Cycling the P'tit train du nord in one day

Wherein I describe a (to me) epic ride with a friend in September 2020.

Of the numerous first-world laments I have heretofore bitten off before they could pass my lips during the Annus horribilis that is 2020, the most painful for me is the inability to go on a bicycle tour. For the past five years, our annual adventure has been a touchstone—an event to anticipate before its arrival, and a yardstick by which to measure our experiences until the next. In a year that has done away with all such points of reference for so many, the loss of our tour has been a deep slice to the bone amid a myriad paper cuts. 

I have managed to somewhat assuage this deprivation by doing quite a lot of bicycling around my home, including regular rides out to my mother-in-law’s house—an 85-kilometre journey through some very lovely Quebec countryside. These long rides have been a meditative antidote to being cooped up at home for so long with few opportunities for any real change of scenery. But I’ve ridden all these routes before; there is no true sense of adventure here, physical or emotional. 

I did take some vicarious pleasure in a friend’s unsupported tour this summer from Anchorage, Alaska back to Montreal—a prodigious and inspiring endeavour. And so I was delighted when that same friend agreed, not even two weeks after his return, to accompany me on a ride that I have wanted to do for some time: the entire P’tit train du nord in a single day.

The P’tit train has been a rail trail since the 1990s, and it’s very popular. I’d ridden most of its 200-kilometre length before, except for the very northernmost 20 kilometres or so, and I’m very familiar with the stretch between Lac Carré and Piedmont, having cycled or x-country skied much of these sections many times over the years. In fact, our very first bike tour was on the P’tit train du nord, a wonderful three-day adventure in 2013 that planted the seed for our current addiction to touring. But I’ve never done the whole thing in one go before. My longest previous ride had been a 160-kilometre ride the previous year, so 200 would be a physical and mental challenge.

Early on the morning of ride day, I drove to the old Saint-Jérôme train station, where the P’tit train officially ends, to meet my friend. We had initially considered using two cars, meeting at Saint-Jérôme, driving one car up to to top of the trail at Mont-Roland and then doing the reverse at the end of the ride. But Saint-Jérôme to Mont-Roland is a two-hour drive. Driving up and back (a four-hour round trip), plus driving home, after riding all day seemed like a recipe for disaster. There is a shuttle service that will take you to the top, but it doesn’t leave Saint-Jérôme until 8 am, and because it stops at various points along the way, doesn’t arrive in Mont-Roland until 11. That’s far too late a start for a 200-km ride. So we bribed a gracious friend to ferry us up in his car. We left Saint-Jérôme at 7 am and were basically on our way by 9:15.

Two Marinonis about to embark on a grand adventure.

 One of the lovely features of the P’tit train is how many of the quaint old train stations have been preserved either as picnic shelters or, in some of the larger towns, as cafés and other services catering to cyclists and walkers. The station at km 0, Mont-Roland, features a cute little restaurant that normally only opened for lunch, but they were happy to sell us a coffee and a muffin to get us on our way.

The station at Mont-Roland.

The next 11 hours were simply glorious. The weather was perfect: cool but not cold, somewhat overcast with frequent sunny breaks. And the fall colours, which had not really begun yet in Montreal, were in full swing up north and only a few days from reaching their peak. My friend and I rode along companionably, often riding side by side, chatting away about any number of topics. Early on there were very few other people on the path (though we did encounter a rather confused porcupine trotting along like a jogger), but as the day wore on and warmed up, we encountered more and more cyclists and pedestrians. 

Confused porcupine finally clears off the path.

Fuelling up!

Saying hello to the donkeys

On the road

Colours!

A glorious day.

We stopped regularly to rest and eat, not in any rush. Around the half-way mark, we came across a field with a trio of curious donkeys, with whom we stopped to chat for a few minutes. Then, as we reached Val-David, at around the 160-kilometre mark, we decided to stop at the Baril Roulant, a well-known brewpub, for a pint and some food. It was warm enough to sit outside, with the sun well on its way to the horizon. After an hour, refreshed and rested, we climbed back on our bikes for the last 40k, which is mostly downhill. As the sun set and we started to lose the daylight, we turned on our bike lights. There were far fewer people on the path now, and with the downhill grade, we were able to sustain speeds upwards of 30 km/h for long stretches. Speeding along in the dark with no traffic. What fun!

We rolled into Saint-Jérôme station just as the cathedral clock was striking 8 p.m. It had taken us a touch under 11 hours, with 8-and-a-half hours in the saddle. Amazingly, I felt I could have gone on if necessary (which is not to say I wasn’t tired). I usually ride alone and have a tendency to push myself perhaps harder than I should. But riding with a friend, that urgency was not there, and the ride truly became about the companionship of the journey, which was exactly the tonic I needed. The feeling of exhilaration at completing the ride and the mental refreshment lasted for a week. Though I desperately hope that 2021 will bring an end to this cursed pandemic so we can go on another tour soon, this ride was a welcome methadone hit to ease my touring addiction pangs, and I definitely want to do it again in the future on a regular basis.