Staycation: Sibbald Point Provincial Park

By Andrew

       The idea began as most far-flung adventures did and often tend to; in the company of friends over a few drinks.  It was a Saturday evening, five or six of us gathered around the television watching Top Gear’s Vietnam special.  The intrepid hosts of the program were undertaking a journey on second hand motorbikes and mopeds from the south to the north of the country.  About half way through the episode a conversation among us unfolded regarding travel and adventure.  Being springtime at the university, most of us were left wonting of this particular aspect of our lives as midterms were well underway.  It was at this moment that the harebrained scheme was hatched.  My friend Jack and I had set in our minds that we were going to bike from Toronto to Lake Simcoe, more specifically to Sibbald Point Provincial Park.



        Planning the adventure wasn’t all that difficult and luck played a great deal into the timing of our departure.  As we counted the days to a weekend that suited both of our schedules we made a list of the items that we would need to make camp for the weekend plotted our route.  Bear in mind we had to pack light, as everything that we would need to undertake the journey had to fit onto the back of our bicycles, so only the bare essentials were considered.  After what seemed like an endless time waiting for a weekend to set our departure, an opportunity presented itself.  A few of Jack’s friends were driving up to the campsite on the coming weekend and we agreed to meet them there.  
       The date was set.
I awoke on the morning of our departure full of energy and excitement.  The weather was perfect and I quickly carried my belongings out of the house, strapped them to the back of my bike, and headed to our meeting point at Mt. Pleasant and Bloor.  When I got there my fellow adventurer was sitting on a large tree planter anxious to hit the road.  At 9:00am that morning we embarked on our 90km journey, anticipating that we would get to the campsite in 6-8 hours.
The first 45 minutes of the ride were fairly uneventful.  The roads were relatively calm as the morning commuters were heading into the city in the opposite direction.  However, our light heartedness at the beginning of our trip was quickly tested as we approached Bayview and Sheppard.  Not 15km into the journey and Jack’s tire was flat.  Removing the rear wheel of a racing bike well older than either of us presents quite a challenge.  The entire process took approximately 40 minutes and resulted in me opening up quite a gash across my thumb.  The culprit: a packaging staple.  After cleaning up and tending to my wound Jack seemed slightly disheartened that all this had happened before the half way point.  Following an exchange of words and slights against one another’s manhood for encouragement we decided to press on.
The next leg of the journey passed blissfully without incident, although I think we came to discover the hill that gave Richmond Hill its name.  I can’t remember exactly where it was, but that monster had to have a 30-degree grade and seemed just over a kilometre long.  It was a nightmare to climb, but on our return did we ever fly down.  
By midday we had reached Newmarket’s Davis Drive where we stopped for lunch.  Our appearance slightly dishevelled, arms mottled with grease, the woman behind the counter told us that we looked as if we had come about 600 kilometres.  We laughed and then told her where we had come from, and where we intended to go.  Upon hearing our story she began to reminisce about a similar journey in which she and a few friends biked to Ottawa.  After chatting with us for a few more minutes she gave us free drinks to go with our lunch, which in true vagabond style we carted into a field behind a gas station to eat.  It was here where we consulted the map and between bites remarked on the fact that we were now over half way through our ride.
       The two of us set off after a short doze in the grass and made our way east across Davis Drive towards McCowan Road.  Now, in hindsight Davis Dr. is quite a busy stretch of road and one that we should probably have attempted to bypass.  The main reason I mention this is because Jack, oblivious to most things around him when burdened by a full stomach, proved too distracting for the suburban drivers and narrowly missed being caught in a little fender bender.  I wouldn’t say that our journey was fraught with peril, but it was beginning to feel as if the trip would be peppered with hiccups.  When we hit McCowan Road everything changed.
       After heading north for a few minutes on this street, which originates in the heart of Scarborough, we found ourselves on an empty road with nothing to accompany our ride beside idyllic farmhouses and fields us but the sun.  The rolling hills were the only thing that brought change to this leg of the trip as the road shot as straight as an arrow all the way to the small town of Sutton.  It was here where we rendezvoused with a few of Jack’s old friends to buy some groceries and set up the tents.  By approximately 4:30pm that afternoon we had completed our self proclaimed epic bike-ride, travelling ~90km from Toronto to the near southern tip of Lake Simcoe.  For the rest of that weekend we were rewarded with refreshing swims in the lake, songs by the campfire, and the company of old friends and new ones gained.
       Upon our return to Toronto we reflected on the feat we had undertaken and reminisced about the interactions that we had had with complete strangers along the way.  It seems that even today, in a world where we have distanced ourselves by becoming so exceedingly connected, there are people that are genuinely interested in helping others and sharing their stories.  Now, these conversations were likely to have originated as a result of our dishevelled appearances and overburdened bikes, but it was a refreshing experience after living in a city, where for the majority of the time, people pass each other by like ships in the night.  I suppose a good lesson that we took away from this experience was that a little bit of kindness goes a long way and really means the world.