Day Five, Wed., July 11: Turning homewards
Burlington to Alliston
Early the following morning, Graham and I were in the lobby, chatting and leaning on our bikes, when one of those delightful chance encounters happened.
A voice behind me said, “Love your bike!” It belonged to a lively and attractive woman in her 40s, who said she wanted to take up cycle-touring when she retired from her job as personal trainer and fitness program coordinator at the Inn. We told her of our mini-tour, and complimented her on her choice of obsession. There were more touring bikes then ever on the market, we said, and one can begin cycle-touring right here at home. Or, treat yourself to a cycling holiday in Europe. Her hubby, however, would prefer to tour Europe on their BMW motorcycle. There are lots worse ways to travel in Europe, for sure, I said, but if you sold the BMW, you could buy a couple of good, fully-equipped touring bikes. She laughed, and said, “You guys are role models!” Who knew??
We wished Graham bon voyage as he headed south to the Ontario lakeshore to pick up the Waterfront Trail to Toronto. The route north from Burlington took Bob and I into the early sections of our tour, the countryside south-west of Orillia:
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Of course, beginning the day with a chance conversation like ours, you ride with the wind at your back, even if a brisk north-westerly tells you otherwise. It took us about forty minutes to shake loose from the clutches of the city, and for the most part we enjoyed quiet roads, interrupted from time to time by brief and discouraging episodes on busy east-west arteries. On a warm-to-hot but dry day, we renewed acquaintances with some of the landscape east of the Niagara Escarpment, climbing the ridges that were the ancient beaches of the Champlain Sea, the predecessor of today’s Great Lakes.
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The work of the glaciers all those eons ago was occasionally on display along the roadside. Here is a dry stone wall, uncommon in these parts, and reconstructed to mark the community of The Scotch Block, established in the mid-19th century:
The stones are a mix of larger rocks split and worked; the others, especially the topmost row, being the rounded granite rocks which farmers removed from their fields each spring. I saw several demolished barns in the area—their foundations might well have been the source of these stones.
We stopped in Belfountain at "The Common Good" café (housed in the old General Store) for a soup-and-sandwich lunch, which we found to be uncommonly good.
The parking lot of the coffee shop across the road was sleepy and quiet at midweek, Sunday’s roadie tide having fully receded. We rode on, to and through Orangeville, and in late afternoon reached the Red Pine Inn, our motel in Alliston.
The cheerful young receptionist suggested that we try the "Indian Flames" restaurant for supper. We arrived early, and for a while we were the only customers. We chatted with the young waiter—it was her first day on the job—and she was both eager and slightly apprehensive. We reckoned she’d be fine, with her personable style and her energy. It helps that her boss, the owner/manager/chef, is a citizen of the world. Smart, relaxed, and affable, she was born in Nairobi to parents originally from Punjab. Growing up in Kenya, she learned the rudiments of cooking by watching her mother and grandmother as they cooked for the workers on their farm. After her family emigrated to Canada, she completed her schooling in the Toronto suburb of Mississauga. Then, to her father’s dismay, she announced that university and lawyering really wouldn’t suit her—she knew she wanted to be a chef. She studied cooking in Canada, Kenya, India and the U.K., and when she and her family moved to Alliston a few years ago, she opened the restaurant. Her dad now proudly introduces her as a chef. She and Bob compared notes on Life After Leaving Mississauga, the onetime sleepy suburb that has eaten far too much of the countryside west of Toronto. I'm no connoisseur of Indian cuisine, but I complimented her on my excellent saag paneer, and she was delighted when I said that her chapatis were the best I could remember eating, whether in Canada, the U.K., India, or Africa—they were light and dry, without a hint of greasiness.
Today's ride: 130 km (81 miles)
Total: 561 km (348 miles)
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