As we cross the bridge over the Batiscan Ricer I reckon that we are about 100 kms or so from Québec, and it's just after here that I start to notice the mountains in the distance. It's all looking quite wild up there and that suits me fine because it's somewhere over there that I'm heading.

In April 2012 when I came along here, I was frozen to the marrow but in September 2011 the weather was absolutely stifling as the day wore on. I remember stumbling across some kind of ice cream shack at the side of the road a short way beyond the bridge and they made me a tourbillon of oreos and mint. I asked for a small one and I'm glad I did for if I had gone for the large one I would have needed a fork lift truck to pick it up.

And the tourbillon was not the only exciting thing about the place. Feeling the need for a gipsy's, I found the gentlemen's rest room and it was one of those places where one could lock oneself in and all the facilities are at hand. That was the cue for me to nip back to the car to fetch my wash bag, with the intention of taking full advantage of this. In fact I finished off with a good cold rinse and I soaked my cap in cold water.

That's the first time that I had been comfortable for all that afternoon back in 2011. What wouldn't I have given for some of that in April 2012?

I stopped by here too in 2013 to take advantage of the facilities for a wash and brush up (I'm strange like that) but keen readers of my outpourings as the owners undoubtedly are, the hot water is now disconnected and the towels have been taken away. Still, I did what I could in cold water and I'll have to wait another time for a shave and a shower.

Back on the road and I pass a garage where there is a méchanique, not a mécanicien, on the premises and if your car is making too much noise you don't need a pot d'échappement but a silencieux. I'll have you all speaking Québecois yet!

The objective of all of this rubbish that I'm writing, by the way, is to retrace as much as possible the old route of the Chemin du Roy - the old coach road that was built to link Montreal and Québec. Prior to this road, almost all transport between the two cities was by the river and here are some interesting statistics.

The geneological records of the Province of Québec are astonishing in their completeness and of the deaths recorded in the parish registers in the 17th Century, 4587 causes of death were noted. We had, inter alia, apart from the usual one partridge and one pear tree
    51 People struck by lightning
    71 People crushed by falling objects such as trees
    37 People frozen to death
    69 People killed by fire - there's a lot of arson about in Quebec
1302 People drowned - ie well over 25% of the total

At the start of the 18th Century it was decided that a road ought to be contructed between the two settlements in order to ease the communication difficulty, and after much delberation and discussion, things began to be set in motion in the 1730s. The Chemin du Roy, the "King's Highway", was the result

Much of its route has been adopted by the present-day Highway 138, but much of it hasn't. Realignments have taken place to allow for modern bridges and the like, and also to avoid places that were persistently flooded. Some more of the route has been lost to coastal erosion.

There's a bridge here at Sainte Anne de la Perade these days but initially when the Chemon du Roy was constructed there was a ferry for transporting the diligences across the river, where travellers "cross at great risk due to the volume of water" and I wondered whether there might be any vestiges of that still visible.

Consequently as I arrive on the edge of the town and see the modern road curving away to the left where that silver pick-up is going, but notice that there are two older roads going effectively straight on down to the water's edge (one of them is just after the petrol station, the other is just before it), then this calls for further investigation.

There aren't any signs for the abandoned parts of the Chemin du Roy (and there aren't always any signs for the current parts of it either) so a great deal of time is spent following hunches.

So following my hunch I drive down here until I reach the water's edge. And the bank on the right gives this game away.

The road has been lowered below the surface of the top of the bank and down to water-level. With there being hardstanding underneath where I am standing, this is some kind of reasonably modern boat ramp and might even have been the site of a ferry across the Riviere Sainte Anne prior to the building of the modern bridge.

What gives us a little clue about this is the corresponding slope down to the bank on the other side of the river.

To my left is a row of cabins and they don't seem to be anchored to the ground either. And so I bet I know what these are for.

The most exciting thing that happens at Sainte Anne takes place during the months of January and February. There's a kind of fish called tommycod, or poulamon, and this River St Anne is full of them. The best time to fish for them is apparently January and February but of course the river is frozen solid then so anyone who is anybody has a little cabin and he drags it out onto the frozen river. Once he's comfortably installed inside, he cuts a hole through the ice into the water and fishes for the tommycod.

Just imagine - a whole village of shanty huts out there on the river. There's quite a carnival atmosphere out there as well, so I'm told, with all kinds of festivities taking place. And I can make loads of jokes about the fishing, can't I? But I'll just content myself with thinking about a right load of iceholes out there in winter.

However, to be serious ... "just for once" - ed ... it's said that as many as 1200 fish have been caught in a day during this period, and prizes are offered for the longest fish, and probably for the longest tale as well. Not many people know this, but the fisherman's Bible is not Izaak Walton's The Compleat Angler, but Franz von Werra's The One That Got Away.

From here there is also a good view of the church and of the bridge. It would have been even better in April with no leaves on the trees but I can't do anything about that now.

You can see what I mean about the bridge though. That is certainly of comparatively modern origin and so it would seem to be a fair guess to say that there was a ferry here at some point in the past.

I climbed back up to the modern road where I had left the Dodge and just as I was adjusting my dress before leaving, this magnificent old car went put-put-putting its way past. It completely took me by surprise - á la dépourvu as the French say.

I've no idea what it is and seeing as the photo that I took was right into the sun I won't have much chance of finding out either. But if you recognise it, then .

I said just now that there were substantial traces of a second road going down to the river and I wanted to have a look at that too. That's the part of the road where my Dodge - the black one - is parked. It certainly looks interesting.

The silver vehicle is taking the modern road heading towards the bridge. That makes a sharp left-right dogleg turn in order to line up with the bridge which is only just 100 metres or so away.

So I walk down to the river bank from here and my eye is immediately caught by the concrete leading ramp just across the river from where I'm standing. The alignment of the houses across there is quite significant too.

I think that this looks a much better candidate for a ferry crossing than did the previous one.

Down at the other place we saw cabins that were painted white with red edging, but here I saw cabins painted white with green edging. And a little further on there were white cabins with blue edging. There must be some kind of colour-coding for the cabins, but for what reason I have no idea.

So to continue our drive I rejoin the modern road and cross the Pont Jeffrey Alexandre Rousseau which goes over the Riviere Ste Anne. As I said, originally there was a ferry but this was later replaced by a bridge. Not this one though - originally there was a metal lattice-girder bridge such as the one that we just saw at Batiscan.

But never mind the bridge for a moment - just as I go round the bend ... "quite" - ed ... prior to crossing the bridge, this is the view that hits me in the eye.

This is its splendid church of Ste Anne de la Perade. It was built between 1855 and 1859 (and that makes me wonder what earlier historic construction it replaced) and is said to be a replica, albeit on a much smaller scale, of the Basilica of Montreal, although I struggle to see the similarity myself.

And while we are on the subject, just who is Jeffrey Alexandre Rousseau?

The answer to that is that he was mayor of Ste Anne de la Perade from 1890 to 1896 and from 1904 to 1905. He was also delegate to Parliament for the Liberal party between 1900and 1908.

There's a handy place to stop the car, on what I think might have been the loading pan for the old ferry, and that gives me an opportunity to look at one or two of the houses that I saw from across the river. Now I could take some really nice photos of them if only they could do what they have done in Amherst, Nova Scotia, and put the electricity cables underground.

I mean, just look at them all, and some of them are really thick. "Probably came from Crewe" I muttered to myself.

Back to the car, and I notice a sign "Here where History and Culture Meet". Which bit does camping out in a cabin on a frozen river and fishing for tommycod through a hole in the ice come under?

Saint Anne is not only the patron saint of the Province of Québec, she is also the patron saint of mariners in distress as well and that is hardly surprising, given the number of deaths by drowning.

But if we can turn our attention back to the church for a moment, I can't help noticing that I seem to have gone all religious today. Is it Sunday or something?

After the excitement of Ste Anne de la Pérade, I return to the car to continue along the route.

I said a little earlier that North Americans aren't big on signposting and quite often you have to follow your intuition a little. My intuition told me that if the first river crossing that I saw was the original ferry of the Chemin du Roy then the eastern end didn't come out in the centre of the town but several hundred metres south.

This made me wonder whether or not there was an alignment of the Chemin du Roy earlier than the one that is used by Highway 138 today and so I took myself off down the road that follows the riverbank south from the centre of the town.

And sure enough, right by where I reckoned that the eastern end of the ferry might have been, there was a sign for the Chemin du Roy. I was on the right road.

That gives me hope and so I follow tis road for a little while. Eventually it brings me back to the main road - the modern Highway 138 - and what do I see before me but a sign for the Chemin du Roy, on the left edge of the photograph, directing me to turn right.

Yes, it's not every day that my intuition pays off - after all, you can't win a coconut every time - but this time it seems to have worked. I felt quite pleased with myself about that. Had there been the possibility of treating myself to a vegan ice cream, I would have done so.

The sign said to turn right for the Chemin du Roy but I'm turning left because I saw something across the fields back there a little that caught my eye.

Now these are what are known in modern times as Person-sized snowploughs, aren't they? And here they are in a yard not too far outside Sainte Anne de la Perade as the local council is starting to prepare itself for winter by the looks of things.

That's rather ominous isn't it, if you ask me. With having the last of the winter snow on 27th May chez moi and it's only just the beginning of September, I was hoping not to be reminded of this just yet.

So now heading in the correct direction, I pass a sign that tells me that Québec is just 72 kms away. That means that just outside Batiscan where I said that I was about 100 kms from Québec, I couldn't have been too far out.

And all around here is really beautiful. In fact, the stretch from Saint Anne eastwards for about 10 or 15 kilometres is gorgeous. In 2011 there was that much traffic about that it was not very easy to stop on the side of the road to photograph anything. One of the (many) reasons for returning in 2012 and 2013 was to set the record straight.

I haven't quite finished with Sainte Anne though. On my 2013 journey I slept for the night not too far away from here and so came back into for coffee and fuel at the petrol station that we saw in one of the earlier photos.

And wasn't there a change?

The morning had started bright an sunny enough but within about half an hour we were having the most dreadful rain-and-hailstorm. If that wasn't enough to be going on with, a rolling bank of fog had come off the St Lawrence so all in all it was hard to see anything very much.

The woman at the fuel station told me that through the night Montreal had had a real pasting. There had been a hurricane, with scores of trees sent crashing down to the street and all that kind of thing. We were apparently having the tail-end of it as it passed through. "Maybe that's the reason for preparing the snowploughs yesterday" I said to myself. "This is Canada. Anything can happen here as far as the weather is concerned"

And as I sped (well, sort of. This fog wasn't helping matters much. It sank the Empress of Ireland and it could sink me too) back up the road to pick up the trail from yesterday, I remember thinking that it was a good job that I'd come this way yesterday and seen everything that there was to see.

And I've tasted much worse coffee than that which I had bought at the petrol station in Sainte Anne too.

Just a reminder, by the way - these pages are the merged reports of journeys that took place in September 2011, April 2012 and September 2013. There will be a point where we will be merging our voyage of October 2010, so if you want to know when a particular photo was taken, look at the copyright stamp in the top left-hand corner.

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