   “Oh,” and she just started to laugh. That evening, we went out to McKee’s Island Pub for dinner – I know, quite a step for us, but they had a good gluten-free menu (I had an excellent burger and fries). Along the way, I pointed to several lawn ornaments and told her sarcastically, “Look Sue, those people have a live flamingo (bear, deer, etc.) in their yard!” None of my comments were appreciated.

Autumn In Quebec

   Saturday morning (Oct. 3), the weather was absolutely beautiful with bright sunshine. I went into the bathroom, which had a strange golden glow – a locust tree, in its bright fall color, was reflecting the yellow sunlight through the window. With shaky weather and colder temperatures in the forecast, we decided to do rare back-to-back cycling days, though we both had some soreness in our muscles from the climbing yesterday.
   Looping over to the Plains of Abraham, we descended the steep, switchback multi-use trail on the Côte Gilmour down to Champlain Boulevard. We turned south along the St. Lawrence and enjoyed great views of the waterway for about three miles, when we reached the Cageaux Wharf.
   This former industrial pier has been repurposed to a natural area recreating the native coastal flora, and includes a point of access to the water, as well as an observation tower offering exceptional panoramic views. The site name pays tribute to the raftmen who left their mark on the province's history. If you really want to see a crazy activity, check out ice canoeing, a Quebec tradition!
   We then took on the steep climb to the trail that paralleled the Canadian National Railroad tracks, over to the Pont de Québec. Opened in 1919, this riveted steel truss structure carries Route 175 and the railroad (plus a narrow walk/bikeway) 150 feet above the river. Its supporting arms and central structure are the world’s longest cantilever span in the world, at just over 1800 feet. The project actually failed  twice during its construction, costing 88 lives and many injuries.

   After riding out to the center of the bridge, we backtracked to land, weaved up through a housing development to Chemin Saint-Louis and headed west for a few miles. We made a big curve around the Pointe-de-Sainte-Foy neighborhood on Boulevard du Versant, closely paralleling the railroad tracks as they looped back into the commercial areas west of the city.
   Although attempts were made to dress up the boulevard by lining it with trees, this area, crammed with highway interchanges and business parks, wasn’t particularly scenic. I enjoyed seeing a couple of trains rumbling by and tried to focus on the knobby Laurentian Mountains way off in the distance. Despite the somewhat dreary surroundings, we had pedaled on a nicely-paved and road-separated bike lane for about ten miles!
   We were now in the northern reaches of the Saint-Sacrement neighborhood, where we turned due north to reach Parc du Pont Scott and the lovely greenway along the St. Charles River. There are actually trails on both the north and south banks of the river, so we passed under several footbridges, or passerelles, of various design as we followed the meandering river. Since it was the weekend, we had plenty of company, and as usual, little notice from anyone passing, though it wasn’t happening often in the more-relaxed park atmosphere.
   A few miles later we were again pedaling under the Boulevard Jean-Lesage bridge, onto the Corridor du Littoral. In Old Quebec, we were hung up by some cruise ship traffic (auto and pedestrian), so we took the opportunity to cross the street and weave over to the Côte de la Montagne.
   

   I probably had it in a bit too big of a gear, but I was feeling really good earlier, when climbing up tothe Pont de Québec, plus I wanted to challenge myself. I told Sue, “I’ll wait for you at the top,” and charged into the hill. I was doing okay until I attempted to downshift, about halfway up, just before reaching the Prescott Gate (photo left). This is a spot I’ve seen countless times, with fans packing the walkway above to view the bike race.
   A man had dabbed his foot into the street before seeing me coming, not enough to get in my way but just enough to put me off stride and take away all my momentum. Now I really had to downshift or getting my foot down and coming to a safe stop on this incline was going to be a concern. I was also finessing my pedal stroke so the gears wouldn’t slip under so much pressure, but I made it without a major issue. I was breathing pretty hard, though!
   When we both reached the top, we found that Rue de Buade, the only street out of the Place d’Armes area without having to turn around and go back down the hill, was completely torn up by some public works project. All the other routes were one way, coming toward the plaza, and because it was a Saturday, the sidewalks were mobbed with tourists, and a lot of them were old and sluggish. Yeah, I know – at 59, neither Sue nor I are spring chickens, but there is no doubt that we are physically fit…and impatient.with slow pokes!
   Probably because the sidewalks of Rue de Buade were a less attractive option, pedestrians completely took over the barriered bike lane on Rue Saint-Louis in both directions! Having both of us walking our bikes in this lane certainly didn’t help the congested situation, so when we noticed the traffic light change in the distance, we waited for the car traffic to clear and prepared to jump down to the street and sprint for the next intersection to find an alternate route out of there.
   Just as Sue clicked into her pedal, a man stepped out into the street, right in front of her wheel, not even looking her direction. I couldn’t believe he didn’t apologize when she slammed on the brakes, and I heard him mutter to his group that she should have a horn. Wait, a HORN?!! I completely lost it, “She has a bell, but you stepped right out, without looking you f%$#ing moron!”

The day's route map (click to enlarge)

   It was going to be a slow Sunday morning, since we had plans for the afternoon, so I did a bit of writing with the Giro dell’Emelia race on the television. This event, held in Bologna, Italy, includes one of the most scenic finishing circuits of the pro cycling calendar, as riders take on the forested Colle della Guardia, which rises approximately 300 meters above the city to the Sanctuary of the Madonna of San Luca. The road up the climb follows the spectacular covered portico that features 666 arches, constructed between 1674 and 1793.

   When the race coverage ended, we took a short walk down the street to the Maxi (I hesitate to call it a supermarket) to buy some groceries. I decided to do a brief detour into the Ti-Cass Curling Club next door. I was disappointed that nothing was going on with either of the parallel ice sheets on which they play, most likely because a memorial service was going on upstairs.
   Later in the afternoon, we drove out to the northwest of the city to see the Quebec Remparts hockey game for which we had bought tickets the other day. Your favorite cheapskates (pun intended) found out about free parking at the nearby Walmart and a walk of about a half mile to Videotron Arena.

   I can’t imagine there are better venues in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League! Videotron Arena is a modern, NHL-caliber stadium that seats 18,259, though the upper levels are not open for regular season junior games. Still, there were over 7000 people in attendance, which is comparable to the crowds of AHL teams like the Lehigh Valley Phantoms or Hersey Bears.
   Although the game wasn’t competitive at all, we didn’t really have a rooting interest, and it was nice to see the home crowd enjoy the 7-0 pasting the Remparts put on the Blainville-Boisbriand Armada. There was an amusing and totally unnecessary delay late in the game, when the frustrated Armada players started a scuffle and multiple players from each team were sent to the penalty box. It seemed one of the refs misidentified the number of a player, who wasn’t on the ice at the time of the skirmish, and they had to go to the instant replay official to see which of the Armada squad was actually involved.
   The Remparts’ 18-year-old forward, Nikita Ovcharov, scored three goals, and we had seen him gesture to a woman a few rows in front of him. The woman was nattily dressed, and was recording the goal celebrations, and a couple of the replays on the big screen, with her phone. Sue supposed the woman was his mother, and after the game inquired about it in French and offered congratulations for her son’s tour du chapeau (hat trick).
   I could see the woman smile and reply, “Oui, oui, oui!”, and I wondered, if they were in fact, native Russians and how much of what Sue said the woman could really understand. I found out later that night that Ovcharov, in this league of 16- to 20-year-olds had just been selected in last season’s import draft. I’m not sure what, if any, living arrangements are made for the families of young European players and how much time she has spent in North America, but Nikita’s mother may have had no idea what Sue was saying and was just nodded along politely!