Hurricane Mountain Road

Finally on the Road

We said goodbye to our families and left them and our safe surroundings behind for a planned week of travel and exploration. With a map in my hands, I was given the responsibility of navigation on our quest for adventure. We took the long way to our objective by staying clear of major arteries and urban centers. Although Ken's Kwacker was burdened by my additional weight, it still had more power than Ollie's Yamaha. Both struggled to climb steep grades through the hills, but Ken's bike would actually surpass its maximum rated speed coming down the other side. Unfortunately, it seemed we spent more time heading up than coming down. On level ground we maintained a steady drone of somewhere around 50 mph.

Ken on his Kawasaki at the Fury Speedway, 1970.

Our first couple of days was long but uneventful. I did get some adrenalin flowing however when Ken fell asleep on a long and straight country road. Slowly and without warning, he had drifted off the pavement and onto the gravel shoulder. I had thought he was pulling over for a short break, but quickly became alarmed once it became apparent that the expected drop in speed was not forthcoming. Luckily for us the noise of the stones pelting the underside of the fender instantaneously revived Ken, who skillfully brought the bike back under his control and on to the highway. Otherwise our trip might have been over right there and then.

One of the neatest places that we encountered was an ocean-side town that boasted a large amusement park. On one side of the road that we had come in on was the park and the ocean, while on the other were what looked like sand dunes and a scattering of scrub vegetation. We turned off into the parking lot of the amusement park just as the evening hours approached. Not having much cash, we were reluctant to pay any admission charges, yet the allure of the massive wooden structure of the roller coaster beckoned as we stood there. As we argued the pros and cons of what to do, an elderly lady approached us and asked us for help. Her car had a flat tire and she didn't know how to change it. Could we help? Although none of us had ever worked on a car before, we obliged her request and successfully had her underway in no time. She was so grateful that she offered us genuine American greenbacks. Being polite teenagers, we refused payment and told her we were just happy to have been able to help. She insisted. We relented. Secretly we were very pleased, as it was becoming very clear that we did not have as much money as we first thought.

By then it had started to get dark and we decided to pass on the park and look for somewhere to camp for the night. We rode a short distance away and then turned into the fields of sand and grass. Behind a larger sandy hill about a quarter mile from the road, we pitched our tent secure in the knowledge that we would be hidden from public view. We cooked ourselves a simple meal and then hit the sack. It had been a good day.

Girls and Cars

Somehow wherever we made camp, entertainment would be literally waiting for us just around the corner. One night after pitching our tent in what we thought was a secluded spot in the woods, a couple of girls approximately our age came walking by on a well worn foot trail that we had never noticed. We struck up a conversation and soon were explaining to these American chicks who we were and where we had come from. I don't know about my two companions, but I was completely blown away that these females barely knew where Canada was, much less Quebec, or even Montreal. Though they weren't too impressed (or knowledgeable) of our nationality, they did think it was cool for us to be traveling on bikes. They invited us to follow them, and like lemmings we did.

A few minutes later we emerged from between a stand of deciduous trees and found ourselves surrounded by a lot full of cars. We had camped right next to a drive-in. We spent the rest of the evening and the better half of the night watching movies with a crowd of teens who regularly hung out there. Not only did we get to watch unmemorable movies for free, but also our new friends shared with us their wine and their weed. (For the record I chose the wine, Ken and Ollie the killer weed.) Another good day had gone by.