The Monteregie

Off Island: Motorcycling the Montéregie

By Ken Aiken

It’s dawn, and the bike is running hard as I pursue two giant bumblebees and a dancing turtle across an ever-brightening sky. There are hundreds of people drifting east toward the sunrise, and traffic is heavy as vehicles in hot pursuit madly crisscross through cornfields on a maze of rural roads. Maps are worthless; finish lines unknown. This is not a dream: I’ve stumbled into the International Balloon Festival of Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu.

In years past, on my weekend trips from Vermont to Montreal, I couldn’t fail to notice rally-size numbers of motorcyclists who simply faded into the vast expanse of corn as if in the Field of Dreams. Obviously, something was being hidden behind a billion stalks of cattle feed and roadside stands advertising “Sucre de Maïs.” The two main traffic routes leading to Montreal from Interstate 87 in New York and I-89 in Vermont are uninspiring at best. However, someone once said that the best place to hide something is in plain sight, and I’ve found this to be true.  

The region south and immediately east of Montreal is known as the Montéregie, a vast plain that was bulldozed billiard-table flat by glaciers a mile-and-a-half high, then flooded by the great Champlain Sea. The Richelieu River cuts through the center of the region from Lake Champlain to the St. Lawrence and is known as the “valley of forts” because of the numerous colonial defensive positions established along the banks of this once-strategic waterway. Route 223 follows the western bank of the Richelieu; Route 133 the eastern.

My balloon-chasing adventure ends in a farmer’s field somewhere near Versailles. Using the distinctive blue profile of Mount St. Hilaire, I point the front wheel north, take every promising left turn, and soon join Route 133. 

Directional signs are conspicuously absent on these back roads--and when found they’re in French--but it’s difficult to get lost here. By day, mountains form the distant horizon to the east and the distinctive silhouettes of the various “mounts” of the Montéregie provide reliable landmarks. By night, Montreal’s electric glow illuminates the sky like a pillar of fire. The system of route numbers also makes it fairly easy to navigate: Route 132 follows the southern bank of the St. Lawrence River; Route 133 the east bank of the Richelieu River; Routes 137, 139, and 143 are progressively farther east and generally connect with the even numbered routes. Routes 104, 112, and 116 go east from Montreal with the higher numbers being more northerly. From Montreal, the hub of Quebec’s transportation system, Autoroute 10 goes east to Sherbrooke; Aut. 20 northeast to Quebec City; and Aut. 30 northeast to Sorel. Odd numbers go nord (north) and sud (south); even numbered routes go est (east) and ouest (west). If you get lost, it’s your own damn fault.

The Chambly Canal is situated on the western bank of the Richelieu River. Running from Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu north to Chambly it has provided safe passage around the river rapids since 1843. The various swinging bridges, picnic turnouts, historic sites, and wonderful cafes provide a bucolic, but slow, touring adventure. Route 133 is a bit faster, almost as scenic, and is preferred by Quebec motorcyclists, but the choice depends more upon one’s mood than anything else.

Montreal is an island, the largest “inland port” in the world, the hub of Quebec’s transportation system, and home to almost 2 million people. It also has a disproportionate number of motorcycles for an island city socked in by winter weather for six months of the year. However, on any marginally balmy weekend morning it looks like an exodus as hoards of riders cross bridges or traverse the tunnel to get “off island.” The Richelieu River is a mere 20 kilometers (12.5 miles) away.

The unofficial motto of most Quebec riders seems to be “ride to eat,” and bikes always line this spacious parking lot in Richelieu. The popular restaurant at the intersection of Routes 112 and 133 has become a major rendezvous point for Montreal motorcyclists. It’s a place to sit on the open patio enjoying a cappuccino and croissant while pondering a map and deciding where to go from here.

 Although Knowlton and Magog are favored destinations in the adjoining Eastern Township region, today I choose to go north. Picking Saint-Hyacinthe as my next destination narrows the options. Should I cruise through the apple orchards on the slopes of Rougemont or tackle twisty Route 223 along the Yamaska River? Been there, done that, will do it again, but not this time. Folding up the map, shutting off the GPS, I pull out of the parking lot, take the next left, and--using landmarks, dead reckoning, and a bit of luck—tackle the local roads.

 This is prime agricultural land with fields of corn, soybeans, and wheat advancing to the very edge of the road. The texture of morning smells lies low in the summer air and traffic is practically nonexistent. The discovery of a private museum collection of John Deere farming equipment lined up in a field is especially poignant. It’s difficult to believe that I’m only 40 kilometers (25 miles) from the skyscrapers and bustling pace of the city.

An early lunch in Saint-Hyacinthe allows me to sit in the sun and ponder my options while watching other riders make the one-way circuit of this charming downtown. I decide to revert to my original plan and note that Route 137 leads to Route 133 in Saint-Denis-sur-Richelieu. By now it has become obvious that any town founded by the French is named after a saint, and where two or more towns are named after the same one, the further designation of “sur” (on) or “de” (of) followed by a river or place name is suppose to clarify any possible confusion. Still, I suspect that Saint-Ours simply reflects a bit of French-Catholic humor.

The distance between the Richelieu and St. Lawrence rivers constantly narrows until they meet in Sorel. In a public park at the mouth of the Richelieu, I lie on the riverbank and try to eat my sandwich and a bag of chips. I say “try” because the two-way recreational traffic is constant, almost every boat has at least one bikini-clad woman sunbathing on the bow deck (honest), and the passengers of almost every vessel wave as they pass. This is normal in Quebec.  It’s time to head back to Montreal. Autoroute 30 is the quickest, but Route 132 follows the eastern bank of the St. Lawrence and offers miles of sedate cruising and scenic views. As sunlight fades, the lights of the city guide me across the Jacques-Cartier Bridge and back home. Tomorrow I’ll cross other bridges and ride north into the Laurentian Mountains on another “off island” adventure.

SIDEBAR:

This is a foreign country and far more biker-friendly than most of the United States.  The monetary exchange rate is about par and the cost of a tank of gasoline, whether measured in liters or gallons, is about 30% more than in the U.S. Located only four hours north of Boston and five from NYC, it offers the opportunity for a weekend of touring in New France without the hassle of an international flight.

Technically, U.S. travelers are required to carry Canadian insurance cards (issued free by your existing insurer), but in years of travel into Canada and after five years of maintaining a residence here, I’ve never been asked to show mine. A valid U.S. passport is required for returning to The States. There can be long waits at major border crossings, but at some of the smaller ones I’ve been delayed only because I fell into conversations with border guards who own motorcycles.