The Worst Streets To Bike On In Toronto

If you've rode a bicycle in Toronto for any extended period of time, you know that the difference between a good street to ride on and a bad street is extreme. Some roads are laps of luxury: brilliant scenery and historical sights as you zoom by on smooth pavement. Other roads have you clutching your handlebars desperately as you ponder whether this next spoke spin will be your last. Today we're going to look at some in that second category: the worst streets to bike on in Toronto.

                                         (photo credit -- bolds.net)

Eglinton Avenue West

Three words: nightmarish fun house. (Without the fun)

Eglinton is a high traffic street and is hilly, which automatically makes it unappealing for cyclists. It is also extremely wide and yet often has on street parking, meaning a rider will have to dodge parked cars and high speed traffic zipping past them on the left. There are also several treacherous potholes while you go up or down the hills, several TTC buses that use Eglinton, oh and did I mention the hills? The one between Caledonia and Keele will have you wishing Scotty would just beam you up already. Once you get west of Jane there's actually an excellent bicycle trail that runs along Eglinton almost all the way to the airport, but you have to be brave/lucky/crazy enough to get that far. Cycling on Eglinton West is like riding a loopy roller coaster, that is if the other rides in the amusement park could run into you while you do it.

Best stretch: Jane to Renforth
Worst stretch: Bathurst to Dufferin/Caledonia to Keele
Danger rating: 9
Hill rating: 10
East or West? Neither, both are equally hilly and dangerous

                                       
                            (photo credit -- bellsondanforth.ca)

Danforth Avenue

Bicycling any portion of the Danforth is at least moderately hazardous, which is a shame since there are so many attractions and things to see along the way. There are always columns of parked cars, waves of traffic zipping past you, jaywalkers oblivious to the crossing just ten metres away, and plenty of intersections where turning vehicles must be taken into account. Further east Danforth widens a bit and so there's at least more space, but then you have to deal with drivers who aren't used to bicycles so it's still not ideal. Danforth is fantastic if you're a pedestrian but avoid it if you are cycling, especially in daylight.

Best stretch: Woodbine to Main
Worst stretch: Broadview to Pape
Danger rating: 8
Hill rating: 1 (a slight one before Woodbine)
East or West? East (the road quality is better)

                                          (photo credit -- dundaswestbia.ca)
Dundas Street West
 
Biking on Dundas West is actually fascinating because it's almost like a urban cyclist's video game. You've completed Level Five: "Pothole Party" now for Level Six: "Traffic Troubles!" In other words, each section of Dundas West presents it's own challenges for brave cyclists. Whether it be the high traffic between Yonge and University, the narrow road and unalert (I'm being kind here) pedestrians of the Chinatown stretch, the deadly streetcar tracks of Bathurst to Dufferin, the streetcar squeeze bonus levels, the confusing intersections of Dundas/Roncevalles or Annette/Dupont/Dundas, or the parking lot that is the Junction section of the trip. I've played this video game many times but I have to say I've never gotten past Level 12: Royal York Bridge Binge.

Best stretch: Runnymede to Scarlett
Worst stretch: Lansdowne to Ossington/Grace to Yonge/Clendenan to Annette
Danger rating: 8
Hill rating: 4
East or West? West

                                       (photo credit -- wikipedia)
Dufferin Street   


Now admittedly, I have not once biked on Dufferin anywhere north of Roselawn (just a bit north of Eglinton) so my impression of it is incomplete. However, I feel secure in saying Dufferin is overall an awful street for cyclists because one: most major Toronto streets only become harsher for cyclists the further north you go and two: even if Dufferin north of Eglinton is passable or even a cyclist's paradise, what's south of Eglinton is so bad that it hardly makes a difference.

The worst thing about Dufferin is road quality. Some roads have bad stretches that last for maybe a block or two, while on Dufferin smoothness is the exception. The potholes have potholes. If you're ever going south and you've just passed Dundas, either take the sidewalk (I know, I know) or grip those handlebars for dear life because otherwise you're gonna take a high speed downhill spill. Speaking of hills, south of Bloor they aren't much of a factor but the more north you go the worse it is. Between St. Clair and Eglinton you're essentially watching one tidal wave hill give way to another until you wonder if this is all a very bad dream.

Best stretch: King to Saskatchewan Road
Worst stretch: Queen to Dundas/St. Clair to Eglinton
Danger rating: 8
Hill rating: 9
North or South? South

That concludes this installment. Next time we'll look at some of Toronto's better streets for bicycles. Thanks for reading!

Steckland Russ -- (Chapter IV.ii)

   
    (xii) ---



    I'm writing this during what we call "Reading Period", a twenty minute break before our last class of the day when we are supposed to read a book but most of us socialize instead. I figured this was a good chance to recap this day so far for you, Future Steckland. It has been an interesting one.
    As is now probably clear, today I have finally gone back to Highview. I got dressed and I found myself strongly wondering how my classmates were doing, and realized I missed being a part of their lives. I missed their faces, their smiles, their haircuts, their laughs. Imagining certain people, some were not as vivid as before and I'd had enough of that feeling.
    I snatched as many textbooks as would fit in my knapsack and sprinted out the front door to my bicycle. I was late for my second class, Drama, but fortunately Mrs. Seddington seemed more surprised than annoyed to see me.
    Several of my Drama mates asked me where I had been:

    'Were you like, away on a trip or something?' -- Sunnie Woom.
    'You're still alive! Nice!' -- Sam Peavy.
    'Steckland! You missed this awesome time when Kim was doing a pie-in-the-face gag for a reherseal, but Coreteto hit her in the shoulder! By accident of course. Where were you??? -- Bellamy Wondumas. (note, I feel the best way to capture how Bellamy asks questions is with extra question marks)
    'Stecky! I missed um, we missed you!' -- Natalie Lee.
    'Did you die? We were sure a spaghetti monster got you. I was checking obituaries for people strangled by tomato sauce and noodles.' -- Len Barker.

    After Drama was a strange Film Studies class. Normally our teacher, Ms. Weiss, is very still: often she is an anchor latched upon her desk in the corner. Today however she was pacing the classroom from the start of the lesson onward, constantly looking over her shoulder or at the back row students with mistrust. At last after she struggled with pronouncing our names on the attendance sheet (she is usually exceptional at this), she took off her thick framed glasses for the first time ever and explained herself.

    'Have any of you seen Mulholland Drive?' she asked us.
    A few hands went up. 'Yeah, I have.' said Zack Herges, tangling his greasy long brown hair with his fingers. 'We watched some of it in Mod Lit.'
    'Well! Everyone, I've got to tell you.' said Ms. Weiss, slowly sitting on an empty desk. 'I'm a fan of David Lynch's work but I must say, that film just unsettled me. I watched it last night and well, bad idea!'
    'I've only seen the end, but it like, seems like a bad movie to see before bedtime.' chimed in Lucy Galoupos.
    'I wish I'd talked to you earlier! Oh my.' said Ms. Weiss, going back to her desk and putting her glasses back on. 'Well. Anyone who wants to write me a brief page on Mulholland Drive by the end of next week will get a bonus credit. One time deal.'

    As Ms. Weiss returned to her poise and regularly scheduled lesson, I thought about this optional homework. I've never seen or heard of "Mulholland Drive" before, but getting to watch a movie for extra marks sounds fun. A brief page? Easy.
    At lunch break I discovered I'd completely forgotten to make myself a lunch, or bring money to buy a lunch. Luckily I ran into Len and Bellamy leaving Highview and they were kind enough to chip in for a pizza slice for me.

    'It's a good thing you came back today, Steck.' said Bellamy, inbetween sips of her Pepsi while we sat in the pizza joint. 'Next class Seddington is assigning everyone into groups for the first big performance of the year.'
    'Yeah man. She probably wouldn't have let you join a group if you didn't show.' agreed Len. 'And that would not have been beans.'
    'Beans? What does that even mean?' asked Bellamy, annoyed. 'And why do you keep saying that?'
    'I'd tell you, but that wouldn't be beans either. Nope. Steck knows though, right Steck?'
    'Of course. Beans. Common knowledge among us Grade Twelves.' I said, not having the foggiest idea what he was talking about.
   
    After lunch was English where I currently sit writing this, for you see Reading Period takes place in whatever class you happen to be in at the time. Calsuco gave me a skeptical look as he saw me walk in, but handed me an assignment sheet he gave out last week without any fuss or drama. I took a different seat than the one I had before (some new red haired kid had claimed it) and pulled out some blank sheets of paper. Even though I missed so many of his classes, I knew Calsuco loved to write legions of notes on the chalkboard, most of them useful.
    It was then I remembered that "she" was in this class. My stomach stopped the digestion presses and my heart took a nap for a couple seconds. I hadn't seen her since that afternoon I so foolishly rejected her and that had been so many evenings at the Coxwell parkette ago that I honestly had nearly forgotten about her. I spotted her unmistakable hair two rows in front of me and trembled. Even though she cannot see me I do my best not to look at her now, in fear she might sense my eyes. Right now she chats with a short-haired girl named Pamela, drawing and doodling on bright yellow papers I would love to be a part of. I sincerely hope that you, Future Steckland, have become much more capable with girls sweet girls than I.



    (xii) --- Christie To Wellesley

   

Steckland Russ -- (Chapter IV.i)

    (xi) ---



    I think of all the people before and after me who at some point have and will write accounts of their lives. Each person is a story and a different one at that, yet when the retelling of our lives and experiences stop so does the story. We still live and experience life, but if we share it with no one then it is just a tree falling in a forest without being heard.
    This is why I have decided to continue my chronicles to you, Future Steckland. My desire to document my experiences is still strong, for life is a forest filled with many trees and I want to tell the stories of as many of them as I can.
    I realized this earlier today, this evening when I was riding the subway from Laurie's East End apartment to home. I had just passed Greenwood station when a familiar dark skinned face boarded the train and sat two seats away from me. It was Tom Northcliffe, alone and carrying a heavy knapsack surely full of textbooks and homework assignments I'd not bothered to discover.

    'Tom! Over here!' I called.

    Tom looked around, confused. Eventually he saw me, and a smile appeared on his face: somebody genuinely pleased by the surprise of seeing me. The smile on my face reflected that thought.

    'Steckland! Hey! How's it going?'
    'Okay I guess.' I lied. 'You?'
    'Fine, fine.' nodded Tom. 'Where you been lately? Haven't seen you in World Politics or Film Studies for a while. Did you drop them?'
    'Been sick with a bad flu.' I lied again. 'Feeling better recently though. Have I missed anything?'
    'Nah. Foxwell is still screwing with us. The test on Thursday is apparently worth fourty percent of the final mark. Impossible of course, since the final exam isn't even worth that much! Otherwise, no. Things are pretty much the same.'

    Deflating, as I suppose I'd expected the gears of the school to grind to a halt without me.

    'Anything else interesting?' I asked.
    'Nope, not that I can think of.' replied Tom.

    We sat for a few moments not speaking, both of us just looking off at the fascinating subway car ads. I was reading one about a ninety year old guy claiming he was still sexually active when I noticed we had arrived at Chester station. I was ready to say goodbye to Tom but to my surprise he stayed in his seat.

    'Hey, I thought you lived around Chester?' I asked.
    'No, no. My parents moved almost a year ago.' said Tom. 'We're all the way at Royal York and Eglinton now, one of those new condos there.'
    'Geez that's far.' I commented.
    'Yeah. Nice area though. We're on the twentieth floor too, so the view's great for when I've got really tough biology homework.'
    'Sounds sweet. Hey, remember that time when you had me over at your old place, and your brother kept trying to defend Star Trek Enterprise?'
    'Oh my! Yeah!' exclaimed Tom. 'Russell kept saying it was the best Trek series and we didn't understand it! We just laughed and laughed and he got so upset. I felt bad about that but he sorta deserved it. Enterprise? Inexcusable.'
    'Man, we watched so many episodes that day.' I said. 'We should do that again some time. If you're free.'
    'That would be fun. As long as I don't have too much homework.' said Tom.

    It was this moment I noticed a strange man at the end of the train. His hair was long, tangled and unclean like his clothes, and on his foot was a black hackysack that had been so worn down it rested flat against his shoe. I watched him jump around for a moment until a question popped into my head.

    'How's your brother doing, anyway?' I asked.
    'Quite good,' Tom replied. 'He's just finishing up Junior High this year. He'll actually be going to Highview next year!'
    'Really?'
    'Yep!' said Tom, smiling. 'Funny how I'll have left Highview the same year Russell will be arriving there.'
    'Well you can always go back and visit him.' I suggested.
    'True, but so much of that depends on where I end up. I've been reading about universities and the ones I like the most are in other cities. McGill, UBC, McMaster. I'd miss him and my parents terribly but I can't miss the opportunity, right?'
    'No. Of course not.' I agreed timidly.     
    'Man, these are the good times, right Steckland?' said Tom thoughtfully, watching the departing station through the train window. 'Right now we don't have to worry about paying for education or finding employment or any of that. No fifteen thousand word university essays to write, no rent or bills to worry over. There's lots of hard work ahead, lots. I don't know if I'm... yeah I dunno.'
   
    I fiddled with my loose shirt buttons while Tom Northcliffe dwelled in his silence. Through his eyes I could see the sprockets of his mind turning, demanding more concentration and focus and results at any cost. Christie station, which is my stop, came soon after this, though I suspect this mental absorption of my classmate could have continued past Kipling.

    'Hey this is my stop.' I said, standing up.
    'Oh! Well.' said Tom, snapping out of his trance. 'I'll see you in class tomorrow, if you're feeling better?'
    'Yeah, hopefully.'
    'It was good to run into you. We'll talk soon.' said Tom.
    'Of course. Take it easy.'

    I left the train and through the sides of my eyes watched it shrink into the westbound tunnel.

    ***   

    When I arrived home my father was in his usual place: sitting on the couch in front of the television, a generic beer and remote control casually held in either hand. He nods me hello as I take off my shoes, his eyes unmoving from the flashing screen.

    'Message for you. Someone called from school.' he grunted.
    'Do you know who?' I asked.
    'I dunno. Something about a "bowler." Are you on the bowling team?'
    'We don't have a bowling team.' I said sharply.
    'Oh. Guess not then.'

    My father returned his attention to the flickering television while my attention went towards my bedroom. I shut the door behind me and surveyed the condition of my room: a laundry basket overflown onto most of my floor, several plates of mostly eaten meals sitting upon my dresser, school textbooks stacked in a corner with a very fine layer of dust atop them, my bedsheets twisted into a sculpture upon my bed, and my baseball glove resting on Caplan's smelly gym shorts. I sat myself on the floor beside my bed, threw off my socks and tried to fall asleep in this uncomfortable position.
    My mind drifts to the guy with the hackysack I saw on the subway. I remember the people sitting nearby trying their best to either ignore him or glare their annoyance at him, yet he was oblivious to all of it. The guy kept hopping around in the subway car, completely engrossed in kicking up the sack. His eyes were red and hazy, his balance slightly wobbly and his jeans and sweater torn, yet there was nothing that could distract him. I wonder what it must be like to be so engrossed in something that nothing can bother you.
                    

    (xi) --- Greenwood To Christie