Adventures Along the WaterfrontTrail

by: Kathlene R. Willing

Part 2

Summer 2003, Preplanning

After having completed the Southwestern half of the Waterfront trail from Niagara-on-the-Lake to Toronto in four days last summer, contemplating the Eastern half from Toronto to Trenton in five days buoys my spirits throughout the long winter. I don’t like wishing my life away, but July 2003 can’t come soon enough for me. In April, I get disappointing news. Winnie can’t accompany me because she’s enrolled in a Doctorate program at OISE and will be taking courses. “Not to worry, I’ll find someone else to go.” I bravely tell her

I advertise in our church bulletin, spread the word at school and my yoga class, express my interest with the Toronto Bicycle Network (TBN), and talk it up with whomever will listen to me. Another colleague at school is interested. I’m happy again. Then she realizes she has too many financial commitments to go. Disappointment number two. My Yoga instructor can’t make it this year. She is attending a retreat. Disappointment number three. A friend at church, leaves me a message that she would love to come and then freaks out when she hears 40 kms a day! Disappointment number four. Even my husband, Michiomi, who no longer is able to ride a two-wheeler, suggests he might come along on a three-wheeler. “Possible, but let’s check with Rick and Katy.” I respond. A trip to the Bloomfield Bicycle Company quickly abuses him of that idea. He discovers that even a three-wheeler is not a realistic option. Disappointment number 4. “Scrap the TBN idea,” I conclude, “I’m leery of going with a stranger. Besides there’s not much interest from them anyway.”
I am going it alone I tell my family. They’re aghast and afraid for me. They try to talk me out of it and beseech me to try again next year. But my mind’s made up. I’m going to ride it alone. However being a good Canadian, I compromise. I’ll have Michiomi drive the car and meet me where ever I stay the night. He can leave in his own good time and spend time in parks or the car reading and enjoying nature. With that agreed to I contact some of my friends who live along the way in Pickering, Cobourg, and Warkworth (near Brighton) and arrange to spend the nights with them. No B & B’s for me this time. Three stops taken care of, but I still need a place near Bowmanville. I’ve been to the Port Darlington Marina Hotel for the Sigelem Conference several years ago, so I booked it for the second night. I was now set for the four nights.
The next thing I have to do is to make it easier for Michiomi to find the stopovers. He’s never been to any of them. Early July, we go on a reconnaissance mission driving to each location on our way to Bloomfield. Everything goes well until we reach Cobourg and then the gear box goes out. But that is another story. We manage to get it fixed by a friend of Rick’s who lives in Cobourg and abort our mission to continue directly to Bloomfield, by-passing the Cobourg and Brighton stops. Ready or not. That’s it.

It’s the night before and I am impatient for morning to come. My thoughts are whirling around in my head, and unanswered questions plague me. I check the maps again and again. Are my calculations correct? Is everything prepared? Will the weather be good? Will Michiomi be able to find all the places and be there on time? Would I be able to find him at the Park in Brighton before we travel to Warkworth? I finally get to sleep and wake early. July 14th 2003 has arrived and I’m going to go it alone with a support car.

Monday, July 14, 2003, Day 1 - Pickering

I pack a bag for the car with most of my clothing and put a change of clothing and other immediate needs, including a book to read, the small camera, my bottle of Gatorade and some fruit, in my backpack. My sun block, gloves, cable lock, and sun glasses are in my handlebar bag along with the map and my itinerary with names, addresses and phone numbers of our stops. I have my fanny pack on with money and credit cards. The water bottle is filled. I’m ready. Not quite!

I attempt to put the backpack on the rack. “Drats! I should use the panniers. How could I have forgotten about the panniers? Why use a backpack when I could use them as I did last year. Besides there’s a tool kit in it which I might need.” I unload the backpack into the panniers, even remembering the umbrella in the pouch. I attempt to put the panniers on the bike rack. “Drats again! The elastics are shot from last year and haven’t been replaced.” At the last minute I am figuring out a way to keep them from bouncing around with this new rack. Rick has rigged it up differently from last year and it’s attached to the seat post, not to the wheel! This change came about after my trip last summer when he created a newly customized bike just for me. With a little bit of trial and error and a bunch of rubber bands I solve the problem.

It’s a warm and sunny day with 24 degrees C being forecasted. I slather on the sun block and take off. Michiomi waves goodbye after taking my picture and promises he will see me at Sheila’s in Pickering around 4:00-5:00 pm. Sheila belongs to my Canadian Federation of University Women (CFUW) food group which meets once a month in our homes. Since I’m not sure of my arrival time or how long it will actually take me to get there, I’ve given him a ball park figure. At 9:20 am I head south for the lake and the Martin Goodman Trail to pick up where I left off from last year with Winnie - at the foot of Strachan then to ride along Queen’s Quay past the harbourfront and the ferry docks.

Alone. On my bike. With unknown troubles ahead of me and my knobbies purring contentedly, I ride. I ponder, “Do I ride, therefore I am, or I am, therefore I ride. Who knows? Does it matter as long as I ride?” I grin as I think of my new shirt from the Bloomfield Bicycle Company with the motto, “Never question why you ride, only why you don’t ride more.” At this point, I agree.

Alongside the lake I come to Cherry Beach and stop to admire the view and take pictures. The sun is glinting off the lake and frames the trees. I continue buoyed up by the weather. It‘s perfect; warm, but refreshing. Ashbridges Bay, The Beaches slide by so easily and then I’m at the end of the trail and back onto the city streets snaking my way to Scarborough until I get onto Kingston Road. I had planned to do some of the side roads in Scarborough and go down a few. “Not a good idea,” think I as I am huffing up hill number three. “And this isn’t even the the Scarborough Bluffs area yet. By the time I get out of the city I’ll be dead tired.” So I retreat back onto Kingston Road. I pedal on a while and find a place to eat. It’s warming up, but nowhere near as hot as last year. I nip into a air-conditioned restaurant and have soup and salad. Back outside, I remount my bike and stay on Kingston Rd until I reach Lawrence Ave., East. Continuing along Lawrence, I follow the road to its conclusion at the Rouge River and Rouge Beach Park.

“It’s taken me three bloody hours to get this far!” Now to figure out where exactly the trail is. I search around for signs - nothing in sight. The foot bridge has uninviting, deep steps for the bike. The map is puzzling so I hike over to the beach area thinking maybe something is in that area. Nothing there as well and back to the bridge I go. I analyze the map again and realize, “Aha that hump in the green dotted trail, indicates that I should go over the bridge!” I struggle with the bike up those long steps, but I manage and stop for pictures from the bridge.

The good bits come after the Rouge and most of it is along parks and beach area. The weather is still great - warm but cool enough while riding. Some great views of the marshes, and as I get closer to Pickering the waterfront is a boon.
From the Rouge it’s into Petticoat Creek Conservation Area and some more photos of the lake and Ontario Hydro Pickering Nuclear Generating Station with its wind turbine in the distant smog. Side streets take me toward Frenchman’s Bay and looking at the time, I realize now that I have time to spare. I can slow down and smell the roses, so I opt to go out of my way along Beachpoint Promenade - a sand bar going into the lake which creates a partial closure to the bay. I cycle through the sand and come upon the West Rouge Canoe Club where some children are gathering, boats are sailing in the bay and I see cottages and marinas across the bay. Checking the map, I also notice that Pickering is just on the other side of that. I’m almost there and it’s only 1:30 pm!

Fishtailing my way back through the sand, I go looking for the trail signs on West Shore Road and make my way through shady trails to Bayly Road. I pop onto Bayly, go across the top of Frenchman’s Bay, and around to the east side of the bay down to the foot of Liverpool Road where I found a pleasant and recently transformed Beachfront Park. Canada Geese are floating lazily in the marsh area while children romp in the water playground on the beach side, people are strolling along the boardwalk and others tan themselves on the beach. Benches and picnic tables are placed strategically and I find a vacant one by a large bush. I park the bike and have a snack of fruit and a swig of Gatorade, then settle in for a time to read several chapters of Lazarus Effect by Frank Herbert. Listening to the water lap on the shore it all seems so tranquil and benign. All of this under the shadow of a Nuclear Power Plant with its wind generator towering over the beach. People seem pretty adept at ignoring its presence.

I read until 2:45 and come to the conclusion that I need a washroom. A few pictures of that awesome wind turbine and the area, then off I go to find a porta-potty which is easily found in Alex Robertson Park! A paved bicycle path winds its way across the top of the Power Plant and passes several parking lots. Then voila! there is Brock Road and it‘s still only 3:10 pm. I find a place under a shady tree next to one of the buildings along Brock and read until 4:30 pm when I can head up to my fellow gourmand, Sheila’s house. Knowing how Michiomi usually arrives early I’m sure he’s probably there already.

Brock Road has to be was the worst ride ever! The first part south of the 401 isn’t too bad as it has a wide, hard-packed dirt shoulder (with its share of avoidable potholes). But as I near the 401 it disappears into nothingness with bumper to bumper cars and trucks belching fumes. The traffic is unkind and unforgiving of any bicyclist stupid enough to be there. Up and down the curbs, on and off the bike, across the multi-lanes of traffic, I make my way on the bridge over the 401 and onto a slightly saner side. Now I have to thread my way over those construction sites, driveways and more roads. Spying a sidewalk on the other side, I cross at the next available light. From there it’s smooth sailing to Sheila’s house for several kilometers up Brock Rd and over to Melman. I’ve covered 40 km my first day.

“What a welcome sight, our good old Peugeot, and what? Michiomi’s sitting in the car reading in front of Sheila’s! I wonder why he’s in front of the house and not in the house? Her car’s in the drive.” He informs me he rang the bell, but no one answered. “That doesn’t make sense to me. If her car’s there, she must be there. She only has one car and she’s expecting us.” So I try the door and ring the bell several times. I hear a dog barking and Sheila comes to the door. She was in the back yard and didn’t hear the bell when Michiomi rang.

We spend a pleasant evening. We offer to take Sheila out for dinner, but she insists on cooking a delicious meal for us. Getting freshened up for dinner, I discover that I left my small bag with toothbrush and comb in the backpack at home. I can see it now as I recall reaching into the pouch and grabbing the umbrella, thinking to myself not to forget the bag. I did. Must have been diverted by another thought while transferring items from one to the other. Oh well, so I buy a new toothbrush and use Michiomi’s brush and comb. After my refreshing shower, we lounge and chat on the deck with a glass of wine, while dinner is cooking. We eat and natter away some more, then lounge around and talk even more, and finally we hit the sack.

Day 2 - Bowmanville

After a good night’s sleep and a delicious breakfast, I’m itching to get an early start. I tighten the screws on my bottle holder, check the tire pressure and pronounce my bike ready to go. Since Michiomi brought the bike rack in the car for our trip to Warkworth, I wheedle a lift to return to the Waterfront trail. Doing Brock Road on bicycle during rush hour once is enough. We hitch the bike up and ride off to Alex Robertson Park on Sandy Beach Road by the Power Plant so I can take up the trail close to where I had left it.

The day started out sunny with a good, stiff breeze coming out of the east. I slogged against the wind most of the day and my muscles informed me of their displeasure, but I continued on. In spite of the slog, the trail was agreeable - mostly along the lake, paved in many places, and winding though parks and marshes. I didn’t stop to read, because as the day went on, the clouds came in threatening to rain. I did make quick stops in a number of places to snoop, take pictures and converse with people. I even walked along a very grassy path for 1.5 kms through the Darlington Provincial Park.
I coast along until I reach Ajax where I have to go up to Bayly Street, a rather busy road with gravel shoulders. It goes on for quite a stretch (about 8 kms). The gravel shoulders with numerous pot-holes and wanton stones keep me alert for the while. I’m finally able to return back down to the lake and Port Whitby Harbour where I admire the yachts gracefully challenging the wind while students in their little sailing skiffs adroitly dare the wind to capsize them.

Proceeding past the harbour and around the water pollution control plant I come upon the Corbett Creek area. I dismount my bike and enter the footbridge. A father and daughter are gazing down into the water with a great deal of interest. As I near them I see they’re watching a pair of swans guarding their young as they bob and drift in the water. I stay on to ponder the serenity of swans. A picture taken, I then leave this sublime scene, and head into a noisier, jangling environment - Oshawa, Philip Murray Ave and lunch at a Chinese restaurant.

After a steaming bowl of vegetables and noodles I resume my journey and weave my way around the harbour, Second Marsh Wildlife Area, and into Darlington Provincial Park. I lose sight of the Waterfront Trail signs and in the process meander into a overgrown footpath going eastward. Figured I couldn’t go too far wrong, so dismount my bike and enjoy a walk on the wild side with the sights and sounds of the wild life. The path opens into a vast expanse of grass, picnic tables and a parking area next to a building. I’m back in civilization and there’s a road. Logic and the map tell me that if I keep heading northeast it will take me out of the park. Turns out it’s Darlington Park Road and it does indeed lead me to the South Service Road which parallels the 401. Ah yes, definitely back in civilization and the Municipality of Clarington!

A short distance away, I come to a trail sign pointing south along Osbourne Road and eventually end up in a grassy field backing onto the Darlington Nuclear Generating Station. A wide, red dirt path takes me beside a pond. Gathered along the path are a group of artists and children with sketch pads and easels capturing the idyllic landscape. I pass them murmuring approvingly. Up the hill I go, crossing a dirt road and entering a gate to another field. This trail adjusts my perception of overgrown rendering Darlington Park’s path open and spacious. Hard packed dirt with two narrow lanes (good points), the trail is divided and surrounded by weeds! Draped over both lanes! “Hmm... “Should I return to the South Service Road,” I ask. “No,” I counter, “it can’t go on much longer.”

Ignoring the maps notation of 3.3 kms, I forge ahead, picking the lanes cautiously. “Whip, whack, whip, whack... I wonder if there are any bees or stinging insects loitering in that batch of purple flowering weeds crowding the lanes ahead.” I’m sure I’m going to run smack dab into a big black and yellow bumble bee. “Whip, whack, whip, whack... No, not that time.” I shift my weight and change lanes over the hump in the middle to what I believe is the clearer lane. “Ohh, wibble wobble, fishtail.” Theoretically I am in the wrong lane, but I am the only bicyclist stupid enough to attempt this folly. “Whip, whack, whip, whack... Wrong.” Someone else is coming around the bend, down the hill towards me. I shift my weight and slither over the hump in the middle at the same time she does, but I am now in the correct lane. She brightens up, and just in time makes the lane change before I decide to do it. We pass each other laughing at ourselves and this ride on the wild side. “Drats,” I think, “I should have asked her how it was from whence she came.” Life is full of missed opportunities.

I pass a road going into the Darlington Power Plant and at the other side of the road the lane continues. I enter these gates and begin a slow ascent up the hill and see that the weeds don’t seem to be letting up on this section. Time for decision-making. I am only a few meters on the way and the South Service Road is beckoning me. The remaining one-third of those 3.3 kms is only a short jaunt, but my reading of the map indicates that this last third ends up on the South Service Road anyway. Discretion is the better part of valour and I high tail it back to the paved road and say good bye to the Wild side.

The sun is now completely obscured by clouds and I am wondering if I will get rained on. After several kilometers, I pass a fairly large truck stop and arrive at Waverly Road. I turn right as indicated on the map and then lose track of the trail. “Oh so close to my final destination for the day, but not there yet.” The absence of trail signs or anything that might resemble a trail through the field is not discernible. The map denotes a green dotted trail south of the railroad and the 401, but where? I’m befuddled, and my only other option is a detour over the bridge North of the 401 then east along Baseline Road. I look around. There is St. Mary’s Cement Company with a large fenced in parking lot. A close investigation in the parking lot shows no signs or breaks in the fence for a trail. I look down the road to the end. Further down is a construction site with a trailer. I opt to go down the road into the construction site and ride around looking for a sign, any sign. Pass several earth moving machines, but no evidence of a trail.

Not finding one, I turn back to the road and a man comes out of the construction site trailer asking me what I’m looking for. My heart gives a little leap, but I notice he has no shotgun so I give him the spiel that I have been telling anyone who would listen. “I’m riding the waterfront trail heading to Trenton and then to Bloomfield to my son’s bicycle shop, blah blah, blah, and I can’t find the trail that’s shown on the map.” He’s friendly and says he likes my shirt. He even knows where Bloomfield is. Why heck, he was just there over the weekend fishing. He assures me that the trail is there, just over the bridge from the 401. He agrees it isn’t labeled, but advises me to look carefully. Wishing me, “Happy Trails,” he returns to the trailer, and I take off. I head back toward the bridge and scrutinize every bare spot in the vicinity that I can ascertain. And low and behold, on a third of the way up to the rise of the bridge, I do find a narrow dirt path obscured by weeds. This must be it.

A flip of a coin and I am on my way through West Side Marsh, over the top of Bowmanville Harbour Conservation Area, through a grassy field, and into the parking lot of Port Darlington Marina Motel. “I made it.” Once again the Peugeot is a welcome sight as I come around the corner of the Motel. It is parked right in front of the door to Room 103. I am dry and I rode 34 kms today. 3:15 and a hot bath awaits me. Time to rest and read for an hour or so and then go out for dinner at 6:00 pm in Bowmanville. It started to rain while we were having dinner and the clouds burst into a downpour after we got safely back to our room. Two days under my belt. My leg muscles are protesting as I drift into dreamland.