Originally published at www3.telus.net/thedpage/ubcp_presentation_article.htm

UBCP Meeting Presentation

 Vancouver-Toronto Ride

Like any great adventure, it started with ideas of grandeur. Visions of sweltering hot days, mountains rising to the heavens, fields of wheat swaying in a prairie breeze, and the sun shimmering off myriad lakes, passed through my imagination like comets traversing the night sky. I had always wanted to do a long bicycle tour, and Canada was definitely one of my goals When I was 8 yrs old I made the trip from Victoria to Ottawa, with my Mom, her friend, my two older sisters, and the family dog in a Toyota Corolla. When I was older I took the bus back on my own. This time, though, I would be doing the 4700kilometer trip my way and without the cigarette smoke, the snoring, smelly passenger in the seat next to me, or the dog that just plain hated me. Prior to this, the longest ride I had ever done was to California with my best friend 7 years ago. We rode 935 miles in 9 days and felt like we had traversed the Himalayan Mountains when going through Washington and Oregon State. It was hard, but we really enjoyed being on the open road with our bikes. Therefore, I did have some idea of what challenges lay ahead of me, and I felt prepared, as I had been training hard for quite some time. Little did I know that I would be riding into one of the worst years of summer weather on record?

There was another reason for the ride, and that came in the form of raising money for charity. It was the suggestion of my close friend, UBCP member, Bruno Verdoni. He suggested that since I was already going on the ride why not attach a charity to it. See originally, the plan called for us to meet up in Montreal and see the film festival there. Unfortunately though, Bruno was unable to make it out then, and so, on the suggestion of another friend, who said he could get me some publicity on a television show in Toronto, I chose to go to there instead. I thought it all was a great idea, and decided to choose two charities. The CKNW Orphan's Fund, and The Keith Provost Memorial Fund. I chose these two because The Orphan's Fund reaches a broad range of people and is directed at helping children; and Keith Provost was a friend and fellow actor, who exemplified the qualities of a great human being. Last year Keith was killed during a bike ride in Vancouver when someone opened their car door without looking. A tragedy indeed, and one I have come to know all to well as a cyclist.

I left on August 1st at 7 a.m., from the site where Keith's bicycling accident occurred. About 18 people came out to send me off, including Keith's widow Janet, and her parents. I was presented with a folder containing some info about Keith and his untimely passing by Mr. Baxter, Keith's father-in-law, and received the best good luck hugs and kisses ever. With an emotional lump in my throat, I thanked everyone for their support in coming out and headed on my way. "Toronto, here I come."

Within fifteen minutes my will was being tested and that continued for the whole first day. I had hoped to do a live interview for a local morning TV show, but the reporter was called away on an emergency story. Then, before I made it out of the city, I lost my cell phone. That was to be my link to people back home to let them know I was safe and sound, and not lying in a ditch somewhere bleeding to death. I had to scramble somewhat to find a store to cancel my old phone and purchase a new one. Next came a 50+ km detour around the Port Mann Bridge because bicycles aren't allowed to cross it. By the end of the day, I had been introduced to how the rest of the trip was to turn out. FRUSTRATING!

Two of the things I had to deal with were the landscape and the weather. From the high mountain passes of BC and Alberta, to the flat prairies, to the rolling miles of Ontario; add in weather that isn't supposed to happen in August, and you have a formidable opponent to a cyclist and his 85 lb. bike. Despite being told by many, including my own father, that the Rockies would grind me down, the prairies would burn me to a crisp, the bugs in Manitoba would eat me alive, and the humidity of Ontario would melt me, I was keen to go. In fact, most of that never really happened. I loved climbing the high mountain passes, there was no sweltering heat to contend with, the bugs didn't materialize and the humidity evaporated away. What didn't go away and seemed to follow me wherever I went, however, was the rain. It ranged from a constant drizzle, to a deluge of biblical proportions. Even hail! Of the 22 days it took me to reach Toronto, I had rain for 14 or 15 of those days, and that makes for really tough riding and camping.

By far the most challenging aspects were the physical and mental taxes I paid. The first week I expected to have some body aches and pains, they were normal, and pretty much weren't anything I couldn't handle. Things like my knees aching every night, my feet going completely numb, my shoulders and neck being constantly tight, and some a saddle sores caused by sitting on a bike for 8-9 hours a day. Those, in of themselves, are simply what I as a hardcore athlete put up with on a daily basis in order to participate in my extreme sport. Thankfully, there are things like ibuproferin, analgesic balm, and preparation-H that become your best friend on a long journey like this. By the time I had reached Northern Ontario, though, the price being asked of my body was dear and the toll was mounting. Similar to the way CCRA adds up its penalties and interest on your overdue assessments. Those taxes then began to attack my mental spirit. There were times when I would feel like perhaps this was too much for me. The combination of weather, road, traffic, pain, loneliness, all conspiring to defeat me in my mission, was simply more than I could bear. I might be listening to a piece of music on my Discman and I would suddenly be propelled into weeping like a baby. No explanation other than that I was alone in the middle of this huge country and I needed to express my feelings the only way I could at the time without crashing. Many a time I just wanted to stop and rest, but knew I wouldn't be satisfied if I did because I had a duty to those who were unable to do something like this and wanted for me to carry them along the way. Other than that, I had to concentrate so much on what I was doing that I really didn't have chance to see, or do, much else. This was not an opportunity to play tourist.

Now, I know I might be biased for saying this, but I think that B.C. was the most fun and interesting province to ride through. There is just something about being able to ride from the ocean, past farmland in the valley, up the coastal mountains, down into the interior, rolling desert, and then up to the foot of the most spectacular mountain range in the world. The Rocky Mountains and Banff are amazing and something everyone should see. I definitely had the sense that I was a very small piece of a much larger puzzle. Perhaps it was because I was only 5 days into the ride at that point, and was feeling relatively good still.

Once past Calgary, the land lies down and becomes rather simple. At first it is quite interesting, but then after hours and hours of the same thing it became really boring. There is only so much one can take of seeing wheat fields with a constant buzz of grasshoppers in the background. If you have ever driven across the country you know all to well of what I speak. There were stretches of highway that taught me the meaning of "as far as the eye can see", where the horizon looked to be a hundred kilometers away, but after riding for twenty minutes turned out to be only 7 or 8. Of course, it just went on even further after that with exactly the same thing.

In Saskatchewan, the landscape is even worse. It's flatter, there's more of nothing, and the weather has far more impact on an individual who is literally, completely exposed. See the website where it looked like I was taking pictures of the fields, but didn't quite get the frame right. Well, what I was trying to demonstrate there was the nothingness. I named those two spots, 'But Nothing Nowhere, Alberta', and, 'But There's Really Nothing Nowhere, Saskatchewan'. Two places where you could see forever and really didn't wish to. Which springs forth to my mind the images that were some cause for comic relief and came in the form of the road signs. Every once in awhile, and I do mean once in awhile, I would come across a sign that said, "hill", or, "curve". Now to a guy from B.C., it was hard for me to understand the need for such signs when one can see the "hill" or "curve" from literally miles away. I mean, are people from the prairies really short sighted or something?

Anyway, after riding further than I had ever gone in one day before, 295 kilometers, I came upon the small town of Morse. It is a sparse little place on the shores of Reed Lake, which is a small and shallow bird sanctuary that looks like an oasis in the middle of this nothingness, nowhere. I made camp in the municipal campground, which was about 100 meters from the local grain silo, and everything seemed just grand as I had a nice dinner, a suitably long shower and met some folks from Florida, who were staying at the campground in the luxury of their 24 ft motor home. I, on the other hand, retired to the comfort of my tent with the sense of having accomplished something rather unique that day. Soon thereafter, I came to realize exactly what prairie folk do at that time of the year: they bring in their crop. Apparently, they don't need any sleep while performing this task, nor do they care if anyone else gets any, because they do it all night long. The trains being fed the grain also run all night long, roughly every hour. And yes, they blow their whistle every time they pass a road crossing or town. So, the next time you hear a train whistle in the distance at night, perhaps you'll consider the poor sucker who is trying to sleep near some crossing, and not think the train sounds so damn romantic.

OK, now comes the biblical reference. I had heard the thunder and lightning throughout that night and the rain pounding down on my tent, but my gear was standing its ground. The only problem was the ground decided to move and my gear couldn't keep up. At 4:10 a.m. I was forced to leave my shelter by the cold sensation of water on my feet. The relentless downpour had soaked the earth to beyond capacity, and was making it's way up the sides of my thermo-rest. Jeez, did I ever wish I were in the comfort of a 24 ft. motor home, right about then. I had to quickly pack up my gear as best I could, vacate my abode and take refuge in the bathroom. There, on the shower floor, I managed to get my most peaceful hour of rest for the whole night. Not necessarily the best reward for riding so hard the day before. By 6 a.m. I had decided to get on my bike and ride away from this, "oasis". I couldn't just sit there waiting for the grace of God, to change his mind and stop the crying. Besides, somehow I knew Keith would be watching over me, and within a few hours I was riding in some very nice weather. Thanks Keith. In fact, I think that was the most frustrating part of the ride. I would have some fantastic weather, but it would never stick around for very long. Of the days that it didn't rain, it was usually rather cool and they were few and far between. Literally two days later, I was leaving my campsite by 5:15 a.m., because half a dozen rainstorms pounded on me throughout the night, and my tent was starting to leak, again. I was beginning to feel like I couldn't catch a break if someone had dropped it in my lap.

By the time I rolled into Winnipeg, I was looking forward to meeting my friend's parents and having a peaceful, and dry night's sleep. I was also able to purchase a new fly for my tent. I was going to beat this weather thing, yet. There, I was treated like a hero, given a tour of one of Winnipeg's finest fire halls and even escorted out of town by their fire rescue unit. Well actually, a call came in as I was leaving, but I know they used the sirens and horns a little more than usual just for me. That day ended up being one of the good days. The weather was warm the wind was at my back and the scenery finally changed. There were trees again. Plus, that night I got to stay in a lovely campground overlooking a lake. No trains or silos. That didn't last though, as the next day I woke up to rain again. I couldn't believe my luck! As I rode into the wet, I thought, at least there was something to look at. Trees and rocks and lakes, and more trees and rocks and lakes, and more trees and more rocks and, and ... well basically, that was Northern Ontario. In fact, I am sure there was a lot to see, but unfortunately, you don't get much of an opportunity to see it because of all the trees and rocks. I mean the lakes are great, but the road is cut through some of the most rugged land of this country. Up, down, left, right, and all over the place does the road go, never quite opening up enough to give the traveler sight of what it is he's traveling through. I was back to that boring thing again. Arrgghh! Until I reached the great lake of Superior, it was pretty hard to endure. One day I had more rain than I could handle. Only this time it was accompanied by headwinds that reached over 70 km/hr. I made it 50km in 2 hours that day before I had to pull into a motel and hold up for the night. I was devastated. I spent the entire day watching really crappy TV and drying out my gear. What really hurt though, was the fact that I was being soaked for the room and food, (pun intended) and I couldn't do anything about it. I paid more in that one day than I had for the previous three. Also, the weather cleared up in a few hours, and I kicked myself later for not leaving the little gold mine. As it turned out, the storm came back in the night, so at least I was happy to be inside. While I'm at it, let me add that the logging truck drivers of Northern Ontario, with the little matchsticks they call logs, like using cyclists to see just how close they can come to something without hitting it, while passing on a two lane highway. Oh, and the wasps, they like to sting not just once, but twice, before they leave from their 'Welcome to Ontario' stamp on you. All this and I had barely past the halfway mark of my ride. I was starting to wear down, my mental attitude had been tested and the effects were beginning to show. The conversations to myself became more eccentric, more convoluted. I didn't care if I was alone on my bike or in a crowd of people anymore, I had to keep my spirits up. Thankfully, I found just what I needed in a few places of Northern Ontario.

The first place was at the east end of Thunder Bay. If you go you will find, what I would say, is the most inspiring piece of work I have ever seen. Not in the form of the monument itself, but rather for what it represents. The Terry Fox Memorial was a conflict of emotions for me. At first, I was in awe of the actual statue and view from the site. I felt proud that I would be riding on the same stretch of road that Terry had run along. Then as I began to read the inscriptions and the honors that were bestowed upon this true Canadian Hero, I was overcome with a sense of how important it is to follow one's dreams. That the physical, mental and emotional prices one pays to make such endeavors are heavy indeed, but all worth the while. At that point, ready to break all out in a convulsive crying fit, I decided I needed to put aside my pains and ride on with the same determination that Terry had. I was riding for those who couldn't and I felt it was my duty to carry on without concern for myself. This was truly one of the most inspiring moments of my life.

The second place was at the home of my agent's parents in Sault Ste. Marie, [The Soo]. Now, the Soo is a charming city, with equally charming people. Again, I was treated like a hero, fed, cleaned, exalted and put to rest in a most comfortable setting. There, in my agent's childhood bed, under her graduation pictures that no one is ever supposed to see, I slept like a lamb in the warm comfort of its mother's love. I now have a different kind of relationship with my agent. Riding does have its privileges.

The third thing that enabled me to keep my spirits up was once again the comic relief from the road signs. Now, I have to preface this by saying that there are signs all across Canada warning of the dangers of moose on the highways, as it seems that they are a particular hazard to drivers at night. Which, by the way, might make a good argument for the moose becoming our national animal. I mean, the mighty moose certainly has fewer sexual connotations than the beaver, and a moose definitely would look far more imposing when considered alongside our neighbors to the south because a moose could kick the crap out of an eagle any day. It's just a thought. But anyway, back to the story.

Just as had been in the prairies, Ontario had road signs that seemed odd to say the least, or perhaps there is just an inordinate amount of moose in certain sections of the province. While riding I would come upon a sign that went something like this: "Night Danger, Moose next 74 km". I thought to myself, OK, no big deal more moose, there's moose all across this country, right, so what. Then about 5 or 10 km down the road I would pass another sign that said: "Moose, Night Danger next 52 km". Again, I thought OK, so there's more moose in this next section, than there was in the previous section. Then, further down the road, another 10 or 12 km let's say, I would see another sign, you guessed it: "Moose, Night Danger next 28 km", or something right. So, by now I'm beginning to wonder what all this means. Are there that many moose? Is there really a greater density of moose here, than the human population of the West End of Vancouver? And, if so, what are they all doing here? Why here and not elsewhere? Why haven't I seen any? Maybe they're not really here, but that this is really a conspiracy by the federal government to hoard all the moose from the rest of the country, especially those of us in the west. I was starting to think it wasn't safe to be on the road because I might ride into a moose at any minute. This Northern Ontario was a tougher place than I thought. From then on in it was pretty uneventful. Except for the O.P.P cop that tried to scare me off the road and then played car tag with me for 10 km, because I booed him for giving someone a sneaky, radar trap induced ticket. Ah... maybe that's a story for another time.

Well, suffice to say I did make it to Toronto, and without being run over by a logging truck, or running into a moose, although, the weather did give me a run for the money. On my last day of riding, it started out wet and got progressively wetter until I got to Barrie, where I stopped to dry off and fuel up before the final run into downtown Toronto. At some point it was so bad I couldn't see a hundred feet in front of me. F**cking weather! Almost as if by design and as a way to reward me for my efforts, the whole time I was in Toronto the weather was great. Hot, sunny and not too muggy at all. It was so good; it almost made me forget of how bad some of it had been while riding. Well... not really.

 In the end, I discovered a lot about our country, my friends, and myself. Mostly, that I never want to ride across Canada again! Or go for a long bike ride like that without having someone to share it with each day. Friends are what helped me get through my struggles, and friends are what I missed and thought about most. Friends are the reason why I went on my journey in the first place, and they are the reason I made it to the end. So, I must give thanks to those who have helped me achieve the greatest feat of my life. Thanks friends. Cheers to you!