Screw the cartoon-lightning-zigzags in the forecast this past weekend. We piled our bikes in the back of a rented car and headed to the Cantons de l'Est aka Eastern Townships. It's about 1 1/2 hrs from Montreal.
Since the sun was still shining when we got to North Hatley, we went for a spin. The bike path follows the Massawippi River through rolling hills, past farmland, banks of wildflowers, even an old copper mine.
It was a white clapboard cottage, maybe once a small farmhouse, with a wide porch and a very friendly dog tied to the neighbour's clothesline. All wiggly and delighted at the prospect of company, she defied architectural geometry to scramble onto the porch of the vintage bungalow. We never saw the neighbour. R left a note for the Airbnb woman saying that we'd have liked to know the dog's name.
There was a certain charm. The house was spotless. Impeccable. And she'd made one important investment: a first-class orthopedic mattress.
The next day the sky was overcast but there were still no cartoon-lightning-zigzags, so we set out to cycle to Sherbrooke. I took a rain jacket and kept a change of dry clothes in the car. The dry T-shirt was useful on the way back, since I donated the sodden T-shirt I was wearing when R wanted a rag to wash the muck off our bikes before putting them back in the car. But I've jumped ahead.
Energized, we set off on our bikes. We stopped along the way to look at a shingle farmhouse, walk across an old bridge, watch kids playing volleyball.
R said it was only a passing shower, but it wasn't passing. Coffee turned into lunch. The sky leaked buckets. Puddles spread into ponds.
We decided to strap on our helmets and head back. As a man watching us said, "Might as well go since you have to."
You know those hypnotic rainfall videos people play to put them to sleep? That's how much it was raining. Cold rain too. I didn't see any cartoon-lightning-zigzags, but I couldn't see much. I don't have windshield wipers on my glasses. I was trying to stay upright and keep the knees pumping. I did hear the thunder. Rolling, booming, inevitable thunder.
What kept me going? I was thinking about the whirlpool back at the bungalow.
In reality it was a bathtub equipped with spurting jets. While I was cycling, soaked through and chilled to my bra, the prospect of anything hot was a much-needed dangling carrot. Over the smashing, dripping, Noah's Ark rain, I shouted to R that I wanted to stop at the general store when we got back. The general store in North Hatley is one of those old-style places where you can find everything. I hoped for lavender bath salts. I found mint epsom salts. Close enough.
You can see the linoleum tile floor too. That is bona fide vintage.
Oh, and this note--in French and English--posted over the toilet.
Loving home repair of a wobbly table.
We now know the dog's name. Are you ready? It's Sky-Skyla-T'es-Belle. I kid you not. Some things cannot be made up. Sky-Skyla-You're-Beautiful. Maybe Belle for short?
Well that sign in the loo is a first. Sounds like a perfect getaway! (Please tell me you were cycling on flat roads. Even so... wow.)ReplyDelete
The roads were blessedly flat--except for a couple of notably steep exceptions that we hit while it was raining the hardest.ReplyDelete
The note in the loo... One of the few benefits of being male must be to stand while peeing. It's never occurred to me to tell a man to sit.
I`d love to know where she got those beautiful cups that the angels are keeping an eye on...ReplyDelete
That's a garage sale find!Delete
Alice, a lovely story of your vintage trip! oxoxoReplyDelete