The Road Begins Alone

Part 1 of a Journey Across Canada

Apr 26, 2025

It was around Christmas, 2009. I was sitting alone in a Halifax apartment, deep in the middle of a bender—alcohol, who knows what else. Something violent was happening inside my head. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew I wasn’t okay.

I walked myself into the ER and told them what was going on.

They placed me in a room where the chairs were bolted to the floor. I sat there for ten hours, slowly coming down, completely unsure what came next.

At the time, my roommate was back in Ontario grieving her father, who had just passed away from a heart attack. She was sitting with the idea of doing something in his honour: a cross-Canada bike tour for the Heart and Stroke Foundation. I thought she was out of her mind.

But something about it stuck with me.

The First Spark

When my parents heard about the hospital visit, they bought me a ticket home to Toronto. I dropped everything and went. I felt completely lost.

But that bike trip idea… it wouldn’t leave me alone.

I don’t remember the exact moment, but eventually I told them, I want to do it.

Now if you knew me before May 16, 2010, you’d understand how absurd that sounded. I wasn’t a personal trainer. I worked at a hat shop and bounced at a bar. Sure, I lifted weights, tried to eat well, but I also drank like a fish. I had no clue about my neurodivergence back then, so I didn’t realize how strange or “unrealistic” this all must have sounded to others. I never even did a bike tour, so why not Canada first.

But what the idea gave me was purpose.
A goal.
A reason to wake up.

So when I returned to Halifax, I started training.

From Nothing to Everything

I hadn’t owned a bike in years—between 18 and 24 I just didn’t ride. But I had friends who toured, and one of them lent me most of the gear. I trained as best I could and cut back my partying to “just a few beers.”

We were set to leave May 15th, but a storm pushed us back a day.

Day One: May 16th, 2010

We left Halifax. Said goodbye to our partners, friends, and roommates. And began.

The first half of the day went well. The second half hit hard. Hours on the bike with over 40 lbs of gear, the reality set in fast. We only made it to Enfield—not as far as I hoped, but we set up our tents for the first time. That night, it became clear my friend was struggling. The grief was still fresh.

Endurance challenges are mental more than anything. She went to bed early. I stayed up, quietly thinking about the road ahead.

Then around 11 p.m., she woke me.

“John, my friend is coming to get us. I can’t do this trip.”

I told her I understood, but I was going to keep going.

And just like that—I was alone.
With nearly 6,500 km ahead of me.

Alone on the Road

I told myself I’d ride to Fredericton and decide then.

The first day solo was brutal. I had extra food, extra weight, and I was trying to navigate without GPS—just a map book and instinct. I got lost. I broke down. Then I’d feel freedom. It was a cycle of pain and clarity.

By day two I made it to Truro. Stayed at Berry’s Motel, where I heard stories of wrestlers passing through. Got myself a beer and sorted through all my stuff, ditching what I didn’t need.

Nights of Fear and Gut Instinct

Setting up a tent alone for the first time was terrifying. Every sound made me anxious—animals, people, the unknown. But something in me said, Keep going. You’re okay.

Somewhere east of Fredericton, the rain hit hard. I hid under a bridge for hours before deciding to push 30 km to the next motel. My cheap rain gear turned into a personal sauna—I was drenched in sweat, but at least I was warm.

I reached the motel exhausted. No open restaurant. Just tuna and a beer from my bag. I woke up dry, and the sun came out again.

A Sign on the Road

That day, heading toward Fredericton, I passed Oromocto and felt called to stop by an old church. Just as I stepped off the bike, my MP3 player—random shuffle—started playing Amazing Grace by the Dropkick Murphys.

I wasn’t religious or spiritual then. But something about it… landed. It felt like the road itself was speaking.

Rest in Fredericton

I made it to my partner’s parents’ place one day ahead of schedule. He would arrive the next day. I rested, ate, and felt something new: freedom.

For the first time in a long time, I felt good.

The next part of the journey would take me toward Montreal.

The Road Always Continues

I didn’t know it at the time, but that moment—laying alone in my tent, unsure of anything—was the start of everything I would later become.

These stories aren’t about how far I made it.
They’re about what I learned when I stopped running from myself and started listening.
Sometimes it takes a thousand miles to realize you were never lost—just waiting to arrive in your own body.

The journey continues below.