PROJECT NORTHBOUND ’14: Seven Days, 2,947 Miles

Some rides are just about the road. Others are about the people, the unexpected meals, and the chance encounters that stay with you long after the bike cools. This one—seven days and nearly 3,000 miles—was about all of it.

Day 1 – Milwaukee → Blind River, Ontario

I left Milwaukee with rain gear on before Bellevue, WI and never took it back off. The skies were heavy, the drizzle constant, and the miles through Michigan dragged. My original plan had me stopping in Bruce Mines, but rooms were full. Same story in Thessalon. So I pressed on to Blind River.

By the time I rolled in, I was damp and road-weary, but the harbor town felt right. Cold Lake Huron water crashing against rock, quiet marina, tidy streets—authentic and unapologetically Canadian. Dinner was A&W at 10:50 p.m. (different menu up here, and honestly a 9/10 burger). It was basic lodging, but enough. Tomorrow would bring Quebec.

Day 2 – Blind River → Kirkland Lake

Blind River gave me more than I expected. From there, Sudbury loomed—the blackened rocks, scars from over a century of smelting, lining the road. Greater Sudbury itself feels like a pocket of civilization dropped into the wilderness. I stopped at The Rock Harley-Davidson, the same shop that helped me out last year, and ran into their service manager again. Twice in two years, he’s had my back.

Northbound, construction and winding roads slowed me, but the scenery made up for it. I stopped in Temagami, a lakeside town that feels unchanged for generations—boats on modest docks, cabins tucked in trees, air that still belongs to the wilderness.

By the time I reached Kirkland Lake, I had daylight to spare. Dinner at The Fed turned into conversations about the town’s mining history and struggles to adapt. Surreal—both familiar and foreign at once.

Day 3 – Kirkland Lake → Mont-Tremblant

Crossing into Quebec, it hit me: people here love their boats as much as their trucks. Fuel stops double as cafés, with menus six pages long. I ended up with a chicken salad I hadn’t planned on ordering, but it was perfect.

Val-d’Or felt alive in a way mining towns usually don’t—gritty but vibrant. East of town, the Canadian Shield took over: rock, forest, water, repeat. Route 117 became my lifeline, cutting through wilderness with only the occasional outpost.

I reached Mont-Tremblant by evening. Rustic hotel, lakeside, nothing fancy. Picked up groceries, cooked my own dinner, and called it good. The next morning began with pastries and coffee at a French café in Saint-Jérôme—straight out of a postcard.

Day 4 – Mont-Tremblant → Ashland, NH

Breakfast in Saint-Jérôme turned into an unexpected conversation with a gentleman who’d been riding since 1966. He spoke of his Road King like it was still parked outside. His eyes lit up in a way only another rider understands—the miles still lived in him.

Montreal was chaos. Freeways packed, downtown buzzing with scooters, bicycles, pedestrians, and motorcycles everywhere. The province clearly loves two wheels. South of the city, skyscrapers gave way to farmland, and before long, I was back in the U.S.

In Vermont, I caught up with John Lyon at Wilkins Harley-Davidson—one of the highlights of the trip. Crossing into New Hampshire, the roads sharpened, the curves came alive, and I landed in Ashland. Dinner just before closing, an hour-long talk with Miguel about family and dreams. That night, I slept well.

Day 5 – Ashland, NH → Little Falls, NY

The morning started with coffee at Lake Winnipesaukee. Weirs Beach felt like a movie set—quiet, weather keeping the crowds away. Hanover meant a stop at Tuk Tuk, one of my all-time favorites: a funky Thai spot below street level, warm and perfect.

Vermont’s countryside gave way to Albany, where the skies opened up. I was already in rain gear, so I pressed on. An hour of downpour gave way to calm, and by nightfall I’d stumbled once again into Little Falls, NY—the same stop as last year.

Main Street is worn but beautiful, a reminder of what the town once was. Giorgio’s Italian welcomed me like family. Conversations with locals turned into an impromptu bar crawl. That’s the beauty of traveling by bike—people want to know your story.

Day 6 – Little Falls, NY → Mentor, OH

Cooler weather made the morning ride comfortable. I stopped at FX Caprara Harley-Davidson and caught up with friends Jessica and Scott. A rider named Wolf—straight out of central casting—wandered over. From Lake Geneva, WI, he’d been minutes behind me with his group. Small world.

Westbound through New York and Pennsylvania, I stretched a tank to its limits—5.9 gallons into a six-gallon tank. Carrying an extra two liters in the saddlebag made the gamble easier.

By nightfall, I was in Mentor, OH. Dinner at Azteca, Steelers game on TV. After miles of reflection, I couldn’t help but think of that younger version of myself—the kid who dreamed of rides like this. I hope I’ve lived up to him.

Day 7 – Mentor, OH → Home

The last push was nearly 500 miles. I broke it down into fuel stops—mental checkpoints that kept me moving. Cleveland, Sandusky, Toledo, Indiana border.

At one exit, I finally gave in to curiosity: a little Indian restaurant in a former McDonald’s. The tikka masala was perfect. Even better, I met a Swiss couple who’d shipped their Eurovan to Florida, driven to Alaska, and were five months into a North American odyssey with their toddler. No vlog, no social media—just living. Inspiring doesn’t begin to cover it.

Chicago traffic was every bit as awful as expected. By Racine County, I was almost home. One last BP stop—gas, water, an energy drink—and then the bittersweet final miles.

Back in my garage, the numbers hit: 2,947.7 miles in total. Project Northbound ’14 now sits at 77,341 miles. Flawless. The road gave me everything I hoped for: moments of solitude, connections with strangers, and a reminder of why these trips matter.

Final Reflections

Seven days on the road isn’t just about covering distance—it’s about what you carry home. The landscapes blur, but the conversations, the meals, and the kindness of strangers stay sharp.

The bike ran perfect. The people were unforgettable. And the younger version of me—the one who dreamed about rides like this—I think he’d be proud.