Table of Contents | Northern Ontario (1) | Central Ontario |
Trains, Boats and Planes
There was no sound of rain when I woke up and immediately I was in a better mood, ready to face the day and get riding again. One final push into Wawa today. Then a day off. I wasn't feeling too badly, not overly tired and didn't really need a day off, but nevertheless I was looking forward to sitting still again.
Patti and Randy rode up through the mist from their motel. They quickly grabbed some breakfast, then headed out. Nearly ready to ride, I couldn't locate my cycling gloves and began a quick search. That didn't turn them up, so I looked in some less likely places. Usually I left them interlocked over the handlebars if it looked like a dry night, and sometimes I left them in my helmet in the van. Maybe they were beside my helmet on top of the shelves? Not there either, but Jeff had taken the van into Marathon last night so things would have jostled around somewhat. I looked under the shelves, in other people's baskets, and asked around. Even looked in such unlikely places as inside my packed tent. But no luck. Reluctantly I dug out my "emergency" pair of gloves, brought along for just such an occasion. These were pretty pathetic—the material was thin and faded and the terry-towel thumb patch looked as if a moth had lived in it. But the padding in the palms was still pretty good and they would protect my hands if I fell, which is, after all, the primary reason a cyclist wears gloves.
Ahead of us was a lengthy day of 143 kilometres with little, I thought, of interest to break it up. One town, White River, about 50 klicks from the mine, is the only town we will pass today, so with my three water-bottles loaded I set off. I wore tights all day and had no problems with leg cramps or coldness, despite the continuing cool, damp weather. Today's temperature was borderline—too hot for a jacket when it wasn't raining but too cold for bare arms when it was. The sporadic showers kept me busily pulling my jacket on and off when passing through them. I usually did this without stopping when I was by myself, but in truth, riding no hands is a skill I haven't fully mastered. Bob made it look so easy. His bike stayed straight and steady while his arms were busily getting into or out of the garment. On the few occasions when I changed clothing while riding in the company of others I would drop back, get clear of everyone around me so that my wiggles (and a possible crash) wouldn't involve anyone else, then proceed raggedly. This skill requires much more practice!
I was ready for a sandwich when I reached White River and stopped at a cosy-looking log building that was both a restaurant and souvenir shop.
An odd statue of a bear in a tree caught my eye as I munched away on my snack. I investigated. It seems that during World War I troops were in transit from Winnipeg to eastern Canada, bound for Europe. When the train stopped at White River a lieutenant in the brigade, Harry Colebourn, bought a small bear cub for $20.00 from a hunter who had killed its mother. Harry named her "Winnipeg" after his hometown, or "Winnie" for short. Winnie became the brigade's mascot and accompanied the unit to Britain. When the unit subsequently left for the battlefields, Lt. Colebourn formally presented the bear to the London zoo, in December 1919. Winnie was to become a very popular attraction and she lived until 1934.
The bear became a favourite of Christopher Robin, son of author A. A. Milne. The child often played with the bear inside its cage. This close friendship caused Christopher Robin to change his own teddy bear's name from Edward Bear to Winnie, and the bear inspired Milne to create the series of Winnie the Pooh books.
White River annually commemorates their piece of history with a Winnie the Pooh summer festival.
Our map showed we were aiming for a KOA campground just west of Wawa. When my odometer was within five kms of the predicted distance I began paying closer attention to road signs. A campground sign appeared, and barely discernible under a thin layer of white paint were the letters "KOA." This must be the place, I thought, and went in. Sure enough. The owners, having just recently discontinued their affiliation with KOA, were still in the process of changing their signage and literature. Had their sign-painting been completed, I well might have continued passed the entrance, still looking for a KOA site.
Ahead of the van again, I noticed. Taking a look around I discovered a remarkably well laid-out campground, including a fine TV room (complete with chairs this time), a movie calendar, popcorn, the works. Scheduled for showing that night was Trains, Boats and Planes, so I made a mental note to be there. I was sitting there watching Olympic coverage when the van pulled in.
Again my hopes were to have finished my laundry before the arrival of the others, but instead there was a short line-up for the machines. Nevertheless, most of us did finish our laundry that evening, taking advantage of the fine set of washers and a big propane dryer. By 1630 hrs all my dirty clothes were clean, dry and put away.
Again Bob sat in the van all day. Now I am beginning to wonder just why he is sticking around. He seems able to ride OK when he chooses to, but he isn't choosing to very often. It also seems to me that with him riding shotgun Jeff has been consistently late reaching the campsites. Something has changed Jeff's timetable a bit, getting him side-tracked or delayed. Also, I'm reasonably sure Bob is no help to Jeff. For instance, last night at the mine Bob just stood idly to the side watching Jeff single-handedly unload and set everything up in the drizzling rain.
Jeff has promised to cook breakfast tomorrow, giving us a break on our rest day.
After supper several of us enjoyed the movie, including Jeff and Ray who later went into town. When they returned in the wee hours something said or done struck Jeff as being truly hilarious. He giggled insanely for about 10 minutes just outside my tent before eventually getting into his. In the morning neither of them could, or would, recall what was so funny. They'd obviously enjoyed themselves. Jeff inadvertently left a newly purchased cap outside overnight. It had disappeared by morning. Jeff seemed so eager to show us this new treasure, but Ray was the only one who ever did see it.
My bike seems to be holding up well, but downshifts on the rear cog are sometimes a bit slow. Something to look at tomorrow.
Goose Eggs
Canada is a fine country, don't get me wrong. But our forefathers could have done a much better job of putting it together from a cross-country cyclists' point of view. Wawa is a definite stopping place for everyone travelling through on a bicycle, but it is far too small, with too few facilities. A city about the size of Saskatoon would be perfect there. What I'm saying is, there wasn't much to do today, and not even a bicycle shop in town.
Jeff dragged himself out of bed fairly early and put together an old-fashioned breakfast of bacon and eggs, although how he could see anything through those eyes was a mystery. The full breakfast was a pleasing change from our usual fare of porridge, pancakes, or French toast. Afterwards I changed chains, cleaned up the greasy parts of the drive-train and fiddled with the fine-tuning adjustment knob of the index-shift rear derailleur. It seemed to improve the shifting somewhat, so I quit. Sand, picked up from the sandy road at Caliper Lake park a few days ago, still stuck to the bike everywhere there was grease or oil. I noticed my headset felt and sounded a bit "gritty" as I turned it back and forth. Lazily I decided to hope the sand would come out by itself once the weather cleared and it dried thoroughly. Repacking the headset did not really appeal to me right then, especially if it turned out to be unnecessary. Actually, repacking bearings doesn't appeal to me much at any time. Now Albert on the other hand, he repacked his hub bearings every couple of weeks, mostly just for the fun of it.
Christine was having some fun with her wheels—changing tubes, fussing with brakes, and I'm not sure what all. Accepting my offer to help her, she paid close attention and occasionally asked questions while I installed two new brake pads. From the very start she and Marny were keen to do their own bike work, avidly watching and learning whenever any repairs were underway. Both were good students and quick studies. We all learned much from each other about maintaining and repairing our bicycles during the summer's journey.
Throughout the day our people drifted into and out of Wawa, going passed the great white Canada Goose that stands on a crest between the townsite and the Trans-Canada highway. Singly, in pairs, walking or cycling they went.
![]() |
Wawa Goose |
For supper Ray, Bob, Albert and I decided to take a cab to one of the town's three cafes. Listening to the opinions of the campground proprietor and fellow campers, none of the cafes were very good, and only one was even worth considering. It won by default, and the meal was decent. While finishing up our dessert Bob called the waitress over. Half-jokingly he suggested that we deserved an extra dessert "on the house" as we were "starving cyclists riding across Canada." After waiting five or ten minutes with no response from her, he called her back and suggested she ask her manager about it. A few minutes later, with still no response, we were starting to shuffle our chairs to leave when the manager herself came out, carrying a tray full of delicious-looking desserts. "Especially for you," she said. "A Greek cake with whipped-cream topping. Not even available from the menu." Recovering from our embarrassment, we fully enjoyed it and thanked her for the hospitality.
Hiring the taxi tonight was a first for me on this trip, making my evening's total costs a bit higher than normal, but heck, I deserved it. Immediately upon settling into the taxi when returning to the campsite the driver asked where our friend was. He was referring to Jeff, of course, having driven Ray and Jeff around town much earlier that morning. We enjoyed a laugh or two hearing him describe last night's pathetic scenario of the pair of them taking a cab from pub to pub although the entire town was less than four blocks long.
My cycling gloves still hadn't shown up despite my scouring the truck a couple more times and likely making a bother of myself by repeatedly asking if anyone had seen them. The last place I seemed to recall putting them was on the top shelf beside my helmet, hoping they would dry out. I now figured I'd get a new pair in the Soo on my way through.
Exactly 3975 kilometres from Vancouver to here, my odometer showed. The next segment would get us clear of Lake Superior and into central Ontario. It was to be our longest stretch of riding—seven days before the next rest day at Mount Albert, just north of Toronto. One day would be very short, mostly a ferry ride, so we should recover somewhat that day. As always, it promised to bring new scenery, new experiences, and more fun.
Power to Spare
Of all the days and all the segments of road to be travelled on this trip, the area between Wawa and Sault Ste. Marie (The Soo) holds the reputation as being one of the very toughest. Indeed, some people say it is even as tough as the mountains. Ray frequently talks about the famed Montreal Hill, Annette frets about it and today we will climb it. We'll be cycling through the rugged but spectacular Lake Superior Provincial Park for a major portion of today's ride and the scenery promises to be awesome. Pancake Bay Provincial Park is our destination, about 153 kilometres away. It is our turn to cook again tonight, but I get a break. Because I helped Annette make supper that rainy evening at the mine-site when Ken slipped into Marathon for bike repairs, tonight they are taking my cooking chores. I don't argue. They are a very nice couple, so considerate and polite. Annette tends to be a bit disruptive at times with her worrying and fussing to get everything done immediately, but I like them very much.
When donning my helmet this morning I noticed cracks in the mirror. So that's what "snapped" under my knee in the tent last night. Oh well, the glass is still in place and the twin cracks don't extend into my primary area of vision. Once on the road I quickly became accustomed to it and forgot the cracks. I also soon realized that physically I felt rested and strong.
We entered Lake Superior Provincial Park about 12 km after leaving Wawa. The hills came at me and I just powered up them. I was flying! Passing Randy while ascending a major climb, I closed on Patti. She was climbing well, pulling ahead of Randy by staying in relatively big gears and standing frequently to keep her pace up. When I flew passed her on my way up the hill she yelled out "What's the hurry?" Shrugging my shoulders but having no real answer I rode on, smiling. Having little difficulty with keeping my cadence well above 90, I was spinning along in a 38 x 26 gear. It was just one of those days. Without any real trouble I kept that pace up all day, climbing Montreal Hill without even realizing it until, during a dizzying drop towards Lake Superior, I crossed a bridge marking the Montreal River.
Today was so humid that when the cold air blowing off the Lake hit the warmer air over the land it created a heavy fog or mist in all but the highest places. Again today my glasses were in a back pocket, vision being better without them. A small restaurant at the crest of yet another huge hill beckoned so I took a break, enjoying a hot chocolate. Jeff, with Bob on board, pulled in while I was there. Chitchat over hot drinks was little more than the usual road- and weather-related topics so once I warmed-up and rested I took off. Bob never mentioned his intention of cycling from there to the campsite.
Just as I entered Pancake Bay Park a black bear romped across the highway ahead of me. Wonderful.
I really hadn't seen very much wildlife up to now and he made a great day even better. The vision of the bear was still vivid in my mind when I reached the campground's entrance road a short while later. This campground looked to be another huge Ontario provincial campground, so this time I asked directions at the gate. Didn't listen well, or directions not clear, and again I returned to the gate for a second briefing. Our site in the group camping area at the farthest end of camp was a scenic and quiet location, but it necessitated a 2 km ride to the shower. Otherwise it was a great spot. We were right beside Lake Superior, separated from the water by a huge sand dune.
Lake Superior
As I rode in Jeff smilingly presented me with my lost gloves, having retrieved them from the narrow space behind the shelves only minutes earlier by using his fishing tackle. Much to Jeff's disgust they were still soaking wet, and still smelled sweaty. But I was happy. I thanked him for his efforts. Again I realized how much Jeff contributes to the success of the ride and what a great person he is.
Some trouble with my front derailleur developed today. For reasons unknown the chain didn't always move smoothly from the big ring to the middle one. Instead, when downshifting to the smaller ring, occasionally the sprocket's teeth aligned with the chain's connecting links rather than nestling into the spaces between them. The sprocket then spun uselessly inside the suspended circle of chain. On one occasion the chain actually jammed between the two rings. Feeling the sudden, huge increase in resistance I immediately eased the pedal pressure, fortunately saving the chain from becoming solidly wedged between the two rings. I was able to extract it with little difficulty. After that I gave up powering downhill in my highest gear, a 50 x 12 combination. Instead, I contented myself with winding up the biggest combination on the middle ring (38 x 12), spinning it out around 50 kph, then tucking over the bars and coasting. Indeed, I seldom used the big ring again 'till reaching the flats in Quebec.
My headset sounds as if it's full of sand, but still turns smoothly. Lying to myself, I say it will get better on its own. I know better. Mechanical things never do!
The beach here was great. The soft, fine sand went for miles around this huge bay and I welcomed the chance to relax on it while my teammates prepared supper, with Ken and Annette ably sitting-in for me. Close by, Ray struck up a conversation with a stranger, which Ray had a habit of doing we had learned. He could spot a fellow teacher a mile away and be deep into conversation about schooling techniques within minutes. (Actually Ray could talk about many things, at any time, which made him great company while riding.)
After supper many of us spent time on the beach enjoying a fine sunset. I reflected that I had seldom felt stronger—my legs weren't feeling at all tired despite pushing big gears at high rpm's all day over some big country. My self-esteem at this point was excellent, and I was joyful to be in the midst of this great adventure.
Shaved Asphalt
Rode out of Pancake Bay this morning, enjoying the clear but cool weather. Views of the vastness of Lake Superior were exceptional, and I enjoyed riding close beside the water. On occasion Lynn and I have travelled together through here, as I said earlier, and for both of us it remains one of our very favourite Canadian locations. I was especially lonesome as I rode passed a certain motel. It all flooded back to me—the pleasant trip, strolls along the beach together and, among other things, a five-mile jog along this highway that evening many years ago.
We had two route choices today—go into the Soo or go around it. Yesterday,
before Jeff found my gloves, I was planning to find a bike shop but nowthere is no reason to stop. Having previously driven through the city I now intended to simply bypass it. Randy and Patti, however, were again looking for a good bike shop. This time, I believe, to get a wheel trued.
They have in mind the shop that Ralph (at the mine) mentioned as being on the right-hand side just entering town. I kept one eye out for it, but not having seen it by the time I reached the junction for the bypass I took the bypass and carried on. Somewhere towards the other side of town I met Ken
and Annette who were searching for the downtown area and possibly finding a bike shop.
We parted company a few blocks later and I continued alone. At the eastern edge of the city I ate a couple sandwiches at a service station, topped up my water supply and headed out for Thessalon. Over half of today's 160-kilometre distance was now behind me. However, I knew from past trips that the highway east of the Soo would be very busy and not too wide. It soon proved to be much worse than that. I guess I didn't notice a construction sign because suddenly I was on some "shaved asphalt," that horrible corduroy-like surface a grader makes by using its tines to scrape off the topmost layer of pavement. Intentionally or otherwise, grooves get deeply cut into the next layer of asphalt, extending in the direction of travel. My tires were wide enough to negotiate the grooves without a problem, but it was terribly rough. My hands were taking a beating as the bars danced and vibrated between my loosely curled fingers. Knowing better than to grip the bars tightly, instead I just sort of let them bounce as they wished. After a bit of experimenting with my speed I settled in around 29 kph. This was seemingly the best compromise between control and buffeting. Now that I was heading eastward the previous crosswind had become a friendly tailwind enabling me to sustain this quick pace on the horrendous surface. However, the pounding from the road, the heavy traffic, and the intense effort of concentration prevented me from enjoying the wind's push.
In the midst of the construction zone I realized that I was running out of gas. Last night I was so confident that yesterday's strong ride was easy and I was untouched by it, but I was wrong. It had taken its toll. Riding became an immense challenge— mentally to maintain concentration and physically to endure the pounding while maintaining speed and holding a straight line. This construction zone seemingly went on forever, with no indication of when it might end.
Traffic in both directions was bumper-to-bumper, but at least the volume and lack of passing-room forced the vehicles to slow to 50 or 60 kph. Drivers were very good to me. Everyone stayed back until there was room to pass and no conflicts occurred. There were times when my hands were buzzing but they never really felt sore. Some of the others, though, reported that their hands felt bruised from gripping the bars very tightly while keeping control in the heavy traffic. Riding here was difficult. Definitely not fun! This torturous stretch of 24 kilometres (by my odometer) was the most extensive construction zone that we ever encountered.
A most bizarre patch of highway opened up when the corduroy
road finally did end. For no good reason that any of us could figure, in the middle of nowhere the highway abruptly widened to a four-lane freeway. The smooth pavement and wide shoulders were heavenly. Then, some 20 kms later, it reverted to two lanes, still in the middle of nowhere.
Shortly after the four-lane section ended I heard a faint, mouse-like squeak. I isolated its occurrence to be synonymous with the turning of the handlebars. The grease in the headset was losing its battle with the embedded sand. The squeak increased in volume and occurrence until by the time I reached camp it was audible on every movement of the bars. Once into camp, and somewhat tentatively as things mechanical really aren't my forte, I loosened the stem bolt and removed the forks to inspect the bearings. Stunned, I stood and stared! Orange rust! Lots of it! Coating everything, even the steering tube! My first look at the two rusty sets of bearings seemed to indicate that repacking them was impossible—they appeared locked into their plastic cages. Asking Albert and Jeff for advice, they both recommended that I pry the cartridges open and repack them. So that's what I did.
Having pieces left over after repair work is nothing new to me. Usually it can be redone. But here I was with about 60 little parts (counting the bearings) spread out on top of a wooden cabinet, miles from any repair shop. "Don't panic, Don. Take it one step at a time," I said to myself. I cleaned off the rust, packed the new bearings bought on-the-spot from Jeff, and cleaned up the fixed bearing cups. The top one seemed slightly scored, but really everything looked pretty fair. When there were no parts left over after reassembly I could scarcely believe it. Once adjusted to the best of my ability the headset even swivelled smoothly. Hoping that my temporary repair will hold until trip's end, I cross my fingers. Time, as always, will tell.
However, this whole rusted mess made me angry. My shop in Edmonton had installed this STX headset in early spring with what I now believe was a less than professional effort. Either they forgot a seal or they packed too little grease. (To their credit the shop later rebuilt the headset, putting in a new cup and bearings at no cost.)
I phoned Lynn after supper and my timing was perfect. The men's 4 x 100-metre relay in Atlanta was in mid-race, and the Canadian foursome was victorious. The excitement and elation of the crowd were obvious from the live telecast in the background. Their gold medal success really had Lynn fired-up. It pleased her immensely. It seems the Americans, especially the TV announcers, had been making a huge deal out of Canada not being very fast, the States had never lost this race, and blah, blah, blah. Reporting to the others that Canada had kicked butt was fun. We all enjoyed the victory—all except Bob, of course, who remained silent.
Knowing that now, at last, Lake Superior with all its hills was behind me, I felt good. But somehow I wasn't really looking forward to the next few days. To anyone who may live here or have roots here, forgive me, but travelling across this piece of the country is dead time. Neither west nor east, and not even central Canada, it is simply the connecting link to endure while getting from one to the other. The road between Sudbury and the Soo seems like a long stretch even when driving. Now we were just riding to get passed here and on into the southern part of Ontario, back to civilization. Of course, Manitoulin Island and the ferry to Tobermory were certainly going to be trip highlights. But they were still a day or two away. So that was what I set my mind for—reaching the ferry. The miles between here and there will pass. Just keep spinning, Don.
Not everyone felt the way I did, however. About half of our numbers were from the metropolitan Toronto area and they were becoming excited about reaching home. Family reunions were only three or four days away.
Road Rash
Once away from the cooling influence of Lake Superior both the temperature and the humidity started to climb. The warmer waters of Lake Huron were now on our right and there was a different feel to the air. The morning fog burned off to a clear, hot day with humidity levels higher than any yet encountered. Despite a slight headwind I rode the 131 kilometres at a comfortable pace and pulled into the town of Massey about 1245 hrs. Chutes Provincial Park, on the north edge of town, was just coming into view when I saw a store advertising ice cream. I was way early, and hot, so I didn't even try to fight it but just relaxed on their porch savouring a 2-scooper. Delicious. Riding into the park after this refreshing break I discovered that Jeff wasn't here yet, so I phoned home. All was well. As I hung up Jeff pulled in. I followed him to our camping area, which was a huge field backing onto a river, immediately below some turbulent rapids. Bob and I helped Jeff set up the van and cooking tables at a site with electrical power, tethered to the tenting area by a 20-foot path through the trees.
Supper preparations were underway and I was sitting around writing postcards when James, Paddy and Marny rode in. They were strangely silent and rebuffed my efforts at conversation, curtly saying they were "...really in no mood to talk right now." Taken somewhat aback by their snub, I waited a few minutes and tried again. Only then did James point out his injuries. A cursory look showed him splattered with road rash. His right hand and forearm were the worst, but also his right hip under his cycling shorts. Looking at James' skinned hand I wondered what had happened to his cycling gloves. Listening in disbelief I learned that he had stopped wearing gloves in the hotter temperatures. I managed to bite my tongue. Now is not the time, Don, to lecture on safety practices.
James then suggested Paddy was in even worse shape. Indeed, she'd scraped her shoulder, her left wrist was aching and she was certain she'd seriously injured her left elbow and forearm. After cleaning and bandaging their scrapes with our first-aid kit we got them moving around and talking. Paddy really wanted to go to town and have her arm x-rayed, which showed nothing broken, but she returned with her arm in a sling.
Marny had no injuries, but was pale and silent.
James enjoyed the attention of the many who helped clean him up and it was from him that we learned most of what happened. Riding in a slightly differently order than their usual, this time Marny was out front, Paddy next and James last. They were all weary from the stressful construction zone and from contending with the narrow lanes and gravel shoulders. The details are not perfectly clear to me but it seems Marny saw an oncoming car swing out to pass. Realizing that either the driver making the pass hadn't seen them or just didn't care about their presence on the road, he had committed himself and was coming fast. Her instincts took over. She hit her brakes and steered onto the shoulder. Paddy, unable to react in time to Marny's sudden speed change, touched Marny's rear wheel and crashed to the pavement. James, riding at the rear and having no warning time at all, rode right over Paddy's fallen bicycle, launching from her rear wheel "like Evel Kneivel off a ramp" he said. He, too, hit the asphalt, landing on his hip. I could never determine the course of the passing car but fortunately it missed them all.
Marny was still pale and withdrawn so when an opportunity presented itself I talked to her. "Pileups are pretty common when riding in a paceline," I said. "Don't be hard on yourself." (Having caused a good riding buddy to crash heavily about a year previously I know there is a feeling of guilt.) "Perhaps your actions actually did save everyone from getting hit or being run over," I suggested. "A bit of roadrash is acceptable under the circumstances. One just has to learn from the experience and do better should a similar circumstance occur in the future." She seemed to listen well, and the three of them rode together again on other days. (Paddy did choose to ride on her own much more frequently, though, I see now as I look back.)
From early days, perhaps in Saskatchewan, I've been hearing an odd noise as I pedal. Obviously it has something to do with the pedal, or the shoe, or the cleat. It seems to be mostly the right foot, but not always. Annette, too, says she is hearing a funny noise. When I describe it as a "squawk," she agrees. We both wear the same Shimano shoes, with SPD cleats. Now when Marny and Albert, who also wear the same shoes, mention that they, too, are hearing a strange noise as they pedal we're certain that it must be the cleat/shoe/pedal interface. Maybe the cleat is moving in its mount on the shoe, or the pedal is rubbing the edge of the cut-out area of the sole? The noise has gradually increased but since it doesn't have any effect on pedalling we have all accepted and put up with it.
However, my right foot has now begun to slide ever so slightly back and forth in the pedal, especially during hill climbs when applying heavy force. I've tried tightening the release tension and yes, my shoe quit sliding, but I nearly crashed twice when I was unable to quickly release from the pedal. I've backed the tension off to just above the original setting. Resolving to buy a new set of cleats when we get close to Toronto and some big bike stores, I also hope that the "squawking" will end with new cleats in place.
My right calf wanted to cramp all day today. It was tight and sore when I got into camp so I ate four oranges, took two aspirin, and drank lots of water. What's causing it? Perhaps the heat, or the slippage in the pedal cleat, or is it just the miles catching up with me? Beats me. Happily, my headset was quiet all day. I thought I could forget it, at least for a while.
Patti's chain is slipping occasionally on the largest cog when she stands while climbing hills, so Randy put a new chain on her bike tonight.
Bob rode all day today and did fine, but conceded the final 40 klicks were difficult. A bit out of shape, he admitted. The rough pavement would have really bothered Bob with his very narrow, high-pressure tires, I assumed, but he said no. He, too, had held steady at 29 kph, gripping the bars loosely, and hadn't found it too bad. His beautiful bicycle was also likely a factor in his comfort. The composite material of Kestrel bicycle frames is renowned for its inherent ability to absorb road shock and vibration.
James' girlfriend, Jackie, showed up at camp tonight, having driven up from Toronto to be with him and see him ride.
Road Hazards
Bud warned us about today. The easy-looking day of 112 kilometres was deceptive, he advised. We found the many big, rolling hills to be tough but kind of fun because we knew that this time the climbs were only a one-day thing. Our fight against a very strong headwind for every inch of the final 40 km was very tough, too; but it was several other events that really set today apart.
The temperature climbed to around 30º C by mid-afternoon and the humidity of Ontario was beginning to be a factor. Paddy decided she would sit in the van today to give her arm a chance to recover, doubtful that she could grip the bars for very long. Bob is riding again today. Looks like he is getting back at it.
Mechanical problems dogged us early in the day. Not far out of camp Randy's chain developed a problem. One side-plate came partially off but he wiggled and manoeuvred it back on and it behaved for the rest of the day. Patti's new chain of last night is now causing her bike to slip on all three of the largest cogs. Randy thinks the chain and cogs will "wear in" to each other. Conventional wisdom says otherwise but I don't contradict him. Then a few miles farther along we found Albert pulled over and fussing with his rear wheel. Albert has been trouble-free up to this point, having been most diligent cleaning, repacking hubs, doing regular chain maintenance and all else he can do to his new bike. So it surprised me to see him stopped, and I stopped with him. "Trying to true this wheel," he said. "I noticed a bit of a wobble in it last night and thought I had it straightened, but it's still wobbling." Kneeling down, I started turning spokes as much to give him a break as anything, since truing a wheel is something I generally avoid with a passion. Ray also joined us and gave me some much-needed advice on which direction to twist each spoke as I came to it. We were getting the wheel a bit straighter when I noticed the entire spoke nipple seemed to be pulling itself right through the metal of the rim. A closer look verified it. The rim was splitting around its inner circumference on either side of the spoke-nipple.
Showing Albert, I cautioned that any further tension would likely pull the nipple right out. At this point the wheel was reasonably true, enough so that the rim wasn't rubbing on the brake pads. With fewer than 100 kms remaining today we thought the wheel would likely hold together for that distance. Albert decided to try it. Leaving him to ride at his own pace I hooked up with Ken and Annette and continued on my way.
Once we turned off Hwy 17 and started heading south the traffic flow decreased significantly. We all breathed easier. Now on Hwy 6, we passed through Espanola and entered Whitefish Falls where Annette stopped to find a bank machine. While waiting for Annette, Albert rode by. His situation bothered me and I was still pondering his predicament. I kept envisioning him riding along and that spoke letting go, dumping him into traffic. I think I was worrying more about him than he was. Catching him, I suggested we try truing the wheel by loosening the primary spoke's tension and tightening the spokes adjacent to it.
He agreed with the theory so we looked at the wheel again. Whoa! The rim was splitting on other spoke-holes, too. In fact, as we now looked real closely, it was splitting on virtually every spoke-hole all the way around. Albert wisely decided to call it quits and waited by the road's edge for Jeff and the van to come by. He'll call his wife from the campsite tonight. Hopefully she'll drive up to Tobermory tomorrow and meet him on the other side of the ferry-crossing. They'll go back to Toronto where his bike shop will outfit him with a new wheel. They can join us at Mt. Albert on the evening of our rest day. Good plan. This way he only misses two riding days.
Feeling relieved that Albert was safely off the road, I was cruising along enjoying the big, rolling hills and the scenery. Now it was Christine whom I discovered stopped on the gravel shoulder busily repairing a flat. A moment later Ray stopped too, and with our joint efforts she was underway in no time. Ray and I continued on together, taking turns riding first and breaking the wind, chatting as we rode. The highway got busier and busier as we approached the town of Little Currant where a traffic-light-controlled, one-lane swing-bridge was creating a bottleneck.
This happened to be Monday, August 5, the final day of the midsummer holiday long-weekend. It was hot, traffic was heavy and people were in a hurry to get home. Vehicles going in our direction were passing us whenever the opportunity presented itself and there were no hassles from behind. Drivers coming at us, though, were behaving more and more aggressively as we got closer to the bridge. Some drivers, their patience exhausted from being constrained behind campers and slower cars, were making up for lost time now that they were clear of the bridge, and taking many risks to pass. A pickup pulling a fifth-wheel pulled out to pass, coming at us fast with his wheels right over to our edge of the road. Ray was ahead. I immediately backed off knowing that Ray would be slowing to drop onto the gravel shoulder. He delayed so long and the truck was so close that I was about to yell at him before he finally made the move. He stopped at once and reached for his water-bottle. Stopping with him, I sensed the incident had shaken him. I wondered if he'd been daydreaming, then suddenly surprised. Saying something about there being a bunch of idiots out today, I proceeded on ahead. A camper pulled out away ahead and looked to be about to do the same thing to me. Taking a chance, I steered right into the middle of my lane and lifted both hands off the bars. Spreading my arms to their full extent I rode right at him. He was still about ¼ mile away when he pulled back in behind the slower car. Effective, but terribly stupid I realized immediately. From then on we both paid close attention and "bailed out" often when cars were approaching two abreast. Once across the bridge the mad rush seemed to end. The island was now flattening and traffic volumes lessened, but the wind, blowing directly into our faces, increased to nearly gale-force levels. The final few miles were extremely tough cycling.
During supper it became apparent that today's ride really had been a survival exercise, as each of us recounted tales of "hitting the shoulder." Bob and Marny were riding together when a cement truck passed them, cutting back in so closely that it literally forced them to bail out or be hit. They were especially mad because that same driver then turned around a few miles later and came back at them, crossing well over the centre line as they met. Forced off the road, too, were Ken and Annette. I can only think it was the high stress of driving on that holiday weekend that turned this wide, well-paved scenic highway into one so frightening for cyclists that afternoon. This was the riskiest piece of roadway we ever encountered.
It was not until supper time that I discovered that James didn't ride today. I hadn't realized he'd broken his bicycle. Yeah, right! It was a Jackie thing, not a two-wheeled thing. But he did have a freshly-scraped hand, didn't he? They showed up for supper.
This campground, Holiday Haven, was a real nice spot. Best of all—it was our next mail-drop, with mail from Lynn waiting for me. Another loving card. More Olympic highlights. I read it all while doing another bunch of laundry. A big surprise was a postcard given to me by the campsite owner while I was getting change. The words "Tour du Canada" in our conversation reminded her that about two months earlier a cyclist passing through casually remarked she knew someone riding with TDC this year. It surprised her to learn we would be spending a night there. It was Holly Evans, from Vancouver. Holly rode the Mountain Parks Tour with us (EBTC) in '95, joining us in Banff and riding to Montana and over Logan Pass. She then left us in Calgary to continue cycling her way east to Winnipeg. This year she was completing her odyssey—resuming her voyage at Winnipeg, bound for Newfoundland. Now I knew she'd made it at least this far. Hope you made it all the way and had as much fun as I did, Holly. Should we meet again we'll reminisce about it all. Thanks for thinking of me.
Paddy says her arm is feeling much better tonight.
Fighting the wind has made us all tired but we are looking forward to the ferry ride tomorrow and crossing into the lower half of Ontario. Annette scurries off to her tent early, greatly worried that the wind will keep up as strong as it is now and blow us right off our bikes in the morning. I take a moment to read Jeff's quote-of-the-day on the notice board. After chatting with him for a while, I pack it in.
A Backwards Supper
Because the van doesn't have reserved ferry passage Jeff needs to get to the dock early to ensure he gets on board. The ferry leaves about 1100 hrs but Jeff wants to get there around 0700 hrs to be sure. (It would take ten hours to drive around Georgian Bay if he doesn't make the ferry.) Awakened around 0530 we hurriedly packed our tents and Jeff was away at 0615. The 40 km ride to the dock would comprise almost our entire cycling day. The wind was down to normal levels but still blowing against us. Ken and Annette headed out at once. Ray and I left somewhat behind everyone else but took turns pulling and began overtaking them; soon there were six or seven in a paceline behind me. I pulled them all the way to South Baymouth and the dock.
![]() |
Manitoulin Island |
With some time on our hands after rushing a cold breakfast, Ray and I retreated a few blocks to Brown's Family Restaurant, if I recall correctly. We leisurely indulged ourselves with a breakfast of bacon and eggs. Then back to the dock, a short wait, and onto the ferry.
Other than perhaps crossing very small rivers, making a ferry-crossing with a bicycle was a new experience for most of us. The thrill of being placed at the queue's front and boarding first was exciting. Once on board we secured our bikes to the superstructure using the short lengths of rope hanging there expressly for this purpose, then we repaired to the lounge.
The crossing was smooth, but a heavy haze on the water prevented the passage from being the spectacular voyage it undoubtedly was in clear weather. The hour-and-a-half went quickly, with very little vertical motion. Patti, fearful of seasickness, wasn't at all bothered by the trip. Ray and I sat together, chatting with a family on vacation and watching the occasional small pleasure boat go by. During docking at Tobermory bicycles again had priority status and we disembarked uneventfully. I followed Ray to the downtown area.
Tobermory is a tourist town on the Bruce Peninsula, hugging the shore of Georgian Bay. Ontario people call this area Cottage Country. (Map of Southern Ontario) The town's main street borders the waterfront, highlighted by a harbour teeming with exotic craft. The sailboats' tall masts give it a very picturesque look. A short walk around, then we climbed to a restaurant's deck overlooking the business area and the waterfront. Sipping a refreshing beer, we ordered a deliciously-described whitefish lunch. This was the first seafood I'd eaten on this trip, and the freshly caught Georgian Bay whitefish was truly scrumptious. Marny, Paddy, James and later Christine joined us, and we sat back and relaxed. It was about 1500 hrs when we eventually set off for the campground some five kms down the road. With a name like Harmony Acres it sounded a bit out of the ordinary. Cycling towards it all I could think of was the old television show "Green Acres" and its main star, Arnold the pig.
Supper was pasta, and OK. Afterwards Ray piped-up saying when he was here three years earlier they'd gone to the office's restaurant for dessert, where there just happened to be a world-class chef. Yeah, right! But OK. Dessert is always good. So Bob and I go with Ray to try this out.
The restaurant's decor was tastefully casual, with a second room arranged like a garden off the original lounge. Seated at a table in the garden area across from a family of three, we ordered our choice of dessert. Following a bit of small talk with the family we kept to ourselves once our desserts arrived. Looking around, I saw that there were indeed photos, certificates and correspondence adorning the doorways attesting to the special excellence of the chef. There was also a rating from some esteemed restaurant publication ranking them among Canada's top-fifty eating establishments. What a find in such an out-of-the-way place! The meals arrive for the family beside us. Ray starts drooling over their steaks. Then Bob does, and takes it one further. "I could eat a steak," he says. Ray quickly agrees he could, too. Funny thing, but even after three meals today, including pasta an hour ago I was also feeling hungry and made a call for steak unanimous. We call the host over and order filets all around. Bob lives up to his growing reputation when he bargains with her to include a complementary dessert "...because we have ordered a full meal. And besides, we have already paid for dessert," he adds. She agrees to it! Steaks come, get eaten, and are enjoyed. Truly delicious. The taste of the food and the sauces remind me of dinners in Strasbourg, France. Then they bring a small dessert, some sherbet-like creation. Nothing fancy, but tasty.
I waddled back to my tent, totally stuffed and feeling like a glutton. Hell, I am a glutton! Four full meals in one day and only a 42-kilometre day at that.
Phoned home again, all is well there but learned that my Mom experienced a minor problem. No hospitalization was necessary. I thought of Mom every day as I rode and worried about her health. She seems to be really with me on this trip and I know she follows my progress closely.
Albert's wife met him as the boat docked, as planned, so he is off for a brief respite. We'll see him next at Mt. Albert.
South Baymouth
To
Tobermory Ferry
"THE CHI-CHEEMAUN"
Table of Contents | Northern Ontario (1) | Central Ontario |