Bob and his wife Allison live in the rolling hills just northwest of Orillia. Graham, his wife Maureen and I made our rendez-vous with Bob on Friday, July 6.  Graham and Maureen drove to Orillia from Kingston, and I from Ottawa.

After a serious heatwave had engulfed Ontario in June and early July, with the humidex into the mid-40’s, we looked at ways of reducing our daily mileage.  With Bob still recovering from a fractured wrist suffered eight weeks before, we were cautious about overdoing it.  Bob thus arranged to begin the tour proper at the house of a friend near Craighurst, 20-plus kms south of Orillia.  On the Saturday morning, we loaded my bike and Bob’s into his van, and with Graham’s on the back of his car, we began our trek with 30 minutes on eight motorized wheels to our jumping-off point.

Here is the route for our first day from Craighurst to Orangeville, north-west of Toronto, and for the following day from Orangeville to Ancaster, just west of Hamilton: 

After the necessary pre-departure photos we eased onto a back road dappled with shadow.  The morning was fresh, sunny and bright, and we rolled easily through gently rolling farmland, lush green broken by sand-coloured fields of ripening wheat, the Niagara Escarpment a blue-grey line 30-odd kms away on the western horizon.  The landscape is cut by occasional small rivers, and we plunged into steep-sided forested valleys, each winding descent matched by a similar climb across the bridge at the bottom.  It was altogether lovely, and would set the tone for each morning in our ride.  Said Graham, after we cycled past a local art class sketching a creek embraced by its neighbouring hills, “What better way to spend a Saturday in July?”

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Much as we appreciated the superb 19th-century brickwork, there were no cafés or even convenience stores on the back roads and small settlements we traversed, so we ate a very late lunch at 2:30 in Alliston.  We were delighted to find that "Kelly’s Kitchen" offers excellent quality and value for a soup-and-wrap.  As a precaution, and knowing my own rhythms, I had brought some home-made energy bars and oranges, and these just saw me through to Kelly’s.

Our only unpleasant stretch was the Hockley Valley Road just north of Orangeville.  An attractive and twisty ten kms or so, with welcome patches of shade, on this day it also featured a thoroughly unpleasant crocodile of hopped-up sports sedans racing along far above the posted 80 km/h.

Ears buzzing, we reached Orangeville, our destination for the day, in late afternoon.  We were tired, hot and sweaty, and looking forward to a shower in one of the modest hotels at the north end of town.  As it happened, none of these had space for three, nor did the slightly more upmarket one closer to town.   So, what to do?   Bob remembered that an old motel from postwar days had recently been sold and was being renovated, so he rang them – and yes, they had some rooms, and the price was okay at $70. 

Wellll, it was modest indeed, still in need of significant repair, and is now a temporary home for folks on social assistance, or with a low-wage job.  We drew lots for the rooms on offer.  I lucked out: the bed was clean and comfy, the shower worked well, and the noise of the nearby highway was not too bad.  Supper at a Fion McCool’s included good beer and food. Our taxi driver was both disbelieving and tickled to hear that three old blokes had ridden from Orillia on bikes.

A bigger problem threatened, though:  Bob’s wrist was swollen and aching after our ride of a hundred kms – this was his longest ride since his injury. Our second day would be 120-plus kms, and we were not at all sure that he could make that distance.  We sketched out come complicated options for bailing out, if we needed to do so, and hoped that rest and a good night’s sleep would suffice.