Marc Kitteringham
The cold wet air stuck to the back of my throat. I tucked into the drops, looking up past my bars to the road before me. I was on a seaside road on a foggy February morning in Victoria, BC. I sprinted down the soft decline feeling the air rush past my skin. The road followed the contours of the coast. To my right was an old surf hotel that was once populated by surf bums and transients. To my left was the Pacific. Across the Juan de Fuca strait loomed the distant peaks of the Olympic Mountains. I tucked my head and shifted into the big ring. It was my first time on a road bike in months, and I loved it.
It had been a while since I woke with the intention of going for a ride. Most of my winter had been hibernal, the only riding I did was to commute the mile or so to work and back. Frosty eyelashes and frozen moustaches prevented me from doing any real riding since the snow fell. In my hometown, the snow stays for a good eight months every year. September had been my last big ride and I was jonesing for a chance to get back onto the road. I was visiting my girlfriend in Victoria and she lent me her bike for the day. I took full advantage of the opportunity to explore.
“It is a city of dreamers, hippies, vagrants and end-of-the-liners.”
I rode out of the parking garage and pointed the bike towards the ocean. It took me a few blocks to get used to her frame and her brakes, but by the time the ocean appeared in front of me I had it under control. I took a few passes back and forth along the coast, stopping to stare off over the waves. I’ve always had an appreciation for the sea. The humbling vastness and unimaginable depths of the ocean has always held my attention. In another life I would have been a sailor. Victoria is nestled comfortably between the ocean and the mountains, making it a haven for cyclists and mountain bikers as well as other adventurous types. That mixed with its temperate climate has drawn me there for years. Riding a bike along an ocean-side road was the ultimate goal for me. I am still in awe of the raw power and vastness of the ocean.
The best thing about a new city is the ability to get lost. I spent most of my ride finding new places and exploring the new coves, inlets and crannies of my future home. It held my attention far better than Edmonton ever could, it has strange curved roads, smooth pavement for miles, rolling hills, dense foliage, corners that come suddenly upon the coast. It is where the country ends. At the southernmost and westernmost point in the country, all of the hopes and aspirations collide in this city. It is a city of dreamers, hippies, vagrants and end-of-the-liners. The magic of Victoria is rivaled only by the ‘Frisco of the late 50’s and early 60’s, and the strange port cities of far away worlds.
I crossed the harbour bridge, turning back towards the ocean on the Galloping Goose Trail. It took me to a ramshackle pile of painted driftwood welcoming any ships to Victoria’s harbour. This pile of welcoming wood was the first thing anyone saw upon entering the city. A group of kayakers passed in front of me, and the open ocean stretched away behind them. It truly was the end of the continent.
Along a few more winding roads, flowing trails and swooping turns I rode. It was a seamless city to ride in, the explorations were endless and the seasons made for yearlong riding. I am looking forward to getting lost in the winter fog again.