I’m usually more excited about getting out on the road by now. By the time April comes each year, I’ve usually prepped the bike for the coming year, mapped out a general route, added dozens of waypoints to visit, and built a spreadsheet of costs and contingency plans. Instead, I’m still at that “coffee and a map” phase.
It’s a great phase mind you, so I’m not complaining about it; it’s more that I am not leaning into the prospects of 2026, and I don’t know why. I haven’t even fully committed to a destination. 2024 had to be rerouted and it was worth it, but I do feel like I got short-changed in my attempt to explore eastern Canada. After all, I only made it to Michigan. Close, but no poutine.
So naturally I’ve been flipping through my Lonely Planet guide to eastern Canada and looking up the must-see, the must-ride, the must-eat. Fundy Bay and Prince Edward Island (PEI), Jigg’s dinners and lobster poutine, Viking settlements and shipwrecks. Oh, and puffins. I still think the coloring around their eyes give them a permanent look that they are very concerned about you and all your shenanigans.
Newfoundland (NL) is the main goal, and I’ll spend a few weeks there at the minimum, and I’m not going to make the mistake of trying to see everything. I’ve got so many small seaside towns to visit, so many covered bridges to look out for, and an insane amount of coastline to see. Look at a map real quick—the coast just keeps wrapping around itself. NL and PEI are of course islands, but Nova Scotia (NS) is basically an island with a thick land bridge on the north side.
So much to see.
But like I said, I’m still just looking at maps, vaguely daydreaming. On the plus side, I already populated a map with over 100 sites to see and roads to ride. Which is great, because there is a delicate balance when you take long trips.
Mindset
It takes a few days to recalibrate the brain. The mind is in a hurry because modern life trains it to keep up with a frenetic world. Eventually my brain gets into “road mode” and not road-trip mode. The distinction is when you realize you are already at your destination when you are on the bike, moving down the highway. It isn’t a 3-day weekend. Stop hurrying.
Ride when you want, stop when you want, quit looking at the tripmeter to be sure you are making good time. Look out at the world around you and make sure you are having a good time. This is paramount, and it is the main reason I use maps the way I do.
Google MyMaps lets you build custom layers on a map, so instead of an itinerary of must-see stops, you have a list of more things than you can possibly see. In response, you just check the map each night and decide what is worth seeing the next day. Sometimes you skip it all and go enjoy roads. Other times you decide to stay an extra day so you can see three museums before moving on.
At the same time you don’t want to have no plan. “Just wing it” is a great way to let the world tell you its story, but what I’ve found happens is—after the trip is over—I’ll be talking about a place I visited and someone will say, “oh I love that place. Did you go to XYZ?” And of course, I did no research and never heard of the place. Next thing I know, I’m kicking myself for not grabbing a brochure or doing a simple web search.
So I do the recon, compile a ton of info, then ignore most of it, but I always have more possibilities than I know what to do with. Since I already know I’m not going to see them all, when something unexpected comes up and I want to detour to see it, I don’t care that I’m giving up seeing other things on my list. Nothing is a “must see” other than a few exceptions I mark in red.
But first, this…
I will need to start the trip from Texas, as I have some volunteer work to do with Motorcycle Missions. That will put me in Austin until late May, and I may just stay off the road until June. Any chance to avoid camping on Memorial Day weekend is a godsend. Many campsites don’t even open until then, and it’s the first 3-day weekend of summer for most Americans. That means all the big family toy haulers are out there, the radios are blaring, and the party is just getting started.
While I love me some chaos, I don’t usually go to a campsite to find it. That’s where I go to sleep, to reflect, to have a simple meal, read a book… you know, to just be. I also was one of those obnoxious types in my youth, so I can’t get on a soap box. Better to just keep out of the woods, or to go so deep into the woods a camping trailer can’t make it.
So that (so far) is the plan. Explore Eastern Canada by way of Michigan, Montreal, & Toronto. I generally avoid large cities, as that isn’t the type of exploring I am fond of. Yes, culture is deep, sites are everywhere, but so is traffic, parking meters, sneak thieves, and overpriced food claiming to be the most authentic in (the tourist district of) town. Montreal is an exception. It’s near the nation’s capital of Ottawa, it’s geography is unique due to multiple rivers, and it has a few really weird dishes I need to try.
It sounds like there’s some left over cuisine from the Depression era, some Jewish influence, and genuine oddities like horse meat (I’ll try anything once), and their own take on the hot dog. But with wild camping being much more rare in Canada, the cost of a trip like this starts to add up. I can’t be spending too much time in big cities, especially since I want to explore St. John, the capital of NL, and in the height of tourist season, that’s going to be spendy.
If you know some must-see stuff, some must-ride roads, or (especially) some must-stop eateries or local dishes I need to try, drop a comment below or shoot me an email. And, as always, if you aren’t signed up to get the weekly digest, sign up. It’s free, easy to join, easy to unsubscribe and only goes out if there are new posts.
Johnny Killmore 
Back when I was taking trips, it always seemed like it took a couple of days and some long miles to finally shake off the odometer and relax the right wrist. Probably could blame interstates and no real fuel gauge and the dash clock of course.
I’m a bit better now without the bike, retired and plenty older. I find my brain asks, “Do I need to pee?”, “Am I hungry?”. Rather than “How far have I gone?”.
The last ride I was no longer certain what day it was without checking a phone, or watch. The small text on the navigation tablet was not something I could ever see unless stopped. After carefully building routes, I’d make a call after buying gas and ride up out of the heat. A shortcut that showed me a new road, cooled me off with the benefit of views so nice, I forgot to stop and take a photo.
That trip where I met up with you at the side car races in Utah, I had planned all sorts of stuff, but focused on, “I need to be here on this date” as a guide. It wasn’t long and I was more or less wandering around the Rockies for a while.
That was the adventure where I got locked in a remote highway rest stop restroom and had to call 911. Something that still causes a bit of nervousness when I encounter a restroom door that swings out. Interior hinges would allow one to remove the pins and pull the door open that way, when the lock breaks. Yes, I have done that in a house.
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Stuck in a rest stop bathroom is a great story to have, though earning it sounds like no fun. Hard to imagine someone designing a remote restroom with the hinge pins on the outside, but maybe the door had to swing out because of wind..?
Yes, I fully understand the need for multiple days to slow down. As I’ve said, even now when I don’t have a 9-5 or any direct things forcing my schedule (at least not daily), it still takes 3-5 days before I settle in and accept it: being on the road is the destination, so stop hurrying.
But to have 6+ months after that initial “hurry” wears off is a different set of problems. “What am I doing” creeps into my mind. It’s always there, as I lack that “higher purpose” so many of us find in raising families, career, a passionate hobby, or some such.
On the road, after several months, the novelty wears off. It’s another beautiful coastal turn our and view, another campsite, another bowl of oatmeal cooked in the same pot, another gas station or national park entrance. It’s very difficult to explain, because it sounds like complaining, and people would kill to have this laissez faire semi-hobo life.
And of course, I’d rather be on my bike wishing I had a purpose than at a job I can’t stand, so I’m not complaining. But you can never really find that purpose without staying curious—without being in the conversation. Otherwise you just leave it to fate, like dragging a fishing hook with no bait and hoping to snag a fish.
Eastern Canada is at least a wonderful combination. They have more coastline than they know what to do with. It’s visually different from the US west coast. Their culture is very similar and very different at the same time. It’s accessible without air freight.
And while their US tourism is only down by about 4-5%, I can still use it as an excuse to spend some cash in Canada to make up for tariff debacle and the mouth-in-chief’s constant hot takes. Stats I looked up say it’s mostly hitting border towns though; the same-day crossers are reduced while air travel is up a tick. I won’t be hovering much around borders though.
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Totally understand the trip becoming routine. I felt th
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