When I have a day—or even just a half day—to take a ride, I fall into a routine as familiar as slipping into an old pair of jeans. Often, I don’t even think where I’m going. I just go. And more often than not, I go the same way. Yes, of course, there are variations on my route, but they’re often minor. A road I travelled from east-to-west last time I’ll travel from west-to-east this time. But the same-old-routine just doesn’t cut it for the last ride of the season. My last ride of the year has to get me through the drudgery of winter. And that calls for creativity.
Given the unpredictability of weather as mid-October rolls around, heading out for a three-day ride isn’t in the cards. But how do you reinvigorate your riding when the only options are roads you’ve already (over) ridden? That was my challenge this past fall, as it is the challenge every fall.
I live in Simcoe County, northwest of Toronto, and since motorcycle tourism is a big thing in these parts, I began my investigation by going to the official website (experience.simcoe.ca). Because of my familiarity with the region, I knew most of the routes suggested. But the maps were
especially useful as a general overview of the area. And then I got thinking. What if I combined a select few of my favourite roads with some entirely unexpected roads. I began to get excited. But then I hit the wall. What, exactly, is an unexpected road?
For a few days, I rolled the question around in my mind. Are there roads I’ve been avoiding without realizing I’ve been avoiding them? And then one day, while
I was changing the oil in my bike, a lightbulb went off—I’d found my answer. In the middle of the summer, when tourists take over, the natural tendency for a motorcyclist is to head to remote areas, of which we have plenty. That’s plainly obvious. We all do it. But riding in the fall, when the summer tourists have gone, should open up avenues we habitually dismiss. I opened my map of Simcoe and got down to it.
Any tour of Simcoe, in my opinion, needs to start in the village of Creemore. I hit the Bank Café, but the town has plenty of great cafés, you really can’t go wrong. Not only is the coffee excellent at the Bank Café, but the Cubano sandwich is sublime. Do yourself a favour. Have one. With the body sufficiently fueled and the mind fully caffeinated, it was time to hit the road—road number 9. Heading east of Creemore and rising and falling with the escarpment, number 9 is legendary with motorcyclists and bicyclists alike. For good reason. My favourite section is where the road parallels the Mad River, and where quaint cottages are reached by narrow bridges that span rushing waters. I challenge anyone to find a more beautiful road anywhere.
If road number 9 satisfied my desire to work an old favourite into the mix, my next choice of road was decidedly off-piste. Cutting cross country to the legendary summer town of Wasaga Beach, I latched onto River Road East, that winds up the shore of Georgian Bay. This was my stroke of genius. The road is always charming, but in summer it’s full of errant beach balls, couples carrying canoes, and kids having the times of their lives. But in fall, with cottages closed up, and with the only traffic the occasional contractor rushing to get a roof on or an addition finished, it became a great motorcycle road. Not a fast one, mind you, but that makes it even better.
There’s something about an out-of-season ride on a pristine fall day that gives a rider the sense of getting away with something. Through the settlements of New Wasaga Beach, Allenwood Beach, Woodland Beach, Edmore Beach, Danlea Beach and Wendake Beach (do you sense a theme here?) I rode. At Balm Beach, I stopped and planned my next move. At one point in the journey, the road changed name from River Road East to Tiny Beaches Road South. Surely the most appropriate name imaginable.
From Balm Beach it’s an easy cross-country trek northeast to one of the true gems of the region—Awenda National Park. It’s a spectacular, wild park irrespective of the season. But in fall it comes alive. And the roads within the park are excellent—so long as your mind the leaves and the posted limit. And as much as I love a good ride, I also love getting
off the bike and stretching my legs. And with nary a mosquito to be found, fall is the perfect time to be outdoors. But a day outdoors prepares you for a day indoors. It was time to head to town for the night.
After I booked into my hotel in Midland, and freshened up with a hot shower, I headed out to the Queen’s Quay British Pub and Restaurant in Victoria Harbour. What a spectacular find. The food was far better than any pub has a right to serve, and even on a weeknight the place was bustling. It’s more than a pub, it’s a neighbourhood hub. As soon as I entered my hotel room back in Midland my eyelids began to sag. My intention of zoning out to a movie never materialized—in no time I was out cold.
Eight hours later, I awoke renewed. The sheets hardly had a wrinkle. I was ready to go. After a quick stop east of Midland to admire the architecture of the Martyr Shrine and the natural beauty of
the Wye Marsh, I continued eastbound on Highway 12, then headed northbound on Highway 400. I exited at exchange 162 and headed eastbound on number 34. So far this morning the weather had been cloudy and cool. Not uncomfortably cool, not even unseasonably cool. Just cool. And then it happened. The fall day we all dream about.
It’s important to make the distinction between the fall we imagine and the fall that actually exists. The imaginary fall is warm days with sunshine and crisp nights. Not to say those days don’t happen. They just don’t happen that often. Fall can also be a rainy six-degree day with a wind that cuts though you like a chainsaw. But as I turned onto number 34 I hit peak fall. The very day when the leaves are at their majestic best. And the pavement is twisty, warm, and glorious. It’s the day we live for.
Number 34 turns to number 17 and I
wound my way into Big Chute, home of the Big Chute Marine Railway. It’s easy to imagine if you see the photos but hard to describe in words. But I’ll give it a shot. Think of a giant rail car that rises 60 feet and that carries boats in it. Alright, that makes no sense. Find the photos. The sun and the wind and the joy of riding worked me into a furious hunger, so I made south for the town of Coldwater and Em’s Café.
Coldwater is the kind of quirky little town that’s worthy of a trip all on its own. Seek it out. After lunch at Em’s—as busy as it was we got our lunch in no time flat—we headed for our next stop. Quayle’s brewery. Which is a destination of note for beer lovers. After an hour strolling the grounds we packed our panniers with fresh brews and continued riding south to Orillia.
From Orillia we travelled a great road to Barrie. Just an hour north of
Toronto, Barrie is a bustling metropolis all its own. But not so bustling that a charming little road can’t wind its way into its northeast reaches. Number 20 begins in Hawkestone to the northeast and weaves though Simcoeside, Palm Beach, Parkside Beach, Oro Beach, and Shanty Bay. With the city of Barrie in the western distance and the fresh waters of Lake Simcoe to the south, it was ideal way to end our fall tour.
All of us—and I’m no different—can fall into the belief that it’s necessary to travel far afield to find good roads to ride. But that’s a fallacy. Sometimes all that’s necessary is that you reframe the region in which you live. Or a region that’s close to where you live. The key— if there’s such a thing—is to link the expected with the unexpected. The familiar with the unfamiliar. Don’t fall into the same old habits. Need proof of concept? Come visit me in my backyard.
