roadtripping.

A tour of the Niagara Peninsula: proof to the innocent that bicycle camping is actually fun.

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Fortunately, we were near Jordan Harbour and had just passed a pub, so we headed back to order a pitcher and look at our map. I should point out at this point that our maps, borrowed from a friend, were all pretty out of date. So when we looked at the map and realised that the only way across the body of water which separated us from our destination was a fourteen kilometre detour, we hoped that someone had built a bridge in the years since the map had been published. We appealed to a couple of guys sitting at the table next to ours. "No problem. Just get on the QEW and you'll be there in two minutes." The QEW is a major freeway; our advisor had apparently not noticed that we were on bicycles. His buddy was more helpful. "They haven't finished building the bridge for the North Service Road, but you can still get across. People walk across all the time." Considering that the detour also involved climbing halfway up the escarpment, something we weren't keen to do at that moment, we decided to take his advice.

We rode until the road vanished, and then started walking our bikes along the narrow band of bumpy concrete that ran alongside the highway. We actually met someone coming the other way, which made us feel a little more hopeful. Then the ground ran out. In front of us was water. It was a very narrow little river, but still one we didn't want to cross in the middle of the night. Fortunately at this point, the high fence separating us from the highway also ended, so it was possible to clamber over the metre-high barrier between us and the roadway with our bikes. Of course, this meant we would be riding the wrong way down the QEW, a road used mainly by truckers driving at speeds in excess of 140 kmph. Note: I am not advising anyone to do this. It is illegal. It is unsafe. We did it anyway. As soon as land appeared on the other side of the bridge, we hopped back over the barrier and got onto bumpy concrete until the service road reappeared.

We didn't have far to go before we reached the campground. Much to our dismay, it was closed. Labour Day weekend, and it was closed, with a high fence keeping out all trespassers, such as ourselves. Not being people to take defeat lightly, we clambered into the ditch, bikes in tow, and followed the fence until we found a suitable gap. It was quite apparent that we were not the first to enter this way. We rode around until we found a suitable spot, away from the park buildings, out of sight of the road. On a narrow strip of beach separating the lake from a small pond, under a weeping willow, we set up our tent. The night was clear, the moon was full, there were a million stars. We danced naked to the sound of lapping waves and glowed with our good fortune. Greg warned me that we'd get a rude awakening in the morning from the park authorities, but at that point it didn't matter. We wanted memorable, we got it.

I will always remember waking up the next morning and looking out the door of our little tent. the sky was blue, the lake was blue, our bicycles, propped against one another in the sand, gleamed in the sunlight. If the camera had been working, I would have taken a photo. It was a scene befitting a travel magazine. No one bothered us, but we took down the tent quickly so no one would. We made espresso on the camp stove (using my mother's old stove top machine, as opposed to the official "camping" kind) and gloried in the sun, then packed up and headed for the road.

We couldn't have chosen a better locale for our trip. The Niagara Peninsula is one of canada's warmest areas, and on the road to Port Weller (north of St Catherines) we passed orchards of trees heavy with apples, peaches and pears, vineyards and fields of roses (fields of roses!) and gladiolas. It is truly a paradise. When we reached the town we quickly found a patio on the harbour, where we enjoyed breakfast and looked at the map.

We had planned on taking in a play at the Shaw Festival in Niagara-on-the-Lake, but it was not to be. One problem which plagued us on our trip (as it does in day-to-day life) was our inability to get going on time, not to mention my knees. Not being used to this much riding, my left knee objected, and there were times i found myself pedalling with my right leg only. This is not a good thing to do, of course. when we arrived in Niagara-on-the-Lake, it was two minutes to showtime, and we weren't exactly sure of where the theatre was.

Niagara-on-the-Lake is a pretty town. Almost too pretty. No one lives there; everyone is either a tourist or seasonally employed by the tourist industry. We found a little park with public washrooms and changed into our tourist disguises in a futile attempt to blend in. However, whether it is due to the nature of the visitors to this town, or to the wonderful home-made fudge which is in abundance, we did not fit in. I was, I think, the only woman wearing a skirt; certainly the only one wearing one that was above the knee. So I'm afraid I shocked the inhabitants of this little hamlet (if the reproving glances of the local womenfolk are any indication). Greg stopped at a camera shop, hoping that his camera would work if we fed it expensive batteries, but to no avail. Our helpful attendant said he might be able to fix it for us and we could pick it up as soon as Tuesday! We declined. This seems as appropriate a time as any to point out that the only equipment failures we experienced were all electrical problems. Our mechanical horses didn't give us a problem once, we didn't even get a flat tyre between us. We ate more food, bought some fudge for later, bought a couple of cans of beans (to cook on the camp-stove for the true camping experience) and headed on toward the Mecca of tacky: Niagara Falls.

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