Answer: "Sure will. Just got to find out best hwy. to take south from TransCan. I was planning to phone them when I reached the Manitoba border. Thanks, Jo, I'm in Indian Head having tea. It's bigger than I remember from previous road trips. Every place is. From a car, you see so little. The wind is strong from northwest. Isn't that what every cyclist prays for: the wind at my back and not in my face. Some days I just felt like crying after battling those strong south and east prairies winds.
Text message to Josie:
"Just passed Sintaluta.
Lovely name, musical, likely native.
I sat on the grass beside the highway for awhile just because the area felt 'good' spiritually. It was in the air.
I've done 50 km today."
Lots of old cars on the highway - reminds me of zipping down the hwy. east of Smoky Lake with Milt McRae in his 1947 Ford (above) to see his wife's old homestead. Imagine! Only 3 or 4 wks. ago.
Wolesley: mural on the grocery store.
Doncha just love the kids, and the old car!
When I stopped to take this picture (cell phone photo so not so good) a man in a white pick-up stopped to chat - from his yes white truck - and suggested that people take a look at this 12 year old girls website: www.thegirlwhostoppedtheworld.com [not a website that I nor my daughters can find - I must have one word wrong]. It is wonderful how people are so extraordinarily cordial.
Had hamburger soup and poutine at Wolesley. First time for me - hamburger soup.
Unless you count Italian Wedding soup.
This is the prettiest town I have been in and could quite happily move here. Tourist map says 85 miles to border. It's 15 miles from here to Grenfell. That will leave just 70 miles to do tomorrow and then I'm in Manitoba. I think the map was also in miles. I'm glad that my odometer was set in miles instead of kilometers because I get to each town so much quicker...heehee.
Woman came over to chat with me in Wolesley who had moved down from NWT a couple of years ago and just loves it here.
Beautiful campground here by a river - wish I was staying but I have to take advantage of this wonderful tailwind so I head for Grenfell instead.
I must have referred to Wolesley as Pleasantville in a text message to Mary Esta as I've just come upon her answer as I was going over old messages:
"Wow, I think your entire trip is Pleasantville. You must be close to the border. You are spirited."
Grenfell: Dirtiest restaurant I've ever seen - Esso. I left even though I needed a meal real bad. Had an avacado and can of ravioli in my pannier so ate that instead.
CPR runs ryt by here.
Greyhound driver westbound waved at me from across hwy. when I was stopped for a drink (I always stop to drink so I get a break as well). That was a first. The bus drivers must be feeling their neck over that horrific murder near Portage La Prairie a couple of days ago.
Cyclists always seem to wave at other cyclists, or come over and chat if you're stopped for a bit, or even ride with you for a bit here on the prairies.
Motorcyclists never - Piet says it's because you don't dare to move your hand off the throttle. I guess that is the gas peddle so they have developed this one-finger wave, according to what my brother tells me. His old motorcycle still sits in his Edmonton garage, unused but not forgotten.
Scooterists often wave, and I wonder if it isn't because just last year they were formerly cyclists, but have now upgraded. May be me next year, and maybe Harley, too.
Truckers wave in AB and SK if it's a two-lane highway, but not usually a four.
Some cars honk lovely little melodies, and some men actually scream out the window as they drive by - that sure gives one a jolt!
Vanagons, motorhomes, and campers have never waved at me. They rarely even look my way, it seems. With one exception: this couple, Eiler and Manon, whom I have just met, wave at me and give a little honk next day when they pass me, again.
I find that basically people are so friendly. I love this trip.
"Am invited to Eiler and Manon's huuuge motorhome for herbal tea.
Eiler and Manon in Banff
"Left Behind: Eiler had just sold his condo in Vanc., and bought the motorhome. They are headed back to Manon's home province of Quebec. They invite me in for tea, and what a swanky (do people use that word anymore?) pad it is. It has a least two pop-outs, as well as absolutely everything one might want to live 'happily ever after', in any Floridian, Californian, or any Canadian park.
Manon, and another couple at the park, were happily Quebecois, and chatting in French for a while. Both couples had seen and passed me on the TransCanadaHighway earlier that day, but 20 miles further back from me, they both had first passed a male cyclist whom they all had thought was probably my husband. They figured I had simply left him in the dust.
I can't help wondering how many hundreds more people that day thought the very same thing.
I wonder where he got to, that 'husband of mine', poor fellow.
From hereonin right to Brandon, Manitoba, cell phone text messages were not sending or else were not being answered. That was really bothersome.
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