Quebec & The Maritimes: A Cross-Canada Cyclist’s Just Rewards

     Cycling across the Ontario section of my cross-Canada ride for ovarian cancer ended with a ‘bang’ – Canada Day fireworks – in Ottawa. A fabulously regal and summer-festive city – it was just the beginning of what was to come; history laid out in a patchwork of fields and villages and ancient traditions. Every pedal along the St. Laurence River was picturesquely pleasant, and a lesson for a globetrotting traveller. Those landscapes we dream about are right here in our very own country! And the revelation does not end with the quaint villages. Equally charming and European in flavour are the larger cities of Montreal, Trois Rivieres and Quebec.

Montreal a Pied

     Our hotel in Montreal leaned onto St. Catherine’s Street in the gay/entertainment quarter of the city. It allowed us easy access to the Jazz Festival, Mont Royal, McGill University, the Greek quarter, Old Montreal, the Old Port, and best of all – Jacques Cartier Place. Bathed in golden evening light, and tiered with restaurants and busker circles, this is where life in Montreal slowed to a passagio pace.

Le Tour de Quebec

    Quebec City followed suit. Staying in the meticulously refurbished St. Augustine Monastery (once home to the order of nuns who provided the first medical support to the settlers in New France, alongside the St. Ursuline order who set up the first schools), we were aside the ramparts in the oldest city of Canada. With its annual summer festival, torrents of tourists, and all shops and windows

flung wide in welcome, the city was bursting with summer energy. A city tour with Roger helped us distinguish between the British and Russian cannons (trophies from the Crimean

War) still lining the boardwalk in front of The Chateau Frontenac, the real and bogus statues of Samuel Champlain (there is actually only the bogus as

there is no record of what he actually looked like!), and French, British and art deco (a la Empire State Building) architecture. Four hours later, you realize you have just been introduced to the most beautiful city in Canada.

Bienvenue au Nouveau-Brunswick

     The southern shores of Quebec, and multiple beautifully maintained bike paths (the Quebecois are serious’ cyclophiles’) gradually yield to the forests of northern New Brunswick. But not English. We soon realize that bilingual New Brunswick is stolidly French in the north of the province (many residents being descendents of resettled Acadians). By Fredericton, we are back conversing in full sentences and by Moncton, two English TV reporters have seized our story for both the 6:00 pm. CTV and Global News broadcast. My heart be still.

Nova Scotia Hills

    I remember saying to Ken that if cycling across Canada was like cycling across the Maritimes, I would be happy to turn around and do it again. The roads in Nova Scotia dip and swirl to the point where the highest velocity on the trip – 62 kms – is reached on the northern shores of The Minas Basin. Wicked grades. Gentle, gabled houses and communities.

The Finish Line

    Halifax harbour loomed. Frenetic traffic entering outskirts of Halifax and no bike lane. The highway relaxes into downtown Halifax, and through the leafy arbour of the Dalhousie University district, I approach my final destination – Black Rock Harbour. As you can imagine, I am filled with a multitude of contradictory emotions – relief, disbelief, gratitude, and sorrow for my sister and every woman who has had to deal with ovarian cancer.

     Emilie from Ovarian Cancer Canada meets us with her dog, Olive, on the beach, along with two women living with ovarian cancer – Mary Lou and Val. My bottle of the Pacific ocean meets the Atlantic, the bubbly is poured, and the rain begins. It seemed so right that my journey be humbled by the weather at the end, as it was at the beginning. This was no heroic journey, only one small attempt to ease the needless suffering of one group of women. I salute you, all of you, living with cancer, and the mountains you climb every day. I have stood on rooftops and cycled the width of this country to tell your story; it is my heartfelt hope that the message has been heard.