Lake Superior doesn’t give up her dead. The water of the world’s largest lake by area is so cold that bodies sink to its depths. Mortality was on my mind as I nervously tucked into pancakes in the crowded Hoito Finnish Diner in Thunder Bay.
You have to admit, a writer getting killed in a motorcycle accident while researching a book about things to do before you die has just the sort of ironic twist you’d find in a newspaper story. Granted, I’d already walked face-first off a cliff, scuba dived wrecks, and driven many a long moose-trapped highway, but the challenge ahead was particularly and personally daunting. My wife and my mother were in full fret mode over my plan to research one of the great motorcycle trips of Canada: the north shore of Lake Superior. So what if I’d never been on a bike trip before? So what if my saddle hours, including my licence training, could be counted on two fingers? So what if the most powerful bike I’d ever ridden was 125 cc? And so what if a car had T-boned that scooter, breaking my knee and cracking my helmet? That accident kick-started my grand escapade, my rebirth as an adventurer!
I’ve faced so many limit-pushing challenges in the many years since then that I’ve learned the secret to getting through just about anything. Douglas Adams boldly put it in his futuristic travel book The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. When Larry Lage, owner of Thunder Bay’s Excalibur Motorcycle Works, hands me a jacket and gloves, he doesn’t notice that under my thin-lipped smile, I’m muttering my most powerful mantra: Don’t Panic.
Riding a motorcycle on the shores of mighty Lake Superior, as I was quick to discover, is one part exhilaration, one part speed, a dash of freedom, and a lime wedge of danger, topped off with camaraderie and natural beauty to make a cocktail of mobile magic. No wonder this 700-kilometre stretch of the Trans-Canada from Thunder Bay to Sault Ste. Marie has such an amazing reputation with bikers. Wavy S-curves on smooth blacktop cutting through forest and rock, always close to sparkling blue lake, the north shore attracts riders from across the continent, some of whom complete the 2,100-kilometre loop around Superior on scenic roads in the United States.
Larry had lent me his Kawasaki KWR 650 dual-sport bike, its odometer a third of the way through its second (or third) rotation. The bike is reliable and experienced, much like my biking buddy Steve Kristjanson. A semi-retired jack-of-all-trades, Steve has seen thousands of kilometres in the saddle, having ridden to the Soo and back in one stretch: a 1,400-kilometre sitting. Our goal is half that in double the time, two days on the road, stopping at viewpoints and attractions along the way.
We start by paying homage to Terry Fox at his memorial just outside Thunder Bay. Here was a boy who was running across Canada, racked with cancer, on one leg. His legacy — hundreds of millions of dollars raised for cancer research — is an inspiration and further steel to arm my own courage for the incomparably lighter challenge ahead.
Still, it doesn’t stop me from stalling my bike at a highway intersection, right next to Larry and his bike-instructor girlfriend Diane, who are accompanying us to the Ouimet Canyon. I expect Larry to point me right back to his shop, but he gamely encourages me instead. “Keep your head up, and look where you want to go, not at whatever you’re going to hit,” adds Diane, like a supportive parent. These guys live and breathe their bikes, a world apart from the annoying twits on decibel-shattering cruisers, content to just parade them. I’m told the biggest dangers are moose and deer, which can run out of the ditches straight into your path. Warning signs line the highway, and I spot the occasional cross in the ground commemorating one who didn’t heed them. Steve hit a deer a couple of years ago going 60, broke his knee and killed the animal. He knows he got off lightly.
Visor down, I smooth into the groove of the road. The slightest movement of my hand on the throttle has an instant effect, slowing me down, hurling me forward. We pass through the glowing ridge at Red Rocks, stopping to admire magnificent views of this sea-lake. With a surface area of 82,100 square kilometres, Lake Superior contains a whopping 10 percent of all the surface freshwater on the planet. It creates its own weather system, supports fisheries and tourism, and, each winter, generates waves up to 2.5 metres high, to the delight of some truly hard-core and well-insulated surfers.
After dinner in Rossport, we check out the Aguasabon River Gorge before stopping for the night in the small mill town of Terrace Bay. We ride in on a newly tarred stretch of highway candy, as smooth and black as licorice. Steve lubes the chains, checks the tires and oil, a picture of Zen with his art of motorcycle maintenance. It’s a relief to get out of my sweat-soaked biker gear, a relief that my only crash today is in the soft bed of the Imperial Motel.
Thick fog blows in ominously the following morning. Moose had crashed into my anxious dreams. Come on, Esrock, get a grip! Yes, motorcycles are more likely to lead to accidents, and having felt the wind slam against my chest at 100 kilometres an hour, I know there’s little room for error. Yet the highway is wide and forgiving, traffic relatively light, and overtaking lanes frequent.
We ride into the spooky fog in staggered formation, brights on, speed down. Droplets of moisture cling to my visor, so I use my gloved hand to wipe it clean. The roar of the engine, the blur of green forest, the steam rising off lakes in the shadows: even in the fog, the adventure is ... superior! Gradually, visibility improves, the clouds providing some welcome shelter from the unusually hot sun. I take a photo in White River, where Winnie, the bear that inspired the children’s books, was born. When we reach the landmark Wawa Goose overlooking the valley, I’m still wondering what a Pooh is. The sandy beach and overlooking cliffs at Old Woman Bay are gorgeous, as is the view of the lake islands from Alona Bay.
I’m getting comfortable on the bike, accustomed to the speed, the wind, the vibration beneath me. Next time you find yourself behind a bike on the highway, watch what happens when it passes another bike going in the opposite direction. The left hand points out, wrist slightly twisted, for the friendly biker “wave.” Everybody does it, like the secret handshake of some exclusive club. Everyone except three riders on Harleys, whom Steve, riding a rare Suzuki DR800, dismisses as posers anyway.
By the time we reach Batchawana Bay, stopping to enjoy a cold reward beer at Voyageurs, I feel as if I’ve overcome my own poser problems. Other than three deer crossing the road, the risk was benign. Whatever ghosts were haunting my nerves had been winterized in the garage. Lake Superior, with waters that never give up her dead, energized me with a rush of life.
Bike stored outside the hotel in Sault Ste. Marie, I text a biker friend back home to let him know I made it safely. He replies in seconds. “Makes you appreciate your life knowing you can die at any moment, hey?”
No, it makes you appreciate life knowing you can conquer your fears.
START HERE: canadianbucketlist.com/superior