7th day, Tues., Sept. 12: Toronto train to Oshawa, and by bike to Cobourg and Jubalee Park, Haldimand Twp.
The Waterfront Trail runs from Niagara Falls to Montréal, close to the shorelines of Lake Ontario and the St. Lawrence River. It comprises bike paths and public roads, most of the latter quiet rural roads, although there are some sections on the old Ontario Highway #2. The Greater Toronto Area (the GTA) is an enormous conurbation, in my not-in-the-least-humble opinion a ghastly creation, and the Trail seemed like a good way to go eastward along the water while avoiding the crush of traffic. As planned, I took the train to Oshawa, an industrial city built around General Motors, and picked up the Trail there.
The Trail near Oshawa zigs and zags, but is generally well signposted. It bears east through parks, wetlands, fields, woods, high-voltage electricity corridors, and past old factory sites, all bounded by the lake to the south and the multi-lane 401 to the north. There’s really only one way a cyclist can go. Leaving the station about 11:00 AM, I eased through parks full of children, seniors enjoying a warm sunny day, mums with toddlers, and the occasional recreational cyclist. (“You’re going some distance, man!” said one.) Stopping for lunch at Darlington Provincial Park, a small park abutting a nuclear reactor, I had only a few ducks and seagulls for company.
After a few kilometres on a service road cheek-by-jowl with the noise and ugliness of the 401, and the frisson of existential despair which that highway always induces in me, the Trail returns to the waterfront where it belongs, and to the first of several “Lakeshore Drives” near Lake Ontario, and later, the St. Lawrence. These are old roads, close to the water, bordered by farms and the occasional orchard on the inland side, with some houses—an increasing number of them very upscale—on the lake side. Traffic was light during my journey, just a few motorcycles, cars and pickups. I had forgotten how peaceful this part of rural Ontario can be, despite the proximity of The Big Smoke and one of the busiest highways in the world. It felt almost quaint, and as I eased along with a mild tailwind, a guy in a nice cream-coloured T-series MG puttered by, its slightly flatulent exhaust note discreetly muted.
A few typical lakeside landscapes:
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Rolling through this pastoral countryside, I saw a cyclist up ahead, and as I gradually caught up, I could see a flag and bulging panniers. Xavier was his name; he was French, living in Montréal, and in the latter stages of his ride from Vancouver to St. John’s, Newfoundland. He had begun his great adventure later than most, leaving Vancouver on July 1st. Did I think he could get to St. John’s before the bad weather set in? His route would take him through Québec to New Brunswick, and to the ferry from Cape Breton to Port-aux-Basques. I said that three to four weeks should get him there, but that it would be best to finish his journey before Thanksgiving, the second weekend of October.
Xavier was having some difficulty with his drive train—it appeared to be a front derailleur problem—and asked about bike shops in the area. I said there might be one in Port Hope or Cobourg, an hour so ahead. If not, then there was a good one in the village of Bloomfield in Prince Edward County, a day’s ride hence. I was stopping for my mid-afternoon snack, and as he pushed on in search of a shop, I wished him bonne chance, and told him about my planned campsite east of Cobourg, in case he was stuck for a place to stay.
I paused in the small town of Cobourg, where I had spent the early years of high school, and rode by the house we lived in, all those years ago. We had planted a maple sapling in our front yard; it is now some 50 ft tall, and shields the entire house from the afternoon sun.
The Trail shares the roadway with a few kms of old Hwy 2 (now County Road 2) both west and east of Cobourg, but the shoulders were reasonably wide and smooth, and the traffic was manageable, especially east of town. The ripples of the GTA Effect, it seemed, had finally run their course.
While planning my trip, I had contacted the owners of Jubalee Park, a campground some 15 kms east of Cobourg, to see if I could camp for a night. They assured me that I could do so. As a rule, they accept only seasonal tenants in trailers and RVs, but being on the Trail, they welcome cyclists. I reached the park just after 5:00, and pitched my tent under a spreading willow in a wide grassy meadow beside the beach:
Touring in early September has real advantages, especially on a mid-week evening—there were only 3 or 4 other guests. I showered, made my supper, and asked the manager/owner about critters, especially raccoons. Indeed, she said, we have raccoons – just two weeks ago, four German cyclists had had their Ortliebs ripped by raccoons. So, I put my food bag into the men’s bathroom. Two campers invited me to join them at their fire, fifty metres or so from my camp, and I readily accepted their hospitality. They were from a village just further east, and had bought their trailer (moored there fulltime) earlier in the summer. She was retired, he would be soon, and this was their summer holiday. We chatted, and they were tickled to learn that I had gown up on a farm not far to the northwest, and that we had gone to the same high school down the road.
And then, just as it was growing dark —voilà!—Xavier rolled into camp. He quickly pitched his tent and started to make his supper; but another camper appeared, and offered him a meal, and he joined us at the fireside. Our neighbours were generous, sharing their food and drink and warmth. He had had no luck yet with a bike shop, so I gave him the details of the Bloomfield shop, and cautioned him about the raccoons. He stowed his bags with mine, and a good thing too—a couple of hours later, as I was dozing off, a family of raccoons a hundred metres away made a prolonged and noisy fuss. Perhaps they had found some edibles near another campsite; in any case, there was nothing in our camp to attract them.
Today's ride: 95 km (59 miles)
Total: 600 km (373 miles)
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