© 2015 Tigh Loughhead

Jerry: "Kiss French, Ride Italian"

Clockwise: Shawn, Jason, Joe, Jerry and Sal

Selfie Photo Credit: Jason (far right)

 We ended up having a really great time, and ended the night by stuffing ourselves with some mediocre Chinese food, at the only restaurant we could find open at that time of night.

"El Hefe" aka "El Presidente"

I've been quite remiss in getting this post up.  In September, a bunch of Ducati owners dedicated to riding, made a plan to travel up to Montreal, Canada for the weekend.  I had been up to Montreal over July 4th weekend, and had such a good time, that a number of my other riding crew wanted to go.

The first East Coast Duc at Columbus Circle at 5:30am

Montreal is only about five or six hours from NYC, so I find it kind of silly when anyone with wheels in the City who likes to travel hasn't been up to Quebec yet.

11 Ducati motorcycles meet at the Executive Diner Restaurant/26 Sawmill River Rd.

I wouldn't say I love long trips with a lot of riders, so I had slightly mixed feelings when thirteen riders on eleven different Ducatis showed up to ride to Canada.

Pair of Panigales

On top of the simple fact that more riders (and differences in style, degrees of proficiency, etc) typically means less safety,  I feel like there should be some mathematical theorem outlining an inverse relationship between additional riders and overall ability to get from Point A to Point B.  Motorcycle riders are stereotyped as badass outlaws, when in reality- we're emotional, cranky travelers that probably need to pee sometime soon...
However, the East Coast Ducati Riders Social Club was conceived as a club devoted exclusively to riding.  I've ridden with a number of people in the Tri-State area, where a number of people get excited about riding, then never show up, and I was amazed that nearly everyone who had RSVP'ed to attending our Montreal trip arrived ready to go.
We had a great lunch at a Barbecue place off of 87, and slabbed it most of the way, stopping off at Schroon Lake for a photo op.
 I managed to lose the key to my luggage (see the sidecases on my ST3 below) at the pump at the gas station, which some idiot picked up and walked off with.
I scoured the entire gas station for probably fourty-five minutes, until a middle-aged man walked up to me, telling me he had pocketed my key and left.  I wasn't really even angry though, as the prospect of spending the next five days without toiletries or a change of clothes had gotten me a little stressed.

We pushed on throughout the day, and made it to the border by late afternoon.
My other Ducati at the border crossing.
Most of the crew wanted to stay somewhere nice, so they booked luxury rooms at a place called the Hotel Zero1 Montreal.  I'm not nearly so picky (moreso about the pricetag), and so my buddy Shawn and I shacked up at a Travelodge a block away,  for less than half the price.

 We checked into the hotel around dusk, which was located right between Old Montreal and Chinatown.
After we dropped off our stuff, we checked our bikes into a garage down the street, had dinner at the hotel, and went out to explore the city.

© 2015 Tigh Loughhead

 Spending the day at the Old Port of Montreal, checking out the famous Jazz Festival, then cruising for food on the Rue Saint Denis during the Circe Festival.


Montreal Jazz Festival building video projections
 The next morning we woke up ready to explore this beautiful city, and drove around until we stumbled on the old port, riding past the Notre Dame Basilica of Montreal.
 We found an enclave of motorcyclist parking, and had lunch on the waterfront throughway, talking to riders coming and going about how different riding in this city was than New York City.  Throughout the trip, I continued to be amazed at how much of a foreign country this was, quite different than my experience with the rest of Canada.  The absence of the pervasiveness of the English language was really intriguing, especially in a cosmopolitain city center, where even young people struggled to converse with us.
 However, we did meet a few Quebecois, and though many people seemed a bit more modest (next to NYC, who doesn't?), and my buddy Jay and I got some tips on the goings on in town, some dining and club recommendations, and where we could find some of the best riding in the area.  A fellow Ducati-rider on a Ferrarri-yellow 1098 suggested we ride up to Mont Tremblant, a ski resort a couple hours north of the city.
 After lunch, we walked along the waterfront promenade, getting mixed up in a BBQ festival, and climbing up to get a little better vantage point of the city.
 We then embarked on an ultimately fruitless quest to find a cheap shoe store, as both Jay and I had brought nice clothes for one respectable evening out on the town, but had forgotten anything but our riding boots.
We didn't find shoes, but did get a little dressed up, and headed downtown to see the Jazz Festival.
 Montreal looked like it had shut down a fairly large section of the city for the festival, and had multiple concerts going on simultaneously.
 We listened to a couple bands, like this band, which was closer to reggaeton/rap than Jazz, but the atmosphere was buzzing on this lovely summer Montreal evening nonetheless.
 Eventually we took off, but not before seeing all sorts of street performances, put together by a mixture of different individuals and professional organizations, though I'm not sure who was officially associated with the Jazz Festival.
 The video above was actually a couple of professional ice skaters, who did a fantastic routine first on skates (on the pavement), switching over to roller blades for most of the act.
 Perhaps my favorite part of summertime in Montreal was an incredible lighting display, where scores of buildings and skyscrapers served as canvases for a massive public works projects.
 Artistic videos were projected on buildings, ranging from churches to commercial buildings to highrises.
 The architecture of the city was historical and incredible; a real mix of old and new, even at the same time, as pictured in the building above, where a modern floor actually bisects the center of a turn-of-the-century building, cantilevered in support and out of antiquity...
© 2015 Tigh Loughhead

I haven't gotten out of the city for a while, and I've been getting restless (at least too far outside the city, and my wander lust has been kicking in)...
So, during my preparations for getting a bike night together for Ducati owners and enthusiasts with Stuart Parr, at Art of the Italian Two Wheel in Manhattan, I realized I had a long weekend coming up.
 I asked a few friends if they were interested in accompanying me on a quick weekend jaunt up to Quebec, but everyone already had plans for July 4th weekend.
 Luckily, my old traveling companion Jay was feeling similarly stuck in the city, and we decided Wednesday night to leave mid-day Thursday afternoon, and spend the week in Canada.
 I took off of work after lunch, went up to Harlem, and we were on the road by early afternoon.  Unfortunately, a cavalcade of holiday traffic especially getting through Albany, slowed us through the first leg of our journey.
 By the time we hit upstate New York, we were ready to drive FAST, and alas a northern Police officer took notice, where (somewhat unbelievably I got my first speeding ticket) which delayed us another hour or so.
 We finally crossed the US/Canada border around 10:30, and all of the signs abruptly turned exclusively to French.  I have been to Montreal before, but I was struck how foreign this wide-open country felt, although it was only a few hours away, and even the gas station attendants barely spoke English.
Jay and I checked into our hotel on the Rue St. Denis, where an exceedingly helpful innkeep named Pierre showed us to a massive double-room situated on a courtyard above a Jazz Club, in a kind of idyllic urban setting that reminded me more of Europe than North America.
After a few interesting cab rides (with a loquacious Greek gentlemen by name of Johnny), we finally ended up on Crescent Street (sort of the Quebecois version of Bourbon Street in New Orleans) for a few drinks, before finally returning to our hotel where Pierre graciously let us park our bikes under the stoop of the entrance of the hotel.

© 2015 Tigh Loughhead