Map and territory

The summer sun beats down on what remains of the rain that fell the night before. The air is thick with the smell of plants, earth, and humidity so thick you could cut it with a knife. The silence is that of the countryside: punctuated by the chirping of insects and birdsong. I stop to check Google Maps. I'm in the middle of nowhere and having the time of my life.

The goal? I've changed it three or four times since leaving Bromont this morning. At first, it was Mansonville. Then Sutton. I finally decided to head to Frelighsburg. Each time, I look for the most unlikely route, the shortcut, the road that takes me beyond the road.

The map spreads out before my eyes. The territory belongs entirely to me. My gravel bike allows me to see the inextricable intertwining of dirt and asphalt roads on the screen in a different light. They used to be a source of concern. What was rideable? Would my shiny road bike come out unscathed, and more importantly, how much fun would I have riding slowly enough to avoid potholes, rocks, and ruts?

Lively enough for cyclocross, stable enough to hurtle down rocky, uneven roads, my new machine allows me to explore behind the scenes, the hidden side of the landscape. And I can do it with a knife between my teeth if I feel like it.

I have just left the paved road around Abercorn. I am taking the paths as I please, trying to stay westward and avoid the nearby border. The edge of the farmland lies before me. Barns, farms, small summer houses lining the rivers and lakes. Yesterday's rain has pockmarked the paths with dark puddles that form strange muddy patterns, and some passages are veritable washboards that I cross with a laugh. But most of the time, the surface is soft but stable, and here I find a peace that exists nowhere else, except in the forest. There is almost no traffic. Anecdotal, let's say. The air is filled with scents from the fields, groves of trees, and wooded areas. The light is white and pure, as it is only in summer in the countryside, and the few sounds that do not come from nature are those of a tractor starting up or a farm dog barking in the distance.

I climb a few sandy hills that test the traction of my tires. Then another, very long one, whose height prevents me from seeing beyond it. I'm out of breath at the top, but it's the view that takes my breath away. Green valleys, crossed by a strip of golden earth that I'm about to travel across. A horizon that seems endless. I stop again, this time to eat a little. How many kilometers still await me? It doesn't matter. I'll stop at the next village to refuel. Then I'll find another road as bucolic as this one to take home. Unless I make a detour on the way back to Mount Shefford? I found a beautiful dirt road in that area yesterday. Near a river, pickup trucks and a few old cars were parked, people were swimming...

I am overcome by something simple and beautiful. The feeling that anything is possible. That this territory is without obstacles. Time and paths belong to me.