The Canadian Camino

It was probably about a year and a half ago that my wife, Rachelle first brought up the idea of walking the “Canadian Camino”. I had heard of the Camino in Spain before and the fact that thousands of pilgrims from all over the world make this trek each year. It is supposedly the same route that the apostle St. James took 2000 years ago.

Somehow over the last few years the old railway line, now known as the Trans Canada Trail, has become a pilgrimage route between Barrie all the way up to Midland. The journey begins in Barrie and then goes north to Orillia and then west to it’s final destination of Midland, Ontario. There is talk of this route to actually start in Toronto someday and continue all the way to Midland. Luckily for me that hasn’t become a reality yet or else I may still be on the trail plodding along or perhaps lying in a  ditch somewhere along the side of the trail.

Needless to say I never really expected to do any part of this trail. I just listened to my wife talk and talk about how much she wanted to experience this pilgrimage. After all it was thousands of dollars cheaper than actually doing the real Camino in Spain. Rachelle had printed off maps of the entire trail with detailed topography markings and side trails and separate maps with all the streets of the cities and towns we would be passing through on our way to Midland. It was getting to the point where Rachelle had already decided that we were walking this route and I was going whether I wanted to or not. Thank God for some divine intervention.

My right knee started to inflame and it became quite painful to walk. Physical therapy was
required to get me walking again and that was the end of our Camino for the Autumn season of 2017. Unfortunately for me by the summer of 2018 my knee was doing just fine and Rachelle started talking about doing the Camino again. Now that my knee was working again I put my right foot down firmly and said “NO WAY”. Then it a moment of feeling bad, I said I would only do the Camino by bicycle. I said this because I had read an article the year previous that said the trek was too difficult for cyclists during the ascent into Midland. What a bunch of “Baloney” that was.

Next thing you know, Rachelle was checking out my story and couldn’t find any articles
confirming my allegations of the route being too difficult for bikes. And so that was the beginning. Our fate was cast. We were doing the Canadian Camino on our bicycles. The journey would begin in Barrie following the Trans Canada trail and eventually end up in Midland. The maps showed the total distance to be only 82 km. from start to finish. It wasn’t until we actually rode the trail that I realized the person that drew up those maps didn’t know a kilometre from a mile. It was decided that we would begin this adventure - pilgrimage on Monday, September 9th, which would have been my Mom’s 93rd birthday if she was still alive. She was probably looking down on us from above and saying to my Dad, “those kids are at it again Al, don’t they know they’re too old for this s--t”. My mother never swore. She was probably right but we decided to do it anyways. It couldn’t be that bad. Right? 

That Sunday, Sept. 8th we left our home with our bicycles secure in the back of my pickup truck and with our back packs filled to the brim we set out on our pilgrimage to Midland, Ontario, the home of the Martyr’s Shrine, Ste. Marie among the Hurons and Huronia Village. The weather leading up to our adventure was very warm, with lots of sunshine, and no rain all week. We should have known it wouldn’t last. We got in the truck to leave that day and it started to get very dark and the rain softly began to trickle on our windshield. The trickle quickly became a full force rain and our wipers were working at full speed. This was our first omen that this may not be as easy as we thought it would be.

After driving on the 401 for three hours I decided that the traffic was too heavy and cut off up Highway #6 through Guelph and we followed all the country roads to just before Barrie. We jumped on Hwy. #400 and finished our first part of the journey in 5 1⁄2 hours. Rachelle had made reservations at the Quality Inn which was very easy to find and we were able to park our truck directly outside our room to keep an eye on our bicycles. It was already 8 pm, so we decided to find a place to eat before they all closed for the night. Luckily for us we found a Italian restaurant close by and enjoyed a nice pasta dinner. Little did we know the trek that laid ahead of us the next day. It truly was going to be a real pilgrimage that I was not expecting or counting on.

I had come on this adventure with no expectations and told Rachelle whatever happens on this journey is the way it’s supposed to. If this is to be something special or if I’m here for some reason that I’m not aware of, it will become evident. So that was my attitude entering the first morning of our trip. The next morning we woke up to very cool temperatures. It was only 9 degrees Celsius and the wind was blowing very strongly out of the northwest. The only good news was that it had stopped raining. The weather station said that there was only a chance for rain. To this day I don’t understand how any of these weather people keep their jobs. They’re wrong 75% of the time. Any other profession they would be fired. Would you go to a dentist that only pulled the right tooth 3 out of 4. I think not. Anyways, I digressed a bit. Back to the story.

Perhaps it was some divine intervention, but that morning when we woke up, Rachelle said “Why don’t we drive up to Orillia and start from there to Midland”. I said let’s drive down to the waterfront in Barrie and check it out before we make a decision. Well, it didn’t take long for us to decide. We stopped at the big First Nation “totem pole dream catcher” type monument and the wind was blowing very strong off the water and the mist was soaking right through our clothing. That was it for us. Our minds were made up. We would take the road that follows the Trans Canada trail up to Orillia and begin our bicycle ride at that point. As we drove along the road we could see many openings in the trees and see the lake and trail beside us. The wind is still blowing strong and the windshield wipers are working overtime again. We know we’ve made the right decision to drive this part of the pilgrimage to Orillia.

We enter the town of Orillia and follow the road nearest the water as we have no idea where we are or where the trail continues once it passes through the town. We travel around in circles for 5 or 10 minutes until we see this very nice motel called the Stone Gate Inn. We aren’t planning on staying here tonight but we do need a place to park our truck for the night or two depending on how long it takes us. Again , perhaps a little assistance from above, after explaining to the manager what we were planning on doing she said we could leave our truck in her lot with no problem. She gave us directions on how to find the trail and we were now really ready to begin.

That morning before we left Barrie we packed our backpacks and decided they were way too heavy and removed quite a few items and left them in the truck. In hindsight that was another of Rachelle’s inspirations that was right on. By the time we got to Midland those backpacks felt like lead weights and we couldn’t wait to rip them off. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s get back to the beginning of our actual ride.

We unloaded our bikes from the truck and put our raingear on just in case it started to rain again. At the present time the rain had stopped and we were thinking this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. We got on our bikes and crossed the main road and headed down toward the water. We encountered a very steep decline and found ourselves flying down the road not noticing we passed right by the trail. I looked down at my speedometer and I was going over 40 kms per hour. It was at this point that my speedometer stopped working and a dotted line came across the screen. We get to the bottom of the hill and are right down to the lake. Although we missed the trail we decide to follow the lake road and hopefully will meet up with the trail. In retrospect the fact that my speedometer died just as we started was I’m sure designed just for me. Normally I check my speedometer every few seconds to make sure I’m going the proper speed and constantly calculating how much further to the next point and how long it should take. The ride had just started and I couldn’t check anything. I had to just ride now without the distraction of knowing speed or distance. I had to allow myself to let what happens take place without any expectations exactly as I had said to Rachelle before we began.

Well, we rode along the road following the lake and the houses were all big and very nice, definitely an upscale neighbourhood. We turn back up towards the hill and we notice a couple of runners in the distance. We ride up to where we saw them and there it was, the trail. It’s not exactly as we imagined it would be. Basically it was just a couple of well worn ruts with a little gravel and grass growing up between the blades. It is tamped down fairly good so riding a bike is not too hard. Now we are riding hybrid bicycles which really aren’t designed for off road riding, so it does make the ride a little more strenuous.

It’s not very long until the rain gods decide to make it a little more difficult for us and the clouds open up and dump a never ending shower of cold water on us. Just what we need, a little bit more rain to make this ride a little more memorable.

The trail seems to change with every new hamlet or township we enter into. The trail goes from bad to worse. The rain fills the ruts on in the trail and we are now forced to ride on the grass between the ruts. Just when we think the trail can’t get any worse, it changes to large stones which jars and shakes every bone in our bodies and slows us down to almost a crawl. We are now almost at our physical limits and need to stop. It’s about 2 o’clock in the afternoon and we are soaked to the bone. My gloves are sopping, my hands and feet are freezing, and the cold rain water keeps dripping down the back of my helmet and slips in between my rain jacket and back and slides all the way down to my butt. Are we having fun yet?

I tell Rachelle we have to stop as soon as possible. At that moment we notice a gas station on the main highway to our left. We stop at a cross road and pedal up to the store portion of the station. We aren’t too worried where we park our bikes as they can’t get any wetter. We don’t even lock our bikes because there’s nobody out in this weather with half a brain except us. We walk into the store dripping wet and the manager tells me to stay on the entrance mat as he doesn’t want me getting his store all wet. Luckily there is another worker there who is friendly and he shows us where the sandwiches are and asks if we want a coffee.

By now the manager just wants us to leave and I ask him for a cup of coffee for the two of us. He’s not very happy with me but starts a fresh pot just for us. He asks me if I only have half a brain for being out riding a bike in this weather. I respond that we are going to Midland to the Martyr’s shrine. He mumbles something under his breath that I have no idea how to treat a lady and goes off in the back to get us a coffee.

When he comes back with the coffee for us, it’s like he’s a different person. He offers us a couple of big Algonquin chairs to sit in, drink our coffee and warm up. It was probably the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had in my life. He even gave me directions to find the Comfort Inn in Midland where we were supposed to stay. He turned out to be a very nice man and I gave him a big tip as we left and thanked him for his hospitality to a couple of pilgrims on the road. For some reason he truly touched my heart and I will never forget his kindness. Under his gruff exterior beat a warm heart. Again I said to myself, this is another part of the journey that was meant to be. Keep your eyes and ears open. There’s much to learn, even as simple as the kindness of a stranger.

He told us that we were only another 10 to 15 minute car ride to Midland, so I figured maybe another hour at the most. As we get back on the trail it quickly turns into smooth pavement. What a difference. Now we are cruising along at close to 20 km per hour and even though it’s still raining cats and dogs we feel there is light at the end of the tunnel. We spoke too soon. We come to a fork in the road and of course take the wrong way. After about another 3 km we come across a man walking his dog and I just say in passing “how much further to Midland?” His response made us both put on our brakes and turn around. He told us that we must have missed the cut off way back down the road. Now riding an extra 3 km one way and 3 km back may not seem like a lot, but when you are soaked to the bone, tired as heck, and your butt is getting sorer and sorer form sitting on a skinny bike seat, it seems like a 100 miles.

We finally get back to the fork in the road and start on the correct path to Midland. The rain is just coming down in torrents and we stop under an overpass to regroup, and take another breather. We walk under the overpass and read all the graffiti and have a good laugh and then we’re off again in the rain. Surprisingly we aren’t on the bikes very long and we see a sign for Wye Marsh Wildlife Sanctuary and Ste. Marie among the Hurons. We look to our right and there it is, the Martyr’s Shrine. We are here finally. Now all we have to do is find the Comfort Inn. 

I ask Rachelle do you have the address or a map on how to get there. That was the one map we didn’t have. All I could remember from the man at the gas station was that it was on King Street. We followed the path figuring the Comfort Inn should be easy to find. How big could Midland be? Well, it was definitely bigger than I thought it would be. We rode around following the paths not having a clue where we were going. I finally stopped at a store and asked directions to the Comfort Inn. The young lady told me we had to go back the way we came back over a huge hill, back to another street, to another street to Hwy #12. We finally get to the highway and it’s 4 lanes with cars and trucks speeding down at 80 km per hour. There is no way we can ride on this road unless we have a death wish. We ride on the side of the road in the grass for awhile and Rachelle tells me she’s done. Call a cab. I convince her to ride just to the top of the next hill so I can see if the Comfort Inn is close. Thank God I can just barely make out a sign with a sun shape on it way down on the other side of the highway. I convince Rachelle to keep going and we finally come to a stop light so we can
cross the road to the other side.

We see the motel and very slowly make our last few pedals up to the front doors of the Comfort Inn. We get off our bikes and give each other a celebratory hug and kiss and enter into the lobby. We drip all over the counter and tell the young lady behind the counter that we have reservations. Of course, they do not have any reservations under our name and suggest that it must be at the Quality Inn on the other side of the major highway that we just crossed. Of course in my mind I am thinking not so nice things, but say to myself, okay this is part of the experience. Let it go. There must be a reason. So back on those vehicles of torture we mount and attempt to cross the highway one more time without being run over by a semi truck. I can’t remember when I’ve had such a good time. 

We arrive at the Quality Inn and park our bikes and melt all over the lobby as we enter. Another young lady asks if we have a reservation to which we answer, we think so. Upon further investigation she informs us that “We’re sorry, but we have no reservation under your name”. Fortunately, another lady asks if we have a reservation number, which we do. She informs us that number is not theirs and perhaps it is the Super 8 motel. We ask her if she wouldn’t mind calling them for us and find out for sure. Well she was right. It was the Super 8 motel. I ask her for directions and she tells me it’s another 3 km away down the major highway. Now in my mind I am not thinking very nice things and am close to saying those not so nice things out loud. Luckily, the Super 8 allowed us to cancel at no charge and we got a beautiful room on the first floor at the Quality Inn. They even let us bring our wet, dripping bikes into our room for safe keeping. It was now close to 5 o’clock. We left Orillia at about 10:30 in the morning and 6 1⁄2 hours later we finally arrived.

I need a shot of whiskey. Luckily we just happen to have a “mickey” in the backpack that we brought just for medicinal purposes and I needed some of that medicine real bad. You don’t realize how good a hot shower feels until you’ve been chilled to the bone and every muscle is aching from exhaustion. It was like we were almost human again. All our clothes and gear we hung all over the room in an attempt to dry it all out. If someone would have entered our room they would have thought they just entered a Laundromat. It was quite the sight.

We made the decision to wait to have dinner and go to the Martyr’s Shrine for mass at 7 pm. We called a cab and 20 minutes later we arrived at the Shrine. Of course we weren’t sure what door to enter so we walked the grounds in the dark and checked things out. The gift shop was closed and there were only a couple of people in sight walking towards the side door of the church. Upon entering the church there was complete silence. Five people were sitting in the front rows and another lady was leaving the confessional. We stared in awe at the beauty of the stain glass windows depicting many different saints from the actual Jesuit Martyrs, St. Theresa, and one that really stood out for us was our Canadian saint, Kateri Tekakwitha . It seemed very fitting that she should hold a place of honour here at the Shrine.

We started taking a few pictures of the interior of the church noting the wood panelling on the walls and ceiling. As we approached the front on the southern side of the church was a bumped out area with relics, a skull from St. Jean Brebeuf and a wall lined with all the crutches of those that were apparently healed. Towards the front on each side of the altar area were life size likenesses of St. Jean Brebeuf and St. Isaac Jogues lying horizontally behind glass as if lying in a coffin. That definitely got our attention.

We took a seat about 6 rows from the front just as the priest came out to begin mass. I can’t remember his name but he spoke with a heavy French accent and it was difficult to totally understand everything he said. I did get the main theme of his homily however. Basically we are all called to be saints. We are all called to put our faith into action. The thing that really resonated for both Rachelle and myself was the holiness this man seem to radiate as he said mass. 

As mass ended he asked if anyone would like to receive a benediction and be blessed with the relics of the martyrs. Well with only 8 of us in the church I figured why not. We came all this way; let’s experience everything it has to offer. For me personally, I am not really into all the statues and the saints, but when I went up to the front and this holy man placed the relics on my forehead and said a short benediction I was truly moved. It was almost like a switch was turned on in my brain and realized there was something here that needed to be explored deeper. I think we both left the church that night feeling a sense of awe and wonder as we waited once again in the rain for our taxi to arrive and bring us back to our motel. By this point we thought the rain was never going to stop and we were doomed to continue this pilgrimage in our rain gear.

We ordered a pizza to our room and it arrived very quickly. It may not have been a Windsor pizza , but it sure tasted good to a couple of travellers on a journey. Of course we slept like logs that night and did not arouse until 7:30 the next morning, ready to experience what the day had in store for us.

Luckily for us the Quality Inn supplies a very nice breakfast included in the room. We enjoyed eggs and toast, oatmeal, fruit and some yogurt and we were ready to get back on our bikes and pedal our sore butts around Midland.

I had looked at a map of Midland the night before and planned our day accordingly. We would first go to Huronia Village which surprisingly was just a couple of kilometres down the road from our motel. We arrived a few minutes after 9 am as they were just opening. It’s awful, but even here, the staff were having to deal with someone who had sprayed some graffiti on the back wall of the buildings. We entered the museum and walked around looking at all the old pictures and items from the past history of the town of Midland. Being located on Georgian Bay there were many displays of all the many big freighters that passed by their port every day. Old clothing and furniture from yesteryear and of course many relics and reminders of the First Nation culture that lived here before the Jesuits arrived.

We then went and visited a duplicate of a Wendat Huron First Nation village. As I walked through looking at the different areas of interest I couldn’t stop thinking about a book I had recently read, The Orenda written by Joseph Boyden. Everything I was looking at from the longhouses to the various work stations, corn field, separate lodgings for their medicine men and women, and even the game area where the children would play. It was all mentioned in this book and it just seemed like this book came to life and I could picture it all so clearly. Although the book can be violent at times, I would highly recommend for anyone preparing to visit Midland or for anyone wanting to learn more about not only the Hurons but the Jesuits as well. When I got back home to Windsor I read that in “The Orenda” the main Jesuit character “Christophe” was actually modelled after St. Jean Brebeuf. That really blew my mind. No wonder the book came to life for me.

It was now time to get back on our bikes and begin the next part of our trek and that was to go back to the Martyr’s Shrine in the daylight and see the grounds and make a quick stop at the gift shop as well.

I decided that the safest way to get back to the Shrine was to take some side streets towards the bay and get back on the Trans Canada trail. Although it was still spitting a little and the wind was blowing, this had to be the prettiest part of the trail. We got on at the end of Yonge St. and followed the perfectly paved trail along the waterfront in front of miles of beautiful houses, some even considered mansions. All the lawns were manicured with each one having a gate to allow them to get to their boats. Needless to say it was a very nice ride and we were so busy looking at everything that we almost forgot it was still cold and wet. I said almost, we still knew it wasn’t very conducive weather for riding bikes but it was a nice distraction for awhile.

We kept following the trail and it veers back away from the water back towards the Shrine. We see the Shrine on the other side of a small river and cross a bridge and go under the dreaded Highway #12 to get up to the Shrine. Well wouldn’t you know it. The gate at this entrance to the Shrine is locked. We see another entrance not to far up the hill and we decide to walk our bikes up a very wet, grassy hill to reach this other entrance. Guess what, this entrance is locked up tight as well. The only way in is to ride back another 1⁄2 kilometre on the side of our favourite Highway #12 even farther up the hill to gain entrance. So off we go again along the side of the highway in muddy, wet gravel. “Oh,
what fun it is to ride!” NOT!

The Shrine itself is located on the top of a very high hill visible from most parts of the town, so up we go again, climbing and climbing. This time we have to stop at a small kiosk and pay an entrance fee. The young man manning the booth is very pleasant and tells us he is a seminarian from Hungary and is here to continue his studies and learn the English language a little more proficiently. We leave him as there are others that line up behind us to get in and ride up the hill and park at the gift shop.

In the gift shop are many different items including rosaries, jewellery, literature, fridge magnets, and all types of mementos and literature about the Jesuit saints that gave their lives for the church and for God. The young seminarian student enters the store behind us and we strike up a short conversation with him and he tells us of his homeland and how beautiful it is. He also is very interested in our bike route and informs us of a pilgrimage he took on bicycle in Hungary. It was over 1100 kms. in 18 days. They would go from one village church to another, about 60 kms. each day. Now that’s a pilgrimage. Maybe our little journey isn’t so bad after all. Then we also remember that he’s 40 years younger than us. Let’s see him pedal his ass in 40 years. I don’t think so.

So, I digressed a little bit again. Rachelle bought a few souvenirs for her girl friends and I bought a fridge magnet. We explore the grounds for a bit and decide it’s time to go to Ste. Marie among the Hurons and after that we will stop at Wye Marsh Wildlife Sanctuary. The only problem is it’s on the other side of the Highway from Hell and there is no traffic light to cross with. Well, we wait and wait until there is an opening in the traffic and make a mad dash across the highway. We made it safe and sound and pull into the entrance of Ste. Marie among the Hurons.

The grounds are very well maintained and we park and lock our bikes and enter the main building. There is an entrance fee of course, but this one is well worth it. The exhibit begins with the watching of a short film. The film depicts the life of the Jesuits and their journey to the new land to bring Jesus to the First Nation people and their struggles to begin their colony of Ste. Marie and the difficulties of trying to convert a pagan people to the beliefs and ways of Christianity. I may have been a little offended by this if they didn’t also present the other side of the story. That being the story of the Wendat or the Huron tribe.

They explained about their beliefs and their spirituality and how they believed that everything on earth was a gift from above and they would give thanks for all they used and the animals they killed to survive. The film even goes further to say that are not saying if either side the Jesuits or the Huron were right or wrong, but what actually happened to both of them. After the film, the screen rises and the village of Ste. Marie among the Hurons is directly in front of you inviting you to enter. The first thing that impressed me was how they have maintained the integrity of the village. Each building had original furniture and the native longhouses all had a small fire burning and the cloud of smoke rose just above your heads as you entered.

Although it had the strong smell of smoke you could walk under the smoke and just imagine the close to a hundred people living in each longhouse. From the carpenter shop to the blacksmith’s quarters, to the barracks for the soldiers, it was a real step back in time. The water system was an engineering marvel for it’s time and you could almost feel the presence of those that once inhabited behind the walls that surrounded and protected them. The building that served as their church still had the earthen floors and long logs were cut in half to serve as the pews. In the one small chapel behind the wall that the altar was on still hung the black robes the Jesuits once wore. It was all like reading a history book, but this one you could actually see how the people lived and making it all come to life.

Well by now it is getting close to 12:30 pm in the afternoon and we decide that we are not staying another night in Midland. The weather seems to have finally broke a bit. The rain has stopped and we will begin our journey back to Orillia this afternoon. We will have to bypass Wye Marsh this time. We stop for a quick lunch at the cafeteria at the village and go out once more to mount our trusty bikes to make for home.

It’s now about 1 o’clock and we begin the long journey back to Orillia. By my calculations as long as we stay on the trail we should be there in 4 1⁄2 hours. The beginning of the ride is perfect. The rain has stopped, the sun is trying to peek out, the temperature has warmed to about 20 degrees Celsius and the trail is nice and smooth. We find ourselves sailing along and actually pass several cyclists on our way. This was a new occurrence for us since we did not see any other cyclists the day before. We decide to stop every hour or so and take a short break. At our morning breakfast at the motel we made sure to take a few extra apples and oranges for the trip. That turned out to be a real godsend as we needed the extra energy to finish. Things were going along great. We stopped for an orange break and were feeling pretty good. That’s when things began to change.

We forgot about how terrible the trail was for bicycles in many of the different districts the trail passed through. The trail was actually harder to transverse on the gravel areas because today the gravel was looser and not packed down by the rain. There were a couple of times we had to just stop and take a breather. At some points we were only doing 10 or 11 km per hour. We could almost walk that fast. Our backpacks were getting heavier and I started to cramp up in my left shoulder. To this day I just have to think about it and my shoulder starts to ache. Needless to say, we realized that this much easier 20 years ago when we cycled the mountains of Scotland. This was considerably more difficult now that we are “senior citizens”. The funny thing is we don’t think of ourselves as senior citizens and never once thought that this adventure may be too difficult for us to tackle. In our minds we are 30 years old who just happen to 4 grandchildren. It’s a miracle.

As we are travelling along, perhaps half way back we see a grave marker on a tree beside the trail. A woman’s remains were spread or buried at the base of this tree. She was only identified by her first name and she was 50 years old. For some reason we felt compelled to stop and pay our respects. We figured she must have lived close to the trail and probably enjoyed walking it on a regular basis and that was the reason for her cremains to be placed here.

The sun was now out in full force and for the first time since we began our short pilgrimage I was actually hot. We took off our rain pants and coats and off we went again along the trail from “Hell”. We were now stopping to take a break every 15 to 20 minutes as our bodies were slowly deteriorating. We knew we were getting close as the trail had now turned to tamped down dirt with grass growing between the ruts. Our butts were now fairly sore as we hadn’t ridden this distance in a few years and were not used to it. It was now about 5 o’clock and we see a sign saying that we were now in the district close to Orillia. I figured we had about another 1⁄2 hour and we should be back. This is when the strangest thing happened to me. I hit a big bump in the road that really jarred me and my bike. I looked down at my speedometer that quit working just as we started the day before. To my amazement it started working again. Was this a coincidence? I don’t think so. To me it was just another part of what I was supposed to experience on this our pilgrimage to the Martyr’s Shrine.

We want to just keep riding but find we need to stop again and take a break with only another 10 minutes left to ride. Back on the bikes we go and slowly make our way to the end of the trail. When we get to our road to get back to the motel where we parked the truck we realize we now have to climb back up the hill where we first began flying down the hill at over 40 km per hour. Rachelle says “That’s it, I’m done. I’m walking my bike up the hill.” Well, walk we did, all the way up the hill knowing that a hot shower and a nice adult beverage soon awaited us. We arrive back to the motel and load the bikes on the back of our truck and enter the motel. We check in without any issues and they give us a beautiful room with 2 double beds and a very lovely décor. I walk down to the lobby that just happens to have a bar and order 2 large 9 oz. glasses of a nice Merlot.

Back to the room I go where we toasted our journey and sipped some of the pain away. A nice hot shower and life is good. I order some take out Thai food at a local restaurant nearby and before you know it we are feasting in our room sipping another glass of wine and feeling pretty proud of ourselves.

The ride home the next morning and early afternoon was without incident as I took all the back streets back to Kitchener before I jumped on to the 401 for the final trek back to Windsor. Another 5 1⁄2 hours and we were home safe and sound. 

So, after all this, the question remains, “Was it all worth it?” Believe it or not I am still processing everything that we experienced 2 weeks later. My first observation was that through this entire ordeal Rachelle and I remained steadfast to finish what we started and we did it with style. We remained aware of each other’s needs and probably grew in our commitment to one another. Not once did we yell at each other or get mad. We both just went with the flow and handled each situation as it happened. There is no other person that I would have or wanted to experience this journey with.

Secondly, the question is, “Was this really a Pilgrimage?”. After much consideration and a lot of pondering and even a little soul searching, I would have to answer “Yes”. As I said earlier, I am not one that gets into statues and saints, but I have a new respect and understanding for those beliefs that I did not have before. I also questioned how we as Christians, feel that our beliefs and thinking are the only way to heaven. I truly believe the First Nation people of our country have a better understanding of how to take care of our Mother Earth and preserve it for the next generations to come. But, with that said, I also have a newly found admiration and even inspiration from the Jesuit priests who gave their very own lives for their faith in Jesus.

I guess there is a third question as well. “Did I grow spiritually?”. I think that anytime you go on any type of retreat, mission or pilgrimage you always come away with a deeper understanding of your faith. It may be by questioning historical events such as I did or just being open to those little “coincidences” in life that can only be a little divine intervention. This pilgrimage definitely got me thinking, so I would have to answer this question with a definite “Yes”.

I am glad that Rachelle and I got to experience this pilgrimage together. My love and respect for her and all her accomplishments grows every day. She is a remarkable woman and I am very blessed to have her as my friend, lover, wife, and companion through this life.

As far as me personally, I believe that this pilgrimage is just one more step or page in my own story or journey.

The End