Cycling In Montreal

Different cities have different "feels" or "vibes".  A musician--Charles Mingus, I believe--once remarked that he could tell, blindfolded, and with his ears plugged, whether he was in San Francisco or New York or Paris or wherever.  

He, or whoever that musician was, also said it was possible to sense the "energy" of a place you're visiting for the first time the moment you step off the plane or train or whatever took you there.  I believe there's something to that:  I recall feeling almost as if I'd developed another sense as I walked through the airport in Istanbul.  Every place I went, whether in the city itself or along the coast or into the Cappadocia countryside, just seemed to pulse with vitality, whether I was marveling at the Blue Mosque, sauntering among the ancient ruins or looking at the almost-otherworldly landsapes--or seeing the mansions along the Bosphrous or the shacks of once-mighty cities whose harbors had silted up.

Likewise, cycling feels different in different cities.  In Boston, it can seem like mano-a-mano combat with drivers; all through Florida (all right, it's not a city, but bear with me), it feels as if you're holding out (I was going to stay "standing your ground", but that seems pretty touchy!) and holding onto pieces of real estate that are miles long and inches wide.  In Prague, you're always climbing or descending a hill, just as I remember San Francisco.  The difference between cycling in Paris and cycling in New York is like the difference between caffeine and Red Bull laced with cocaine:  The former energizes cyclists but doesn't seem to impair their social skills; the latter turns everything into a race--to what, no one seems to know.

As I've mentioned in previous posts, Parisian drivers are courteous and respectful because, I believe, many are--or have recently been--cyclists.  I'm not sure that the bike lanes or Velib made it a more "bike friendly" city, as some have said, although I did see more cyclists on my most recent trip there than I saw on previous trips.  More time elapsed between the Montreal trip I just took and the one before it, but I think it's fair to see that there are more real changes in the city's cycling atmosphere than I've witnessed in any other city.

I certainly saw more cyclists--and, perhaps most important, a wider variety of people cycling--than I did on previous visits.  I rode some routes I'd ridden before and explored areas I'd never before seen.  I was able to do most of my riding on bike paths, although that was not one of my objectives.  I wouldn't say that the paths, which were all but non-existent the last time I was in Montreal, necessarily make cycling safer or even more pleasant than it had been before.  But I have to say that, for the most part, they seem well-planned:  I didn't find myself on "paths to nowhere" or ones that abruptly let cyclists out into dangerous intersections.  

However, I found myself questioning the wisdom of this:

I understand what planners were trying to do:  Provide paths that allow cyclists to ride in an orderly fashion.  And, for whatever reasons, they wanted or had to keep the paths on one side of the street or the other.  The issue wasn't the width of the paths.  One lane in each direction is more or less like one lane in each direction on a road for motorized vehicles:  You follow similar kinds of procedures and etiquette for riding with, behind or in front, of--or passing--other drivers.  It certainly seemed to work well:  I didn't sense conflicts between cyclists over rights-of-way.

On the other hand, there was a problem I found with them:  When you're riding in the right lane, in the opposite direction from the motorized traffic, and you come to an intersection, you have to take extra care, especially if the cross-street is one-way, with the traffic coming from your left.  This is even more true when drivers traveling in the opposite direction on the street your path parallels make right turns.

To be fair, the local cyclists and drivers didn't seem to have any problem.  Perhaps they've grown accustomed to the arrangement.  Were I living in Montreal--or simply cycling there more often--I probably would, too.  

I didn't see any of the confrontations, or any other expressions of hostility, one witnesses--or, perhaps, gets involved in--here in New York.  There seems to be more respect--or, at least, some sort of detente--between motorists and cyclists.  The latter--even the fastest and most competitive ones--come to a full stop at red lights, as do pedestrians. So do the drivers:  They don't try to "gun it" as the light is changing, and there is actually a pause between the light turning green and cars proceeding through it.  In the Big Apple, it seems, drivers have learned how to put their foot on the gas pedal a second or two before the signal changes so their vehicles are in motion even before the light is green.

In brief, the calm atmosphere I experienced while riding in Montreal seems to be a result of people's sense of security about themselves, as motorists and cyclists as well as human beings.  In New York, I am realizing, no matter how well you do, you've only survived the day and, perhaps, survived for another day.  As James Baldwin has noted, when everyone is striving for status, nobody really has any.  Or, as a student of mine remarked last night, "You have to be a shark to survive in this city!"  If that is the case, and Montreal's streets are waterways, one can navigate them as a dolphin.

Plus, you've got to love a place where you can see a sign like this:

I think something was lost in translation.

or a street with a name like this:

Admit it:  You would love to say you live on "Rue Rufus Rockhead"!

just blocks away from this:

In Vieux Montreal, or Old Montreal

or this:

"Farine Five Roses":  I'm not sre of whether it's stranger in French or English!

or where a bridge like the Jacques Cartier would have an underpass like this between the east and west walkways:

 You can't hear the traffic above you, and look at how clean it is!  It was open, even tough the west walkway is closed.

Such a thing never would be built in New York.  (A fair number of bridges, such as the Verrazano Narrows, don't even have bike paths or walkways.)  And if it were, it would always be "closed for repairs", but homeless people or the young and intoxicated would break into it.

All right.  I'll stop whining about what does and doesn't happen in New York and say that Montreal is indeed a fine cycling city. 

Ground Transportation

At almost any major airport, there is an exit for "ground transportation".  In really enlightened cities, it means a bus, train or some other conveyance that will take you to the city center.  In a place like LaGuardia International Airport--where I disembarked last night--it means taxis, hotel or rental car company shuttles, an "express"  bus that (for $15) brings you to Grand Central or Penn Station (or the Port Authority Bus Terminal) or a city bus that connects with other bus lines or subways in other parts of town.  For some, "ground transportation" is whatever they drove to the airport, or whatever some friend or relative is driving to pick them up.

This was my "ground transportation":

 

La Guardia doesn't have any bike parking facilities.  It doesn't even have the basic bike racks one finds by the Air Train station at John F. Kennedy International Airport.  But I decided that, for this trip, I wanted to try parking my bike at the airport.  For one thing, the LeTour is my "lockup" bike.  For another, I was going only for five days--which meant that I wasn't carrying very much with me.

But, most important of all, Terminal B--from which my flight to Montreal departed--is only 7.25 km (4.5 miles) from my apartment.  I figured, correctly, that I could pedal there just about as quickly as any taxi driver could take me there, especially if there was traffic.

I locked the bike to one of the railings just outside the terminal building.  As you can see, I parked it behind the bins to keep it from blocking pedestrians or people in wheelchairs.  Also, that spot probably protected it from damage caused by errant carts and such.

If I were to pack light enough, and were going on a short trip (say, a week), I could imagine riding to JFK which, depending on the terminal and my route, is 22 to 25 kilometers from my place.

Riding to my bike to Newark Airport would be more difficult because of the Hudson River crossing:  The only all-bike route would involve going up to the George Washington Bridge and riding down to Jersey City, from which I'd have to take US 1 and 9 (a major truck route) across Newark Bay into Newark.  Even if I were to take the ferry from downtown Manhattan to Jersey City, I'd still have to ride the truck corridor.  I've ridden it before, but I'd rather not, especially if I'm carrying a load worrying about catching a flight.

Of course, I could also ride into Manhattan, take the PATH train to Newark and ride from the airport from there.  As with riding to LaGuardia or JFK, it could make sense if I pack light enough.

All I know is that this time, riding to LaGuardia and back turned out to be a relatively hassle-free experience that saved me $11 in bus and train fares, or $25 on taxis.  The next time I'm traveling under similar conditions (light load and short trip), I would ride to the airport--LaGuardia or JFK, anyway.

(More about riding in Montreal tomorrow.)

Au Revoir, Montreal. Peut Etre Nous Reconaissons!

The sun has to set on every journey.  Some wise old person said that, I think.

And so today my latest Montreal experience ends.  I'll tell you a little more, and share some observations with you, if not tomorrow, then in another post that's coming soon.

(I took those photos at the point where the Lachine Canal empties into the St. Lawrence.)

More Food. More Fall, More Ride

Today would have been considered warm for Columbus Day in New York, or most of the US.  Here in Montreal, it was absolutely balmy for la Fete de l'Action de Grace.  Yes, it's Thanksgiving Day in Canada--which, this year, just happens to coincide with Columbus Day, a holiday Canadians don't celebrate.  And, according to a couple of people I talked to, French Canadians don't really celebrate Thanksgiving, although most Anglophones do so with a turkey dinner much like the ones folks in the US eat a month later.

Anyway...About the weather:  The temperature reached 23C (about 72C).  And the skies were clear and sunny.

Still, there were plenty of signs this is indeed autumn, and that Montreal, like most of Canada, is further into the season than most of the US.

Of course the trees are more colorful than they are in all but perhaps the most northern reaches of the United States.  But even the bright blue skies I saw today had the unmistakable depth, even gravity, that you might see in bright, clear eyes when the soul of an aging person is looking through them.

I do not mean that the day looked sad; to the contrary, it had a particular kind of beauty that came from the the warmth combined with the wryness of one who has seen what has been and knows what's coming.

That, perhaps, is what made it such a joy to ride today.  I decided to look at public statuary and art, of which this city has plenty, even more so than New York.  Or so it seems.

It seemed that people--and I include myself--were enjoying this day precisely because they know what's coming:  For most, tomorrow means a return to work, school or whatever else constitutes their lives.  (When I was on line at Schwartz's, a woman told me she and her sister came here for the weekend "just because" they "didn't want to be home".   I feel more or less the same way.)  Also for most, at least in this part of the world, they are enjoying this day because winter is coming very, very soon.

So I enjoyed the riding--I must have done at least 6 hours' worth, even with the stops I made--the company, however brief and random, of those I encountered, and all manner of sensory delights--including the scenery and, of course, the food.

Food writers in this city debate whether Fairmount or St. Viateur's makes the best bagels in Montreal.  Being a New Yorker, I was of course skeptical that any other city could make a decent bagel.  But I'm still open-minded enough to try almost anything.  Also, it occurred to me that I don't eat bagels nearly as often as I used to.  (There was a point in my life when I ate them with breakfast, and sometimes other meals or for snacks, every day.)  I started to wonder why.

When I encountered this

at Fairmount Bagels, I figured the bagels must be almost other-worldly, or that there are a lot of people in this city who don't know what a bagel is.  My Cynical New Yorker Self went with the latter.  But what I saw behind the counter made me wonder whether all of those people on line knew something I didn't.

The workers were actually hand-cutting the pieces of dough.  And boiling them. (I remember when just about all bagel shops in Brooklyn did that.)  But what struck me is that they were using wood-burning ovens.  Hmm...I don't recall seeing those in a New York bagel shop.

Turns out, those ovens are illegal in New York.   And they are one of the reasons why the bagels from Fairmount are smaller, denser and less symmetrical than the ones that come out of New York ovens.  

And, I would discover, they account for the crunchiness on the outside and the smoky flavor.  When I first bit into one of their bagels--which I ate plain--I thought it was too sweet.  And the texure of the dough inside reminded me more of a hot pretzel than a New York bagel.

But the sweetness was not cloying or overpowering.  In fact, a plain bagel was perfectly good with some of Schwartz's smoked meat, which I bought after buying the bagels.  And I found myself liking the crustiness and relative density.  

I then had a revelation:  I'd been eating fewer bagels in New York--or anywhere else (Most bagels sold in other places try to imitate the ones from the Big Apple) because they seem puffed-up--almost like a sponge cake--on the inside, and they are saltier than they used to be.  In fact, much of the flavor in many foods bought and consumed in New York is little more than salt.

I might go back for more of those bagels before I return to the States.  I might buy a piece of brisket from Schwartz's, though it might be harder to get through US Customs.

For that matter, I might go back to Mache for a pate chinois.  I think whoever named it must have been drinking too much beer, hard cider or maple syrup. (A sugar rush can make you do all sorts of strange things!)  One legend says that it was so named because Chinese restaurants made it for workers.  Somehow I doubt it, as the pate does not resemble anything Chinese I've ever encountered.

If anything, it bears more resemblance to a Shepherd's Pie or Cottage Pie.  Like them, the pate is made with mashed or whipped potatoes.  In the traditional version, which I ate tonight, those potatoes float over a layer of ground beef and kernels of corn (maize).  Other versions use other kinds of meats and vegetables, depending mainly on what's available locally and what's in season.  Mache and other restaurants have even come up with vegetarian or vegan versions.

If this dish has any Chinese connection, it might be that it was fed to Chinese railway workers who turned Montreal into the major railway hub it was for over a century.  

Whatever the origin of Pate Chinois, I enjoyed it.  It's not a spicy food, but it (at least the one I had) was flavorful--and hearty.  I could say the same for the bagels--and, for that matter, the smoked meat from Schwartz's.  

Those foods are further confirmation of something I'd started to suspect when I was in Paris:  that much of the flavor of iconic New York foods, including the bagels and meats, come from their saltiness.  None of what i ate today--or, for that matter, none of what I've eaten on this trip--has left me with the saline aftertaste I so often experience after eating foods in New York.

What further confirms my hypothesis is that I've done as much riding as I've done during the past three days--and as much walking as I did the day before--yet I haven't consumed a lot of water.  

Eating Schwartz's smoked meat and Farimount Bagels raises an interesting socio-historical question for me:  How is it that two of the world's leading Jewish communities--those of New York and Montreal--come up with such different takes on foods traditional to their culture?  These differences are all the more striking when you realize that each city's Jewish community began at around the same time (mid-19th Century) and included immigrants from the same places, namely Germany, Poland, the Ukraine and other eastern and central European states.  (In contrast, most of the Jews in France. for example, are or descend from North Africa and the Middle East.)   

Whatever their origins, those foods gave me food for thought--and energy for riding!

I

Bridges, Islands, Art, History, A Canal And Smoked Beef

Two days of cycling in Montreal and no one has beeped a horn in anger or aggression at me.  And no driver has cursed at me.  (Yes, I know when I'm being cursed at in French!)  And, where bike lanes cross into traffic, drivers actually stop for cyclists, even when there's no sign or signal telling them to do so.  

I guess all of this is remarkable to me because I've cycled so long in New York.  What's most telling to me, though, is that most Montreal drivers have no more experience of cycling than most drivers in New York, let alone the rest of the US, have.  The drivers in Paris were good, but I suspect a fair number of them, if they're not currently cyclists, recently rode bikes on a more or less regular basis.

One thing I can't get over is how, where the bike lane of the Jacques Cartier Bridge crosses the exit for Ile Sainte Helene, drivers not only stopped, they didn't creep into the intersection--or drive into it and expect you to pick up your speed and get out of their way--the way many New York drivers in New York, and the rest of the US, do.

Yes, I did ride over the Pont Jacques Cartier--to Ile Ste. Helene, as I mentioned, and from there to the South Shore of the St. Lawrence River.  This time, I took the east walkway/bike lane because, well, it was closest to where I had been riding.  One of the first things I realized was that I was rolling on an asphalt service; the last time I pedalled across the Bridge, my tires buzzed on the grating that separated them from the St. Laurent, 400 feet below.  

It was then that I recalled that the last time I rode across the bridge, I was on the west side.  No matter.  I was out to enjoy the ride, and the city.

The last time I saw the island--and its "twin", the Ile de Notre Dame--they seemed to be relics of the Terre des Hommes exhibit of Expo '67.  Since then, a lot of landscaping and other work--including, ironically, the building of the Montreal Casino an Notre Dame.  But it's far enough over on the island that it's possible to, if not notice it, at least not get too close to it.

Since I last saw the islands, the city has done, I think, a nice job with them--creating bike and walking paths, fixing eroded areas and creating botanical gardens and the Biosphere, among other things.

Today there were two events that closed off parts of the islands.  One was a cyclocross race.  I didn't mind that one:  The circuit, on dirt paths, didn't interfere with anything else. But the other event closed off access roads and made it dificult to get back on to the Pont.  But I, and others, managed.



Along the South Shore--mainly in the suburb of Longueuil--there's a series of bike lanes that takes you from the bridge, though residential neighborhoods, between a highway and series of railroad tracks (not as bad as it sounds) and through local parks.  

Then, after getting back into Montreal, I picked up some excellent Quebec goat cheese and something from France that seemed to be a cross between Brie and Camembert, with more of a grayish outer rind.  It was one of the creamiest cheeses I've ever eaten!  I washed them down with some little yellow grape tomatoes I picked up from a farmer's market.  Later after wending through some streets in Old Montreal and the area around McGill University, I would eat some succulent raspberries, purchased from the same market, 

Then I rode up Rue Amherst (How did a street in Montreal get a name like that?)  to a place called "l'Ecomusee du Fier Monde". Located in a former public bathhouse,  the Ecomusee states that, as part of its mission, it aims to teach people in the community about its history as a way of empowering them.

The upper level of the museum had a show describing the rise and fall of industry in the Cetre-Sud area of Montreal, and the lives of workers during that time.  It's interesting, even if you're not from the area.  The lower level, on the other hand, hosted a exhibit on "Art of Imagination". I liked the idea better than most of the actual paintings, which were a bit too New-Agey for my tasts.

After that, I descended la rue Amherst to Old Montreal and the beginning of a bike path along the Lachine Canal.  Said canal was built to avoid the rapids in the St. Lawrence River, and was thus one of the most heavily-used canals in the world.  The opening of the St. Lawrence Seaway and the rise of interprovince trucking caused the canal to fall into disuse.

This is where the canal rejoins the river:

   

When you look at how wide the river is, you understand why, at one time, Montreal was the second-biggest port city in North America.  

As you can imagine, all of the riding I've described made me hungry.  So I pedaled up Boulevard Saint Laurent for this:

We were all waiting to get into Schwartz's, renowned for its smoked meats, especially in sandwiches.  I got their signature item:  a smoked beef sandwich on rye bread with mustard.  It might be even more unhealthy than poutine, but it was worth every calorie and every globule of fat.