The air was soft, the stars so fine, the promise of every cobbled alley so great, that I thought I was in a dream

Our motorcycle weekend, in 6 words: Open road, so many corn fields.

And if you're still here, there’s the full version:

We almost didn’t go, when my in-laws couldn’t make it our way after all. At the last minute M arranged for LP to spend the weekend at his (single) sister’s and it turned out to be a great idea. He seemed to be invigorated by the change of scenery and it felt as much of a little break to him than it did to us. He was all smiles and excited when telling us all about his weekend.

So in the end, a little later than we thought, we left on Saturday morning, and headed straight to the nearest border station, a 25-minute ride on the slab (how highways are very negatively referred to in the motorcycle world. In short, the slab is something you must try to avoid at all costs). Unexpectedly, there was a 2-hour wait, so we quickly turned around to our backup, smaller station, which was just as full, as was our third and last back-up one.

We had laid out a nice itinerary in Vermont and NH, but we decided to throw it out the figurative, non-existent, window. We figured that when you only have a day and a half to ride, you want to actually do that and not spend it waiting. So, thanks to the GPS, we turned around again and headed east after all, straight to Frelighsburg, where we got married. It felt great being back there, and it made me smile to think that the last time, I was wearing a wedding gown! We stopped for lunch at the little restaurant we went with our family and close friends after the reception, then went to the orchard. Nice trip down recent memory lane! And it was fun to share some anecdotes from the wedding day that M and I had never even talked about. I pointed to what was left of an old barn right by the road before the village, which was torn down to the ground. Do you remember this place? I asked. He said, yeah, on the morning of the wedding it looked pretty much ready to fall apart. And I burst out laughing, suddenly remembering that when I passed by later that day with my mom and her partner, it had just collapsed minutes earlier, and there were two police cars and a fire truck stopping traffic. When seeing that, I had a moment of panic, saying “They have to let us go! I have to go get married!” But after making us slow down, they waved for us to go through without me having to play the bride card, and I had immediately forgotten all about it.

The orchard was packed full of people, making us fully realize why they wouldn’t have accepted to hold our wedding later in the season… It felt great and emotional to be back there, like it still held some of our good vibes, but maybe I was the only one feeling that.

The blossoms of your wedding day have turned into fruit… I know this is corny but I still think it's a great metaphor for a marriage…

We then finally crossed into Vermont, stopping in Jay Peak, then in Stowe where we arrived right before a full-on parade of antique cars that occupied the whole town and gave it a really festive atmosphere. Did I ever tell you how much M and I love old cars and have this project of getting and restoring one someday?

M’s favorite part of the trip was getting to ride again on his favorite road ever to do on a bike: the scenic 108 pass between Stowe and Smuggler’s Notch, which is beautiful and narrow and full of curves and excitement (and closed in the winter).

We headed back to Quebec going through farmlands and pretty villages, eventually arriving at our hotel around 7. We had dinner, but once again this year realized that this was not going to be our best romantic, relaxing date: we were way too damn tired! But by all means, we were both still feeling like a couple focusing on and taking care of each other, not like parents, and this was just wonderful. The next morning, we came back home through another great series of small roads and rural landscapes, arriving mid-afternoon. Total road covered on the trip: 538 km. We made it just a couple hours before our chatty, happy son whom, I swear, seemed to have changed and grown in a single day!

Riding on beautiful roads, at a somewhat slower pace outside of our usual daily commute, totally reconnected me with how much I love being on the bike. It’s a bit of a cliché but it’s tough to explain it otherwise, after you’ve gone for a while and let go of your apprehensions and let your mind wander a bit, the feeling is incomparable. When the sun is out, when the wind blows just slightly in your face, when the light hits the horizon with a certain intensity, when you suddenly breathe in the bright, fresh, sweet smell of wildflowers, when the music is good (among other things, we listened to Alain Bashung (RIP), Dallas Green, +44, Coldplay and The Killers’ Springsteen infused newest), it’s pure bliss. Kerouac is never far.

And for the requisitory tidbit of LP while we were gone: during a walk with the stroller, he ordered his aunt to stop in a very urgent manner, which made her jump to his side and ask: “Gosh, what’s wrong?” Nothing. He had just become mesmerized by a parked car and wanted to look it over. A bright yellow Porsche, of all things.

P.S. Did you know that bikers have a secret handshake? When you cross another motorcycle on the road, you must do a little left-hand wave, and hold it for as long as there are bikes in front of you (that can be long when you see a big group of people traveling together). There are also additional rules, like technically people on Japanese racers do not wave to people on Harleys, who fall on the opposite end of the spectrum, and so on. But since M’s bike is a bit of an in-between oddity (a BMW), he told me he just decided to wave to everyone. So, for good measure, and to make fun of him a little, I made sure to wave at every cow that we saw.