“No charge,” said bike shop man in Mont St. Anne, Quebec. “You’re on a long trip, you need help, it’s no problem.”
“You’re sure?” I replied. “Thanks.”
And with a new tube in my rear tire, I pedaled off along the St. Lawrence in the general direction of Halifax.
Travel can be a journey into the realms of fear and loathing, or a happy-go-lucky search for wildflowers.
It can be an exploration of animosity, or a ride to the chapel on your wedding day.
This week Tales of the Road explores a brutal jungle of hidden, festering horrors; a moral wasteland where blood-sucking fiends skulk in the shadows, a place so nightmarish that the author who explored its darkest corners is unwilling to identify himself.