My hosts at Riverbend recommended breakfast at the South Algonquin Diner—the locally revered South Algonquin Cookhouse, a little way back along the highway, had closed down, and the owners had reopened in town. The diner served a pretty good eggs benny, and over coffee I chatted with other guests about my ride, the effects of heavy rainfall in a region full of rocks and wetlands (lots of flooded basements), and the blanket of cloud and rain to the east and south of us. Two pilots in the group were unable to fly to Maine that day—they couldn’t fly over the mountains of Vermont and New Hampshire. I commiserated, and said I was pleased to be riding westward into clearing weather. They said, eyebrows raised, “Maybe you know something we don’t…”

Fortune, it seems, sometimes favours the witless. The day turned out sunny and cool, the sunshine interrupted only by a couple of brief showers at mid-day. The roads were good, the traffic generally light-to-moderate, and the headwinds were brisk (do you see a pattern here?) About 20 minutes into my ride, barely warmed up, I plunged down a steep grade into the valley of the small and pretty Esson Creek—and immediately began the long 15% climb up the other side. This was the toughest hill I’ve done in some time.  Down in 1st gear, I neared the top, sweating and heart pounding, and said, “Sod it.” I wheeled across the empty road and took a photo of a rusting old reaper-binder, identical to the one our neighbour used in his wheat fields, 60 years ago. Refreshed by a whiff of nostalgia, my heart rate subsided, and I twiddled up the remaining 200-300 metres in 2nd and 3rd.

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From the Esson Creek road, I joined Hwy 118, the main East-West highway in the region, and continued westward into Haliburton. A pretty little town, it survives from tourism and cottagers, being closer than Bancroft, for example, to Toronto and the Trent-Severn waterway linking Lake Ontario to Georgian Bay. Easing into Haliburton, I was passed by three roadies out for a morning spin—the only cyclists I had seen since leaving Ottawa.

I stopped for lunch further west at the small settlement of Carnarvon, at the junction of the 118 and Hwy 35, the highway which runs north from the lakeshore towards the west side of Algonquin Park. A highway junction seems an unlikely spot for a bistro, but I had an A-grade meal at “Rhubarb”, a definite cut above the usual diner fare along the road. A first-rate onion soup (with gruyère, thank you very much) was followed by a big chicken pot pie, loaded with potatoes, carrots, onions, and sweet peppers. The bistro is linked to a brewery, Boshkung Beer, but with several hours of hilly riding ahead, I made a mental note to visit again and linger over my meal. A cheerful young waiter told me that she had recently served a woman cyclist who was researching a Toronto-to-Haliburton cycling trail, so with luck, Rhubarb may become a fixture for touring cyclists. (A little bit of sweat and scruffiness might help to humanize a parking lot full of high-end German sedans.)

My excellent meal was good fuel for the 65-70 kms which followed. The 118 runs west towards Bracebridge, and for the three hours that I rode it, I saw little but rock and bush. The wide shoulders were well paved and the traffic was moderate, but the combination of hills and headwinds was tough, and 40 kms took me almost three hours.  I reached my turnoff to the south, the Uffington-to-Barkman Road, about 4 PM, and immediately found myself in good cycling country: a quiet back road with a decent surface, cutting south and west through wooded countryside, which gave blessed shelter from the wind. The road runs south from the rocks of the Shield into a transition zone with some farming and settlement. I covered the 25-plus kms in about an hour and 15 minutes, including a couple of stops to check my directions with local drivers. (One complimented me on my flashing Cygolite headlight. “I could see you from 400 yards away,” she said. “What a great help that is to drivers.”)

I stopped for the night here:

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Great Moose Adventures is an outdoor education centre, a private school run by three people in their 30s. My friend Bob, in Orillia, had suggested that I get in touch to see if I could camp on their property, as there are no camping spots along this part of my route—at least, none with showers and potable water. I did so, and they kindly offered me space to camp.

GMA sits on a rural road in marginal farming country some 15 kms NE of the village of Washago at the north end of Lake Couchiching. It offers both kindergarten and elementary education to children during the winter months, and education and recreation camps in the summer, all of the activities based in or drawing on the setting of the Muskoka Lakes.

Sonny, Deann and Brad had met one another as teachers in Korea and Romania. GMA is their joint project, born of their shared enthusiasm and commitment. Personable, curious and switched-on, they were generous in their welcome. They offered me the use of the lodge’s bathrooms and kitchen, and suggested that I use their bunkie, as rain was in the forecast. Intrigued by my bike trip, they asked if I would like to talk about my ride with some of their students. I did so the following morning, and spent about 40 minutes talking with a dozen kids between 6 and 13 about my ride, the bike, weather and rain gear, Australia, wild creatures one could meet, parents with bikes, their own bikes, food on the road, hills and headwinds. I made a contribution to GMA’s bursary fund, and wished them well.

I hugely enjoyed my hosts, their students, and my visit, and left with a light heart.