The Centers Of North America – There Be Monsters – Part One
Motorcycle Vapors . Social Studies
“You’re off the edge of the map, mate. Here there be monsters!“― Hector Barbossa to Jack Sparrow
“I’m just going to go for it” – Noraly Schoenmaker (AKA Itchy Boots)
Here there be monsters, or here be dragons, are phrases used on geographical maps. It derived from the inscriptions on first maps of the mostly unexplored world that were penciled in on the edges by the mapmaker who, having run out of information, would draw fanciful creatures – such as sea serpents or mermaids. What monsters here be these days?
This adventure started as an idea born of anger and quickly tamed to one born of frustration. ‘Born Of Frustration’ is a great song from the British band ‘James’ released in1992. What does this song have to do with this story? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It’s a good song. Anyway, the frustration turned to a deep concern that change was coming. The tectonic plates and glaciers shifted a long time ago. They wax and wane with or like the moon. The earth’s axis tilted a few times over millennia – if your thoughts go that way. Geographical lines were drawn by surveyors, settlers and explorers. Two nations were built, one a constitutional republic, one a myth created at the pleasure of inbred royalty. The United States of America and Canada were born into slavery.
Currently the geographical centers of Canada and The United States are clearly defined on maps made more or less true by satellites and artificial intelligence. There may or may not be dragons, serpents or reptiles at play in these well mapped areas that may be wanting to change the world in their self important image for profit, at the expense of good people. It might be argued that Satanic devils and reptilian oligarchs are running amok with purpose throughout North America. These be the real monsters.
Whether it be symbolic adventure or another non-certified Iron Butt challenge, I decided to make the next tour out of concern that Canada or The United States may not remain sovereign nations with geographical borders. My truth, misguided or not, is that Canada is in jeopardy and with the possiblity of seeing Alberta achieve independence, the geographical center of Canada may very well change. There is a marginally repugnant and remote possibility that Canada may become a 51st state so the Center of the United States would also change. Whatever.
I do not adopt the first rule of Italian driving that states,
“What’s-a-behind me, doesa not-a-matter.” – Franco,
This is a line from ‘The Gumball Rally’ and is proclaimed as Franco, the driver, rips the rear view mirror off of it’s moorings and tosses it out the window.
Particularly for those on two wheels instead of four, rear view mirrors are important to see what’s coming up on and beside you but being aware of what’s in front of you is critical. It’s the screaming eighteen wheel rigs, piloted mostly by illiterate aliens with fake licenses and qualifications, that put me on 360 degree high alert. They could turn me and my bike into fleshy metal pulp at any moment. A retread tire could blow in my path or I could be nailed by bottle bombs of trucker piss. They stop for nothing as the ghosts of sixteen Humboldt Broncos will attest. There are ghost victims of dangerous drivers everywhere. Invisible motorcyclists are over-represented.
I watched the weather forecast tornado hail and smoke and fire map fear porn for weeks while I got my shit together enough to leave. I prepped my brilliant machine. I pushed down my anxiety and packed. I suited up. I was just going to go for it.
Had enough of the preamble yet?
Yes mother. I checked my oil and tires and chain. I had my wallet and passport. I made sure of all things. Sort of.
I launched early on the sunny morning of August 1, 2025. The Lolo tour left me feeling confident in my machine, my body and my mind. I left Airdrie, Alberta, ‘The Wild Rose Province’. Funny. I can’t remember the last time I saw some of those pink wild roses if not for the ones on the signs looking for someone to adopt a highway. Perhaps they are disappearing along with the pollinators and songbirds we need for our survival. Alberta is currently a province of Canada. Alberta’s current premier is a smart and capable woman. She is playing politics and we can’t be sure where her loyalties lie until Alberta achieves independence. I hold my breath selectively.
I Breathe.
So I take the secondary highways east and south until I hit Highway 1 east, the Trans Canada, ‘the TC1’. On through Strathmore, Gleichen and the fragrant environment of Bassano. Long live feed lots and cows and real meat protein. On to Brooks and more meat smells, Suffield, Redcliff, Medicine Hat, Dunmore, Irvine and Walsh.
Welcome to Saskatchewan! It is ‘The Land Of Living Skies’ or otherwise depending on what’s being sprayed on any given day. Their premier comes across as a well spoken, dorky uncle, a Hank Hill of ‘King Of The Hill’ on a cliche’d flat land. What is he playing at?
I ride on a lush but soulless stretch of ‘The One’ on to Maple Creek and almost Piapot.
Why not Piapot? No services and a gravel road to get there. That’s why not.
I am on a no gravel diet if I can help it.
First sleep is in Gull Lake at a trying hard run down reno in progress motel with dead snakes, no gulls and no lake. They did however have rolling trains all night long. Rumble rumble chugga chugga. Onward to Scotsguard, Cadillac, Ponteix, Aneroid (sounds painful), Hazenmore, Lafleche, Limerick, past the diesel powered, mostly useless, wind generating climate virtue, money laundering turbines of Assiniboia, and on to Ogema, Trossachs and Weyburn. I had a quiet second night in Weyburn at a clean motel I’ve stayed at before. The serve a decent ‘free’ breakfast.
This leg of the trip, like most I travel, was scenic. Any road I haven’t seen before is scenic to me, better enjoyed in sunshine and light tail and headwinds. Highway 10, the Red Coat Trail was originally trampled by Red Coats on wagon and horseback who represented the interests of the crown and traders and explorers and the settlers who travelled and settled on these lands to farm and seek life, liberty and fortune. The roads and terrain and geography is varied with enough curves and changes in elevation to keep things interesting. I see pronghorn antelope, red and grey foxes, coyotes, white tail deer and doves and crows and hawks on the fences and power lines. Snipes and cowbirds explode from the shoulders and ditches as I pass. The myth is that Saskatchewan is a flat part of the round earth. The Italian flat earthers of Saskatchewan will argue that their province is ‘a flata likea da pizza pie’ and ‘not arounda likea da meataball.’ The thought made me hungry so I stopped for lunch in Limmerick and rested a bit with some black-eyed Susans in a lovely Memory Garden there. The Red Coat Trail offers views of vast fields planted and fallow and herds of cattle, steel granaries growing up out of the decaying remains of traditional wooden structures. I ride past mountains of field stone than were manually picked and piled to clear the arable land for planting. Perhaps one day, after most of history has been erased, a new generation of young archaeologists, if such an occupation exists, will discover these long overgrown mounds and claim their origins to be from ancient advanced civilizations. A ‘new’ industry will have begun, like monolithic Stonehengism, Egyptology or that dinosaur thing. What will these aliens make of the vast fields of derelict and highly toxic solar and wind farms that long outlived their virtue. Ridley Walker comes to mind.
From Weyburn I head east on Hwy 13 to Hume, Griffin, Froud and Stoughton and Kisbey. To Arcola and Carlyle and then north on Hwy 9, ‘The Saskota Flyway’ and then past the Carlyle Lake Resort, The Bear Claw Casino Resort (and reconciliation revenge facility), White Bear Lake and then through Moose Mountain Provincial Park. The area is very un-flat and bushy lakey swampy but the roads are good. There was a distinct break from the fields of big agriculture and oil resource pump batteries and other installations. I then head east on Hwy 48 through Wawota, Fairlight with a stop in Maryfield’s Memorial Garden for a break. I take on some water, CDS solution, some dates and beef jerky.
From there I am welcomed to Manitoba, the ‘Glorious And Free’ province. Pardon? Please show me the glory and the freedom. Oh please. Manitoba grows potatoes and corn and beans and sunflowers and generational failed socialist welfare. Their premier is insane and has criminal records on file. He smiles funny and twitches and grimaces like a tweaking Freeland or a coke sniffing Meloni. Manitoba is plagued with Agenda 30 arson fires designed to depopulate the northern communities. The evacuees are flooding more southern towns and cities and the hotels and motels. The laws of supply and demand are in effect. Extra security teams with fake stab vests are provided. It’s party time with money to burn along with the trees and homes they had to leave. Tragic.
Onward to Virden. Nice town Virden. I pop off the TransCanada to see what Oak Lake Beach was all about. It’s a camping and cottage community that offered a scene of long weekend holiday makers jumping in and out of the water, kids shrieking in fun and long lines for ice cream. I take on and let out fluids. I eat more beef jerky and some dates and then back on the TC1 to Brandon where I catch the first whiffs of smoke from the northern Manitoba Agenda 30 arson fires. Brandon, home of the Wheat Kings. So far, neither the city nor the team has had to change their names to something made up, unreadable and unpronounceable to reflect current trends geared towards un-colonizing the myth of Canada. Something like this.
šxʷməθkʷəy̓əmasəm
From Brandon on Hwy 10 south to Hwy 453 east on to Wawanesa & Glenboro, back on the Red Coat Trail of Manitoba. Those Red Coats sure got around. To Cypress River & Holland & Notre Dam de Lourdes & Stephenfield, Carman & on to Lowe Farm & Morris. Then up to Ste. Agathe and on through more lush farms and cornfields through Tourond and Mitchell and on to Steinbach, my jumping off point to The Center. I avoid Winnipeg like the plague infected Portlandish cesspool that it is. There are still nice people there I’m sure but previous experience on another trip have left it’s mark. I cringe and shudder. I twist the throttle.
I spend the night in Steinbach at the Sleep Suite Motel. A 5 out of 5 clean and friendly place. Steinbach has a population of around 18,000 people. It was also a clean and friendly place. I saw evidence of a strong Germanic Mennonite influence on the streets and in the one grocery store I went into. This would explain much. I got a safe, clean and orderly Le Crete, Alberta vibe there.
The next morning I took Hwy 52 west past Mitchell and then 206 north all the way to Landmark to my semi-final destination which is officially tagged as Tache, Manitoba, the ‘Longitudinal Centre of Canada – 96 Degrees 48 Minutes 35 Seconds. Yippee!
It was almost anti-climactic. The trip was the feature, the attraction. The destination was a bit disappointing. For sure I was not the first one travelling across Canada who made a point of stopping at this tourist destination. Of course enthusiastic vandals had to tag every surface and plaster it with self promoting decals. Of course I had to add my FKUC CANCER and FKUC TRUDEAU bumper stickers to the mess. The location is listed as a park but it seemed more like a litter strewn landfill site with a big battered sign and picnic area with porta potties and a handwash station. An animated statue of a grinning white polar bear with cub made no sense to me but hey – this is Canada.
Was Canada?
End of part one.
It was the beginning of something else.
“An end has a start” – Editors
But before I started off again, as the wind picked up and the litter began to swirl and the sky turned black to the east I had a problem. My brilliant machine had trouble starting and then the battery died. A rookie move on my part. In my excitement at having arrived at this sacred destination, I had left my ignition on with the GPS plugged in. A nice fella and fellette from New Brunswick were hauling a car to Saskatchewan. They kindly gave me a boost and off we went, they to the west, I to the south, glancing over my left shoulder to see where the blackness was going. I had a tailwind all the way to the border.
I gave thanks and asked for more.
Interlude:
Motorcycle Rule #324 – Do not park over someone else’s oil or other stains. You will lose time and worry about where on your bike it came from. You will look and check your levels over and over and worry some more after you cautiously and nervously make your way again.
Motorcycle Rule #14 – Range anxiety is real. Ease it by fueling up when you get down to three bars.
Final Words For Part One:
I was once given a card, a spiritual tract that partially but correctly called me a voyager, one who sees life as the journey it truly is, that I enjoy all the scenes as an observer. I say partially because, while I do typically watch and listen to what is going on around me, I do it actively – mostly on two wheels instead of four.
