Day 52: Fair Haven to Rochester

90km/56m, 5hrs 40mins, 15.9kph/9.9mph, 385m/1251ft of climbing.

The west wind has saved its best until last. Unremitting headwinds today, said by the meteorologists to be fluctuating between 10 and 20 mph. Hard going, and more of the same forecast for tomorrow. But hey, I am not to be discouraged at this late stage.

Largely uneventful ride into Rochester NY, my biggest city since Quebec. Tomorrow to Buffalo, and then back into Canada on Friday.

One of the things I have been musing about is the US reputation for good service. I've decided it is largely bunk. It's very friendly - one almost never experiences anything approaching the "Miserable Bastard Arms" syndrome that afflicts so many misanthropic publicans in the UK. But beneath that superficiality one very frequently encounters poor service. Lots of bars, restaurants etc. are staffed by people - often, but not always, young people - who are simply incompetent. Pleasant, willing, friendly, but utterly clueless and clearly untrained. I have yet to receive an answer to any question about a menu in a small-town restaurant, including those in hotels, that hasn't been prefaced with a blank look and a lengthy retreat to the kitchen. I have lost count of the bar and waiting staff who have no idea of how to operate the till, and appear to push buttons at random before eventually summoning someone senior to sort it out. I have been asked whether I wanted a dessert, and then presented with my bill, while still less than half-way through my main course - this in one of the better hotels in which I have stayed. I have three times - including today - been checked into hotel or motel rooms that haven't yet been cleaned and made up. And interestingly, these episodes do not appear to give rise to any embarrassment. The impression that is frequently given is that the staff concerned don't expect to know the answers, or to be on top of the job, and sometimes that they have no idea what being on top of the job might involve.

Days 50 and 51: Sylvan Beach to Fair Haven, and rest day.

91km/56.5m, 4hrs 31mins, 20.1kph/12.5mph, 532m/1630ft of climbing.

Dreams really can come true. Just a day after fantasizing about vegetables and wondering if I'd ever see another, I arrive at my destination in time for lunch to find a salad table groaning under the weight of artichokes, beans, shredded carrot, olives, peppers etc. etc. Bliss. I swear I could feel the vitamins perfusing my system while I ate.

I am at Fair Haven, NY. It is a charming little village on the southern shore of Lake Ontario. Largely populated by people who come here for the summer (the hotel-keeper says the population falls from over four thousand to less than half that in the winter months), it's a very attractive place. Pictures. And the Pleasant Beach Hotel, where I am staying, is well worth a visit. Small, purpose-built as a hotel in 1910 and still very much of that era, decent restaurant. An ideal spot for a rest day, in fact, which is what I am having today.

Bonanza day for cycle tourists yesterday. I spent the afternoon having a drink with a group of three Americans, one man and two women, touring New York and part of New England. Two of them were very experienced tourists, having ridden across America last year and done various other big trips. And I also came upon a family, parents in their thirties with a seven-year-old daughter, riding a bicycle made for three from Wisconsin to Maine. Fantastic. The little girl seemed to be having a great time, too.

Finally, I should note that I have been corrected via e-mail about the Springsteen song I referenced in Utica. The lyric is not " All the steady jobs are going, boys..." but " Foreman says these jobs are going, boys...". Interestingly (interesting to me, at least) it wasn't my memory that was at fault, but my ear. I had always heard it as I quoted it. One for kissthisguy.com

Day 49: Utica to Sylvan Beach

56km/35m, 3hrs 16mins, 17.3kph/10.7mph, 200m/650ft of climbing.

A short ride today. I have plenty of time. And a dry day, the first for a while.

I decided to abandon the Erie Canal Trail today. It's nice enough, but a bit samey; and in the week or so I have left I want to see as much variety as possible. So at Rome (there's a Troy here too, and an Athens - this Rome looks as if the Visigoths might have left only quite recently) I left the trail and headed north-west to Sylvan Beach. This is a small resort town on the shores of Oneida Lake. The surroundings are quite pretty. I'd say the town was an American version of Whitley Bay but without the drunkenness. Oh, and I passed through Verona and Vienna on the way.

I found myself fantasizing about vegetables today. It's really quite difficult to eat healthily here if you're not in a position to cook for yourself. Outside the big cities fast-food places dominate, or American Diners. And the Diners don't vary much, their menus dominated by eggs, burgers, chicken, steak and muffins, muffins everywhere. Green vegetables are few and far between. And when one does find them, they are invariably overcooked to such a catastrophic extent that they may as well have been used to make soup. The exception is the ubiquitous Caesar salad; they are everywhere too, and I've been resorting to them in the absence of alternatives. I suspect it will be a long time before I have another one (or another burger, or another pizza) once I get home.

Postscript: Today was the occasion of my first-ever "senior's discount". The over 55s get ten percent off in this motel.

Day 48: Fultonville to Utica

92km/58m, 5hrs 10mins, 17.9kph/11mph, 295m/959ft of climbing.

Another day spent dodging showers, with varying degrees of success. The amount of rain there has been here in recent days is really astonishing. One storm seems to follow another, and when it rains it really rains. But it is supposed to be fine for the next couple of days.

My informant about the Erie Canal Trail was certainly right about it being historic. There are various remnants of the revolutionary war, for example. Mostly, however, it feels like a memorial to America's lost industrial might. I am in the "Rust Belt", and while the trail is scenic enough, evidence of post-industrial decay is everywhere. The towns I have gone through - Amsterdam yesterday, Little Falls, Mohawk and Utica today - remind me of the Lancashire textile towns. Huge derelict buildings, hollowed-out town centres, precious little sign of recovery. And the comparison is apt, because textiles was a dominant industry around here, too. I'm staying in a nice place in Utica, but the inner city is devastated. There are big regeneration projects under way, and the Mayor has apparently christened it "the renaissance city". Good luck with that, is all I can say. The Utica population declined by 40% between 1960 and 2000. It put me in mind of a Springsteen song. I can't remember the title, but it contains the line "all the steady jobs are going, boys, and they ain't coming back."

Day 47: Glens Falls to Fultonville

97km/60m, 5hrs 35mins, 17.3kph/10.75mph, 442m/1436ft of climbing.

Cumulative distance so far, 3504km/2177miles.

What's in a name? I had intended to have a shorter ride today and stay overnight in Amsterdam. It sounded nice, I thought, on the admittedly absurd basis that its namesake is such a beautiful city. However, on arriving there I found it to be a profoundly depressed little place dominated by disused, disintegrating industrial buildings; and the only hotel in town looked a bit disused and disintegrating, too. So I rode on, and got lucky, managing to find an acceptable motel in Fultonville just seconds before an absolutely dramatic and intense thunderstorm.

Actually the names round here are interesting to a British visitor. On my way to Amsterdam today I went through Northumberland and passed Galway. And while riding through Vermont I visited Rutland, Newbury, Thatcham and Bradford, among others.

Since leaving Amsterdam I have been riding the New York State Canalway Trail, which follows the Erie canal and promises to take me virtually all the way back to Canada off-road and traffic-free. And being a canal route, it is of course pretty much pan-flat. I wouldn't have known of its existence but for a chance conversation in a bar in Gorham New Hampshire with a man who worked for the National Forest service. When I described my route to him he said " well, if you're going to Saratoga you can ride the Erie Canal trail, it's very historic." So here I am. And speaking of Saratoga, I stopped for lunch at Saratoga Springs, which unlike Amsterdam, did not disappoint. A really nice town, I thought. Lots of nineteenth-century buildings, cafes, bookshops, had a very attractive feel.

Day 46: West Bridgewater to Glens Falls

124km/75m, 6hrs 34mins, 18.9kph/11.7mph, 1053m/3422ft of climbing.

Longish day today, went some way to making up for yesterday. The forecast storms didn't miss me altogether, but caught me only once.

I began with the biggest climb of the trip so far. Not the way to start the day. And a respectable amount of climbing overall. But today was the Appalachians' last hurrah. Tomorrow things flatten out and stay fairly level until Toronto. Ten days to go but I am beginning to feel that this epic trip is drawing to its close.

Tonight I am in Glen Falls, New York. And I decided to treat myself to a proper hotel - The Queensberry. Think late Victorian city centre hotels; high ceilings, chandeliers, lots of ceramic tiles. Not as young as it was, but in pretty good nick for its age. I'm feeling a bit like that myself after seven weeks on the bike.

Day 45: White River Junction to West Bridgewater

45km/28m, 2hrs 39mins, 16.9mph/10.5mph, 398m/1293ft of climbing.

Very short ride today. I had intended to go as far as Fair Haven, another 50 kilometres away, but it started to rain and I decided that since I have plenty of time to cover the remaining distance to Toronto, I wouldn't ride in the wet. Not like me, I'm clearly going soft. But it turned out to be pretty good decision, because it has continued to pour down for about six hours so far. Hope for better things tomorrow. Scattered thunderstorms are forecast, but maybe they'll miss me.

Day 44: St Johnsbury to White River Junction

100km/62m, 4hrs 40mins, 21.3kph/13.3mph, 647m/2103ft of climbing.

One of those days when one knows beyond doubt that the bicycle is mankind's greatest invention. Perfect weather, great scenery, quiet roads, terrain just challenging enough to be interesting and a feeling of invincible well-being.

I was going due south on highway 5 today. It has been superseded by an interstate which now runs parallel, so all the through traffic uses that and highway 5 is strictly for locals, and for me. As predicted, two days after a rest day and I'm feeling great so was able to zoom down to White River Junction at a healthy clip.

I was reflecting today on the solitary nature of this trip and whether I'd advise others to follow my example and undertake such a lengthy tour alone. There's no doubt that being alone has its disadvantages. Most of the time I am fine with my own company but there are moments when something happens and I think " I wish X was here to see that." And if one is less than fluent in the local language, opportunities for conversations that extend beyond the merely transactional can be few and far between.

On the other hand, one is much less alone than would have been the case in similar circumstances twenty years ago. This blog, e-mails, SMS messages, cellphones, all combine to make one feel accessible to and connected with people in a way that would have been inconceivable even in the early nineties.

And the big advantage of travelling alone is that it encourages interaction with strangers. With a companion one tends to talk solely to the companion. But alone one engages with strangers to a much greater extent. I have had dozens of conversations with locals and other travellers that simply wouldn't have happened had I been with someone. So on balance I'd say yes, go alone. Maybe not every time, but often enough to remind yourself that people you don't know are mostly OK.

Day 43: Gorham to St Johnsbury

88km/55m, 5hrs 24mins, 16.3kph/10.1mph, 857m/2785ft of climbing.

A day of hills and headwinds, but also of beautiful sunshine in superlative scenery.

I've made the interesting discovery on this trip that I never feel as strong after a rest day. Seems counter-intuitive, but that's how it works. After a rest day I feel a bit sluggish, then the day after that I am raring to go. It's as if it takes my muscles the first session to re-acclimatise after they've been allowed to relax.

I rode through numerous pretty hamlets today, tiny communities of classic New England clapperboard houses and churches. St Johnsbury is an undistinguished little town, however.

Day 42: rest day in Gorham

An absolutely beautiful summer's day spent soaking up the sunshine, sleeping even longer than usual, and generally making sure I'm in the best of health before the final two week journey back to Toronto. And I am. I feel ridiculously well.

I saw something quite disturbing at breakfast this morning. A girl of no more than twelve years old, whose weight I would estimate at about thirteen stones, starting her day with a dinner plate-sized helping of French toast covered with jam, maple syrup and whipped cream. This was quickly followed by an equally large plateful of waffles - more maple syrup, more whipped cream. I didn't wait to see what came next, but I had a slightly sick feeling that she wasn't finished. The choices made by her parents (who were gargantuan - her mother was at least 24 stones) were almost equally inappropriate; no cream, but mound upon mound of eggs, sausages, homefries, pancakes, syrup and so on.

Living in the North East of England one can hardly feel culturally superior about obesity, it's everywhere. But the number of people here who are truly enormous still comes as a shock. This is especially true of children. This morning's exhibition was extreme, but I have seen numerous adults looking on fondly as their almost spherical child consumes a huge pizza accompanied by potato crisps, washed down with a pint of coke and followed by ice cream. What are they thinking?

The other odd thing is that there is no shortage of people of normal weight. Lots of the people I see look very fit. But there seems to be a polarisation to the extremes, with the group that is squeezed out being those that one might describe as the ordinarily overweight. Nothing in moderation here, you're either slim or you're FAT.

Other quirks about North America. Electric switches work the opposite way round to ours- up is on, down is off. Taps too - clockwise on, anti-clockwise off. I can't remember noticing this one in Canada, so maybe it's just a US phenomenon. Anyway, it's a serious matter when one is trying to adjust the water temperature in the shower.

My brief sojourn in New Hampshire ends tomorrow, I move on to St Johnsbury, Vermont.

Day 41: Wilton to Gorham

108km/66m, 6hrs 2mins, 17.9kph/11.1mph, 647m/2103ft of climbing.

Cumulative distance so far: 3054km/1897miles

A much easier day than expected. I've been in amongst some serious mountains all day, but whoever built US highway 2 did a remarkable job of threading it between rather than over them, so I did surprisingly little climbing. And saw a lot of wildlife, especially cottontail deer, numbers of which crossed the road in front of me from time to time.

I am in Gorham, New Hampshire, on the edge of the White Mountains National Forest. Mount Washington is just up the road. The scenery is stunning here, perhaps the most beautiful of the whole trip. The mosquitos are equally outstanding, unfortunately.

And I had another extraordinary small-town experience this evening. I was sitting at a bar having a beer and a salad. The place was pretty much deserted so I was chatting to the barmaid. She was a woman in her thirties who was, in her own words, "born and raised" in Gorham, New Hampshire. I asked her if she'd never wanted to move away and she said "I dunno. I'm not a fan of coloureds and at least everyone's white here." It's a very long time since I was quite so lost for words.

Day off tomorrow.

Day 40: Newport to Wilton

96km/60m, 5hrs 56mins, 16.1kph/10mph, 881m/2863ft of climbing.

The Appalachians hereabouts are elusive, and irritating to the bicyclist. Instead of going up to the top on one side and then down to the bottom on the other, as any sensible mountain would, they are corrugated. No sooner have you sweated up a couple of hundred feet than you lose the height you've just gained, and have to do it all over again.

Nonetheless a nice day's ride today. A little cooler than yesterday, with less wind. And at the end of the journey The Wilson Lake Inn; a motel, but easily the nicest place I've stayed in so far, nice accommodation in a spectacularly beautiful setting.

I was lucky to get a room here, because my unheralded arrival coincided with that of the Maine heart and lung foundation's annual cycle trek across the state to raise money. Over 1600 cyclists and various hangers-on, who have booked every hotel and motel room for miles around, apparently. However, having told me I was out of luck the nice lady checked her register and discovered she had one room left. Joy. And, of course, I find myself surrounded by cyclists so have the rare luxury of blethering on about bikes and biking to my heart's content.

Day 39: Lincoln to Newport

121km/75m, 6hrs 59mins, 17.3kph/10.7mph, 697m/2265ft of climbing.

Hot today, in the 80s Fahrenheit, not my sort of weather. With that, a headwind (back to normal) and the fact that all today's climbing came in the last 30km, this was a tougher day than I've had for a while. More to come tomorrow and the day after, because I'm beginning to nose into the mountains.

For a long time after leaving Lincoln, highway 2 runs alongside a wide, slow, amazingly still river. Most of the time it looks more like a lake than a river. So, some aquatic fauna was to be expected, but I was surprised to meet a turtle at the roadside. He was quite big - about eighteen inches long - and posed phlegmatically enough for my photo.

An insight into small-town America this evening. I ate in a Mexican restaurant. The food was rather good, actually, and I had a half-pint bottle of Samuel Adams beer with my meal. Afterwards I sat at the bar and had two more - so, a total of one and one half pints. I ordered a fourth and was refused. "I'm sorry sir, it's just a policy we have here, we operate a three-drink maximum because we're a family-oriented restaurant." I expressed incredulity, and asked whether I could have had three pints instead of three halves? Yes, that would have been fine. Three Margueritas? Also fine. Needless to say I pointed out the inadequacy of their rule. However, the final and best word on the matter came from the local man sitting next to me, who turned to me and said "only in America. And we think we're free, right?"

Day 38: Houlton to Lincoln

109km/68m, 5hrs 19mins, 20.5kph/12.7mph, 629m/2044ft of climbing.

Another wonderful day's cycling today, weather ideal and an almost deserted road through apparently endless forests.

A day for the entomologists. Lots of striking butterflies, notably Monarchs in considerable numbers. And hosts of dragonflies of various species that I am not, alas, expert enough to identify.

More incredulity today about my journey, this time from the diners in a roadside restaurant in the delectably-named Mattawamkeag. Obviously men in lycra aren't their usual lunchtime clientele, so naturally they asked me where I was riding to. General astonishment at my reply. Interestingly, though, what really struck home was my saying I had ridden from Houlton (about 80km) that morning. "But that's over an hour away by car!"

Forgot to mention yesterday that I had my first puncture. Not just my first puncture of this trip, but my first in over 8000 miles of using Schwalbe Marathon Plus tyres. Not quite impenetrable after all. Can't complain though; a very sharp half-inch nail driven vertically into the tread and still only just managed to get through and scratch a tiny hole in the tube. And while fixing that I discovered that I'd broken a spoke in the rear wheel. The wheel was barely out of true, which is a testimonial to the wheel builder at SJS cycles. Justification at last for carrying tools, spare spokes etc.

Days 36 and 37: Van Buren to Houlton

125km/78m, 6hrs 15 mins, 20.1kph/12.5mph, 926m/3010ft of climbing.

An uneventful rest day in Van Buren. In fact, without wishing to be uncharitable, I suspect that events are few and far between in Van Buren, it's as dead as a doornail. That was no problem for me, however, given that my priorities were sleep and eat, in that order.

And it was coldish, and wettish, so the decision to take a day off was vindicated. Especially so as today was really nice. Quite sunny, warmish, not much wind. I was riding pretty much due south today. I'm still quite a long way north of Toronto, and it makes sense to ride parallel to the mountains before crossing them in a few days. So, a day of rolling countryside and alternating forest and farmland. Lots of potatoes grown here. And to my surprise I was riding through Amish country for a short time. I had no idea there were Amish settlements this far north, but as I passed one homestead a little boy in the usual black suit and straw hat waved shyly at me, and for the next few miles there was a succession of plainly-dressed, straw-hatted, bearded men driving ponies and traps; all rather gravely acknowledging me as I rode by.

Tonight in a Motel on the outskirts of Houlton, rather less of a one-horse town than Van Buren, though far from metropolitan. Admirable candour from the young lady on the desk. She asked where I'd ridden from and when I said Toronto, she looked at me for a long time before saying, quite kindly, "you're crazy".

Day 35: Saint Quentin to Van Buren.

64km/40m, 3hrs 53mins, 16.3kph/10.1mph, 592m/1924ft of climbing.

Cumulative distance so far, 2447km/1520m.

A bientot Canada, hello USA. Crossed the border at the end of an easy ride in cloudy, slightly chilly conditions. The weather forecast was poor so kept it short today and am taking a day off tomorrow, though now I'm here the weather doesn't look too bad. No matter, it won't do me any harm to have a rest before tackling the most mountainous stages of the trip, across the Appalachians in New Hampshire and New York. And having this afternoon free gave me the chance to see Bradley Wiggins win the Criterium du Dauphine on the TV. Go Bradley, let's see you on the podium in the Tour.

Day 34: Pointe-a-la-Croix to Saint Quentin

101km/63m, 6hrs 31mins, 15.5kph/9.6mph, 1138m/3698ft of climbing.


Lots of climbing today, I'm in the foothills of the Appalachians. But despite that, this was perhaps the best day's cycling of the tour so far. Beautiful cycling weather, sunny, not much wind, not too hot. And highway 17 through New Brunswick is a beautiful road. Great scenery (I didn't bother with pictures - I find that one picture of afforested hills looks much like another) but also a great road to ride. Largely well maintained, with smooth tarmac, and superbly engineered: shallow gradients, long sweeping bends, an absolute pleasure. And greatly improved by my feeling increasingly strong. 100 km through this terrain would have been a tough challenge at the start of this tour. Today I laughed at it.

Ate this evening at a local diner recommended to me by the receptionist at my motel. I ordered a Greek salad as a starter. The plateful that arrived was slightly more than I'd bargained for - had this been a Greek salad I was making at home, I might have been slightly nervous about it being enough for four, but would certainly have felt I was overcatering for three. I ate it though, and it was excellent.

I am in Acadia. it's one of the predominantly French areas of North America. Slightly weird. Not completely French, like Quebec, more bilingual. But the French that is spoken here is even less comprehensible to me than usual. But I am about to re-enter the English-speaking world. Depending on the weather, tomorrow I am likely to cross the border with the USA.

Day 33: Paspebiac to Pointe-a-la-Croix

134km/83m, 8hrs 28mins, 15.8kph/9.8mph, 647m/2103ft of climbing.

Longest day so far, more by accident than design. Started looking for somewhere to stay when I had covered about 90km, but nothing appealing turned up. So I ended up riding all the way to the border with New Brunswick, and will leave Quebec first thing tomorrow morning. Must remember to wear my helmet, as New Brunswick is one of the places that is misguided enough to have passed a law forcing cyclists to wear helmets. Ridiculous, but there it is. I have carted a helmet across the Atlantic and round Eastern Canada so I can avoid getting arrested during the two days I'll spend in New Brunswick.

Today was my second day of riding in a predominantly western direction. So guess what? A stiff North-Westerly headwind. It would be very easy to believe it's personal. Beautiful day, though, riding in bright sunshine along the shore of the Chaleur Bay. Much softer landscape on this coast, and a feeling in the air that I'm riding into a rather softer climate, too. We'll see how realistic an expectation that is in the coming days.

Day 32: Perce to Paspebiac

110km/68m, 6hrs 9mins, 17.9kph/11.1mph, 780m/2535ft of climbing.

Quiet day today, fairly easy ride along the Gaspesie south coast.

Only a couple of days now until I leave Quebec after about three weeks. It has been interesting, and sometimes surprising. The first thing, as always, is the scale. If you look at the map, the Gaspesie peninsula is a piddling little appendage on the south of the Province. But despite my arriving by ferry half way up its north coast, it will have taken me ten days to ride round it. And while I seem to have covered a lot of ground, Quebec stretches a thousand miles north of where I have managed to reach.

I've been impressed by how easy it is to cycle here. I was told by more than one Ontarian that Les Quebecois were crazy drivers and that I needed to be careful. But in general I have found the drivers to be very considerate. And Quebec makes much more provision for cyclists than Ontario, by and large. Lots of signs reminding drivers to share the road, a fair number of segregated cycle lanes and a number of well-signposted "routes vertes" that take one off the main roads. And lots of "haltes municipales" at the roadside; shelters with toilets, picnic tables and access to drinking water. Very convenient.

Days 30 and 31; Gaspe to Perce plus a rest day

63km/39m, 3hrs 52mins, 16.3kph/10.1mph, 709m/2304 ft of climbing.

Perce, reached by a gentle ride in the sunshine with a nasty hill at the end, presumably placed there just to make sure I don't get complacent, is blessed with spectacular scenery, as you can see here. The famous arched cliff, just a hundred or so metres off shore, is fascinating, because its colouring and appearance changes constantly with the light and weather. If Monet had made it to Gaspesie he'd have painted it over and over again.

Perce (spelled, by the way, with an acute accent on the final e; as is Gaspe. I just can't manage the accents on my iPad) is also an excellent place for a rest day, as it is packed with cafes and restaurants. So I have spent a relaxing day and a half just mooching about, having a couple of beers, eating well and generally doing what is needed to make sure I'm raring to go for the second half of the trip. Had a stupendous meal here, in a fish restaurant called La Maison du Pecheur. Try it if you visit the area.

Somebody asked me what I think about when I am riding along. It's not an easy question to answer. Obviously sometimes I'm looking at the scenery, sometimes I'm thinking about the route, sometimes I'm wishing the wind would drop. And sometimes I'm thinking about more complicated things. But a lot of the time I'm not really thinking of anything. Cycling is like that, it tends to focus one's attention on the sheer physicality of the activity. So I get into a rhythm and my awareness is focused on that; I couldn't be said to be thinking, just being. It's quite meditative. That's one of the things I most like about it.

And I've looked up the Gaspesie geology. The ancient upheaval that shaped the place was the Devonian collision that created the supercontinent of Euramerica. So there's a strong local connection to the west coast of the UK. My comparisons with Scotland weren't so wide of the mark.

Day 29: St Yvon to Gaspe

71km/44m, 5hrs2mins, 14kph/8.7mph, 1123m/3650ft of climbing.

Cumulative distance so far, 1975km/1226m.

Gaspe! And that's not just me breathing heavily. Reaching Gaspe today marks a literal turning-point. From here I shall be heading back to Toronto, albeit by a much different route.

Another tough day's cycling today with lots of climbing, some dense fog, and two extended periods of heavy rain. (No wind, though. One could almost guarantee that the easterly wind, which has plagued me for four weeks, would die just as I was about to turn for home and it could have been useful). It's a good job I had the sense to keep the distances fairly short for the past three days. It wouldn't have taken many more climbs today to finish me off. I have, however, reached my halfway point in good spirits and in good shape. Decidedly fitter than when I started.

Tomorrow to Perce, where I shall probably take a rest day. In the meantime I've posted a few more pictures.

Days 26, 27, 28: Matane to St Yvon

Day 26: Matane to Sainte Anne-des-Monts

100km/62m, 6hrs 24mins, 15.65kph/9.7mph, 812m/2639ft of climbing.

The coastline became progressively more rugged today. I'd have taken some nice photographs if the howling gale and driving rain hadn't persuaded me that the last thing I wanted to do was stand still. Anyway, my hands were so cold I couldn't have worked the camera.

Yes, conditions turned a bit uncompromising. A biting north-easterly wind in my face, steady rain for the first four hours, and easily the coldest day so far. A day on which I can reflect on my decision to ride 100km and know with some certainty that I'm a couple of slices short of a full loaf.

However, things did improve, and at least the last couple of hours were dry. And for the second time this trip I find myself sleeping in a yurt. I am at the Sea Shack hostel just outside St Anne-des-Monts, a wonderfully eccentric establishment with one communal building containing kitchen, bar etc., but all the accommodation in a motley collection or huts and yurts. Fun, though not recommended for those of delicate sensibilities. Neither the accommodation nor any of the other facilities are segregated by gender. I'm not sure how appropriate that is for one of my grandfatherly appearance when everyone else is under 25, but nobody seems bothered...


Day 27: Sainte Anne-des-Monts to Saint Maxime-du-Mont-Louis

49km/30m, 3hrs 04mins, 16kph/10mph, 188m/611ft of climbing.

This morning I was about 230km from the town of Gaspe. That's either two long days or three short ones, and as yesterday had been pretty tough I decided to make it three short ones; or, more specifically, to have one very short one today. I also rejected the option of taking the mountain road, and will stick to the coast. I might not have been such a wimp had the weather been better, but it's quite cold at sea level and I suspect it is arctic at 2500 feet, which is where the road goes.

In fact, even at sea level I was today passing shady spots in which there were substantial patches of unmelted snow. Quite surprising. It's 4 June and while I am now as far north as I will get on this trip, I'm still well south of home. In fact I think I'm at about the same latitude as Paris. An interesting illustration of what the Gulf Stream does to moderate our climate, and what things might be like without it.

The coastline is very, very rugged now, with jagged hills coming down steeply to the sea. Waterfalls everywhere, I pass one every couple of kilometres or so on the highway. Lots of ravens nesting in the cliffs.

I haven't looked up the geology of Gaspesie, but there are lots of interesting rock formations. Much of what I am seeing seems to be sedimentary rock that has been lifted through 45 or sometimes 60 degrees in some ancient upheaval. Lots of very narrow distinct strata, which I imagine would be paradise for a fossil-hunter.

Day 28: Saint Maxime-du-Mont-Louis to Saint Yvon.

80km/50m, 5hrs34mins, 14.5kph/9mph, 1116m/3627ft of climbing.

Shut up, legs!

Tough cycling country, this. I had to have serious words with myself to get me up a couple of the climbs today, and that was on the coast road. Heaven knows what the route through the mountain passes would have been like.

Very beautiful, though. I find that I have been cycling alongside an eastern branch of the Appalachian Trail which ends just down the coast near Gaspe. At 2180 miles long it rather puts the Pennine Way to shame.

But despite its charms, it must be hard to make money here. Very dependent on the tourist trade, and the season is short, lasting from about now until mid-September and that's it. Apparently they do get some snowmobilers etc., but the harder the winter in the rest of Canada, the less well they do because it is easier for the enthusiasts to get what they want closer to home. And according to the admittedly miserable owner of last night's motel, since the crash the Americans have stopped coming. So things must be tough, and it is certainly noticeable that there are a lot of businesses for sale - B&Bs, Motels, Cafes in particular. So if anyone who speaks half-decent French wants to escape to somewhere remote, and is prepared to work hard three months of the year to cover their costs but without any aspirations to making much money beyond that, there are plenty of opportunities here.

Day 25: Rimouski to Matane

98 km/61m, 3hrs55mins, 25kph/15.5mph, 207m/673ft of climbing.

Rare following wind today, so a fast flat ride along the riverbank. Actually "river" is now becoming a misnomer. The estuary at this point is so wide that the opposite bank is just a thin blue smudge on the horizon, and we're close to making the transition from the St Lawrence river to the Gulf of St Lawrence.

The meal I ate last night prompts some reflections on the French Canadians' culinary preferences. I'm afraid they are more Canadian than French. A favourite dish here is Poutine. It consists of chips with curd cheese and covered in gravy. It is truly disgusting to behold, but it's everywhere. And the love of gravy extends beyond Poutine. Last night I ordered a hamburger. It arrived with chips and coleslaw and gravy - poured over the bun! Extraordinary, and revolting.

To be fair, I have in general eaten very well here and much of the food, especially seafood, is very good. But one has to be careful of the gravy fairy, she pops up when one least expects her.

And one thing not directly related to the tour. I brought an e-reader with me - great gadget - and on it I had stored the Stieg Larsson Millennium trilogy; the girl with the dragon tattoo, etc. I know everyone else in the world has already read these books, so I'm probably telling nobody anything they don't already know, but they are superb. Certainly among the best crime/detective fiction I have read.

Day 24: Tadoussac to Rimouski

100km/62m (not including the ferry), 4hrs47mins, 21kph/13mph, 590m/1918ft of climbing.

Cumulative distance so far, 1577km/978m.

Made it to the Gaspe peninsula today, courtesy of the ferry from Les Escoumins to Trois Pistoles. Up early, 40km from Tadoussac to Les Escoumins, where I had time for a rather excellent second breakfast before boarding the ferry. A ninety-minute journey, during which I saw more beluga whales, and the weather changed dramatically. I'd got pretty wet on the ride from Tadoussac, but by the time we arrived at Trois-Pistoles it was dry and hot, not just warm. And the first half of the route to Rimouski was flat, so I was able to rattle along.

Another word here for the bike nerds. I can't speak too highly of the bike. To be fair, it's probably heavier than one would need for most purposes, but fully loaded it is truly impressive. The stability is remarkable. With front and rear panniers, which catch a lot of wind, plus other stuff on the rear rack, plus me, I touched 73.2kph/45mph on a downhill section today without a moments anxiety. No wobble, no flex in the frame, absolutely solid. The Rohloff hub is terrific, too. Being able to shift down while stationary for hill starts is useful, and I've been grateful for the range of gears. And I've had no mechanical problems, not even a puncture. I've replaced a set of brake blocks, changed the oil in the Rohloff, lubed the chain and pumped up the tyres, but that's it so far. Not bad given that by the end of tomorrow I'll have covered more than 1000 miles. Long may it continue.

Sorry folks, back to the trip. So far, Gaspe reminds me of Scotland but with clapperboard houses. I have, however, only seen the first 60km of the coastal road and I expect things to get more dramatic tomorrow. And after a hot afternoon there is currently a thunderstorm, nicely timed to occur now that I am safely ensconced in a motel. Happy days. And there are some more pictures here, including a few of some apparently small whales...