We took the roadtrip slow through the ugly Eastern townships. A few weeks prior, I’d been busted for scooting along a little fast, 70km rather than 50km, which in dog years is slow.
“You’d never know from this stupid road how nice the towns are,” I told rider X, next to me. He smelled like patchouli, which I hoped would not set off the border guards. They seemed to consider that, in the 2000s, the Beatles’ hair was too long. Continue reading “Roadtrip with an angel”