Category Archives: :Location: Canada

Caring For & About

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Rewind one month ago to my final week of Med 3, a week that naturally included me hosting a family party, two band practices, a live radio interview, a final call shift, an NBME, an out-of-town house guest, and an album release.

Celebrating Annie’s 60th, with love

Heathen Eve’s radio debut on UMFM’s “Made You A Mixtape”! http://www.umfm.com/programming/shows/episode/43586/

Album Release!! “Reconcilable Differences” now available on Spotify, iTunes, Google Play, Bandcamp, and local music stores near you 😀 https://heatheneve.bandcamp.com/releases


12 hours after our show ended, I hastily shoved some clinic clothes and my stethoscope into a backpack and climbed onto a plane to Sudbury for my first Med 4 elective – a three-week placement in Addictions Medicine. My weeks were spent in a vast variety of community services aimed at helping patients recognize and manage their substance use disorders (SUD). One of the clinics I worked in specialized in “opioid replacement therapy,” which some people may recognize by names like “methadone,” “MMT,” or “Suboxone.” This is a treatment option for people with opiate use disorders (morphine, hydromorphone, Percs, Oxy, etc.) that provides a carefully-prescribed amount of medication (either Methadone or Buprenorphine/Naloxone) that acts in a similar way to opioids in people’s systems, helping them to safely reduce the amount of opioids they need to take and avoid crippling withdrawal symptoms and/or overdose. Harm reduction houses are another valuable service in the Addictions field, where individuals at risk for or experiencing homelessness are offered assistance in securing housing, while also addressing alcohol use disorder through harm reduction strategies such as monitored alcohol administration. Residential treatment programs are a major component of Addictions, ranging from abstinence-based programs (where clients cannot use any substances for a period of time before entering treatment) to harm-reduction programs (where clients are able to be actively using substances while seeking treatment, and efforts are made to minimize the risks associated with using), to anywhere on the spectrum between the two.

Residential treatment programs such as Benbowopka aim to address SUD by helping clients re-establish balance in their mental, physical, emotional and spiritual health

In particular, I spent several days working with Monarch Recovery Services, an “Addiction Centre of Excellence” that offers treatment programs spanning individuals who are managing active withdrawal, who are acknowledging their SUD for the very first time, who have been living in a recovery home for a year, who have started work again and require some help with housing, who have an SUD and discover they are pregnant, who have five kiddos and are struggling with an SUD, who have been abstinent for 10 years and continue to come to Aftercare for support with their SUD.

Getting familiar with Sudbury’s core downtown areas

I know for some this is a hard topic to read about, hear about, or even think about. I know addictions and substance use have not, historically, been topics that have been treated with the greatest grace. But the fact of the matter is that addiction is a chronic health condition. The Canadian Society of Addiction Medicine (CSAM) defines addiction as “a primary, chronic disease of brain reward, motivation, memory, and related circuitry. Dysfunction in these circuits leads to characteristic biological, psychological, social, and spiritual manifestations.” But with that definition comes hope: As a recognized medical entity, addiction is now recognized as “a preventable and treatable disease, helping to shed the stigma of misunderstanding that has long plagued it.” In other words, addicts are not necessarily “bad” or scary people. They are people with a serious health condition that, like any health condition, requires a balance of external support and personal action in order to prevent (ideally!), recognize, and manage it. More often than not, addiction co-occurs with trauma, since “addictive behaviours [are] a way of coping with emotional pain, a way of self-soothing that is not appropriate.”

An individual I spoke with eloquently summarized all of the above: “I know I have an addiction. But the question is – why do I have it?” A crucial component of recovery from an SUD is learning healthy life skills and effective coping mechanisms to replace the destructive dependance on substances as a means to attempt to handle challenges. But, as stated by Dr. David Marsh, a NOSM Addictions Specialist, “A drug user is never going to come to treatment if they die of an overdose.” In other words, while modalities like wet shelters or opioid replacement therapy do not address the underlying why? of an addiction, evidence shows without a doubt that they reduce the number of overdose deaths (see page 21), thus allowing patients the chance to stabilize to a point where they can enter further treatment to address the root causes of their addiction.

As someone who is both a professional in the medical looking to help clients with addictions, as well as an individual who is personally affected by people with addictions, this has been a difficult topic to approach. It has been challenging to recognize that I feel able to offer a very different type of support to clients who are struggling with addictions compared to those I know personally who are struggling. Does this make me a hypocrite? Am I callous towards those I claim to love?

But I have come to recognize that “caring about” and “caring for” are two very different things, and are fulfilled by different people occupying very different roles in the client’s life. Unconditional love is the role of a family member or friend. It proclaims, “I see you as a human being worthy of love, and I care ABOUT you.” But unconditionally loving someone does not mean you can or should care FOR them.

Caring for someone’s withdrawal symptoms, assessing the need for counselling through past trauma, helping them recognize and address a dearth of essential life skills – these are needed roles for professionals such as physicians, social workers, therapists. Caring for someone with a SUD requires a certain level of neutrality and distance. As the healthcare professional, I am not living with the individual struggling with an SUD or affected personally by their finances/relationships/housing/behaviours. Therefore, I am able to advocate for that individual 100% without compromising my own health or safety – as is often the case with family members or partners involved.

In the last several decades, we have made amazing advances in our understanding of and ability to manage chronic diseases like diabetes and arthritis. Let us open the door to understanding the world of addictions in order to start breaking down barriers to effective care.

Taking time for personal wellness with Thanksgiving swims at favourite park #1

Golden afternoon walks through favourite park #2



Adios for now, Sudbury. Next stop, Toronto!

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Bike Gear 101 for the Casual Diehard 

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Biking has been a huge part of my life ever since we moved back to Canada and got rid of Josh’s car, making cycling our primary form of transportation. I love the physical act of biking, as well as all it represents: transportation that is better for our earth, better for my body, and much much better for the wallet. But for all my diehard convictions regarding biking, I often feel intimidated talking to other members of the biking community because I never feel like I quite fit in. They  blithely argue the specs of their $2000 hybrid road bikes, standing in their $300 custom bike shoes, while I sneakily wheel my Canadian Tire special past them all. The same holds for all the gear. Sure, it looks awesome, but I manage the streets of Winnipeg just fine in my old soccer shorts and a t-shirt.

I had never needed anything fancier because I had never biked longer than the 30 km or so that commuting around our lovely flat little city demanded of you. I was also skeptical of the need to spend tons of money on things that I wasn’t convinced made a practical difference to outcome. Did cyclists really need those spandex jerseys and fancy shoes? What were the things that were worth the investment for a good ride*, and in which cases could the borrowed/second-hand/super sale piece of equipment work just as well?

*”Good Ride” – A saratreetravels special term denoting a challenging but satisfying, exhausting but exhilarating cycle

Hence, this little guide to the gear needed for a good (& long) ride, of which cycling the Cabot Trail was the first of hopefully many for us. This guide is for all the people out there who are also “Casual Diehards” like me. Who love and believe in cycling passionately, but aren’t crazy about spending a ton of money simply to have new stuff if it isn’t going to make the ride. Who make cycling part of their everyday life because it makes sense to their everyday life. Who have never really thought to “train” (dear Lord, the number of people who sagely nodded and asked me if I was “in training” when I would mention we were going to cycle the Cabot. Training?? I would often nod sagely back and Josh-Bergmann-mumble the hell outta there).

“Josh-Bergmann-Mumble” – A classic maneouvre of extricating oneself from a tricky situation by muttering incomprehensible sounds under your breath while slowly inching away from the questioner and smiling.

My version of “training” – cruising the hills around Notre Dame de Lourdes, MB while on my rural Family Med rotation

You may note that every single piece of gear here is from MEC. I’m sure there are many other great places to find stuff out there (particularly second-hand, which would be even more awesome), but we tend to stick with MEC because we like their co-op mentality and their industry accountability, not to mention their quality and selection. And it’s within easy biking distance from our place 🙂

Soo, without further ado…

BIKES
We rented our bikes (Norco Hybrids, which were AWESOME) from Framework Fitness on Cape Breton Island, for many reasons: Our home bikes were definitely not up to mountain climbing, the logistics of bringing a bike on a plane escape me, and Framework was super cheap to rent from and then drove us right to the start of the trail from our Airbnb. They also provided helmets, pannier racks, and repair kits.

Moral of the story: Save yourself a ton of hassle and just rent bikes from these guys (or someone like them)!

SHOES
I biked using my New Balance runners I bought back in high school, and I had no complaints. Yes, my feet did occasionally slip forward on the pedals and required readjusting, but nothing that actually affected the ride. The one issue with runners is how soggy they get if it rains… which it did. Often. And generously. However, the one perk with biking by the sea is that you are blessed each night with stiff winds that managed to dry our shoes out by the next morning. In addition, we chose to take a break day between each biking day, which gave our shoes more time to dry. Biking with runners also gave us the flexibility to hop off the bike and go hiking (such as the gorgeous hike up the Skyline Trail midway through Bike Day 2) and have another pair of useful footwear for break days.

Skyline Trail:

Drying au naturel in Pleasant Bay:

Moral of the story: Clip-on bike shoes are not necessary for a good ride. Waterproof bike shoes would be amazing, but are crazy expensive and are not necessary for a good ride (but put on the Christmas list for rich Uncle Bob!)

SOCKS
When we shopped for Argentina, we found these socks at MEC that looked comfy and promised to somehow not get too smelly. And we have fell head over heels (punny!!). Super light and breathable, nicely padded, and with a new ankle guard at the back (and now in fun new colours!!), these socks are amazing. Also durable – our pairs have been hand-washed in many a river stream, and are still holding strong.

Moral of the story: BUY THESE SOCKS. In all seriousness, for a good ride, you need good socks that are light and breathable and that don’t slip down as you ride. WrightSocks are highly recommended.
Link: https://www.mec.ca/en/product/5026-380/Double-Layer-Coolmesh-II-Quarter-Socks

SHORTS
Ohhh man, everyone’s favourite topic – the padded shorts! Are they actually necessary? Are they just an excuse for cyclists to look even weirder and more pretentious than ever? In my opinion after this experience, there are 3 components to bike shorts to consider: the length, the fit, and the padding (fun bike fact for you: the bum and groin area shall henceforth be referred to as “chamois” by us casual diehards).
i. Length – A good ride needs longer shorts. I didn’t realise how much the edge of the seat rubbed against one’s thigh until we did a quickie bike to our sea kayaking meeting spot and I just wore my regular city shorts.
ii. Fit – A good ride needs a snug fit. You don’t want to have to re-adjust loose shorts or pick out wedgies every time you hop on or off or put a foot down to steady yoursef. In addition, there is so much wind billowing in your face as you’re flying down the side of a mountain, and the last thing you want is that same wind billowing up your pants and creating a sail out of your butt.
iii. Padding – Truth be told, I have never done an extensive bike trip without padding, so I really have nothing to compare it to. But our padded shorts were super comfortable and my tailbone didn’t hurt at the end of a long ride like it does at the beginning of the city (read: non-padded) biking season.

Moral of the story: Good bike shorts are a good investment for a good ride. Make sure they are long enough (mid-thigh), snug enough (no bunching around the groin or gaping around the butt or legs), and comfy enough to sit for hours both on and off bike. Note that “good” does not equal “most expensive”! We bought the most basic MEC pair (on sale, booyah!) and were very happy.
Link: https://www.mec.ca/en/product/5040-474/Mass-Transit-Shorts

Josh resting comfy on his padded bum

JERSEYS
Like our favourite topic (padded bums!), a good bike top has 3 components, just slightly different from the previous three to keep y’all on your toes and vaguely engaged in this long and highly opinionated post: length, fit, breathability.
i. Length – The reason there are special “cycle jerseys” is in part how they are shaped, with a back hem that scoops down farther than the front and is lined with a grip to keep it from riding up your back. Also fun fact: Bike jerseys come with back hem pockets that are weirdly secure and can fit everything from sunglasses to granola bars, and are completely unobtrusive while riding. Very handy place to stash your bike gloves when going to the bathroom.
ii. Fit – Bike jerseys should be snug. Much like the aforementioned shorts, the last thing you want while struggling up a mountain is to have so much wind surging up and under your shirt that you become a human parachute who literally triples your efforts to get up said mountain.
iii. Breathability – Biking is hard. Hard work makes you sweat. Sweat, if collected and hugged close to your hard-working body, is very uncomfortable. Get a jersey that is light and breathable and quick-drying. The drying bit is necessary not only for while you’re  biking and working and sweating (as previously outlined), but also for at the end of the day when you want to rinse out your jersey because you’re travelling only with 2 panniers and so have brought a very limited amount of clothes (and also you’re wisely frugal and not going to buy more than 1 or 2 expensive bike jerseys).

Moral of the story: See the Moral of the Shorts. Invest in a good cycling jersey or 2. You really don’t need more than that, unless you’re planning on biking daily up a mountain for the next 6 years.
Link: https://www.mec.ca/en/product/5035-483/Bolt-SS-Jersey

RAINGEAR
While cycling, the main concern for me isn’t getting wet (trust me, if it starts raining on a bike, you’re going to get wet no matter how snazzy your gear is), but getting cold. On Deluge Day 1, I was SO chilled by the rain and wind, and the last 2 hours of the ride would have been unbearable without the wind protection and extra layer of my raingear.
i. Top – Raingear is expensive and takes up relatively a lot of space, and here is where I don’t feel I can justify buying a specific “cycling” rain jacket that is then pretty useless as an everyday rain jacket (a cycling jacket is SUPER thin, doesn’t have a hood, etc.) I found a pretty perfect jacket on sale (of course!) at MEC – thin and waterproof but with a light lining so it can also be worn as a regular jacket for chillier nights, with a rain hood (I feel that a rain jacket without a hood is pretty useless!) My previous multipurpose jacket was bought 6 years ago to go to Argentina and only this year – after travelling through South America, Europe, Mexico, and Cuba – did the zipper break and the water-resistant coating wear off. So in my experience, MEC jackets are worthwhile investments 🙂
Link: https://www.mec.ca/en/product/5045-436/Aquanator-Jacket

ii. Bottoms – This is one item I borrowed (thanks Joanna!!). If I was at a point in my life where I was doing big bike or hiking trips every weekend, I would definitely invest in a nice light pair of rain pants for myself. But at this point, going on an annual trip doesn’t make it worth it to spend $60 on pants I literally wore once.

Moral of the story: You don’t need to spend money on a fancy cycling jacket. Buy a light rain jacket you could wear both on or off bike. Specific rain pants are nice to have on rare occasions, but ultimately just make sure you have a pair of light, wind-resistant-ish pants (eg. Even track pants) for those cold days on or off bike.

Rain jacket highly effective while cycling in a downpour…

…aaaand while dining on oysters!

GLOVES
Let me tell you, nothing makes you feel more like a badass than sporting biking gloves. And, best of all for us casual diehards, they are also amazingly practical. Like so much (read: all) of our gear, we opted for the MEC option on super sale, and were not disappointed. They kept our palms from blistering, dried quickly and didn’t smell horrific, and had handy little areas on which to wipe your sweaty brow or nose. Our one complaint was that the area of most padding was over the lateral side, which would maybe make sense if you had bullhorn handlebars, but we would have preferred more padding around the thumb.

Moral of the story: Get some badass gloves for a good ride. Don’t spend big bucks, but if you find some reasonably priced ones with additional thumb joint padding, let us know.
Link: https://www.mec.ca/en/product/5035-499/Metro-Cycling-Gloves

Dayum, that guy could take on any storm with those badass gloves!

MIRROR
I look forward to the day when bikes start coming with mirrors and lights and panniers, rather than having to piece them together yourself, since all those elements are not fun extras but are necessary pieces of a good ride. Our mirrors were (surprise!) the cheapest we could find at MEC, but they were perfectly adequate. Because we were renting bikes out there and weren’t sure of the frame specifics, it was very handy to have a mirror with an easy-to-apply velcro strap that could be adjusted to any handlebar. They did have a tendency to slide around and required frequent readjustment.

Moral of the story: If you were buying a mirror for your daily commuter bike, I’d recommend buying one that attached more firmly than this one. But for a travel mirror, this did the trick (and did I mention it was cheap!)
Link: https://www.mec.ca/en/product/4011-495/Mountain-Cycling-Mirror

PANNIERS
Buying a second large pannier was the biggest investment we made for this trip. Panniers are unfortunately not cheap, but a good pannier is absolutely unequivocally inarguably necessary for a good ride (/for even the shortest commute). Let’s return to our Rule of 3s, Pannier Edition: size, waterproofness, portability.
i. Size – For our 2 week trip, Josh and I both had a 30L pannier, and one 15L pannier to share, which was more than enough room.

ii. Waterproofness – My daily pannier is literally a canoe drybag with a pannier hook attached, and it’s fantastic. Unfortunately, it does not seem to be in existence anymore. Our new pannier (dubbed “Big Blue” because, well, we’re super creative like that) is not waterproof, but did come with a rain cover that was put to the test immediately during Downpour Day 1, and proved very effective. Our 15L (aka “Junior”) is not at all waterproof and has no rain cover, but that obstacle was surmounted by keeping only our rain gear and our plastic bag of toiletries in him.
** Practical packing tip: Rolling up clothes and packing them in empty tortilla bags not only keeps things super organized, but also dry in case of an unexpected deluge!

iii. Portability – I include this component not because any of our panniers were particularly comfortable to shlep around off bike, but to publish my bewildered rant about WHY DO COMPANIES NOT MAKE PANNIERS WITH BACKPACK STRAPS?! WHY NOT?!! ARRRRRRRGH.

Moral of the story: Every good ride needs a good pannier of adequate size with some form of waterproofness – if the shell itself is waterproof that is much preferred, but the covers do work well. And for the love of bikes, if you find a pannier with backpack straps, let me know IMMEDIATELY.
Link: https://www.mec.ca/en/product/5035-448/World-Tour-30L-Pannier

Meet Big Blue:

Junior & Red, respectively:

UNDERGARMENTS
**Are there still people squeamish about TMI? If so, maybe skip this bit. Lots of info ahead re: anatomy and chafing**
i. Top half – Before leaving, I actually tried so hard to research what to wear under my jersey before leaving because I had NO idea what protocol was, and couldn’t find anything helpful. So in the end, I did not wear anything under my jersey. I realise this doesn’t apply to everyone, but I do not need bra support of any kind to avoid backaches or whatnot, and I don’t subscribe to the idea that nipples are inherently evil. Some people apparently wear a light tank under their jersey to help with sweat / avoid nipple chafing, but neither Josh nor I found this was necessary. Top commando all the way!

ii. Bottom half – Here’s something I just found out on this trip (thanks Velodonnas!): Bike shorts are meant to be worn commando (whaaa?) and chamois (pronounced “shammy,” dear casual diehards) cream is to be liberally applied to both short-chamois and human-chamois to prevent chafing of your sensitive bits. Dutifully before leaving, I purchased my very own Hoo Ha Ride Glide Chamois Cream and divvied it up into carry-on-friendly containers for the flight over. However. I feel unfit to give an accurate review of Ride Glide’s efficacy since our first bike day was also a day of torrential, unrelenting downpours, and therefore all bits of me – chamois and otherwise – were thoroughly purged of any hint of cream, with no hope of reapplication in the rain. And my sensitive were pretty dang sensitive during subsequent rides. Nevertheless, I did use Ride Glide daily with reapplication after 3-4 hours of riding, and found it helped especially to reduce chafing in the inguinal crease.

As far as application goes, I did not love the euphemistic instructions given by the chamois bottle (WHICH nooks and crannies?!), so here goes my own version:
**More TMI warnings ahead!! But if you’ve been okay with nipples and inguinal creases, you’ll probably be okay with the following** Apply a generous (at least loonie-size) dollop of cream to the perineal body, posterior labial commissure, and over both labia majorum. Then take another very generous dollop and spread over both inguinal creases, right down to the gluteal fold.

Moral of the story: Be comfortable. If you find wearing a bra helps your back and neck ache less, do it. If you find wearing a bra just makes you sweat more, get rid of it. If your inguinal creases are peachy keen but you are feeling itchy and sore behind your knees, try some chamois cream there. Our bodies are chatty and like to inform us of how they’re feeling – don’t be afraid to listen and look for solutions to address its specific concerns!

And now, just enjoy the good ride 🙂

Off the trail

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For this trip, while I was struggling to get through my first year of Clerkship (third year of Medicine), Josh outdid himself in travel agent mode and spectacularly organized all accommodations on the booked-months-in-advance Cabot Trail, as well as ensuring that we had adequate time between cycling days to rest our mountain-naïve bones. Our first rest day was spent in a state of relative shock. Having survived Deluge Day 1 on the trail – which consisted not only of 100 km of riding, but also approximately 100 litres of water absorbed into our bike shorts – we did little else in Chéticamp except consume large quantities of of donair pizza and poutine at Wabos Pizza Sub & Donair (not sure what it is about donair and Cape Breton, but it’s everywhere and it’s excellent), as well as Nova Scotian Jost Vineyards “Great Big Friggin’ Red,” which was much like the province itself: hilariously unpretentious on the surface, but addictively delightful once sampled. (Also, surprisingly elusive – while I faithfully trolled each wine list and LC for the rest of the trip, I have yet to track down another bottle of GBFR, much to my distress.)

Our peaceful porch at Albert’s Motel

Assembly line lunch-making, optimistically assuming we WILL be able to eat lunch without it drowning on the trail the next day:

Where we’ve come from, where we’re headed:

We rolled into Pleasant Bay, aka Rest Day 2, only moderately soaked this time: we nearly escaped the rain on Trail Day 2 except for our final half hour of riding, when we encountered our first mountain descent, highway construction, and a sudden downpour all at once. However, our Airbnb accommodations had not only a private bathroom with beautifully fluffy towels (real towels quickly become one of the greatest luxuries when using travel towels for any length of time), but also one of the largest and most comfortable beds ever known to cyclist-kind. We lay down just for a moment to talk about our evening plans… and woke up 2 hours later, ready for anything 🙂 Our Airbnb host Jeff had left not only a 20% off coupon for the restaurant where he worked, but tips on when the live music started – one of the many advantages to staying with a local! We ended up at The Mountain View Restaurant 2 evenings in a row to enjoy their enormously generous glasses of wine and literal toe-tapping local fiddle music and Highland dance. In between Mountain View visits, we spent our time on the Pleasant Bay beach, a mere 5 minute walk down the hill from our house. The mesmerizing sound of the waves dragging beach pebbles along the shore and the odd beauty of lobster traps piled against the harbour made for a delicious way to pass an afternoon.

View from the porch:

Pleasant Bay beach day:

Mountain View does not skimp on wine!

Of COURSE we would bump into a fellow Winnipegger staying at the same Airbnb… Judy, hearing your voice in the hallway was the best surprise of the trip! 🙂

Rest Day 3 was undoubtedly the pinnacle of the rest days, and in some ways, the pinnacle of the trip. To arrive at Hideaway Campground in Dingwall, our Trail Day 3 destination, we had to summit North Mountain, the most challenging ascent on the trail, made even more daunting by the fact that, for the first time, we had to cycle in blazing sun and the subsequent heat that accompanied this rare Cape Breton phenomenon, as well as manoeuvre through kilometres of construction over the slope of the mountain. Having successfully negotiated all the above, we rolled into Hideaway and made our way to our most delightful accommodations yet: The Lighthouse. (When our bike guy heard Josh had booked the Lighthouse, he went into rhapsodies of acclamation for Josh’s excellent planning, since apparently this is the most coveted spot to stay on the island).

Waking up to this view every morning made every gruesome turn of the pedals up North Mtn well worth it:

That evening, we walked the two kilometres or so to the “Secret Beach” whose existence had been hinted at by our previous Airbnb host. The Hideaway staff member had assured us that it was a sprawling white sand beach, “Just like Verrraderrro, Cooooba” (those are not rolled Latino Rs, mind you, but rather the piratey Nova Scotian variety). While not precisely like Varadero, it was beautiful, secluded, and the definition of restful.

The following morning, our actual Rest Day 3, was definitely the least restful of the rest days, but in the best possible way: We cycled 5 minutes down the highway (in city clothes, which just felt wrong after growing accustomed to padded shorts and jerseys!) to Eagle North Kayak, where we spent the afternoon with local sea kayaking guide Mike and 4 lovely tourists from Ohio. Together, we navigated the sea-bird strewn marshes and white-capped waves of the wild Atlantic. Then, to cap off an already-perfect afternoon, Mike offered Josh & I the use of his kids’ paddleboards to try in his harbour.


We had grand plans to go out for a lavish dinner that night, but realised no view could top the one from our own cabin porch. So, we cycled to the Red Store (aka the one store in the entire Aspy Bay area), artfully packed slices of Donair pizza and cold beer into our paniers, and enjoyed a delectable evening of star-gazing from the Lighthouse.

Trail Days 4 and 5 were back to back, with no rest days in between. We detoured off the official Cabot Trail on Trail Day 4, following the serendipitous advice of a local we chatted with while buying ice cream, who advised us to veer off onto the Coastal Loop to avoid the horrendous construction that had taken over South Mountain. Not only did we successfully avoid all construction, but the Coastal Loop views and unavoidable encounter with the Neil Harbour Chowderhouse made the detour well worth it.

Trail Day 5 was beautiful and bittersweet, both looking forward to the triumph of completing the trail and dreading the end of such a spectacular journey. We stretched it out, enjoying a languid brunch of bacon-ginger pannekoeken at The Dancing Moose Cafe, celebrating not only our grand journey on the trail, but also our 6th wedding anniversary. When we got married 6 years ago, we had no way of imagining all the adventures we have since experienced and written about on this blog… so I can only imagine what we’ll look back on in another 6 years!

On the trail

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There are two maps one uses when cycling the Cabot Trail, and one is infinitely more useful than the other.

The first is a regular map that shows the trail (a paved, two-lane road shared by cyclists and motor vehicles alike) making a circle of the northern half of Cape Breton, with really no exits or intersections. There’s no way to get lost on this trail, so there’s really no need for this one.

The second map, however, is the elevation map, which essentially looks like the EKG of a mouse on steroids. It does not take long to learn that your sense of distance will not be measured by street signs, but rather by the number and steepness of ascents and descents left til your destination.

Here we go!!

Elevation treated us well for the first day. Tyler the Bike Guy drove us to the trailhead in Baddeck, from which we pedalled 97km. This is less masochistic than it sounds since this was the flattest leg of the journey and we figured it was best to make as much headway as possible.

Our “What have we gotten ourselves into?!” faces, when Tyler drove away from us in Baddeck and we realised we actually had to face the trail alone…

About a quarter of the way into the day, however, the clouds grew ominous.

They have a saying in this sea-battered part of the world that goes “if you don’t like the weather in Cape Breton, just wait 15 minutes.” Not to cast doubt on the local wisdom, but after 15 minutes of the skies opening up and casting off their icy burden of rain-bullets on us, we were starting to doubt the local wisdom. A lesser deluge may have dampened our spirits, but it was impossible not to laugh in the face of this frigid 4-hour baptism of precipitation. By the time we arrived at a dining establishment (we had packed sandwiches, but knew they would disintegrate in an instant if we took them out of their bags), we were squeaky-clean and smelled fresher than any cyclist ever has.

(Apologies to the Belle View restaurant in Margaree, however, for leaving such colossal puddles on your floor. Thanks for the hot chocolate!)

We arrived in Chéticamp that evening, wrung out our clothes and our bones, and rested in the satisfaction that it was all uphill from here (har har)…

Limbering up for Trail Day 2:

One blissful rest-day and one corny elevation pun later, we embarked on Trail Day 2. This was technically our shortest trail day, barring the fact that two mountains stood between us and our next stop in Pleasant Bay. We bid à bientot to Chéticamp, relishing the freedom of carrying nothing but the panniers that hung from our bicycles. And then the mountain came.

Leaving Chéticamp and facing the road ahead

My last experience with mountains was Cuba’s Pico Gayón, which for me was definitely a Pyrrhic victory. I technically made it to the top, but not without leaving every ounce of decorum, pride, and excess oxygen behind. Needless to say, I was nervous for this.

Fortunately, Sara had used her med-student authority (they don’t legally have any, except over their spouses) to get me to pick up a secret weapon before this trip, and for this I will be forever grateful. Armed with my nifty new inhaler, I could feel my lungs working their hardest without ever experiencing that familiar burn and tightness that would have previously forced me to pull over. As the incline steepened, I shifted to the lowest gear and hunkered down for the long haul. Progress was comically slow, but always steady, and every switchback revealed a majestic new cove or inlet filled with the sparkling Atlantic. It was a redemptive experience, to say the least.

Our first “real” ascent… oh, how innocent we were then!

These were the ascents. Day 3’s was undoubtedly the most brutal, with the blazing sun and a 13% grade (that’s a third steeper than the aforementioned Arlington Bridge…and for four unrelenting kilometres!). By Day 5’s ascent, however, we felt like naturals.



Then came the descents. While the ascents did feel less daunting as we became accustomed to them, we never became desensitized to the thrill of careening down mountainsides on two wheels, or that perfect balance of self-reliance and surrender.

Trail Day 1 graciously provided us with what I like to call our ‘training mountain’ (and before the deluge, no less!). Less than half the height of the next days’ mountains, we still pulled over after the descent to exclaim to each other about the drawn-out adrenaline rush we had just experienced. Such wonderful prairie innocence.

If you ever see a photo or postcard from the Cabot Trail, it’s probably of Day 2’s Mackenzie Mountain. Its harrowing switchbacks tumbling toward the ocean make for a fantastic aerial shot. They also make for a steep learning curve (pun inevitable) for flatlanders like us, especially when combined with a sudden downpour at the last minute and a lot of construction. This descent felt the most challenging, as we rapidly learned that switchbacks need to be taken very slowly, especially since it’s impossible to see more than fifty feet in front of you. Still, as the ground levelled out at the bottom we felt we had truly reached a milestone in our cycling careers.

Far be it from me to judge billion-year-old landforms, but in my opinion Day 3’s North Mountain is undoubtedly the best… both in the traditional sense of wonderful, as well as in the more masochistic sense of most challenging and therefore ultimately most rewarding. Its monstrous height (the tallest on the entire trail) combines with slightly gentler curves than Mackenzie Mountain that allow a rider to reach ludicrous speeds while fully taking in the vastness of the landscape. The momentary rush of adrenaline becomes a prolonged state of mind as the descent lasts long enough to alternate multiple times between shrieks of glee and deep contemplations of one’s own insignificance in the face of nature’s magnificence. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Day 4 lacked any major mountains (though it did contain some major seafood chowder), which brings us to Day the Last, which included the talk of the proverbial town: Cape Smokey. Frequently, when we’d tell people our general itinerary, they would respond with “Oh, so you haven’t done Smokey yet!” Though not nearly as tall as Mackenzie or North Mountains, they were always keen to inform us about how steep it was. One Cape Bretoner in particular reassured us that “It doesn’t matter if I’m in a car(rrr) or a bike, I just close my eyes and hope for the best!”

And though we kept our eyes open the entire time, I can see their point. If North Mountain was thrilling on a spiritually-moving level, Smokey was just pure fun, a roller coaster with no seatbelts. The ocean felt closer than it did on any of the previous descents, and there were a few spots that zigged and zagged so wildly (and seemingly unnecessarily) that I actually laughed out loud. Yet just as the roar of the wind in our ears reached a deafening climax, the ground levelled out and it was all over. This daunting task that we had set for ourselves was complete, and besides some very sore knees we were undefeated.

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The last few hours on the trail were not unlike the last few hours of summer camp: calm, relatively uneventful, and bittersweet as we knew this adventure was coming to a close. The Englishtown ferry met us at the end of a long spit of land hardly wider than the road itself, a surreal iron barge after a week of tiny fishing boats. Our two bikes were dwarfed between SUVs and Winnebagos, and there on the other side stood Tyler the Bike Guy like an ode to narrative symmetry. As he kindly secured our bikes to the rack on the back of his car, we bid farewell to a place that had simultaneously tested and enchanted us more than most places could in less than a week’s time.

Home stretch, cradled by the ocean

Iaith fyw

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Getting to Wales is no easy task. Despite being neatly nestled in England’s bosom, it took us no less than four trains to get there. Mists became heavier, and place names wildly more exotic, as we approached the legendary birthplace of Merlin. Upon boarding the last train we were greeted by this:

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Now, many an Englishperson had told us that Welsh was basically a dead language. But as we passed signs bidding us ‘Croeso’ to places such as Lladundon and Gwynydd, it became clear that we were in a very bilingual country…more bilingual, even, than Canada!

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This comparison between Welsh and Canadian bilingualism got me thinking. It’s not a fair comparison, because Canada’s two languages are both colonial, whereas Welsh is a native (in the most general meaning of the word) language that survives despite the presence of English. A more appropriate comparison would be between English (or French, in Quebec) and the multitude of First Nations languages that have been present for thousands of years.

What has allowed Welsh to survive while less than 1% of Canadians still claim a First Nations language as their mother tongue? And what can Canada learn from the Welsh success? As Canada tries to recover from centuries of colonization, these are definitely things worth addressing (though this applies to the nation as a whole, I will speak only to my own experience, which is in Manitoba).

The obvious answer to this question is financial support. The UK government pours significant amounts of money every year into keeping Welsh alive. All official signage and documentation are in both Welsh and English, with Welsh usually being more prominent. The majority of schools in Wales are taught in Welsh, and basic Welsh is mandatory throughout all grades even in English-language schools.

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Meanwhile in Manitoba, public text does not include First Nations languages until the 58th parallel (which is basically Churchhill and that’s it), and schools must design their own curricula and materials if they want to teach a First Nations language.

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The most common objection to the use of First Nations languages in public institutions (including schools) is that there are simply too many of them. In some respects this is valid: it would be impossible to choose a single language to represent the diversity of a land this massive. But considering that 30 Waleses could fit into Manitoba alone, it is not unreasonable to propose that the Wales-sized plot of land around Winnipeg could include Anishinabe in its public texts while the Wales-sized plot of land stretching from The Pas to Gillam could include Cree, etc.

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The next anticipated objection is that a country cannot function when divided into so many linguistic groups. To counter this, we jump ahead in our voyage to Switzerland. Quite possibly the most stable country in all of history, it is split into four distinct language districts. Street signs, schools, and even food labels switch languages entirely within the same country. In fact, while visiting the Italian-speaking canton, our Swiss German cousin had to speak to the gas attendant in English to be understood. Yet the Swiss are undoubtedly Swiss, and have been for 800 years.

It’s sometimes tempting to believe that language extinction is just a Darwinian fact of life, and that any attempt to fight natural selection is just prolonging the inevitable. In the case of Latin, for example, this is very true. In the case of First Nations languages, however, their pending extinction is entirely unnatural. The systematic destruction of these languages was never inevitable, but rather was artificially imposed in the relatively recent past. This suggests that it is entirely possible to reverse the disappearance of these languages if we support their use in public institutions. Obviously this would not entirely resolve the centuries of distrust between Canada and First Nations communities, but it would be a significant step, and would ensure that the unique perspectives offered by those languages are not lost.

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Springtime in Gillam

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The sky is literally (yes, Phil Cook, literally) on fire with the most beautiful of sunrises as I pass Ashern on the last southbound Greyhound I will take for a long time. It was a complete but emotional goodbye yesterday afternoon. How often, at the end of a practicum block, do you get to visit your students working at the Co-op, and then see their younger siblings biking in puddles outside your apartment shouting ‘tansi!’, or have pyjama-clad brunch with all your favourite teachers?

Time, therefore, to catch up on some blogging, while these memories are still as fresh as the heaps of snow that seems to have disappeared some time during the night. Geez, tropical Winnipeg!

Gillam Round Two began with an epically northern evening. I was faintly aware of something called the Hudson Bay Quest, in which mushers from all around the world race across 300km of open tundra between Churchill and Gillam. I was eating butter chicken at Gillam D’Lite, the best (read: only) restaurant in town, when we received a text offering us a ride to the edge of Stephen’s Lake to see the first mushers riding. So my CT and I jumped into the eccentric science teacher’s truck and joined the small crowd of spectators around a raging campfire on the frozen beach. Among said crowd were students, parents, and a few dreadlocked Minnesotan punks who had come out to cheer their dad across the finish line.

After a few minutes of mingling and shivering, a shout pierced the darkness: “Here comes number one!”

Sure enough, a tiny LED light was visible on the other side of the lake. We watched in anticipation. We kept watching. Then we realized that that light was still a full mile away, pulled by some very tired dogs. So we saved our voices for about twenty more minutes, then cheered for the musher and his nine-dog crew as he slid up the shore. We admired his icicled beard, and the voracity with which the dogs devoured their reward of fresh caribou.

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This process was repeated three more times, along with some tearful embraces by the wives of the men that are crazy enough to do this sort of thing. Eventually we started to run out of forklift palettes to throw on the fire, and decided it was time to call it a night. As my good buddy and roommate Reid would say, “That’s so northern!”

The remainder of Gillam Round Two was less bloggable, but possibly even more memorable thanks to the wonderful people that make this town…

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A very multicultural Easter dinner with our apartment gang, which variously resembled the cast of Friends, Will & Grace, or Seinfeld (along with regular arguments about who was the Kramer)

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Staff versus student basketball game. I can now cross “give a 15-year-old girl a black eye” off my bucket list. Though we both agree that SHE ran into MY elbow.

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The first day of spring is a perfect excuse to wear shorts, even in -22°C.

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A couple of the fantastic middle years students (photo used with permission!) that showed up for our Pysanka workshop. We had a great time hanging out all evening and making some beautiful (if unusual) Ukrainian Easter eggs.

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My EA friend, Wendell, and his buddy Stephen generously invited me along for an afternoon of goose hunting. It turned out to be an afternoon of storytelling and shooting rounds into snowbanks for fun, but an excellent time nonetheless.

I understand that a town as tiny as Gillam is very much characterized by the individuals who live there, so I count myself very fortunate to have been there when I was, since I cannot imagine a better bunch of people to spend time with!

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ᓈᑫ ᑲᐚᐸᒥᑎᐣ!

Spaceships and Sled-Dogs

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Ahh, Gypsy’s Bakery. Three weeks ago I’d picked up a brochure in Thompson, stating that this magical culinary outpost, lovechild of a Portugese man and an Azorean woman who for some unknown reason wound up here on the sunny banks of Hudson Bay, was the last stop on Manitoba’s Cinnamon Bun Trail (as sought after as the Northwest Passage!). It was right.
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Reid is in heaven.
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…and so am I. And not just because we haven’t eaten in 15 hours (though that definitely doesn’t hurt their reputation here!)
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Well-energized for the second half of our tour, we boarded Mr. Inglebritzen’s bus once again. He drove us south, back to the tree line, to some of Churchill’s off-season attractions.

After gunning through some impressive snowbanks, we arrived at the Miss Piggy, a plane that crashed here almost 40 years ago. Fortunately there were no casualties (from the crash, nor from our crawling around inside the completely unbarricaded wreckage).
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Next was the polar bear jail. Though currently empty, this is where overly aggressive polar bears are kept during migration season, until they can be released out onto the bay to join their families. Of course, our friendly guide doesn’t believe in aggressive polar bears. He only believes in stupid people wandering alone in the dead of night carrying meat in their backpacks. Still gotta research this tidbit.
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A bear trap. Not a smart place to stand for too long.
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Polar bear tracks. We were assured that they were old, due to how wind-swept they are, but we jumped back on the bus pretty fast after this.
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A brief viewing of the old rocket tower, where Canada shot unmanned satellites into space in the ’70s to research the Northern Lights.
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As we approached the end of Churchill’s enclosed network of roads, we came across a beautiful husky. Then another. Then another. These are the Dog Fields, where purebred Inuit sled dogs are being re-bred after being nearly becoming extinct during the worst of Canada’s assimilation attempts. The males are on long chains, and the females are left free to wander around and mate with whomever they choose (I suppose females are better judges of pedigree). Fortunately they had just been fed massive bricks of caribou meat, so they were in very good moods.
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As I took this picture (no zoom), I was grateful for the bus door separating me from this potentially vicious wild animal. Of course, Mr. Inglebritzen decided that was a good time to swing the door open, leaving me no choice but to face my fear…
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…which turned out to be ridiculously friendly, and luxuriously soft to pet.
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We howled at each other for a bit, and then she ran back for some more caribou.
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En route back to Churchill, I pondered what it must be like to be the last tree.
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Having finished our tour of the Greater Churchill Area, we hit the main drag on foot. What really struck me was that, although Churchill is the pride and joy of Manitoban tourism, it clearly identifies more with Nunavut. Many of the signs are in Inuktitut (which, sadly, is only distantly related to Cree), they sell Nunavut postcards (which kind of seemed like cheating, but I bought one anyway), and the following clipping from the Nunavut News was posted in the museum:
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Gotta love the North. And don’t forget the Nunavut Health Board’s food guide, reminding you to get your protein from sources such as beluga and seals, among others.
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Just off the main drag is the community centre which, for the purpose of keeping people from having to go outside on a -60 day, combines the rec centre, hospital, and school all under one roof. Sara and I could actually work in the same building one day!
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(Fun fact, during October, the admin carry rifles at recess to ward off polar bears. My career aspirations were heightened upon hearing this.)

The Arctic Trading Company is filled with incredible hand-made art and tools…and husky puppies (Noah, this was for you).
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And Mr. Donnelly, I thought as a former box factory employee you might appreciate this. Could be a business merger in the works?
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A blissfully exhausted supper at, you guessed it, Gypsy’s Bakery.
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A huge thank-you to Julie for sharing your ‘bail-out guy’, Mr. Inglebritzen for the incredible tour, Hélène for driving us to and from the train station at the most ridiculous hours, and all my Gillam friends for sharing this unforgettable day!

Good night, Churchill!
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(approximately 3:15 pm 🙂 )