Mile Zero… Only 7,192 Kilometres to Go!
I arrived at Mile Zero early in the afternoon, although it felt as though I was already running behind. The skies were overcast, and a cool wind swept in from the Strait of Juan de Fuca, making it feel late in the day,
Officially, this was Mile Zero. Unofficially, it was about Kilometre 35—the distance I had already ridden from the airport. After getting up at 5:00 a.m. in Ottawa, crossing three time zones, wrestling my bike out of its travel case, assembling it, and navigating unfamiliar streets, I felt as though I’d already put in a full day’s work before my adventure had even begun.
I used to travel to Victoria on business in the 1980s and had visited Mile Zero several times. But this visit was different. This time I wasn’t simply looking at the monument or the statue of Terry Fox. I found myself standing quietly, reflecting on the courage and determination that monument represents. It felt like the perfect place to begin.
Like many cyclists crossing the country, I followed the tradition of dipping my rear wheel into the Pacific Ocean before setting off, hoping that, weeks from now, I’ll dip my front wheel into the Atlantic.
It sounds wonderfully quaint, yet symbolic.
It’s considerably less quaint when your fully loaded bike weighs about 110 pounds (I had to pull off the panniers for the last few feet!).
As I wrestled it toward the water, curious broadsword stopped to watch what must have looked like a man wrestling a bull by the horns to force it to do the opposite of what it wanted. The bike resisted every inch of the way down the steep hill and over the rocks to the ocean’s edge. I eventually won, but only on points.
Victoria has changed remarkably since my business trips decades ago. On this Saturday afternoon the Inner Harbour was alive. The streets around the Empress Hotel overflowed with people. Sidewalk cafés were full, musicians played on nearly every corner, flowers spilled from baskets and gardens, and the entire city seemed to be celebrating summer. If it wasn’t so grey, there would have been lots of photos.
As I pedalled north along the cycling paths, I found myself thinking about Robert Macfarlane’s The Old Ways. Describing the Camino de Santiago, he writes that every step is, in a sense, taken twice: one footfall along the physical path toward the destination, and another along a deeper, inward journey toward faith, clarity, purpose, and peace.
Perhaps cycling across Canada works the same way.
Every pedal stroke carries me closer to the Atlantic. But each one also carries me further along a more personal journey—a chance to reflect on life, family, gratitude, and what truly matters.
And perhaps there is a third journey as well.
Each kilometre is also for my sister, Dianne, whose memory rides with me every day, and for my brother. This ride is my way of honouring them while raising funds to help fight the disease that claimed their lives.
So Day 1 ends with just 7,157 kilometres remaining.
Not that anyone’s counting.
Day 2
…Started with the sound of rain pounding on my tent around 3am—rain that wouldn’t stop until I reached the next camp at around 7pm. I had my first taste of the trip packing up the soaked camping gear at 5:30 (I wanted to catch the 7am ferry sailing from Swartz Bay), and my first being top-to—bottom soaked thoroughly. When camping and clothing is advertised as “water proof”, it means that water will always prove it can get into everything.
Normally I would have taken lots of photos, especially on the ferry crossing, because I love going through the San Juan Islands, with the mountains looming in the distance. But the mountains and most of the small islands were burdened or hidden completely by cloud and rain.
So too was the long ride along the gravel bike trail along Boundary Bay. This entire delta section is as flat as the greyness of the skies…dull for photos but for the naked eye: the colours of the wildflowers and vistas of beach and old lumber logs and mud made for its own beauty of contrasts. Also it was low tide—it has smell all its own.
As I reached the end of Day 2, I was very thankful for the flats of the delta, because leaving it, meant that I had a lot of work climbing and descending as I’m beginning my entry into the Rockies. Though the mountains are shrouded in clouds, they are looming large and clearly in my imagination.
Entering Its Terrible Twos
Metaphorically, this journey of 7,000+ kilometres aligns with my age of 70. For every hundred kilometres I cover, the Journey is one year older. At the end, my Journey will become the same age as me—and we will see what we both have become.
So, today, this Journey’s life has turned around a year and a half old. It has left the early diaper phase (I’m hoping the raining/shitty weather is now mostly behind me), and the Rockies mark the entry of the journey’s terrible twos
As with last post, please consider donating….
My sister, Dianne, passed away on May 20th 2026, succumbing to Ovarian Cancer. It’s often referred to as the Silent Killer because, as in my sister’s case, the symptoms can easily be mistaken for other conditions, leading to delays in detection and treatment until it is too late. Please donate to help in research to end this dreadful disease, by clicking here.
