Soo to Sudbury, Part 4: the final run

Our last day! It was a bit poignant. Although I suspect most of us were looking forward to a hot shower and a real bed. Buut to get there, we would have to bicycle another 81 km.

As had been our experience, the community-organized breakfast was wonderful. They accounted for vegan as well as regular tastes, and has a wide variety of foods, including cold and hot cereals, baked beans, pancakes, fruits, and of course bacon and eggs and sausages. We were well set up for the journey ahead. And this in a town of under 5,000 souls. We wondered what Dundas would have done.

The terrain again followed the Spanish River for a while, some of it along the Trans-Canada. Wide shoulders, but a fair amount of traffic. The we were off on side roads across a few hills and some older country-side. Once more, some Mennonite farmers. We saw a man in a horse-drawn carriage (I want their hat and their beard). And once more, the organizational expertise of this group showed through: there had been a wash-out since they planned the trip, and they were able to find and mark an alternate route to get us safely around the damaged trail. It all went pretty smoothly. 

Sudbury claims to be the fourth-largest city in Canada, by geography. We discovered this to be true, as we entered the “city” sometime in the morning, even though we were nowhere near our destination. We travelled through Nairn Centre and into Whitefish, where lunch was provided at the Centennial Park. There was a beach there, so I took off my shoes and waded in to sooth the feet; it felt great.

Unfortunately, there were still over thirty km to go, so we had to get going. More gravel, more hills, more trffic. But we made it to the city, and then wound our way into the City itself. Our route was a bit circuitous, stopping for a bit at a Sudbury-sponsored water stop with a beer chaser (well, there was a craft brewery with a truck offering samples and selling where possible). Then on through the main part of the city and finally ending at Science North, a complex of buildings, including an Imax theatre, where there was an official “Finish Line”, complete with applause and a medal.

This day, we pedalled over 80 km, and I did overall about 310, It felt good to have done it. But it also felt good to get to the hotel and have a shower, a bit of a nap, and repack. Supper that evening was grand, in the “Cavern” of the Science North building, hollowed out of rock, as you would expect in a mining town like Sudbury. Lots of thanks and speeches (William counted 45 applause moments). OFf to bed at the Travelodge, a hotel down in its fortunes. And up in the morning to an awful breakfast—by far the worst on the entire trip: they ran out of coffee, bacon, eggs, and so on. 

Back to Barrie and off home, for the end of a wonderful trip. Well done, if I say so myself.

Soo to Sudbury, Part 3: Along the North Shore

Leaving Bruce Mines, at about 8 and after a great breakfast again put on by the townsfolk at the community centre, we headed out along the road towards Blind River. Highway 17 would feature in the day, but not just yet. And ther were to be gravel roads, but not just yet. Again, surpsiningly, this wa farming country,quite pastoral and gently rolling.

This was the kind of riding we were expecting, and it was just fine. Weather was sunny, about 20 (it was 13 when we got up). So pretty good cycling weather, and we made good time (for us). A stop at the turn-off to Thessalon, a stop at the Little Rapids General Store, and on to Iron Bridge for lunch. This one was not provided, and we had a choice of three restaurants. Most of us plunked for the Chines Food place, and there were about 100 bikes parked outside. I felt sorry for the folks woring the restaurant. The business was good for them, but they were run ragged. William and I sat with one of the volunteers, Russ, and he talked almost non-top about his past and the connection with the ride. 

After this we took our long ride along the Trans-Canada Highway (Hwy. 17), almost 23 km from Iron Bridge to Blind River. As advertised, the shoulders were wide (8-9 feet), well-paved, and separated from the hihghway by two white lines and a rumble strip. This did not entirely eradicate the terror when a large lumber truck when rumbling by us, but we made it, travelling along the Mississagi River. Once again, my prejudices were challenged: this was a wide and slow river, not the type of northern river I had thought it would be (rapids, rocks, trees, etc.). And we had a tail wind into Blind River, so the trip went well. We had biked 87 km. We arrived in good time at the Blind River Marina, and William and I set up our tent in the wind, and we went off for a welcome shower in the marina—a lovely experience. The marina was wonderful: I placed our tent on the front lawn, in the middle of the horseshoe pitch. Perfect. You can see that there were pretty close campsites. Blind River was a big community—3,400 people!

We had yet another wonderful supper, provided by the town at the Blind River Community Centre. And this was followed by a Water Ceremony at the Marine Park, conducted by the women of the Mississauga First Nations, giving special thanks to the water, and also passing around a bowl of fresh strawberris! It was moving, as well as delicious.

I met one of the physicians from the area (whose land we were on), who was a Mac grad and recently retired. Nice man, who I hope to see again if he comes south. (Nick Jeeves, I think)

Again, the next morning, we were up at 6, had breakfast at the Community Centre (again, wonderful), and set off for our longest day (up to 115 km). And we had a fair bit of gravel to contend with as well. It would be a challenge. But we were hopeful. The trail headed along the Huron Shore, before heading inland around the Serpent River First Nation. But saying it like that doesn’t tell you how difficult it was. The first bit after we left the town was on a gravel trail beside Hwy 17. The gravel had been laid some time before, and had been repaired in spots. In fact, they were working on it as we went by. Some of it was loose, and some of it was soft sand. We had to walk some of the way, which was not a problem. But I hit some soft gravel and fell off the bike into (fortunately) some soft plants on the side of the trail. A few scratches, and a damaged pride, but otherwise okay. And off again, for about six or seven kilometres altogether. It was a tough way to start the day. And it was more hilly than other sections. Both William and I were pretty btired by ten in the morning, and it was pretty clear we were not going to go the entire distance. We made it to Spanish (the place we had visited on the bus on our way north), and stopped at Nibbles Fish and Chips for a meal of walleye and chips. An hour in the heat, eating chips and drinking some water, before getting going again. More gravel, some of it really just sand; more walking our bikes due to construction. And of course, some of the cyclists couldn't resist complaining that they should have postponed the construction until after we went through. Goes to prove that cyclists are like other people, just on two wheels.

After Spanish, we were bushed. It was hotter than the day before, and I had run through most of my water. Snacks helped, but I was feeling dehydrated. Some pavement, then another patch of gravel. And then—a tribute to the organization of this group—we turned a corner and there was a truck with water! And snacks! And the water was cold! And the snacks included Ju-jubes! (I have a totally new respect for Ju-jubes now.) It was like a miracle, and what a relief. With renewed energy, we set off up the Spanish River to the small town of Massey. It took us over an hour, and it was tiring. We were glad to see the water station and the bus waiting for us. We felt no shame in asking for a ride to go from Massey to Espanola. One of our trio—Jim—did the whole 115 km.

Set-up was on the field of a community centre, including on a football field. The centre itself was wonderful, with a hockey arena, swimming pool, gym, showers, and so on. We were pretty much too tired to do much with it, but nice to know it was there. 

We were on our own for supper. No community meal this time. Five of us walked into town (about half a kilometre) to an Italian restaurant, where we were well-fed, and fully-fed. A great time was had by all. Again, the place was almost overwhelmed with all the business, but handled it well and with grace. One of the good feelings I have remaining from the trip is the warmth and welcoming attitude of the small places along the route. And Espanola was no different. 

We ended the day with a campfir and sing-song, before hitting the sack for our final sleep in the tent.

We had biked 83 km to Massey from Blind River. Almost there, to Sudbury.

Soo to Sudbury, Part 2: out of the Soo into the north

The next morning (as all mornings on this trip) began at 6. Up and packed, after a quick shower. Down for breakfast, then get your bike ready to go. They had kept all the bikes locked up in a large room, so this part was easy, after you found your bike inside the room. We went over to the send-off area under a large tent in the Roberta Bondar Pavilion, next door to the hotel.

And it was good we were under the tent, as you can see in the second photo. We had the send-off ceremony, which included some drumming by the natives from the Ojibway of the Garden River Reserve. We think they must have been doing a rain song by mistake! FOrtunately, the rain stopped pretty soon, and it was just a heavy mist after that.

After a brief water and snack stop at a tourist trap called the Big Loonie, we proceeded on to our lunch at the Johnson Community Centre in Desbarats (pronounced “deborah”). This was amazing, and a sign that things were going to be all right, or better. They had lots of quite good food, and a fiddler and band to entertain us while there. It ws amazing, and much appreciated.

At this point, I was splitting from the others. Our friend, Phyllis, had recently moved from Hamilton to St. Joseph’s Island right nearby, and she had kindly offered to act as a tour guide for the afternoon. She cam and picked me (and the bike) up in her car, and we drove over to the island.

I was amazed to see the extent of the farmland that was there. And some of it was worked by Old-Order Mennonites. On St. Joseph’s Island, we saw horses and buggies. Phyllis told me that the Mennonites had been buying up land there, and ding a good job farming it. Her concern was that they did not send their children to the public school system, and consequently the school on the island was suffering.

And the island was a community, clearly. There was, aside from a marina, two libraries, and a children’s library; a medical centre/hospital with two doctors, four in-patient beds, and an ER; a grocery store and a pharmacy; a farmer’s market; and a firehall, township council (three, actually, since there were three townships). People knew each other, and kept in touch. There was even an historical site: an old fort dating from the War of 1812.

After a delightful three hours, I needed to get back, so Phyllis drove me to the Bruce Mines Campground—our overnight stay, and the first time for us in a tent. I got there before Jim, so set up the tent, and relaxed a bit. By then, the weather had cleared and was warm, so the bike became a drying rack for wet or damp clothes. Supper was provided that evening at the Canadian Legion, of course.

You have to remember that Bruce Mines is a town of about 600 people. We were about 160 people altogether. So they served what would be about a quarter of their population that evening, and did a damn good job of it. The food was actually better than at the hotel in the Soo the night before, and the service was friendly, if hectic. We were a loud crowd, There were speeches by the local MPP (Michael Mantha) as well as the mayor of Bruce Mines. We talked afterward to the MPP (an NDPer) and he pointed out that his riding comprised most of where we were going on this trip (it stops just short of Sudbury). He has over 30 communities and over 20 Indian reserves in his riding. And (he says) he loves his job.

That evening, there was a concert being held at the Gazebo by the marina. The group was actually pretty good, and the walk was not far. One of the interesting things in town was that they had placed bikes all along the main street: painted and secured, but perhaps there to welcome us. It was warming to us.

Again, we went to bed with the sun. Tomorrow was to come early, and we were tired. I had biked 59 km, and the others did about 73 km.

Soo to Sudbury, Part 1: the Beginning

Some six months ago, a friend forwarded to me a proposal to do a four-day, almost-400-kilometre bike trip for a group called the Waterfront Trust. “Why not”, I said, “I can do anything that is six months away. Then it got close, and the anxiety began: what do I take; how much money do I need; will my bike survive; will I survive. 

But the time came, Jim and I collaborated on what to take, and decided to tent together (we would be camping). Fortunately, it was a supported trip, so we didn’t have to carry everything with us all the time. Accommodation was pre-arranged, with camping in tents for three of the six nights. Meals were largely, but not totally, provided. And there were to be shuttles if we didn’t want to bike it all; and water stop along the way. Anxiety levels dropped.

As well, it turned out another friend had a van big enough to manage the three bikes (with his), and all out gear. So we were set, we thought.

When the big day finally arrived, Jim and I met at William’s house. Two bikes went on top of the vehicle, one inside, with the gear packed around the inside bike. The three of us tumbled into the car, and we were off. Next stop: Barrie.

Barrie, you say? Well, yes; we would meet up with many others there, stay in a college residence overnight, then be bussed to Sault Ste Marie the next day.

We got our first taste of the organisation at the college site. There was a tent and volunteers there to tag our bags and our bikes, give us an orientation package, and some minimal directions needed for where we were to go and what we were to do. Bikes were loaded into trucks for the trip. We carried the bags to the Residence, and checked in. Supper was on us, so the three of us went into town and found a lovely restaurant called Shirley’s Bayside Grill, right by the water. Friendly staff, and generous portions (I had roast beef, and got half a cow’s worth).

Next morning, there was a Tim Horton’s breakfast, early at 6:30, with the busses leaving at 7:30. Fortunately, the breakfast was pretty good (given that it was from Tim’s), and we got on the bus fed and pretty happy, if sleepy. Where we were going was just up the highway, but a L-O-N-G way up the highway. A brief stop just near Parry Sound for bladder relief and coffee, then on we went, through the Canadian Shield territory we had expected. My seat-mate and friend, William, had worked for the Indian Band at Magnetawan, so it was a high point for him to pass through that area again.

We stopped for lunch at Spanish, in the Community Centre. A wonderful lunch provided by the local community. It was sunny and warm weather, and we aere happy to wander a bit. Water levels were very high—almost over the road. There was a LOT of water there. Spanish was a town we would be bicycling through on our way to Sudbury, and the folks said they would look forward to seeing us again in a few days.

So we were off on the final leg to the Soo. Lots of relief to be off the bus and into the Delta Hotel. Wisely, they asked us to get our bikes out and try them to make sure there were no problems, before we started. They had support people and bike repair folks, but not a lot of them. So we got out the bikes, and rode through the town for an hour or so. Then I had to go back to the Hotel to catch the bus which was taking some of us out for a canoe ride on Lake Superior. Since I had canoed along the North Shore of Superior some 52 years earlier, I was keen to go back. We ere to be in a replica of the old voyageur canoes, with a guide who knew the area. And we were, out by Gros Cap.

The area is known for its whitefish, and we got to sample some whitefish pate, as well as some smoked whitefish. Delicious! And we saw a perigrine falcon out hunting, while its babies were calling for food. Our guide was so excited, she almost jumped out of the canoe.

That night, a group supper with lots of thanks to lots of people. We met a bunch of new people, had some pretty awful food, and couldn’t hear the speaker. But it really didn’t matter: we were going biking in the morning, and we were excited to be there. It was an early night.