I got on the bus and got to Montreal. Going through Burlington VT was a strange feeling. I could have gotten off the bus there and felt comfortable and almost at home. But somehow that would end my trip. When I called Greyhound, I initially asked for a ticket to Val D'or - still many days of cycling to the north. The best they could do is Montreal, and I knew that I would not purchase my ride from Montreal to Val D'or. I intend to begin cycling on one of the best and longest paths I've seen to date.
I exited the bus at 6:45am, exhausted. I put my bicycle together slowly, humming to myself, and was riding through the city at 7am. I was up at the top of Mount Royal within the hour. I tried to sleep on a picnic table bench, but I have not yet mastered this art. I cap out at about an hour of sleep, and couldn't even manage to get that much. I was excited about the drums and sword fighting that I knew would occur later toward the bottom of the mountain. I was happy to be in Montreal. This is a welcome change of scenery and completely not a part of my original plan - but leads me to the same place. I don't know much about Montreal, but I think I'm in love. Again.
Nat txt'd me an address for a $23 hostel. I came down from the mountain and stumbled over the street after some slight goosing around. Shared rooms, always coffee, hot shower, use of kitchen. Importantly: place to stash my gear. After cleaning and getting food, I took my stripped down bicycle straight back to the mountain. One slight detour.
I sat drinking a 40 of 10% alc LaBatt Bleu. That is one forced beer. It is not for taste. It was strangled and beaten into existence. I looked for pot and barely walked 30 yards before I was clutching a big dank bud in my hand. All day I'd been smelling it. At 9am a cyclist was smoking it at the summit of the mountain. I got some rolling papers from a girl and rolled what looked like a nice joint. Tried to smoke it with her, but the bud was too fresh and sticky. Bah - gotta go buy a bowl from the people by the road with their wares spread out on blankets. It was beginning to rain. To drizzle. They blanket folks were packing up. I asked what cost $10 and was given two choices. There was no glass, and I ended up getting a wood and jaw bone based pipe that does not fit my personality in any way whatsoever - but fortunately smokes very well. I asked a guy for a light and ended up smoking with him. He was from London on holiday for a month and using the couchsurfing website to stay in Montreal. Great idea. We smoked a lot, and I still have shit left. $10 of pot. Geez, dude.
I went to the drum circle and it was beyond what I care to attempt describing. Every type of person was there dancing and clapping. I spent a long time dancing and clapping. It was raining still, but there was nowhere else in the world for me at that point.
When I was ready, I left. The city was saturated with police blocking many many roads for an event. I'm not sure what the event was. I raced around on my unloaded bicycle in all directions. I cruised easily up the steepest streets. A wild incline could barely slow me down as other cyclists dismounted and walked. I was like a batter who'd been swinging two bats for a month. I crushed the road. They might need to repave the places where I took off too quickly. I got back to the hostel an hour before quiet time - about 10pm. I expected movement, but everyone in my room was already in bed. No mountain party? Two asleep; one reading. I collected my stoned sweaty self's thoughts and laid down about five minutes later. I concentrated on my breathing and was asleep almost instantly.