2023 Letter

How in the hell did people build a railway across three mountain ranges, hundreds of kilometres from civilization, in only a few years? I can’t imagine it being proposed today, but something that audacious was completed in the 1800s.

Their goal was to create a unified Canada, to join the developed Eastern part with British Columbia before it could be absorbed into the US. Back then the west coast was a different world, disconnected from the mass of Canada’s population along the St. Lawrence by both this mountain range and the lawless, sparsely populated Prairies. They had plenty of motivation, but it still seems like an impossible task.

I had plenty of time to take in the scenery and speculate about the past averaging under 20 km/h crossing these mountains. 140 years ago feels impossibly distant today, but what I did read from Pierre Berton’s “The Great Railway” was humanizing.  Hearing of the same political conflicts, corruption and oppression makes it more relatable. But also a provocation to do something more, a reminder that big uncertain problems can be overcome through force of will.

Motivation

My journey started in BC, 5 days after finishing my PhD. I would bike across Canada. 

I’d been living in Vancouver, comfortably. After barely a year in the corporate lifestyle I was in a one bedroom apartment, working a nice job with pleasant coworkers, not thinking twice about $6 coffees.  Bought an Xbox and TV for the first time. A reminder of childhood, playing Call of Duty MW2, a remake of the last game I’d played in high school. Living the dream of my teenage self, snowboarding at Whistler, in the backcountry, and mountain biking on the best trails in the world. Finally I’d came to the mountains after years of academics. I had chosen university instead of following friends to the mountains after high school, and again made the same choice after undergrad.

I’d put off going to the mountains because Waterloo had called for me, with dreams of fixing medical diagnosis with machine learning. At least until partly through the PhD, where under the cover of Covid I finally went to Vancouver. Thankfully my supervisor, Alex Wong, was incredibly helpful in guiding my disconnected research into a coherent thesis. With the defence approaching, I was conveniently laid off work, given the choice to accept another job offer, keep living the comfortably or do something more exciting?

I bought a new bike a couple weeks before the defence, and a couple days after getting the PhD, I packed up and left.

British Columbia

Starting at the Pacific Ocean, the route winds eastward following the Fraser River. Nicer than expected for the first couple days, riding through the scenic valley, not up the mountains that have been in the distance since leaving Vancouver. Passing antique farm equipment beside the road, watching logs float down the river, getting acquainted to bike touring. But as the kilometres pass the mountains close in, the valley bottom is shrinking, and you know at some point there is nowhere to go but up.

Hope, BC is the end of the line for the casual ride. The setting of Rambo, where the Fraser and Coquihalla Rivers connect, surrounded by imposing mountains. Not in the chill, coastal areas of moderate temperatures, flat roads and multicultural food availability. It’s beautiful, but looking forward to the imposing mountains you know things are getting serious.

Just before the mountain begins there’s an empty parking lot on the side of the road. It has one of those old signs indicating some kind of historical significance. I was looking for a break, so why not check this out? It explained the road was built during WWII by imprisoned Japanese. We’d heard about this during school, but 14 year olds don’t always realize the significance. Overshadowed by injustices further away and more horrible like slavery. But I think we have more to learn from things that happened so recently, during the time of our grandparents, when the fear of war allowed people’s worst instincts to flourish.

Pedaling for hours thousands of meters up a mountain clears the mind of any of these abstract concerns. Up the mountain, through the remote but beautiful Manning Park, and back down towards Princeton. 

The landscape transforms while descending into interior BC. No more coastal rainforest or harsh mountains, instead a patchwork of vineyards and fruit orchards, stretching across an arid, almost desert like terrain. The heat was intense, with temperatures soaring to the mid 30s, and the risk of wildfires remained large. The hottest day of the trip was in the steep valleys from Keremeos to Kelowna. Nearly unbearable, but upon reaching the Okanagan rain appeared, a blessing to keep the forest fires and smoke under control. I’d been lucky to avoid the worst of the fires in BC.

Abandoned railways stood as reminders of the past throughout interior BC. Boom and bust cycle of innovation and overbuilding. Just like today, innovation often comes with exuberance, and although the main cross Canada railroad remains useful, changing economic conditions made many of these interior BC railroads uneconomic. 

But the biggest cost of ambition is on the human side, with the hundreds killed building the railroad, especially low wage Chinese labourers. The highway could have been built without the needless suffering caused by the government, but that’s probably not true of the railway. Interesting that now the Chinese have the most impressive railroads, while Canada and the US have lost ambition.

The middle mountain range, Rogers Pass, was the most epic part of the journey. I’d intended to camp on the mountain, but with too much energy I continued on, climbing to the top. Feeling relief of conquering the mountain, yet so insignificant still dwarfed by the snowy peaks above. It is a wild contrast when you were just in the warm Okanagan. And after a climb like that there is nothing better than the reward of hurling down the other side of the mountain, amidst the beautiful scenery, averaging 50km/h.

After a couple more rainy hours in the dark, I’d made my way to Golden for a well needed rest day. Next there was another mountain range to cross, with more beautiful scenery and more reminders of the railway until I reached Alberta. I stopped for the night in an overcrowded campground in Banff.

Prairies

With the rockies receding into the distance behind, a wave of relief washed over me as I cycled into Calgary. The mostly downhill ride from Banff was beautiful, and I arrived just in time to meet my brother and catch the last few days of the stampede. I wasn’t even 2 weeks into the journey, but the most physically difficult part was over. I’d had some knee pain in the weeks leading up to it, so was terrified the journey could be cut short. And the timing was perfect, a few needed rest days and the Stampede in the best place in North America.

While it isn’t so loved by upper middle class university graduates, Alberta is the wealthiest part of Canada, and its oil has made Canada the 4th biggest producer in the world. This oil money and optimistic attitude has given it highest human development index of all of North America. For years it has long been the place people from my hometown of Sydney moved to for economic opportunities. A place where the ambitious can build a new life after their home has fallen into economic depression.

Leaving Calgary felt like leaving Vancouver.

While it was a huge relief to have conquered the most physically challenging part of the ride, the vast expanse of prairies and then the wilderness of northern Ontario meant a different kind of challenge. It would take a solid month to get to the next familiar place, Southern Ontario. The day before leaving I had some more of the “what are you even doing” feelings, knowing I wouldn’t meet any friends across this part of the journey.

The first couple days in the prairies was exciting, taking in landscapes that were foreign to me, passing endless fields and roaming livestock. It was as flat and far as I’d expected, and in the hot July weather it was a character building experience. In contrast to BC there was hardly any shade, instead baking for hours under the midday sun. It was here that I truly understood the wonders of capitalism. Spotting the Golden Arches in the distance was like seeing an oasis. Air conditioning, cheap calories and caffeine made McDonald’s perfect for a weary, hungry, and overheated cyclist. For the first time in my life I was consistently choosing pop over the healthier options - high fructose corn syrup and caffeine are the perfect energy source. I can finally relate to the happiness of people in beverage commercials.

My journey across the prairies mostly followed the Trans-Canada, with the exception of taking some side roads when this made sense. Because it also follows the railroad, there are small villages along the way, leftovers from when railroad was originally built, and the land originally settled. You can’t help but feel the best days of these places are behind them. Vacant houses, and minimal activity outside of cars stopping for gas or a bite to eat. Massive contrast with the situation throughout BC and near Calgary, land here is nearly free, and plenty of available land to build. But with no jobs, and without the attraction of the mountains or the ocean, it remains sparsely populated and desolate. On the other hand many of these towns have cheap or free campsites, and although the prevalence of oil drilling and “fuck Trudeau” flags would be off-putting to most upper middle class Canadians, the people here are friendly and I enjoyed it more than expected.

On a more disgusting note, cycling through the summer means going through swarms of locusts, with them constantly pinging off your legs, and crunching under the tires. Before this I hadn’t understand how these could be some kind of biblical natural disaster.

Since crossing the wide, flat fields of Saskatchewan I’d been waiting for the transition to forest somewhere in Manitoba. But before that, the land changed again. Instead of the wide open prairies, it was now fields separated with lines of trees. Less desolate, but it felt eerie. It looked so similar to the videos I’d seen from Ukraine this year, I almost expected a T72 to pop out of the tree line. It wasn’t just appearance; the soil itself is identical to that found in Ukraine, known as Chernozem. This similarity and the dream of land ownership motivated a wave of Ukrainian immigration to Manitoba in the late 1800s, after the railway made the area accessible. This made Manitoba become home to the largest Ukrainian immigrant population outside of Ukraine. The move from my hometown to Alberta doesn’t seem quite as frightening anymore.

Winnipeg was the last major stop before the transition to the forest in Ontario. I had been warned extensively about the dangerous crime here, but it turned out nicer than expected. They aren’t exaggerating, but because crime is the norm in Vancouver I’m used to it. It’s not like you can lock a bike up outside in Vancouver, and from what I’ve seen during my journey most Canadian cities are no longer safe. Unexpectedly, I liked the architecture here more than any other place in Canada. Following the river into the city led me through beautiful rich neighbourhoods, but in contrast to the maze of identical houses in most subdivisions, here it looked like everyone was trying to stand out, experimenting with interesting designs.

The prairies had been nicer than expected. But next the geographic novelty of mountains or prairies was gone, and it was onto the sparsely populated Canadian shield. 

Canadian Shield

Crossing the barren Canadian Shield in Northern Ontario was the first time I really felt alone.

Even though I was on my own for most of the trip, it doesn’t feel so lonely. The touring bike is quite the conversation starter, and travelling at 20km/h means a lot more interaction, whether in coffee shops, campgrounds, or restaurants. Although Canada isn’t exactly densely populated, there are enough small towns that it doesn’t feel like the wilderness. That changes after leaving Manitoba.

Ontario is almost entirely on the Canadian Shield, a vast expanse of bedrock starting at the edge of Manitoba and ending near southern Ontario. The thin soil is not suitable for farming, so it is mostly sparsely populated forest. Many people mentioned the beauty of northern Ontario to me. They’re not lying, and probably it’s a nice view during a few hours of driving. But after seeing the forest for weeks it was getting old. And it happens to look almost indistinguishable from Cape Breton, where I grew up, so there wasn’t much novelty. I remember passing a sign saying “180km, no gas”, but was incredibly relieved that in this barren area there was still a restaurant. At this restaurant I noticed a rough looking character and had a chat with him. He was drug addicted and homeless, waiting for a bus to Toronto. I guess this is the policy there.

My tires had finally worn out after crossing half of Canada in Thunder Bay, the big city in northern Ontario.  Choosing bigger tires, from 38 to 47 mm was a lifesaver, allowing me to stay in control on the edge of the thin highways through the rest of northern Ontario. This made me deeply suspicious of bike manufacturers, why is it that such a simple change is so much better, yet for years all bikes had small tires? I’d bought the bike a couple weeks before the journey started in Vancouver, and at this point was grateful I’d chosen something decent. I had no issues up until this point, and it would stay this way until the final day of the trip.

I noticed almost every Canadian town has a Chinese restaurant. I guess this was just a safe way for an immigrant to make a living, but it must have been difficult to move to such small places. And the image is transforming today, I wonder about the shift from Chinese food being low status to high status, hotpot could easily become the cool food. Just like how their manufactured products went from the symbol of cheapness to the best, maybe the more cultural exports will raise in status too. And going from extremely low wage labour on the Canadian railways to building out the most extensive high speed rail in the world. Ambition works.

By the time I reached Sault St. Marie I’d almost forgotten cycling could be enjoyable. But here I met an old friend from university, a blessing after so many days in the wilderness. He was working at the steel plant, I forgot that Canadians still do this! And after leaving, the roads changed entirely. I was in Mennonite country, with horses and buggies and farmer’s markets replacing the desolate northern forests. Instead of getting passed by massive trucks on a thin highway in the cold rain, I was cruising through quaint farmlands.

I cycled from Tobermory to Waterloo in a day. Wasn’t even sure the number of kilometres, probably 260-280, including some dirt roads and wrong turns. Arriving in the pitch black, at 11pm, it was the most excited I’ve ever been to arrive in Waterloo.

Along the St. Lawrence

After weeks of Northern Ontario, Waterloo was quite a relief. But it wasn’t the same Waterloo as when I’d been there before, the friends and acquaintances were mostly gone after years of covid and finishing the last part of my PhD remotely. It doesn’t help that in late August, with most students gone, Waterloo feels like a ghost town. Nevertheless It was nice to see the few friends who were still there, and to see how the city and campus had changed after years in my masters / PhD there. But it felt good to leave, I hadn’t had the best time while I was there, and it was even weirder to be back.

I’d been unnecessarily worried about the next part of the journey through Southern Ontario. I’d assumed cycling through the most densely populated part of Canada would involve horrible traffic and confusing, identical suburbs. Thankfully cycling here isn’t like driving, there are tons of designated bike trails and less busy side roads that are perfect for riding. Not to mention the nice weather, being able to get a morning coffee, and easily available food. You appreciate it so much more after the limited access for weeks in the wilderness.

People talk about the vibe of a city, or feel a city can encourage something. I’ve heard that LA tells you to be famous, NY tells you to be rich, and SF tells you to make software. Canadian cities have their own version of this, and riding between Toronto, Ottawa, Montreal and Quebec in a short time was a good way to feel it. Toronto is what you’d expect, busy and ambitious, extremely multicultural and dynamic, but unfortunately crowded and relatively lacking in nature. Ottawa has an entirely different vibe, much more laid back, and much more “middle class” feeling, almost like it is telling you to get a stable government job and raise a family. I don’t understand Quebec City, to be honest all I felt was tourism. Montreal was different. I’m familiar with Ottawa, Toronto, and Vancouver (which tells you to climb a mountain), but Montreal is different. For some reason in Montreal I felt less pressure to be ambitious, more that it was ok to chill, enjoy life, art and culture. At least that’s how I felt for the few days I was there. In contrast to the stereotype about Quebec, people were extremely nice. Free drinks at a bar, and at the most cool/bizarre coffee shop in Montreal, complete with Nintendo games, K’NEX ferris wheel and some jungle gym style seating.

The ride was beautiful all along the St.Lawrence until Rivière-du-Loup, with nice scenery, lots of bike paths, and meeting old friends. Here it was finally time to go south, and enter the Maritimes. The last part of the journey, which I assumed would be the easiest.

Maritimes

After the difficulty of northern Ontario and the excitement of the cities along the St. Lawrence I expected a casual last week close to home in the Maritimes. But the adventure wasn’t over yet. Crossing New Brunswick from west to east on Highway 11, I was in terrain as remote as any I’d encountered, as barren as northern Ontario, and even less traffic. It was here that I saw a moose for the first time during the trip, just as the sun was setting and I was looking for a place off the side of the road to sleep. Camping in the woods that night was uncomfortable, and without much of any sleep I set off at 3:30am. It was a long ride to Moncton, but what a relief to arrive.

It would have been nice go to Halifax, but a storm was coming and I didn’t want to extend my trip past 2.5 months. It was time to end the vacation, so at the last minute I changed direction, and went North instead of South after arriving in Nova Scotia.

I wasn’t big on planning, at most a few days ahead I’d figure out where to go. But by the time I’d arrived in Nova Scotia, I’d totally given up. A combination of being weary from the trip, and thinking everything would be easier in a place close to home. This meant more camping in unusual places, like at lighthouse and near the Canso Causeway.

Crossing the Canso Causeway into Cape Breton Island, I felt home. I hadn’t thought much of this place the many times I crossed it as a kid on the way to visit Halifax from my home in Sydney. But now it seems unimaginable that they constructed the deepest causeway in the world, 10 million tons of rock, all for a sparsely populated island in Nova Scotia. Maybe the success of this inspired the other unusually ambitious project in the area, the confederation bridge. I wonder if something like this could be built today.

I finally ran into a couple issues on the last two days of the trip in Cape Breton. I knew of a shortcut near Baddeck, an old road that would bypass a mountain, saving me from more time on the highway. I’d been on the trail years ago, riding ATVs. It didn’t seem so bad back then.

Before even entering this old road my luck ran out. I popped a tire, and while trying to fix it my pump broke. For the first time on the 7000 km journey I was stuck. But luck came back, and within a few minutes I saw other cyclists who lent me their pump. I made it though the shortcut, only having to fix a broken rack owing to the overly rough terrain.

I expected the final day from the Seal Island Bridge to Sydney to be the easiest, less than 50km in the most familiar area. But the Cape Breton roads took their toll on my bike, and with 15km to go I had bent my rim so badly it was scraping the frame and broke some spokes. I kicked it a few times, straightening it out enough to ride, and pushed on to finish the last 15 km.

Home

As I arrived home, I made an unusual choice - skipping he most famous attraction in Cape Breton, the Cabot Trail. Its a scenic coastal road around the rugged, sparsely populated northern part of the island, the perfect end to a bike trip. But as a 12 year old, I’d been disappointed to learn it wasn’t a trail at all, but a paved road. Surprisingly, I’d learned my grandfather’s company was responsible for this, they were the ones who turned the wilderness path to an easily accessible road. My grandfather had survived polio, left school at 13 when his father died to haul coal, and somehow built a massive construction company. I can’t help but feel this entire journey was a bit of an indictment of the ambition of myself and those around me.

Of course, I was incredibly relieved to make it back to my hometown of Sydney, after 7000km across all of Canada, but also with a similar feeling to before I’d left Vancouver. For the first time in my life I hadn’t been home all summer, so it was nice to be back and see family again. But a new adventure was in my sights, there was no “What am I going to do with myself?” situation you might imagine after finishing something big.

I’d wanted to start a business for years, surely there couldn’t be a better time than now to make it happen. Another large, unknown obstacle to tackle, with the same uncertainly and confusion as my cross country journey. The journey wasn’t just a 2.5 month vacation, I may have learned some lessons.

A morning run from my brother’s house in the North End of Sydney took me past the remnants of what was once one of Canada’s largest steel plants. It provided jobs and prosperity for people in the town, including my grandfather and uncle, but now left behind one of the country’s largest environmental disasters, the Sydney Tar Ponds. Now it was all gone, and the thought of building something like that today feels as improbable as constructing a transcontinental railroad.

This level of ambition — the willingness to commit to large, uncertain projects — feels foreign now, a relic of a bygone era. Building the railway, the causeway, or the steel plant required a commitment and faith that seem rare now, even when we have so many advantages of wealth, safety, and knowledge. The journey was a constant reminder of how much less ambitious we are today, and I’m wondering why. Has our tendency to take credit for the sins of our ancestors also led us to internalize their accomplishments? Have we forgotten what it takes to make things happen, thinking progress is automatic? Or is it just that living your teenage dream in Vancouver is just too much nicer than going into the battle?

I’ll start with a more modest ambition, to make a profitable software company. With no business experience, this is adventurous enough for me, for now. Aiming too high would be an excuse to fail. So I went to San Francisco, worked 996, and released a product before Christmas. I’ll get rolling on the software business, and try to remember the lessons of this journey.

This is inspired by Dan Wang’s yearly letters, one of my favorite things to read.