This just cracks me up. Middle of nowhere, but if you need a VERY specific oil for a 2 stroke motor, this guy has you covered!
We arrive in the town of Parent, and it's even smaller than I thought. It pretty much only exists because the train runs through. Only industry appears to be servicing travellers and the Outfitters in the area. We stop to use the bathroom, and buy some coffee out of guilt even though I've already had 2. We try to get directions from the locals. I ask the waitress, but she doesn't know... there's only 3 roads in and out of this place, and she doesn't know where 2 of them go. She takes us outside where some men are gathered at the patio. One guy talking to me in french, one guy in bad english talking to Ted, none of their instructions are clear, or make sense, or agree. Great! Ted decides to abandon his route up to Poisson Blanc. I was surprised by this, but this is when Ted tells me there isn't actually anything IN Poisson Blanc, it's literally just a point on a map. We'll follow the misdirection these guys gave us towards the only thing they agree on: There's a new, good, gravel road going north of Reservoir Gouin towards Chibougamau.
Parent does have gas, and surprisingly it's not that expensive. When we pulled into the gas station, it's like everybody is on "African Time", if you know what that's like. Both sides of the pump are blocked, guy filling up his truck, then his boat. On the other side of the pump, there's a Ford Explorer that won't start. They don't push it out of the way. They're playing under the hood. Dead battery, guess he pulled in for gas, then it wouldn't restart. They take the battery out of a boat and attempt to jump it. *CLICK*. That's not good. I think about helping him by jumping from my running truck. But, this far in nowhere land, self-preservation takes over. I'm guessing the battery in the truck died from all the vibration from driving on these roads, fused plates. He's just as likely to fry my alternator if I hook up. They're going to have to pull it, because no amount of jump starting is going to get that truck running. They do all this, still blocking the pump.
Finally we fuel up, I buy batteries for the FRS radio, and off we go. Luckily, I had prepared a route from Parent to Clova, and we are following that route. There are side roads everywhere for logging, but the main road is obvious. Somewhere we pass an Astro van on the side of the road. Only... it's upside down. Wheels are gone. Windows gone. And it's full of bullet holes. Obviously some poor Overlander who hadn't bought the right brand of expedition approved lug nuts for his wheels. See, look what happens...
The FRS radios prove practically useless. They only work when we're in visual range. Funny, I remember them working better than this... Must be just getting old. I was going to get a new set of fancy GMRS radios on Thursday, but I had brake trouble...
In my sleep deprived state, I get confused about where we're going. Instead of taking the fork towards "Patate Gouin", I take us into Clova. Interesting town anyway. The VIA train stops in Clova 3 times a week.
My home town is RIGHT on the line between Montreal and Toronto, but I can't get the train to stop in my town (10,000 people). This town, population 50, has regular train service. In fact, apparently you can request the train to stop ANYWHERE along the route between Parent and Senneterre.
They've got wolves running free in town.
The store.
The town appears to run off generators. There's a large white shipping container in town, with two huge fuel tanks beside it, emitting a humming noise, and wires coming out. Remote.
The town is home to Air Tamarac. They fly down to pick up passengers in Montreal and bring them to Reservoir Gouin. Or, you can take the train to Clova, and they'll fly you out into the reservoir for fishing. Or, they'll take you even further up north. There were about 6 float planes, business must be good, all of them in beautiful condition. I think they had two deHaviland Beavers, THE iconic Canadian Bush plane.
Back on the road out of Clova, back to the intersection that will lead us to Patate Gouin. What is Patate Gouin, and why is it a landmark? Good question, and I don't have a good answer. I saw exactly 1 dwelling anywhere within a 50 km radius. And as luck would have it, that guy is picking up a pizza while we're there!
I go into the store and ask the lady behind the bar for directions. We're trying to go up to Chibougamau. She has no map. She pulls out notebook with some distances scribbled down. In pencil. "Chibougamau, 220 km" she says. "Which way?" That way, pointing back at the intersection.
Back outside, Ted is nervous to hear the news. He's just about half a tank, and we have 200+km to go, IF we don't get lost. Luckily, Patate Gouin sells gas. $1.60/L for regular ($6/gal). Good news though. You can pump gas, sit on the crapper, and clean your windshield all at the same time.
I have 10 gallons of gas on the back of my truck so I decide to risk it an not fill up.
I think somebody lives in this thing:
Snowmobile trail groomer I guess.
Wait, how did that Sunfire get there?
Back out on the road, we keep heading north. At first we're following the route I had planned between Clova and Poisson Blanc. But it's rough. 200km of this?! They said this road was good! What have we gotten ourselves in for?
After about 50km or so, the road changes. It becomes a gravel superhighway. Starts running straighter, and smoother than some paved roads in Quebec. Eventually it diverges from my planned route. I can see the old roads down below. Now we're making time, travelling at 80-100km/h.
The road does look new. Sometime within the past year. It starts to run almost straight as an arrow towards Chibougamau. We realize we've discovered a new road for overland travel through this large expanse of nothingness. 500km of gravel from Mont Laurier up to Chibougamau, almost linking up with the famous Route du Nord. Ted leaves it up to me to name it. I must think of a proper name.
Somewhere along the way, there is a bridge over a river with a weight limit sign on it. It has a pictogram of a logging truck with the marking "200T". HOLY $#%@&!!!
As we approach Hwy 113, a mountain of logs comes into view. The scale is staggering.
40-60 feet long and stacked 20 feet high, the road is lined like this for over 1 km.
I left Ted behind a bit while I filmed it. I stopped for pictures. Eventually I hear a faint rumble, and then a rattling clanky squeaking noise approaching, like a mechanical beast approaching. It reminds me of a WWII movie, soldiers holed up in a blasted out building, as German Panzer tank approaches and turns the corner...
Only it's a Ford Ranger. Somewhere along the way, Ted's truck has picked up a few noises.
Attempt at an artistic shot that Photobucket compression is killing.
Amazingly, this depot is the smaller of two that we pass. There's a larger one near an industrial building, not sure if it's a sawmill or what. Logs are piled 50 feet high here.
Across the road from the lumber yard appears to be an indian reservation.
I just love saying it. Try it yourself. 3 times fast.
We didn't go into the town, but after doing some research at home, I'm sorry we didn't. It actually looks very interesting. Appears to be a "successful" reserve. Prosperous, innovative, and permanent. They present an interesting history revealing typical white mismanagement. They claim to have never been conquered militarily, nor signed any agreement. They were living happily until 70 years ago when, unannounced, Quebec companies moved up and just started cutting down all their trees.
http://www.ouje.ca/
Their town features a sawdust fired community heat generating plant.
http://www.alaskawoodheating.com/ouje_district.php
Their buildings are solidly built, and architecturally designed to reflect their culture.
