Old Toronto

I decided to detour from the picturesque northerly TCT route that decended leisurely into Toronto and instead take the fast "Great Lakes Waterfront Trail" ... which for the first 10 miles really didn't live up to its name. It was hard not to graffiti "BS" on every proud sign I passed that declared the route and was at least a mile "inland" on a horrid highway. However, I didn't really care, Toronto was in my sights and Saturday night was buffed fresh from the gym, had ironed his hot pants, and was hot to trot baby!

I cruised into town to some classic dance tracks, weaved in and out of 6 lane highways, and surprised even myself at not being hit by a tram.

I'd thankfully managed to get a last minute WS host from my most reliable demographic....old touring retirees.

John and Debbie have this fantastic 110+ year old (really, really old for Canada) end of terrace property, ("row houses" as they can them here), in Cabbagetown. It's a beautiful neighbourhood; possibly one of the oldest surviving residential area in the country, whose community had sternly put their collective foot down against rampant redevelopment and engulfing cityscape in favour of homes not high-rises.

Toronto has a similar feeling to Montreal - its little brother up river - in the fact that it's a very grid-oriented city on the banks of the St Lawrence, and although it has some open spaces at the feet of the towerblocks, green parks (complete with large homeless community and obvious drugs and mental health issues), and a pretty harbour front, it didn't appear to have a definitive physical center to which the masses flocked...but there was definitely a noticeable underground pulse.

I headed to Kensington Market - not one particular place but a vibrant mishmash district of small traders, street food vendors, and stinky wafts of the hundreds of varieties of cannabis on sale. It's a good thing that my panniers run at 90% capacity, with only space for 1 or 2 day's food; shopping just isn't an option.

On the way down to the city, deep down some terrifyingly steep steps and into the Don River valley, I'd stopped at a park bench where a little dog called Courage bounded over closely followed by his owner. We both approached the bench at the same time so it was an odd stand-off type moment, but there was certainly room for two. An hour later and I was still nonstop chatting and laughing with this wonderful Ghanaian lady called Effia who in her spare time organised events for homeless women....we talked about a million BIG things, like why we were here, where we were going, how to be happy, etc, and when, towards the end, I asked her what I should do in Toronto, she said without hesitation: "Go Clubbing! You need to dance! Dance in Toronto!"

She'd obviously never seen me dance. There may even be bylaws against such travesties, but Effia's energy and insistence was undeniable. After a month of making my own decisions it was actually quite a relief; I had my orders.

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