When I stooped by the shores of the Pacific Ocean to fill a bottle with water that will be released into the Atlantic, the image of Terry Fox doing the same – in reverse – loomed large. Showing us what could be done with a spark of an idea, and oceans of determination, Terry’s Marathon of Hope ignited a tradition that has now become a rite of passage for any of us crusading for cancer – a cross-Canada tour.
Joining the long line of leaflet waving, pedal pumping Canadians who brave wind, sleet and punishing mountain ascents to shine a light on cancer had never been on my bucket list, but I needed to show up for my younger sister, who, at 59, lost her battle to a disease that so few of us know and understand, but should: ovarian cancer.
It is considered the deadliest cancer for women as only 44 per cent survive beyond five years with the disease. When the five-year survivorship rate for breast cancer is now 87 per cent, I felt it was time that women with ovarian cancer became part of a good news story. And, as I quickly learned, so did Ovarian Cancer Canada, the Canadian charity dedicated to championing the well-being of women with ovarian cancer. With their help and blessing, The Ride for Sheila Rae was born.
My sister, Sheila, had been a formidable athlete in her youth, and had led many a team to championship status. From captain to coach, she inspired her own children to excel in sports, leading her daughter and teammates to positions on the Canadian women’s field hockey team. As a coach, mother, and educational assistant, she celebrated every step people took in the right direction. To her, everyone had the ability to be a champion, and to use that ability to help others.
It was that spirit that had put me on a bike seat, at the tender age of 63, with the blazing intention to ride coast-to-coast from Vancouver to Halifax to heighten our understanding of ovarian cancer. I was prepared to do the trip alone. I had cycled a few thousand kilometres in my lifetime, so was counting on the same stamina to get me and my megaphone to the other side of the country.
Realizing, however, how much more of an impact I could make with a highly visible mobile billboard – a.k.a. a van wrapped in graphics about our cause – and unlimited space for educational supplies – a.k.a. vehicle storage areas – it did not take much arm-twisting to welcome my partner as support driver, quartermaster, techie and publicist to the support team.
Our work began months in advance of the first day’s ride. Scouring websites, medical journals and attending conferences to source up-to-date information on ovarian cancer, we parsed together a handbook of need-to know information to dispense en route.
Due to having three strikes against it: a lack of a reliable screening test, difficulty of detection in its early stages and chronic underfunding for research and treatment, becoming informed of symptoms and best preventative strategies was particularly critical for ovarian cancer. Behind every premature death is a lack of knowledge, and I was painfully aware that this had been the case with my sister.
Two bikes tuned, van camperized, bike rack installed, route and itinerary mapped, it was time to dip my toes into the water of the Pacific and begin our Ride for Sheila Rae.
After the launch from rain-soaked English Bay in Vancouver, the ride through BC on Highway #3 was predictably tough (five mountain summits!) and exhilarating. Stopping at those sites you zip past when driving – Westminster Abbey in Mission, Othello Tunnels in Hope, farmer’s markets in Penticton and Grand Forks, and artisan’s studios in Crawford Bay – reveal the depth of BC’s history and attractions. Beyond the Rockies, things get a little less predictable.
For someone who grew up in BC, cycling through country scrupulously ironed of tectonic rumples was a daily marvel. I cycle-sailed through this flattened version of Canada on one of its lesser known roads – The Red Coat Trail – from Pincher Creek, Alberta to Winnipeg, Manitoba.
It was haunting to cycle along this path once blazed by the Northwest Mounted Police. Abandoned garages, boarded towns (except for a post office, grocery store and beauty salon), suggest that this was a route that had been crushed by the changing fortunes of time. But proud French, Dutch and Belgian heritages remain. Catholic nuns peer from shuttered windows of former schools, signage on the highway is in French, and razor-edged gardens announce each lovingly maintained town and village.
On shoulderless roads, I approached the city of Winnipeg in winds that had overturned rail cars that day, and realized how understated the title of “Windypeg” is. It is truly the last swirl of prairie wind and dust before the boreal forest takes over to the east. Wipe away its modern veneer of endless traffic and muffler shops, and its prairie heart beats strong. The quilt of Canadiana in the Prairies is thick with histories, from the T-Rex Discovery Centre in Eastend, Saskatchewan, to the most recent wave of immigrants that are proudly calling this country home.
Within hours of leaving Winnipeg, we were back to forests and lakelands that reminded us of BC, minus the mountain vistas. Northwestern Ontario is all about wilderness and family run lodges and urban resistance. We loved it, and discovered that stereotypes you have long subscribed to about long-hauling through Ontario are completely shattered when you bike the province.
We felt the sociability and kindness of the people. From Nipigon to Wawa to Vankleek Hill, in libraries and campgrounds, visitor centres and newspaper offices, cafés and farmers’ markets, people reached out to us.
My sister’s story elicited their own, and the hardship and heartbreak they had endured never diminished their capacity to help others. Perhaps not surprisingly it was Thunder Bay, the town that knows the cruelty of cancer the best (where Terry Fox had to abandon his Marathon of Hope), where we felt embraced the most.
Concluding the Ontario section of my ride with Canada Day fireworks in Ottawa was just a harbinger of the “highs” experienced cycling in neighbouring Quebec. Every pedal along the St. Lawrence River was picturesquely pleasant. Those European landscapes we dream about – farmlands, villages and storybook roads – are right here in our very own country! Not to mention the Olde World charms of Montreal and Quebec City.
Quebec’s beautifully maintained bike paths gradually yield to the forests of northern New Brunswick. But not to English; New Brunswick is Acadian French in the north. By Fredericton, we were again conversing in full sentences and, in Moncton, TV reporters had seized our story for both the CTV and Global News broadcast that night. I was thrilled for the continuing coverage of our cause.
Frenetic traffic enters the outskirts of Halifax and no bike lane. The highway eases into the downtown, and, through the leafy arbour of the Dalhousie University district, I approach my final destination – Black Rock Beach in Halifax harbour. I am filled with a multitude of conflicting emotions – relief, disbelief, gratitude, and sorrow – for my sister and every woman who has had ovarian cancer.
A small welcoming group gathers with us at the beach, and my bottle of the Pacific Ocean meets the Atlantic, the bubbly is poured, and the rain begins. It seems so right that my journey is humbled by weather at the end, just as it was at the beginning. I may have been the first person to cycle across Canada for ovarian cancer, but the heroes are the people living with cancer, and the mountains they climb each day.
As I look back at our coast-to-coast ride for cancer, I am struck by how overwhelmingly positive the experience was. It brings to mind one of my sister’s favourite mantras: “Each day is a gift.” While I had begun the trip grateful for a way to transform grief into action, I finished it with a radically reformed appreciation of our country. Experiencing it one pedal and conversation at a time allowed me to see it not only as an endless rerun of forests, lakes and Tim Hortons, but as a dynamic, ever-changing tapestry. Crusty assumptions that Canada is boring, Canadians dull, our economy stagnant and our history uneventful, were all overturned. Vibrant and diverse cultures, thoughtful and open-hearted people – these characterized the communities we came to know on our journey.
And perhaps the most surprising revelation of them all, from someone who gained these insights from the saddle of a push-bike, was that the idea of propelling oneself across our “vast” country, no matter one’s age, is not as far-fetched as it seems!
To learn more about ovarian cancer, visit ovariancancer.org
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