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.
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.
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!”
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| The day's route map (click to enlarge) |
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.
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!
