Québec City | Barriers

Québec City proves difficult to ride.

The city walls prohibit motorcyclists, the rain is relentless and the off-road terrain is a local secret.

We persevere and find a brilliant motorcycle trip in the province’s crown jewel.

The Route

Download GPS file - Québec Motorcycle Trip

The Ride

I like culture the same way I like beef jerky: in cheap and concentrated doses.

So when I heard about Québec City – “the most European city outside of Europe” – I couldn’t wait to snap into that Slim Jim. It’s small, bold and a few paces removed from the real meat.

But while the idea of a Euro trip sans air fare got my cultural sensitivity and financial sensibility tingling, there was a small problem. Namely, a giant “no motorcycles” sign.

As Québecers like to say: merde.

Getting to Québec City

We take HWY 138 into Québec City, primarily on the advice of a senior citizen who rode it in the 1960s. In our circles, this is what we call a “soft lead.”

As it turns out, the old guy we met in Trois-Rivières gave solid advice. I’m loving the meandering highway. Gentle bends and long straightaways come in sequence, lulling me into the rhythm of revving through fifth, sixth and back down again.

We pass through a quaint town every fifteen minutes, my tunnel-vision of Québec City widening with each one. Less than an hour from downtown we finally relent. Four moto-journalists, myself included, pull over for some en route antiquing.

First Impressions

Like I said: merde .

Anywhere in Vieux Québec, which is the bit you want to be in, it’s illegal to ride a motorcycle. I’m told that this is a remnant from the Quebec Biker war, when the sound of Harley-Davidsons went from “annoying” to “terrifying.”

But good news! There’s a motorcycle-shaped loophole in Québec City’s bylaw. Entry is granted to riders with hotel reservations inside the old city. So if you have the cash (which I don’t) and the street smarts (which I don’t), book inside the barriers.

The First Day - ADV Riding

I planned a thorough riding route inside Old Quebec. So when faced with a giant M otos Interdites sign, I do what any self-respecting motorcyclist would do.

Pretend that I don’t understand French.

Unfortunately, after putting the first cobblestoned kilometer between my wheels, I discover that Québec City’s police department is bilingual. How convenient…

Anyway, ADV bikes shine most when your plans go to shit. Now that touring is impossible, I figure that we can find some twisty pavement. And if that runs dry, we could always find some dirt. So I turn my taillight to Québec City and search the surrounding area.

For twisty pavement. For dirt. For redemption.

Almost immediately we meet Gilbert (pronounced “Jill-Bear” out here, although he tells me that “Gill-Bert” is okay too). Gilbert is riding a Tiger – which looks like it wants to eat me – and he mentions riding to a place called The Evil Sand Pit of Death.

Considering the bald Bridgestone Battlewings on my Strom, I decide that The Evil Sand Pit of Death isn’t the right spot for Québec City’s second chance. Gilbert doesn’t feel like spending the afternoon getting my 250-kilogram Suzuki unstuck, either. He offers to show us the Saint-Raymond area instead.

On a cross axis of proximity and quality, this is some of the best ADV riding Québec City has to offer. Highlights include:

• Rivière-à-Pierre – A granite-mining town with a granite-sided church. Picture an entire building made from your countertop; it’s cooler than you think.

• HWY 367 west of Rivière-à-Pierre – This is a racetrack of a road, with very few side streets and hidden driveways.

• Réserve faunique de Portneuf – A wealth of off-road terrain. We find narrow and twisty tracks that make it dangerously easy to get slideways. Gilbert also leads us along wide off-road terrain, cruiseable at highway speeds.

We end our first day in Québec City the right way: with poutine. Gilbert’s restaurant of choice, Ti-Oui, doesn’t disappoint. It’s the greasy, roadside kind of poutine that Québecers actually eat. Leave the gourmet stuff for tourists and suckers!

The poutine paralysis lasts until after dark, so Gilbert offers to guide us to our campsite. This, after letting us chase him around all day, seals the deal. If you ever doubted Québécois hospitality, don’t.

The Second Day - Châteaus and Chutes

Holy Mother of Noah it’s raining.

The highway from our campsite is absolutely nautical. I feel more like a U-Boat captain than a motorcyclist at this point. A small part of me – the part that isn’t terrified – is loving it. Even still, the videographer is looking for more of The Motorcycle Diaries and less of Das Boot.

We decide that, if we must tour La Forbidden City on foot, it might as well be now.

Considering the cultural ocean that is North America, you’d expect Québec’s European flair to be watered down.

It’s not.

As much as it pains me, I have to give credit to the bloody walls. They keep the V-Strom out, but they also keep the culture in. Stepping inside the ramparts is like stepping across continents. And centuries.

Highlights include:

• The wall itself – Québec has been called the “world’s best example of a fortified colonial settlement.” I can’t speak for the rest of the world, but these walls seem pretty good. Plus, you can walk on top of the ramparts and play with the cannons.

• Épicerie J.A. Moisan – It’s the oldest grocery store in North America. And if it weren’t pissing rain, J.A. Moisan would be the perfect place to pick up a gourmet picnic.

• Petits cafés – There are a billion of these. Pick one. If you sit on the terrace, expect street performers to woo the coins from your pocket.

• The streets – They were built in 16-something, so the cobblestones can be forgiven. Upper town was reserved for the political and religious elite. Lower town was relegated to sailors, army men and merchants. Go from top to bottom and see if you can tell the difference.

• Notre-Dame de Québec – It’s the oldest church this side of Mexico. They have an altar lamp gifted by Louis XIV and a Holy Door granted by the Pope. Of course, soggy vagabonds like us saw little more than a dry roof and an open door.

• Château Frontenac – Duh.

The cultural Slim Jim was punchy. But it’s only 2pm, the skies are clearing and I miss my motorcycle.

We suit up and head for Île d'Orléans, which I’ve had on my mind all weekend. The island is carpeted in farmland and affectionately known as the "Garden of Québec." Until the bridge was built in the 1930s, it was basically a time capsule of pastoral New France.

It still is.

The roads are meandering and well-paved. But since the entire island is a National Historic Site, speeding seems like a bit of a faux pas . At any rate, the rolling farmland – arcing perfectly into the flowing St. Lawrence – draws my eyes away from the road. Best to go slow.

Plenty of roadside stands and U-pick fields offer strawberries, blueberries, maple syrup, apples, and more. Variety changes with the seasons, but quality does not. It’s always good.

I don’t know how I missed it – the monstrous Chute-Montmorency. Thirty metres higher than Niagara Falls and I rode right past it.

Coming back across the Île d'Orléans Bridge, I have my eyes open. And this time I see it all: into the splash zone, up the side staircase and over the suspension bridge. It seems too good for an impromptu roadside stop. All these tour buses made a destination of the Montmorency Falls, and I stumbled into the same beauty. Better yet – I paid half-price for coming on a motorcycle.

It’s a long ride back to Montreal. My Icon gear, which valiantly fought the rain for ten straight hours, soaks through on the eleventh. And with a few minutes till sunset, I prefer the 40’s speed to the 138’s beauty.

So it is a cold, dim ride home. With plenty of brilliant memories to keep me warm.

Tips for Motorcycling Québec City

• Meet a local rider – When it comes to off-road terrain, local knowledge trumps all.

• Start with French – There’s a myth going around that Québecers are rude. This is mainly perpetuated by Americans who come up here and start their sentences with “Hey, can I get an extra-large …” Thanks to 500 years of complex history, this is offensive. Just start every interaction with "Bonjour, parlez-vous anglais?" and you'll get warm Québécois hospitality instead of cold shoulders.

• Take HWY 138 – It adds time to your trip, but this B-road is much better than the main highway. Besides, the 138 starts at the US border and goes further east than PEI. You’ll be able to ride it all the way to Newfoundland pretty soon. Bucket list, anyone?

• Eat greasy poutine – When it comes to Québec’s signature dish, “better” isn’t always better. The name poutine essentially means “hot mess,” and that’s how it should be. Diners, pubs and snack bars (casse-croûtes) have the most authentic poutine. Pro tip: "Poutine" is not the best word for trying out your super-duper French accent. There’s a very common mispronunciation, which will have you ordering a “whore” to your table instead of fries and gravy.

• Stay in Vieux-Québec – I may have mentioned this already, I’m not sure but, um, MOTORCYCLES AREN’T ALLOWED IN OLD QUÉBEC. Merde . The solution is to book a hotel inside the ramparts. This will grant access to you and your motorcycle.

• Have a beer in the Château Frontenac – The Frontenac is too rich for our blood. Fortunately, the most photographed hotel in the world has … a bar! Bistro Le Sam is one of the coolest looking rooms in the whole Château, and regular schmucks like us can cruise in, order a strangely expensive beer, and cruise out. Beats taking pictures from the outside, non ?

• Visit the Citadelle at 10am – Ottawa’s Changing of the Guard ceremony attracts thousands of tourists every day. A little-known thing: they do the exact same thing at Québec City’s Citadelle. In the summer you can catch the red coats and beaver hats at 10am.

• Avoid Sainte-Pétronille – In the offseason it’s a quaint little town. In the summer it’s a traffic jam through hell. The northeast side of Île d'Orléans – turning left from the bridge – is more authentic, quieter and equally scenic.

• Skip the famous “cannonball stuck in a tree” – We walked an extra ten minutes, in the pouring rain, to see the entrapped projectile. It wasn’t worth it. If I walked on a sunny day with a supermodel on my arm, it still wouldn’t be worth it.