While Brody gets hot in his pursuit of the ultimate sauna with a session at the Recreaplex in Dalhousie, N.B., I’m going to blog about some hot topics on this trip.

OK, maybe they’re not really sizzling issues of concern. They’re more like the weather in Northern New Brunswick which is quite cool – about 12 C, windy and overcast with some weak drizzle.

• There was some talk out west about another Jun-uary (January weather in June), but we’ve got July-uary this week. July 1 was fantastic. But ever since the clock struck midnight that evening the temperatures have not ventured into the 20s. Usually the highs are in the mid-teens at best, the skies overcast with wind and some rain.

It’s passable weather in March, but seriously, in July????

We had hoped to avoid some of the notoriously horrible humidity of the East Coast, but this is going too far.

Clive shipped his sleeping bag back to Williams Lake while we were in Ottawa. He figured hot July weather would make it superfluous and sending it home would lighten the load on his Surly. He’s beginning to believe he made a premature determination.

• Roadside diners serving up burgers, poutine and ice cream are ubiquitous in Quebec and eastern Ontario. They’re called cantines and we had to try one before departing La Belle Province. Our last night was in Causapscal, Que., and there was one right across the highway from our campground. It was a small joint with five tables, six bar stools, one cook and one server, a tiny senior citizen who was being run off her feet keeping up to all the orders. She didn’t speak much English and when we asked her “Quelle est soup du jour” we couldn’t figure out her reply. She pointed to what looked like an image of lettuce or cabbage on the menu. We weren’t sure if that’s what it was, but Brody and I took a chance anyway. It was cabbage soup and it was pretty good. The poutine portions were plentiful but did lack pizzaz. We did, however, return in the morning for a big breakfast when the cook was also the server.

Since this cantine didn’t have a Laiter Bar we walked two kilometres to an ice cream joint. If we hadn’t Noriko, an ice cream/gelato aficionado would have been disappointed. It didn’t disappoint.

As an aside, I ordered a large toffee anglais. They weren’t sure about the size and I said, “Gros,” before muttering “just like the way I speak French” causing the bilingual young woman in front of me to chuckle. Her confused daughter, though, couldn’t quite figure out why mommy was laughing.

• Brody embraced the bilingual aspect of The 7Cs. He was eager to practise his limited French skills. He struggled in some conversations with friendly strangers, but he persisted with a smile. To help him improve he’d sometimes drop into a bibliothéque and read French language children’s books.

• Just after crossing the border from Quebec to New Brunswick, we set up our tents in the Sugarloaf Provincial Park campground. It’s right beside their, ahem, ski hill. Hill is the operative word. It appears to be about half the size of Burnaby Mountain but they’ve still managed to carve out a few runs. It’s hard to imagine the vertical being close to being satisfying whatsoever to B.C. skiers.

• Reaching our seventh province on the trip wasn’t the only milestone achieved that day. It also marked the fifth and final time zone of the trip. And just before reaching New Brunswick, I passed the 6,000-kilometre mark for the trip. With our plans to make a side trip into Prince Edward Island, Clive and I will not only have cycled through nine provinces but likely have biked more than 7,000 kilometres.

• With the exception of a small leg cramp for a few days in Saskatchewan that didn’t delay our plans, I haven’t suffered any cycling injuries. It’s been during the down times where I’ve pulled off a trio of stupid, silly, bumbling, stumbling, fumbling seniors moments that have caused a few scrapes, bruises and cases of embarrassment.

The first came from taking a tumble while trying to get up from an unbalanced picnic table in Wawa, Ont. In the fall I managed to stab myself in the ribs with my laptop computer. The spot is still a little tender.

The second came when I stubbed myself on an elevated decorative paving stone while taking a shortcut through the parking lot of our hotel in Ottawa. The sprawl across the asphalt left me with two strawberry scrapes on my right hand, another couple on my leg and a bruised ego.

My right hand suffered another indignity this week. (I went into this journey still dealing with the aftermath of receiving six stitches to repair a cut on my middle finger incurred in a small fall from my bike on March 24.) To add injury to injury I managed to jam the finger between the middle and pinkie fingers on the same hand in a door at the washroom facility at Camping du Causapscal.

I put some cold water on it but I knew I needed ice. So I took the drastic measure of buying a whole bag of ice cubes from the campground office. I looked quite ridiculous walking around with my hand stuck in this big bag of ice for about half an hour, but it was worth it. It’s still a tad tender, but it would have been a lot worse without the ice. It would have been even better if I wasn’t such a klutz,

• Clive took the lead in punctures with his third of the trip Thursday. It occurred just outside of Campbellton, N.B., on our way to Dalhousie. It goes along with the flat tire he found while his bike was parked in the garage of cousin Linda and her husband Gerald in Langham, Sask., and the concrete screw that punctured his tire and tube and went out the other side in Ottawa.

I’ve had two – along the Yellowhead Highway about 100 kilometres west of Edmonton and between Lachute and Joliette, Que. Brody had his only one on his first day while on the Coquihalla.

• Mario, my former caustic colleague at the Burnaby/New West NewsLeader who continues to be a frequent cycling companion, always talked about what he called “The Dark Mall” in New Westminster. Well we came across what has to be called “The Dead Mall” in Dalhousie. While Brody had his sauna, Clive wanted to find a book to read during downtimes. He found a used bookstore online in the Darlington Mall. When we arrived – after getting directions from a couple of incredulous residents – there was a grand total of three vehicles in a massive parking lot. Only two letters were lit on the Darlington neon sign at the mall’s entrance. But the bookstore was there along with a scooter shop and a guitar store. That was it.

There’s a reason, though, the mall’s death knell has been sounded. The property is to become apartments.

Clive did pick up a book for $1 passing on the stack of 50 cent novels.

• A passing observation: There are a ton of classic Catholic churches in Quebec and New Brunswick, but by the eye from the side of the highway the Jehovah’s Witnesses are making an impact because many of the towns we biked through in both provinces had Kingdom Halls in them.

Kilometre count

Day 66: Rimouski to Mont Joli 40 km; Total: 5,864

Day 67: Mont Joli to Causapscal (This town needs to buy a vowel from Pat Sajak to put between the p and s. Our recommendation is an a.) 92 km; Total: 5,956

Day 68: Causapscal to Sugarloaf Provincial (N.B.) Park: 82 km; Total: 6,038

Day 69: Sugarloaf to Heron Bleu Campground, Charo, N.B., 50 km (lots of traipsing around Dalhousie); Total: 6,088