Mono Cliffs PP to Wasaga Beach: Stronger than a butterfly

September 13, 2016

My Warmshowers host had an amazing knowledge of all the roads in the area and he was more than happy to come up with a route to Wasaga Beach for me. It turned out to be longer than the one I had originally planned, but followed quiet roads nearly the whole way--quite a feat in Southern Ontario.

I started my morning with a ride on the blue trail through Mono Cliffs Provincial Park, which was fine for my bike aside from a few short stretches of unrideable sand. Riding alone through the quiet forest reminded me that I want to do more offroad riding. It manages to be fun and serene at the same time. I might have to look into a mountain bike when I return.

After breakfast at a spring-fed pond, I pushed my bike up Vomit Hill, which is a jumble of large rocks and loose sand. Some touring bikes could probably ride part of the hill, assuming the rider has better bike handling than skills than I do (ie. doesn't immediately steer into rocks they're trying to avoid). After a short ride on a gravel track, I was back on the roads. I thought the hills were behind me.

I was wrong, of course.

This is the flatter route to Wasaga Beach. Being gravel, the hills are twice as steep as they look.

My tired legs couldn't manage the climbs, short as they were, so progress toward Shelburne was slow. And my gears being messed up may have contributed to my difficulties. On the plus side, traffic was really light, at least until I stopped at a crossroad for a drink of water, when there was a surprising burst of traffic--4 or 5 cars! At the precise moment when I gained an audience, my bike decided to flop over between my legs, the way loaded bikes do, and nearly took me with it. I took it as a good sign that I managed to stay upright; maybe there's hope for me after all.

In Shelburne, a man dressed like the 1920s, suspenders and all, crossed the park I was sitting in. In one hand, he held the hand of a little girl dressed like the 1800s, purple bonnet and all. I swear he was holding a cell phone in his other hand, which he was talking into with an old-fashioned accent.

I rode on for a while, stopping for lunch at a community baseball field surrounded by farmland. I went to sit down at a picnic table but there were tons of spiders in all the cracks. So I moved to another table. It was also filled with spiders. I tried a third one, which had slightly fewer spiders. I arranged my food, then sat down.

Well, the table wasn't as sturdy as it appeared, and the sudden lurch startled one of the spiders, which darted across the table, headed right for my food. I jumped up, rescued my food just in time, flicked the spider to the ground, sat down again--cautiously this time--and ate lunch in record time.

I had another bug encounter right after lunch. I had turned west, right into a difficult headwind, and noticed that little yellow butterflies were fluttering furiously into the wind, but making absolutely no progress. What a great moment for me: I can now say, with absolute confidence, that I am stronger than a butterfly. I rode on with a new sense of achievement.

For the person who has seen everything, here's a horse stuck on a fence

When I reached Pretty River Road, which I was hoping would live up to its name, another cyclist on something that looked light and expensive, stopped for a minute. He eyed my bike doubtfully, then advised me the road was all downhill for 8 km, which was "good, because you've got a lot of luggage." He should've seen what I had on my first tour!

Pretty River Road, a popular training hill

Pretty River Road was indeed nice, but I was out of water and getting thirsty. I had already stopped at a roadside church to see if their water tap worked, and I figured it wouldn't hurt to stop at the next church, too. The instant I stopped, a vulture flew up and settled into a nearby tree to watch me--and wait. Somehow it knew I wasn't going to find any help there.

I scared the vulture, it's flying away, not circling me. I hope.

Luckily it wasn't much further to Wasaga Beach. I rode into town along Shore Lane, a small, quiet street lined with tall trees and all sorts of homes: cabins, cottages, dilapidated houses, rich houses, but hardly anything overbearing. Every so often there was a beach access. It continued for quite a while, and I almost forgot how thirsty I was, then suddenly I was on a tacky tourist street in the town centre.

It was garish, hideous, a horrible thing to do to an otherwise fantastic beach.

I grabbed a campsite at Holiday Park, which was overrun with ants, full of garbage, and had no toilet paper, but was only $20. I was the only camper.

I walked back to the centre to take a photo of something I had seen on the way in, but it wasn't there anymore, the minigolf owner having taken in his advertising when he closed for the day. I just missed it--he was leaving with his family and they all walked to the beach together. The streets were nearly empty, nothing was happening, this party town was finished for the season.

So I turned around, and a man in a parking lot asked if I knew where I was going. I said I did, was just out for a walk. How could I explain that I was there to take a photo of a 4-foot high dinosaur with a sign around its neck that said "Minigolf with Dinosaurs?" He suggested I check out the boardwalk, it was really long, a good walk.

I thought that was a good idea and headed toward the boardwalk. Five minutes later, I heard someone running behind me and a voice said, "Don't be so paranoid, you gotta learn to enjoy the night." It was Rory, from the parking lot five minutes ago, which confused and unnerved me a bit, because who could possibly be desperate enough to chase down a total stranger in wrinkled hiking pants, a loose shirt, no makeup, with unkempt hair, who hasn't even showered yet after a long bike ride on a hot day. (I was later informed that having all my teeth meant I was quite a catch in Wasaga Beach.)

I didn't like being followed, it meant I had no easy way to get away from him, since outright rejection can result in anger. It was much better to make him loose interest on his own, which meant I went right into boring mode, which admittedly isn't that different from my usual post-ride exhaustion.

"How long is this beach?" Wasaga is the longest freshwater beach in the world, maybe I could learn something before I kicked him to the curb.
"Long!" Apparently Rory wasn't planning to contribute much to the conversation either. When he asked my plans and offered to show me around tonight, I told him I crash early when biking, like really early, I just get so tired.

Wasaga Beach proved to be a disappointing end to an otherwise good day. Oh well, at least I could still enjoy one of the famous sunsets.

Today's ride: 89 km (55 miles)
Total: 170 km (106 miles)

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