I’ve seen some sunsets in my day. The most hard fought was Southeast Asia’s highest peak at over 4,000 meters. To reach the peak of Mount Kinabalu in Malaysia, I hiked all day, slept at the three quarter point and then hiked the rest in the dark to see the sun rise.

In Bayfield, just on the edge of the downtown core is Pioneer Park. National Geographic Magazine said they have one of the top 10 sunsets in the world.
I watched a man and his wife on their motorcycle stop and take it in. Romantic. Beautiful.

But, as we drove out of the forest the following day, I found another gem.

At night, the forest seemed to melt into the sun.

“The Bruce has theirs, this is ours,” says Tyler Hessel, owner of Outdoor Projects outtfitters www.outsideprojects.ca in Bayfield. He’s referring to the network of trails in Huron County; during my weekend, we mountain bike and hike through some gems.

The plan is to join a series of these trails — much in the same way the Bruce Trail does — to link Bayfield to Clinton, about 25 kms. Here’s a cool video I found that takes you through some: www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LX8zpp1q9E.

We’re on the Lobb trail–privately owned land that is maintained by locals. At the trail head, a wide road leading down, it’s so dense and dark at the end, I can’t see past the hill. 

We ride alongside the Maitland River–the largest river in the area. We dip into the woods and then spit out onto farmer’s fields. The fall leaves are a week before their colour peak: orange dominates the forest.

Here is Tyler’s wife Heidi below.

We plan to ride all morning but are stopped, abruptly, by downed trees. Apparently the tornado that hit Goderich, north of here, came down the river. We have no choice but to turn back. I’m shocked by the destruction: it looks like a clear cut.

We’re quiet as we take it all in. This side of the river once looked like the other side: lush and full.

My next post will talk about road riding; specifically how the rolling smoothness made this mountain biker reconsider the whole road thing. A mighty big feat.

Stay tuned.

November 11th, 2011 is the sixth year anniversary of the Black Dog Village Bistro Pub in Bayfield; they also recently updated their site: www.blackdogpubbistro.ca. When I was at the pub ages ago, Kathleen was knee deep in potatoes, working on her seventh cookbook—a who’s who on potatoes called 300 Best Potato Recipes.

Kathleen and hubbie Ted, a scotch, whiskey, wine and beer aficionado and expert, are poised for the next chapter of their exceptionally popular pub. “People get it now,” says Kathleen of the foodie wave hitting Bayfield; she says this as she explains the new burger selection on the menu: “The Scottish is the most popular.” On top of the pattie sits two, yes, TWO, fried onion rings and a single malt cheddar aged for three years called the Highland Chieftain. Kathleen slices me off a piece in the store, located next to the pub. I can smell the scotch in the cheese. “It’s not a mild mannered cheese,” she says. It’s served with spicy tomato chutney. Smack me now.

The discussion moves to beer; when I first came to the pub, I became a beer lover. It was around Halloween so I drank a brew called Hobgoblin. I’m a sucker for names. The pub serves over 20 beers. Last year I came for a beer event where each of the five courses was paired with a beer from Wellington Brewery in Guelph. Hailing from Guelph, this microbrew is Ontario’s oldest independent brew house. www.wellingtonbrewery.ca

But it’s hard to get the microbrew ale, of which Ontario has over 30.  “The small microbrews don’t have the money to deliver—so they have to do it themselves.” www.ontariocraftbrewers.com.

October 29^th the pub is holding a beer event featuring over 30 beers (the web site lists all events). Kathleen informs me they will be serving Wellington’s cast conditioned ale. This cast ale has a shelf life. Yes, with no preservatives, it can only be served for days before it starts to go bad. It’s also served in a mini baby keg that sits on the bar and is served with a hand pulled knob; there’s no carbonation.

All this beer talk is making me hungry. I head to the patio where the leaves are falling and the sun is shining. I pick the tostado, which is two layers corn tortillas with a veggie mixture of beans and carrots, served with salsa verde and sour cream. Chorizo adds a bite of spice.

I raise my London Pride ale and toast to the day. Can it get better than this?

Exeter is about half an hours drive north of London. I first noticed it when I worked for Canadian Blood Services–many moons ago. We visited rural areas on mobile clinics and I quickly became acquainted with the chocolate mint smoothies from Sugar and Spice Chocolates (www.sugarandspicechocolates.ca).

I recently visited while doing a tour of Huron County—north and to the west of London. Over the next few weeks I will post about some of the best food, cycling and personalities of the area. Here’s the first, working backwards, of course! This is on the Saturday on the way home.

“You’re so young,” I blurt out when I first shake James Eddington’s hand; he’s the owner of the restaurant Eddington’s of Exeter www.eddingtons.ca.

That’s because at 14 years old, he knew that cooking was his calling. For the entire supper, the rest of my assumptions about a rural chef were equally destroyed.

Studying at Fanshawe, he could have interned as a chef in Disney, but an old home in an obscure southwestern Ontario town tugged at his heart. “It was the best decision I made in my life…I went to Disney and found that I would have been churning out the same stuff day after day.”

Since taking over the 1870 built Victorian home—formerly a Carling beer family residence—James has created his own magic: he’s gutted the interior twice, spent countless hours sanding down and repainting the original exterior shutters, restored the original latches for the book shelves in the library, and even added an addition that at one point was sinking.

“I went out one day and the patio had dropped two inches.” Walking the property, the leaves are turning and falling carelessly on his newly stained patio. “It’s beautiful,” I tell him. He beams as if I just complimented his newborn child.

I’m dinning in the former library and facing the wall. Hanging under a small light is a eerie picture of a castle. It’s got to have some meaning. Turns out James was also a budding art collector. He found the painting at an antique store when he was 15 years old. His parents refused to pay the $150 for the painting, so James saved up and bought it himself. I believe it’s a precursor to his tenacity and he dedication to this restaurant.

As we talk over supper, I nibble on a thin battered chicken topped with a chunk of brie and soft apples.

James talks about his favourite places, and foods: he finds truffles too intense, but put those suckers in a good sea salt and he lights up. He’s a fan of Washington State wines.“I know—I’ve had them all from France to California, but Washington. Weird right?” He tells me to try the syrahs and the rest of the bold reds.

Next he moves to whiskies. “I fell in love with them in Ireland,” he says handing me a glass of a Kittling Ridge whiskey, based out of Grimsby in Niagara. “Smell the smokiness? It’s not harsh, right?” Never a whiskey drinker, I’m converted. Smooth. Smoky. I now like whiskey. He then pulls out a bottle still in its case—it’s labeled: Small Batch Reserve. Lot number 104. Batch number 0007.

Here’s another shocker too: a good majority of his customers, to this sleepy town of 5,000, are Japanese business people. They are clients of the local farm coop.“They come over because they want to inspect the beans.”

Hensall, about an hour from London, is the bean capital of Canada.

I am schooled all over the place today. Get out, I say in my head. Who knew? I leave when the sun has gone down. Driving out of the gravel parking lot, across the street from Godfather’s Pizza—next to the oldest house in Exeter (another tidbit from James)—I feel like I’ve just come home from an international trip. I often gush about exotic locales, but this time I feel humbled to find such eccentric and vibrant personality so close to home.

ok, booked the flight and now have booked an apartment for a week in Buenos Aires in May. It seems real now. I love how researching a trip and the pre-planning starts to make it seem real. What started out as a faint idea, this place that is a gazillion miles away, starts to feel closer. You start to feel connected to it and you’re not even there. Love it.

This feeling drives me. As silly as it sounds, it feels like falling in love. I get rumblings in my tummy; I find myself smiling when no one else is around.

Just this morning I woke up and started pumping my fists in the air.

This is the room–small, but it’s all I need: http://www.bytargentina.com/re/propview.php?view=4449

My plan is to start in Ecuador. I’m researching tour companies because I’m alone. This trip is different for me. I’ve travelled Europe and parts of Southeast Asia, but South American seems raw–raw in that its culture isn’t so North American and I really don’t know much about it.

Will relate more as I go along.

Melanie

Driving into Flagstaff, the scenery changed: the desert was replaced with Douglas Fir trees.

There was also snow on the mountain peaks.

Stopping at the old railstation visitor centre, we ask for directions to our next diner destination: Brandy’s Bakery, which is located in a residential strip mall. www.brandysrestaurant.com. You wouldn’t spot this place just coming through town. Two years ago the Diners, Drive-ins and Dives crew arrived. That changed everything.

“He ate the iron steak when he came through,” says supper chef Sherman Johnson of host Guy Fieri. Sporting a soul patch on his chin, and round glasses, Sherman informs me, in a surfer-dude accent, “my name sounds like sure man.”

Guy and Sherman…

Sherman makes all his own sauces, dressings and breads from scratch. “I want people to use that bread to sop up every last drop of sauce.”

He takes me into the kitchen to show me how he cuts up the veggies and grills them. “They’re healthier that way.”

The owner Ed Wodciak comes in (his wife is Brandy). I ask how the show has changed business. “That show has huge power: not a day goes by when someone doesn’t come in her saying they saw us on that show. And when all the other restaurants around us were losing about five to 10 percent of business, we were up. ..we’ve also noticed more out of towners and that people plan their trips around food, they make an itinerary around these diners.”

I devoured eggs benny neptune with real crab, but it was the “light-as-air” pancakes with crispy edges that were killer.

Full tummies once again, we drive to Flagstaff. Flagstaff sits at almost 6,000 feet above sea level–Sedona is a half hour drive downhill; it drops a dramatic 2,000 feet, which also makes for warmer weather.

Curving down the mountain, on the right hand side, I could see these dramatic red rocks.

And more!

Opening the car window, the air was decidedly warmer. Our luck was starting to turn.

We drove right to the bike shop called Absolute Bikes and bought an area map.  But the mecca of bike shops was just ahead: The Bike and the Bean www.bike-bean.com.

Owner Jim was a vending machine salesman from New York down here on business. He arrived at night so he didn’t see the mountains; when daylight broke, so did his resolve to stay. That was six years ago. His wife moved back home–he’s now dating someone that rides.

His shop is a great hub offering rentals and the best coffee; the shop is also two minutes from the biking trailheads.

After talking to Jim for a bit, we felt at home. We heard the shop also ran a motel behind the shop. “You can check if there’s space but I doubt it,” says Jim. We found out that regular guests book a year in advance to stay at the Red Agave www.redagaveresort.com.

There was a cancallation for four nights. Sounds unlikely? But as I said, our luck turned.

The motel sits in front of the mountains: they spread out from one side of the sky to the other. I was in awe. I started to cry a bit– I was having an emotional reaction to these red giants.

Zack, the motel’s manager, a former Chicago resident and accountant, has a similar story to Jim’s.

He quit the rat race to manage the Red Agave. “I used to visit and ride and then I just couldn’t stand it any longer — my wife will join me when she’s done he nursing degree.”

In the common area in front of the motel is a giant fire wood pit where they have nightly bombfires with smores; there’s also a pool and hot tub, and near the fence is the trailhead to the labribnth of singletrack trails. Nirvana.

Read on for the killer riding and lentil taco supper on Christmas day.

Mel

Leaving Boulder City immediately after the ride, we headed South to Flagstaff and Sedona, Arizona: it’s mountain bike heaven. It’s estimated that there are over 350 miles of trails–singletrack–in Sedona. But as we’re driving along, for several hours, once the sun ducks behind the mountains, the sky and road turn pitch black. We stop off at the birthplace of Route 66–a little strip of a town called Seligman, complete with saloon style facades on the buildings.

Broken down saloon.

“As I stood in the doorway, I heard the mission bells…”

Next door, The Road Kill Diner.

The menu included items such as the chicken that didn’t make it across the road, Splatter Platter – Swirl of Squirrel – Big Bagged Stag – Highway Hash. The walls pay homage to roadkill: there’s a giant buffalo head, a couple of deer, javelinas (native to the area–aggressive hogs) and tons of bob cats. Odd.

Javelina.

You want to do what with me?

Tom has the southern fried chicken with coleslaw and corn on the cob; I’ve never tasted chicken like it. A crusty exterior that bursts. I had the trout and baked potato. Then, I ate a lemon cloud: a giant plate of lemon meringue pie with mile high fluffy meringue. Delicious.

We decide to stay next door at the route 66 motel for the night. Basic accommodations with a Chief above the bed.

Tom chats up an older couple from new Mexico–Charlie and Vickie.

To sleep early; it was a long day and my belly is full.

The next morning we hop across the street to Lilo’s Westside Diner that specializes in German and American food. I forgo the schnitzel. Tom orders huevos rancheros. It’s mammoth. It defies logic. He can’t make it through, but gives it a good go–the eggs are piled with shredded pork, homemade salsa and green onions; then, there’s potatoes and re-fried beans with cheese. He won’t have to eat for a week after this sucker.

The place oozed friendliness–the waitress was on the phone with a friend: apparently Connie locked her keys in her car. Bob, who overheard the conversation and was eating breakfast with his wife and two small ones, offered to go over and help out. “She still in that place over by so and so?” He heads out and returns in 10 minutes. “I got there and there were already four people helping her out,” says Bob.

That’s Seligman. Route 66.

Rolled into Boulder City, about half an hour drive from Vegas, after an expensive trip to REI. America’s version of MEC (Mountain Equipment Co-Op). www.rei.com.

So many cool brands that we don’t have: Haiku purses, etc… They even had a national parks version of monopoly.

It was raining, of course, so we thought we’d eat at the diner first: The Coffee Cup in Boulder City.

But first, Boulder City.

This town is one street. Ok, it does have some side roads. But, what it may lack in glitz, it makes up for in personality. “It’s a world away from Vegas,” says the waitress. Namely, there is absolutely no gambling in BC (Boulder City).

We’ve come here, The Coffee Cup, for the Verde chili–a Mexican chili made from green peppers, pulled pork and jalapenos. The recipe is on the web site below.

It was a bit too much meat for me–a bowl of pork essentially. Wicked coffee though!

“Please wake to be seated,” says the sign inside the diner. The walls are coated with pictures of locals who fought in Iran, surfing memorabilia, a surf board, and license plates. Kitch.

www.worldfamouscoffeecup.com

I ask about the show. “I’d say we’ve seen business go up about 20%” says the waitress, but more interestingly, they get a load of international visitors from Canada and even Brits.

The son of the owner joins us after lunch: former world traveller, competitive boater, mountain biker, then fire fighter, Terry Stevens came home to help out with the diner when his dad got ill. So, today, Terry, his sister Carrie and his parents run the place. It’s had a few locations and names, but the Coffee Cup oozes personality–part of the reason the food network came knocking.

Funny enough, Terry hadn’t watched the show before the visit. “I had no idea what a big deal that show was,” recalls Terry. “We made everything on the menu and filled every table in the place.” There’s a few dozen tables, by the way. They taped for 22 hours to make a six minute clip.

Boulder is proudly his home now. Close to Lake Mead, Nevada’s largest fresh water lake, the place is a boating and fishing mecca: : “There’s world record sized fish there–64 pounders like trout and stripper. They’re the size of Volkswagens!”

Speaking of which, the area is also known for their giant hot rod car events: “There’s almost an event every month. They also brought in the Volkswagen event here–invade the dam they call it.”

That night we ate at Mexican at Casa Flores; we’d been here about eight years ago. Can’t remember too much–blame it on the tequila. I had an avocado salad–creamy avocados–Tom had the tamale and taco plate; think mounds of delicious cheese.

Slept at the Nevada Inn; the main drag in BC is full of motels with retro circa 1960s flashing signs.

After stocking up on some beef jerky, post ride sustenance, we made our way to Bootleg Canyon– a network of trails that goes miles deep into the desert through mountains and deep valley canyons.

Haha…someone drew me flying on my bike!

Originally a Native American trail, Bootleg Canyon was formerly known as hooch highway. During prohibition booze came through en route to the construction crew setting up in Boulder City. “The town that Hoover Dam built,” is its tagline. The trails improved and were formerly developed when The Civilian Conservation Corps stepped in.

After jerky, riding was delayed–slightly. Tom’s front brake was dead so we had to go to the shop, which they kindly opened up early for us. Below is Maverick the shop dog (every great bike shop has a  dog) and his owner–didn’t catch his name. Go figure. The dog takes precedent!

Finally, we parked and started the ride. You have to cycle up a main road to get to the trails. At the top of the mountain there’s a giant spooky transmission station. NO one in sight. We climbed for about 20 minutes and then hopped onto the trail called Boyscout.

Tom waiting for me!

The trail was so skinny at times, one wrong move and you’d be rolling down the canyon through the cactus. The downhill was curvy and fast–back and forth without touching the breaks. I especially loved the giant bowl dips:  aim the front tire down and the trail popped you up on the other side.

I also liked when the trail disappeared and was replaced with a giant rock–you had no choice but to ride over it.

“Keep off the brakes and just keep your speed up,” Tom told me after a particularly rocky downhill section that had me practically sitting on the back tire. Good advice. Too much and I’d be doing head first into a rock garden.  Parts of the trail were all slick rock–surprisingly grippy on the tires, but I was truly scared. After a few steep sections I got off to catch my breath. When I went to put my shoe back into the clips, I was shaking so much it wouldn’t go in.

Human power, baby!

At some point, we inevitably get lost. Instead of going from the Caldera trail to the Girlscout, we did an enormously circuitous route west of the city. We got off the singletrack onto a road heading down under giant power lines that were humming. Scary.

HEADLINE: “Electrocuted Canadian–Canadian bacon.”

We finally hit a paved bike path looking down on the highway. I said turn left; Tom said right. “Why do you think that,” he asked. I dunno, I got a feeling. He wasn’t convinced. Guess which way we went? Yes, he was right. Damn. We had completely gotten off track and were heading to Vegas!

Back in the car, priorities: a beer and a bag of beef jerky in the back seat with the heat blasting.

Wet and cold, but happy. Very happy.

You know the Food Network show Diners, Drive-ins and Dives? Well, I had the idea, on a recent trip to Las Vegas, Boulder City, Flagstaff, Sedona and Phoenix, to plot a trip around these diners. But more than that, I would pair the diners with an exceptional mountain bike trail. The diner food would be the reward after a long ride.

I call it, Diners, Dives and RIDES.

Here’s our journey through America; we’re eating and riding our way through a little, or giant in the case of diners, slice of America.

First day in Vegas

Staying at the Imperial Palace was about one thing: price. Two nights: $75. However, you pay for what you get: the carpet stunk of smoke, sweat and Vegas sin.

But the ultimate symbol of retro sin-city: mirrors above the bed and giant tub; I cringe to think what kind of nasty stuff took place in this room. Before checking out, Tom found a bag of Cheetos behind the bedside table. Yum. Have those for later.

We were upgraded to a Love Tub Suite. The tub could fit two adults side-by-side or four large dogs standing, or maybe even a pony, depending on the breed. We only tried one of these.

Fat Tire became our brew of choice for the trip–we picked up a six-pack every few days. Based out of Colorado, it’s the biggest microbrew in the States, or so we were told. www.newbelgium.com. The beer was inspired by a guy’s bike trip through Belgium; it tastes malty and toasty. Yum.

After our first night, I waited outside in the hallway while Tom ran back in the room to grab something; I could hear someone down the hallway repeatedly vomiting. Ahh, Vegas the next morning. Isn’t as glamorous as the night before, eh?

Our first morning we had a $50 breakfast at the Paris hotel. Who knew eggs could be so pricey?

We headed outside of town to pick up the bikes at Las Vegas Cyclery. www.lasvegascyclery.com

I rented a Santa Cruz Superlite for $200 (10 days) while Tom’s Ellsworth Epiphany cost a cool $350. Still, it was cheaper than taking our own. Delta charges $200 each way!

At the bike shop, I picked up every kind of energy gel: Powerbar electrolyte gellies (think gummy bears), Heed espresso gels, etc…all the kinds that you can’t find in Canada. I love that about the States: they always seem to have different shit we don’t have. But the ultimate post ride snack: beef jerky. Uncle Jim’s Teriyaki is dreamy. It’s also about 35% of your daily sodium allowance, but hey, I’m on vacation. I ate this stuff every day.

Driving to Cottonwood Valley outside of Vegas, I was skeptical. The newspaper headline that morning read: Record rainfall. Worst in 51 years.

Clouds had completely enveloped the mountain peaks and slanted rain hit violently against the van. We sat in the van parking lot: will it let up? A fellow Canadian we met at the bike shop was the only other car in the lot. Rain or shine, he was going: “I’m here so I might as well,” he told me. “My wife decided to shop.” Smart lady.

But yes, we did come here to ride, so, suck it up.

Heading out under the underpass, we picked up a six mile loop called dinosaur teeth — it’s south of the highway. Tight singletrack, the bushes were no higher than your ankle, but they were deadly: stay in the middle of the trail to avoid being impaled.

But the wind was the real worry: it blew me off my bike–twice! Seriously. Then, when Tom stopped to lower his seat, he was holding onto the handlebars and the wind picked up the bike. It floated–suspended–in the air.

Coming down was intensely fun; the last three miles of this trail are known as “the three mile smile.” It’s steep switchbacks followed by a section that levelled off and picked up speed. Lots of speed. Inside, I was yelling the entire way down: weeeeeeee!

It only took at hour before we were back in the parking lot.

Soaked head to foot, and in a bunch of other places, too.

Our first diner stop made up for it. We heard about the famous ‘bolis’ at the Four Kegs Sports Bar from the show. www.fourkegs.com.

Boli goodness.

Cheesy goodness.

On Jones Boulevard–northwest of the strip– is the real Vegas: strip malls and stores like Circuit City, Payday Title Loans, El Pocco Loco Tacos, and Shifty’s Bar: Slots, Food and Package liquor and my favourite, Capos. It’s an Italian mobster themed restaurant. Love the Godfather-inspired web-site. Check out the video at the start of this site. www.caposrestaurant.com

Strombolis are similar to a calzone, a pizza baked inside a dough pocket. Tom gets a small — it fills an entire dinner plate. We also order deep fried zucchini. I have the Sicilian p[izza–a deep hunky pizza. Very traditional.

On the walls, there’s a retro Coca Cola ad from the 1930s, a Coors Light poster: “official beer of Nascar” and a clock with Nascar legend Richard Petty (don’t think that I knew this. I had to ask). Four Kegs is hands down a sports bar: a screen, the size of the wall, is playing the game between Green Bay and New England and everyone here has a favourite team yelling out players’ names.

“What would you kids like?” asks Marybeth Cook, our waitress who calls everone kids. She’s wearing a Green Bay jersey.

The place, a series of tiny rooms, is packed to the rafters with families, guys, and college kids. It’s a Monday night.

Then, there’s Guy Fieri. He’s the dyed blond, sunglasses-behind-the-head-wearing host of Diners, Drive-ins and Dives.

These boards represent where guests come from.  ”The board got so full we had to start another one,” says Marybeth.

I ask her how the show has changed business. “I thank god every day for that show. In the last few years 15 bars in this area have closed.” She’s deadly serious all of a sudden.

As we make our way south, and visit three more Diners, we discover the power of this show, not just to keep places afloat in a dire economy, but I discover that diners are a powerful place for communities and families. It’s one of the most heartfelt and endearing aspects of the States I have ever seen.

ok, over the last 48 hours London, Ontario has been hit, and hit hard, by snow. We’re talking in the neighbourhood of 100 centimeters or more. Stores have shut down and even the colleges and The University of Western Ontario, where I teach, has cancelled classes and exams for the day.

Check out below. I guess some think it’s not that bad–down right balmy you might say.

watch?v=OeLpTAWBV88&feature=youtu.be