An The Parry Sound Sportbike Festival

Day 1

I had planned on leaving Friday in the afternoon, but wishing some quality time with my Very Significant Other and my family, I left Saturday morning at 0:Dark-thirty, and this is what Brandywine looked like, with my new Joe Rocket Sport Saddlebags, a cheap pup tent and a cheap sleeping bag, the latter held by a bungee net, the former with two bungee cords tied to the bags.

My route was a simple one: west on 417 and 17 -- the only superslab I'd do all weekend, then from Renfrew Hwy 60 through Algonquin Park, to Hwy 11 north to catch the famed 518 (click on the map for a better view, in a new window.)

When one leaves 17 to go onto 60, one leaves the fertile farmlands (flat) and exchanges them for the pre-Cambrian shield (twisties or at the very least fast sweepers). Hwy 60, unlike most Ontarian roads, is red in colour, as if someone added crushed granite to the asphalt mix of stone and tar. The Canadian Shield is also the home of many lakes, which means the road in this cottage country must follow their edges, dancing right and left. Here's a shot of Golden Lake.

Between Barry's Bay and Whitney, I was taking a look in my rearview mirrors when I went "What a sight!". I just had to slow Brandywine to first gear, pull a U-turn and take this pic.

In Ontario, "Going through the park" means taking Hwy 60 trough Algonquin Park, for about 60 km. The pavement is in great shape, the ride is great -- if you're not stuck behind a motorhome, because passing opportunities are limited. Even then, going much faster than the 80 km/h around a blind curve is not a great idea because of these:

(Actually, I took this picture while still straddling Brandywine, for the paved shoulder was so inclined to the right that I couldn't put the sidestand down without tilting the bike to the right and tipping over.)

I stopped for a drink of water in Sprucedale, about 400 km into this 450 km journey. I didn't know the 518 would be twisty as this. Very technical riding, in fourth gear, around curves ladden with sand on the outside, with a road surface only a mother could love. Some parts had deep furrows at the place of a car's tire track, and when one uses the whole witdh of the lane (for a left-hand turn, wide in, apex at the centerline, wide out), it made for some interesting very off-camber moments.

I finally got to Parry Sound, went south for 8 km along the old highway to the Foley Fairgrounds, where the local agricultural society was charging motorcyclists $20 for a campsite and all the wood they could burn. Amidst a sea of mordern Eureka tents, I set up my pup tent.

I then went back in town to register for the rally and it was time to meet some ST-Ners for lunch. I was wearing my black "All your road are belong to us" ST-N t-shirt, yet no one at the adjacent table clued in. Listening to their conversation I heard a "was supposed to arrive yesterday from Ottawa and camp..." and I introduced myself. After a very good meal that would have made Goldwingers (Ride to Eat, Eat to Ride) jealous, we followed Against the Wind on a 200-km loop. But not before taking a few pictures of us. From left to right, Darrylez1, 'Flyer and Anne, Hondagrl1 and Ninjaknight and SBBXX. (I'm behind the camera, taking the picture.)

The route planned by Against the Wind was perfect: 518 (westbound), then up 520 to 124 and then, happy joy, at McKellar onto Centre road (#6 on the map) and eventually McDougall Rd, which led us back in town. Against the Wind, as a leader, was doing a fine job of adjusting his cruising speed and this rookie did just fine (And I got good comments about the quality of my lines and the smoothness of my speed change from SBBXX and 'Flyer.)

SBBXX and I hung around town for a bit at the Rally Headquarters, checked out the Dyno shoot-out, the eye candy, the other bikes. We met up again, as spectators, for the Thunder Run, a ride with close to 1,000 sportbikes, some of them not always on two wheels (hence our paranoia about joining that ride.) However, we decided we'd do it next year, if the bike in front of us is an FJR and the one behind an ST1300.

Back at the campground, later that evening, the party was in full swing. A few campfires here and there were dwarfed by the bonfire put up by a group of Toronto sport riders.

Alcohol was consumed in massive quantities, which in combination with testosterone, led to this, a slow-speed drop on the sand.

The rider, with a shaved head, a wife-beater shirt and whom I won't call Gino for fear of falling into an ethnic stereotype, went on to burn his tire on a slab of concrete, at an indicated 310 km/h, but not before pulling this stunt:

On to day two of this adventure.