When I left Montréal and entered Ontario, the weather forecast predicted some light scattered showers along my route. There was a 30% chance of precipitation. Unfortunately, I was instead confronted with a steady stream of H20 for the first half of the day's journey. And I only made it through the first half of the journey.
I kept stopping and waiting for the rain to pass, and slowly progressed toward my destination. It was getting later and later, and I started to realize that I might not be able to arrive before nightfall. I saw that a city named Kingston was about halfway to Peterborough, and might be an alternate place to stop. I wrote a message on the Kingston CouchSurfing discussion board, and sent some requests, to see if I could find a last minute host in that city. I wasn't sure that it was a good idea to keep riding. When I hadn’t received any replies before I reached Kingston, I decided it was time to call a hotel for the night.
“Hi,” I told the receptionist. “I was wondering how much a room would be for the night.”
“We don’t have any rooms available, sorry,” she told me.
I hung up and called another hotel.
“Impossible,” the man responded. “No rooms tonight.”
I couldn't believe it. Without any place to stay I figured I’d just have to press on toward Peterborough. And I would have done so, except that when I accelerated onto the curved on-ramp of the King’s Highway, I went a bit too fast, and next thing I knew, my bike was lying in the mud on the side of the road.
A couple in a car behind me had stopped and called out the window to see if I needed a ride. I picked up the motorcycle and asked them to stay for a few minutes if they could. I figured the engine was flooded but it might start again in a minute. When it started I waved them ahead, and got on the bike. The right handlebar was bent forward in a bad way, and I had cracked the front fairing, but I could still drive okay. I got off at the next exit and saw a Motel 6. I entered the hotel, dripping wet, with mud on my boots and rain suit.
“Is there any chance you guys have a room available tonight?” I asked, with a pathetic desperation in my voice.
“Nope, no rooms tonight!” the receptionist replied. But when she saw my devastated face, she quickly said, “Oh no, sorry, I was just joking. We definitely have a room. No problem.”
I paid for the room and they gave me the key card. I asked for a towel to wipe the mud off myself and my saddlebags before I headed for the room. Upon entering my room, I changed out of my wet clothes laid down on the bed and cried.
I think it was just the vast change of emotion that affected me so much. I had been on such a high— I loved Quebec. And this was quite a fall from that height of joy. I needed to release some of the emotion I was feeling. I didn’t know if my bike would even start up again in the morning, or if I’d be able to repair it. I might have to pay for a hotel for days, if I could find a mechanic in Kingston. And how would I make it to camp in Minnesota, and the AP workshop in Kansas if I were not able to repair the bike? I also wasn't sure I ever wanted to ride again. I was angry and embarrassed. My emotions and thoughts got the best of me.
But then, after I took a shower, I was fortunate to find my girlfriend available online for the evening. We talked for a while. She encouraged me and kept me company on Skype while I tried to figure out my business for the coming days. I felt better after that. I got things back in perspective.
Things could have definitely been worse. I had been very fortunate to find a hotel with rooms at the first exit after my wreck. Then, a quick look at Google showed me that the nearest Kawasaki Shop was about five miles away. I could take it into the shop the next morning. And best of all, a CouchSurfing couple in a nearby city offered to host me until my bike was repaired.
Maybe my trip was not ruined after all.
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