Why a week of cycling or hiking does something a beach vacation never will

By Robin Esrock

It might take a few days or it might take an hour, but when you embark on an adventure by foot or saddle, the moment always arrives. It’s not the moment where your muscles begin to tingle with the realization that they’re actually going to have to work for a while. Nor is it the moment when your brain finally registers exactly what you’ve signed up for. It’s certainly not a moment of regret, but it most definitely is a moment of personal challenge. Because you’ve committed to a week of cycling or hiking, which is very different from a week of working, commuting, or running errands. It’s a moment of challenge and pushing through the boundaries, and a moment where you stop negotiating with yourself to simply get on with it. It’s a very special moment, because this is when the magic happens.

I thought about this a lot on PEI’s Confederation Trail, cycling the red-dirt ribbon running coast to coast across the Gentle Island. I was somewhere in the middle stretch of the week, when the novelty of my second multi-day cycling adventure had worn off faster than the kilometres that remained. Although the route is mostly flat, my lack of fitness announced itself through my creaking quads. Then I came over a gentle rise and the landscape opened up: there were emerald fields of mowed lawn, a church steeple white against grey sky, and the Gulf of St. Lawrence glinting in the distance like a mirror. It was the first of many rewarding moments I’ve had on my GCT adventures, when everything suddenly makes sense, accompanied by an elation you just can’t get from a road trip or beach vacation. Sure, my legs were worked, but suddenly there were so many other more important things to focus on.

Quebec’s Le Ptit Train du Nord first introduced this moment to me as I explored a very different landscape. Located in the Laurentians north of Montreal, the 232-kilometre converted rail trail threads through lovely villages, forest, lakes and towns. Riding on my own, I quickly joined up with fellow riders who were strangers at the beginning but whom I came to know well by the end of the week. Shared physical pursuits have a funny way of creating camaraderie, which is why nobody should be put off by the idea of a solo adventure. 

When you join up with a group who collectively decide to do something physical, the challenge adds to the chemistry. Egos recede, and you’ll find encouraging support when you least expect it. The person who seemed reserved over breakfast is suddenly funny and loud on a long climb, willing you on, or asking for encouragement in return. A friend or a partner who is faster or fitter than you, but waits at the top of a hill, is deeply appreciated. On the trails, in the hills, it doesn’t matter: physical challenges have a habit of removing social norms to expose something more honest and authentic beneath.

I don't think all this is an accident. For most of human history, the day's work was done together, and done with the body. We’re wired for collective effort, which is why sharing stories of the day’s events inevitably kicks off any dinner conversation. Did you see the deer on the trail? Wasn’t it perfect how the weather opened up? Yes, your legs might be wobbly at the start, and there will be an adjustment period, but you can literally feel your physical and mental strength growing every day. GCT's Le Ptit Train du Nord itinerary handles the logistics of multi-day cycling so you can focus on the important parts, namely pedalling, enjoying the outdoors, meeting great people and eating fine food.

I’ve written extensively about the physical and mental benefits of outdoor adventure, and that you don’t have to be a hardcore fitness fanatic to take one. Our bodies have a surprising capacity for endurance and adaptation. Whether you’re cycling for a day or running a marathon, whenever you think you've hit a wall, that wall reliably moves. Because you didn’t sign up to relax on a beach (not yet anyway), and while you can always call for help if you’re stuck, you also know that your shower, bed and glass of chilled wine awaits at the end of the day’s trail. Part of the joy of a physical pursuit is overcoming personal doubts to enter a meditative flow, and it’s surprising how quickly the miles pass when you do.

On the Kettle Valley Rail Trail, the old CPR corridor that winds through the mountains and canyons of British Columbia's interior, you earn your beer. The KVR is spectacular: trestle bridges, tunnels, the glistening Skaha Lake. It also has days where the exposed benchland above Penticton gets hot and dusty, and sometimes the only shade is your own shadow. At the end of the day, whether you’re ordering a local craft beer or a glass of one of the region’s fine wines, expect a drink that simply tastes better than any drink you’ve ordered back home. Your whole body settles into a chair with the gratitude of a heavy backpack set down after a long carry. The conversation is easy because the work is done. You can account for every kilometre in your legs. Out here, the effort is concrete and the reward is proportional. You can feel exactly what you've earned.

We tend to think of outdoor adventures as being about the place, or the route, the kilometre count, or the gear. Yet the challenging days stay with you, grow slightly more heroic with time, and come back to you at the most mundane moments. It’s an enduring moment of pride when you discover what you’re capable of. 

Great Canadian Trails itineraries are designed for these kinds of revelations. They’re flexible and accessible for casual walkers and riders, but long enough to invite a personal challenge and the reward of those magical moments. It’s been my experience that trails that ask nothing of you typically give you nothing back.

GCT's catalogue of adventures range widely. There are routes that are ideal for families, for beginners, for people who want beauty without physical brutality. The right level of challenge is entirely personal, but what matters is that there's some level of challenge, at least enough that the finish line means something. When you find that special moment, everything else will flows from it: the memorable company and conversations, the fantastic meals and drinks, and the personal triumph of knowing you’ve earned it all. 

Robin Esrock is the bestselling author of The Great Canadian Bucket List.