Tag: cycling

Life Experiences fit Together like a Mosaic….Sometimes

April 1, 2026

Three recent experiences connected in my mind last week. The pieces clicked, as in a mosaic. These three experiences led me to stories about people who saw demand for services that were unavailable. Their instincts led to successful companies.

The first experience was a talk I went to hear by a business professor. He introduced himself by describing his usual pitch to students, which is to ask them what motivates business. He said the answer is usually money. He responds to that view by describing a situation, a business transaction: when he goes shopping, he wants to purchase specific goods, such as vegetables. Business is about buying and selling goods and services. Money is simply the vehicle that enables goods and services to change hands.

The next experience was speaking with a physiotherapist, who advised me to strengthen my aching legs. Without going into details, I may have something called lazy butt syndrome, or butt amnesia. Muscles can lose their ability to function properly, so it’s important to use targeted exercises to help them remember how to work.  During our consultation, we talked about cycling and bike racks. I mentioned my intent to buy one. She suggested I visit Rack Attack, a store specializing in racks for cars that carry bikes, skis, and other outdoor gear.

The third experience was buying a hanging bike rack from Amazon, which came from Rack Attack. The rack came in a box, partially assembled. Not fully understanding the assembly instructions, I drove over to Rack Attack and asked for help. The young assistant was excellent, showing me how to prepare the full assembly. Searching the store’s website, I learned that the founder of this chain emphasizes customer relations, focusing on the sales, installation, and maintenance of a variety of racks.

Reflecting on these three experiences, that took place in a couple of days, led me to think about what makes companies successful in business.

The very satisfying experience with Rack Attack made me look into the store’s history. Chris Sandy, the founder, worked at a bike shop in Vancouver, BC, Canada. He noticed that most racks did not fit the more aerodynamic car models, which lacked traditional rain gutters. Attaching sports gear racks to these newer cars was difficult. He decided to open a store catering to outdoor enthusiasts who carry gear in their cars. He started by selling products from Thule, Yakima, and others that fit newer cars.

The first store opened in 1996, and Chris quickly expanded by establishing stores in Toronto and other Canadian cities. In 2014, he sold his stores to Banyan Capital Partners, a private equity investor, to raise money for further growth. By 2026, Rack Attack had over 40 stores, with 30 in the US.

The Rack Attack story reminded me of the Running Room, a specialty store selling running shoes and related products. Running Rooms always have a running club. I used to run with them in Ottawa for years. Running with a group is motivating. You meet people with similar interests. On-the-road discussions fill time and take your mind off tired muscles.

John Stanton established the Running Room in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, in 1984. He was a chubby food industry executive who needed to change his lifestyle for his health. Embarrassed by neighbors watching him try to run, he went outside at dawn to run. He could hardly run a block before sucking for air. But he persevered, became a runner, and opened a one-room store in Edmonton to sell running gear. The store was a huge success, and he expanded the Running Room stores across Canada and the US. Today, there are over 100 Running Rooms, with 8 in the US. The chain employs 1,300 people. John still works and manages the chain with his two sons.

Another example is the Tim Horton franchise. Tim Horton, an NHL player, sought a business after his hockey career ended. He tried several ventures—first, a burger joint, followed by a car dealership, and finally a coffee-and-doughnut shop in Hamilton, Ontario, in 1964. He imagined creating a community hub where people could mingle and enjoy coffee and fresh doughnuts. The idea proved successful: today, there are more than 6,000 locations in 14 countries, growth fueled by key mergers with Wendy’s in 1995 and Burger King in 2014.

These stories back up the business professor’s view of what business is: at its most basic tenet, it is finding an opportunity to sell a product people want. The money part is secondary; the priority is to fulfill an unmet demand for which people are willing to pay. And clearly, the business must be profitable in the long run, otherwise it becomes unsustainable. I would add that good service is also essential to sustain a company and an enthusiastic founder could be a catalyst for future success.

The question is, where can you find ideas for a sustainable business? I do not know that. But, in the high-tech industry, common wisdom says one out of ten startups goes bankrupt. One makes it. The rest struggle on.

In conclusion, it was worth attending the professor’s lecture; it made me think about what business is.

A Culinary Journey on Two Wheels: Cycling and Cuisine

September 30, 2025

These days, we are looking for flat biking routes and prefer to avoid steep, mountainous areas. The rail-to-trail paths are ideal for us, so we decided to cycle along the Petit Train du Nord linear park in Quebec, just north of Montreal.

The recommended ride is from the northern end of the trail at Mont Laurier to St. Jerome, just outside Montreal, because there is a slight slope in that direction. The distance is approximately 200 kilometers, and it can be covered in a few days.

Typically, the cyclist would drive to St. Jerome, leave the car there, and take a bus that goes once a day to transport them to the northern end. However, by the time I called, there was no room on the bus for the day we had planned to go. Instead, we reserved a room at a hotel along the trail, closer to the northern end, to avoid the busier section near Montreal, and planned to cycle in both directions.

That turn of events was fortuitous, as Kathy had pulled a leg muscle while working out at the gym, limiting her ability to cycle for longer distances. Staying at a hotel provided us the opportunity to take shorter rides with rest in between.

Our trip got off to a great start when we drove into Montebello on our way to the trail and discovered a chocolate factory. We couldn’t resist buying some chocolate bars and truffles, completely forgetting about the prices. For lunch, we chose a bistro—after all, it’s Quebec! The French onion soup we had there was delicious.

With tables arranged closely together and the bistro full, the noise level was high, making conversation difficult unless one spoke loudly. However, the proximity to other diners allowed us to engage with our neighbors, which we did. Surprisingly, we ended up discussing politics without any arguments, likely because we shared similar views.

We attempted to use our French, which was more than rusty. Since we rarely have the opportunity to speak French, we struggled to find the right words when communicating with the service people. But it is always satisfying to express oneself in another language when the locals understand you. My feeling was that the locals appreciated our efforts to communicate in French.

In contrast to the bistro, our dinner at the Club du Golf Nominingue hotel restaurant was a more formal affair. While it was also noisy, the dining room was spacious, with tables dressed in white tablecloths and with elegant wine glasses. The service was prompt and attentive to our questions. Although I didn’t find the menu particularly unique to Quebec cuisine, the presentation of the food we ordered was stunning. I felt compelled to take pictures of our plates, which resembled sculptures, even though the food itself was pretty ordinary.

For example, I ordered saucisse artisanale du Québec, which seemed to me to be regular hot dogs, split in two, served with vegetables, and accompanied by French fries, presented in a wire mesh dish. While I wouldn’t consider any of the ingredients unusual, the presentation was truly remarkable.

The next day, we discovered a local bistro that was a lot of fun. It was extremely noisy, with people yelling from the bar to the other side of the restaurant, conversing in French, of course. It seemed that all the locals gathered at the bistro in the evening. We enjoyed local beer and cider, and I ordered osso buco, which is pork hocks in English, and it was delicious. For dessert, we had mousse fromage érable, which was delightful.

Beef bourgignon with ceasar salad

With all the food we consumed, we needed to burn off some calories, so we rode the Petit Train du Nord with plenty of energy. Like many trails of this nature, there are long, straight sections that can feel relaxing at times, while at other moments, they may become a bit boring. However, the trail was flat, with a grade that never exceeded four percent.

I was surprised by the number of electric bikes we encountered. Although I knew these bikes were popular, I didn’t expect most of the cyclists we saw to be using them, especially since there was no need for supplemental power on such level terrain. It was also interesting to see how many people were dressed in heavy clothing; I wore just a T-shirt and shorts, while others wore winter jackets. I thought riding an electric bike at higher speeds could feel quite chilly.

Although the speed limit on the trail was 22 kilometers per hour, we maintained a leisurely pace of 10 to 15 kilometers per hour, taking breaks to admire the surrounding landscape.

I have to commend the Quebec government for the development and excellent maintenance of this trail. It is entirely paved, and cracks in the pavement are clearly marked with yellow chalk. In areas with a buckling surface, a “danger” sign is placed to alert cyclists. More importantly, there are picnic tables, shelters, water fountains, and even bicycle maintenance pillars equipped with all the necessary tools. This is the most developed trail I have ever experienced. We have cycled on trails in Virginia (the Virginia Creeper), South Carolina (the Spanish Moss Trail), North Carolina (the Tobacco Trail), and many trails in Ontario.

The ambiance at the Le Club et Hotel de Golf Nominingeu, where we stayed, and on the trail, the Quebecois people, the food, and, not least, the cycling trail all contributed to a pleasurable trip. We absolutely have to return for another adventure. We thoroughly enjoyed interacting with the Quebecois people, who, without a doubt, tend to be more expressive, animated, and louder than their English counterparts. One of the highlights of our trip was the opportunity to improve our French language skills. The locals appreciated our efforts, even when our conversations switched to English.

Exploring Beaufort: A Cyclist’s Paradise in South Carolina

March 24,2025


We drove south to leave the winter of Ottawa, even though we enjoy snowshoeing. Escaping springtime offers a welcome reprieve from the winter’s cold and snow. Despite my pollen allergies (managed by Claritin), late March in the Carolinas offers ideal cycling weather.

Driving south towards Beaufort, South Carolina, I sighed in relief at leaving the crowded, monotonous, and speedy Interstate 95 behind. Driving for hours had numbed my feet, so I hoped for less, slower traffic on Route 21 East. Although slower, the traffic picked up closer to Beaufort on a four-lane highway.


The expansion of military bases (Parris Island and Beaufort), resort construction (Hilton Head Island), and a Northern retiree influx have driven development along South Carolina’s east coast.
We learned from a hotel employee at check-in that Beaufort’s population has almost doubled since the pandemic, nearing 15,000. It is not only retirees but also people working remotely who have arrived to take advantage of lower housing and living costs.

When Kathy stayed here thirty years ago, she stayed in one of the huge antebellum houses on the waterfront, used as a B&B in those days. Today, developers meticulously redeveloped the waterfront, and they restored the antebellum homes along the waterfront to their original designs. The city designated the downtown area a historic district, and we enjoyed a quiet walk admiring the architecture.

Cycling the Spanish Moss Trail from Beaufort to Port Royal was a smooth ride (it follows the old Magnolia rail line). The paved, twelve-foot-wide trail was flat, crossing marshes with many boardwalks and with the temperature in the mid-twenties (in the seventies in Fahrenheit), was ideal for a bike ride. Much of the Trail crossed areas with oak trees from which Spanish moss hung. I assume the source of the name for the Trail. Although the hanging moss is attractive, avoid touching it because it might contain chiggers.

The paved trail was great for riding, but I knew that falling off the bike would be rough, experiencing injury if going at the maximum allowed speed of 15 mph.

We sped through the twelve-mile trail, pausing to talk with people going in the opposite direction. We avoided talking about politics. We did not know how local people would react to talking to us Canadians, in view of Trump’s desire to annex Canada.

I noticed different organizations took responsibility for maintaining sections of the trail, which included benches at viewing sites, including the military that were in abundance in the area.

In less than a couple of hours, we arrived at Port Royal, at the other end of the trail. We were ready for a cup of coffee and found in the center of Port Royal a home converted to a restaurant with a name Corner Perk that offered fancy coffees. Their muffins were so special we couldn’t resist.

Next, we saw a sign for the Cyprus Wetlands rookery, home to hundreds of local birds (egrets, cormorants, bats, herons, etc.), right by the coffee shop. A boardwalk crosses a lake, going by an island with small trees that provide nesting grounds for birds. We noticed many turtles and alligators also slept on the shore of the island.

Returning to Port Royal, we found a small house converted to a restaurant boasting a sign for Griddle and Grits and the menu included grits with shrimp, with chorizo and grits with different ingredients. I like spicy foods and chose chorizo on grits, which turned out to be excellent. Kathy chose she crab soup, which also turned out to be a good choice.

On the return journey, we paused on a bench and were approached by a man who looked like a bear of an angler, who sat down, smoked a cigarette and started a conversation. He wanted to know all about us and then described his entire life story, including where he was born, where his family members were born and all the ailments they each had. I gathered he has been a floater with jobs in many states before settling in Beaufort. We could not resist listening to him; overall, it was an enjoyable social engagement.

We stopped at a Publix grocery store on the way home to pick up dinner. The Spanish Moss Trail is a nice, paved trail, but it was a bit too tame for us. We like longer and wilder trails with fewer refinements.

What You Learn on a Bike Ride

September 9 2024

I put the bikes on the Thule rack to drive to one of the parking lots along the Ottawa River Parkway. Although we could have cycled from our house to get there, whenever possible I avoid riding on city streets with all the traffic on them.  But when we arrived at the Parkway, we found the two lanes with access to the parking lots closed to car traffic; they were reserved for cyclists on this Saturday. So, we decided to park on a vacant government parking lot nearby, hoping that there would be no monitoring of these lots on a Saturday (by the way, the remote work policy mandates the civil service to work two days per week in the office, so most parking lots for them are nearly empty).

Riding over to the Parkway, we noticed a giant sign indicating the Saturday cycling only sign on the “Kichi Zibi Mekan,” the new name for the Parkway. Let me provide a little history. We used to call this road the “Western Parkway” or the “Ottawa River Parkway”. Both names were geographically suggestive. But in 2012, the government renamed it “Sir John A. MacDonald Parkway” after the first Prime Minister of Canada, a historical name unrelated to geography. We used to call it the “SJAM,” an easy and short name. In 2023, the government renamed it in the Algonquin language, “Kichi Zibi Mekan,” in English: “Great Old River.”

I preferred the Ottawa River Parkway name; it seemed tied to and congruent with the Ottawa River when driving, walking, or riding. Renaming decisions were and are political, in my view. The Conservative government picked Sir John’s name. Sir John was a Conservative politician. When Sir John acquired a bad reputation for his policies towards First Nations, the Canadian public ostracized him. Remember when his monuments were destroyed? This reflects the changing attitudes towards historical figures in Canada.

Instead of returning to the original name, the government, in the spirit of the current ‘reconciliation’ with Indigenous people in Canada, named it in the Algonquin language that few people speak in Ottawa. This ‘reconciliation’ refers to the ongoing efforts to address the historical injustices and promote a better relationship between the Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples in Canada. The name seems divorced from the Ottawa River for English-speaking people; it is three words in the Algonquin language. It is unintelligible to me. However, it is a step towards recognizing and honoring Ottawa’s Indigenous history and culture.

Our bicycle ride took us across the old railroad bridge from Ottawa to Gatineau. I thought the bridge’s name was the Prince of Wales Bridge. The Quebec, Ontario, Ottawa, and Occidental Railway was built in 1880 and christened with a name that lasted over 124 years, although its function as a rail bridge had stopped years ago. However, the bridge went through a major rehabilitation the past couple of years, into a multi-use pathway spanning the Ottawa River; the Ottawa City Council reopened it as the Chief William Commanda bridge.

My curiosity led me to find out who Chief William Commanda was. Commanda was an Algonquin elder, spiritual leader, and chief of the Ashininabeg First Nation for 19 years. In 2008, he was made an Officer of the Order of Canada, an award for meritorious service in Canada. The rehabilitation of the bridge and its renaming as the Chief William Commanda Bridge not only honors his legacy but also provides a safe and scenic route for cyclists and pedestrians to cross the Ottawa River.

I cannot comment on how well-known Commanda was among the Algonquin people or on his accomplishments since this was the first I had heard of him before the Ottawa City Council announced the name of the rehabilitated bridge. But I wonder why we needed a new name and why the new geographic names in Ottawa appear to be acquiring Algonquin memes.

To understand the local politicians’ emphasis on the Algonquin Nation, it’s important to note that the Algonquins have occupied the Ottawa area for over a thousand years. Today, most of the 8,000 Algonquin people live on the Quebec side of the Ottawa River. Therefore, using Algonquin history in naming local streets, bridges, and venues is attractive from a historical perspective and a way to pay respect to the Indigenous people who have shaped the region’s history.

I am less impressed by the use of the Algonquin language in naming parts of Ottawa, like Kichi Zibi Mikan for the Ottawa River Parkway; the words in English mean “Great River Road.” Why not call it the latter? It is understandable in English and carries the historical Algonquin connotation. Members of the Algonquin nation may understand the name but form a minuscule percentage of the population of Ottawa, where over 36,000 people speak Arabic, 16,000 speak Spanish, and 14,000 speak Chinese, in contrast to the 1000 people who speak any indigenous language, including Algonquin (Ottawa’s population is one million).   Based on this precedent, should we see Ottawa venues named in Arabic, Spanish, and Chinese words?

The growth and diversity of Ottawa’s population make the city an exciting place for bike rides. Reflecting on our experiences during our bike rides, we often like to end our trips with a relaxing coffee. This time, the bike path returning from Gatineau across the William Commanda Bridge led us to the Art-Is-In Bakery close to downtown, where we had lunch. I was pleasantly surprised by the long lineup for service and the bustling crowd inside and on the outside patio, especially the vibrant presence of young people. It felt like a scene from the cafes in Marseille around the inner harbor, a delightful surprise in the heart of Ottawa.

There is no question that Ottawa is becoming a sophisticated metropolitan city, with elaborate bike paths sporting historical names and crowded cafes with outdoor patios. However, I prefer to keep street names and similar venues in their original toponymy and not subject them to political whims.

A Taste of Canada: Getting Tick-ed

August 29, 2023

I contracted Lyme disease and take anti-biotics to get rid of it, doxycycline tablets for twenty-eight day. Not sure when a tick, those nasty tiny little bugs, gorged on my blood but suspect that when I cycled on a rail-to-trail over a month ago and stopped in the tall grass to relieve myself, a tick may have found me. That night my foot began to hurt, swelled up and was hot to touch, and the next day I could not put any weight on it.

The pain went away in a few days when I decided to see a nurse practitioner to find out what it could have been. She examined the foot but came up with no conclusions, so I ignored it. In retrospect, that was a mistake.

A month later, I had the worst shakes of my life, my teeth were chattering. The following days I had become extremely tired, moved like molasses, and lost my appetite to such an extent that I lost six pounds in a few days, symptoms of Lyme disease. On the positive side, if you can call it positive, I had no headache and fever. And then a rash appeared on my belly, another symptom of Lyme disease, that I was not aware of that time.

The symptoms convinced me to go back to my clinic and this time I saw another nurse practitioner who gave me a thorough examination and sent me for blood tests, including Lyme disease. But impatient to wait for the test results which would take numerous days in the labs, I admitted myself to emergency at the local hospital knowing that it could be a long wait, hours, to see an emergency doctor. But I would have the results immediately at the hospital emergency department.

Enterng the emergency room, a large sign welcomed me announcing that the waiting time to see a doctor is five hours, measuring at least four feet by four feet,. OK. Then I looked around and absorbed the cacophony generated by dozens of people in the room when a middle-aged and heavy person in a tennis outfit rolled around a wheelchair with, I think, his wife in it, who moaned loudly about the pain that she could not bear any more and wished to be dead. The scene reminded me of a lunatic asylum. Across from where I sat was a youngish fellow with a neck brace. Some people stood and shifted their feet back and forth; there were not enough chairs. The loudspeaker called my name and nurses triaged me asking about the reason for my presence here. I explained that I thought I had Lyme desease. The nurses took copious notes while measuring my blood pressure and pulse rate. And then I returned to the waiting room.

I observed the people around me and was struck by the diversity, i.e., including all shades of brown to black. Is this the composition of Ottawa today? Or are these the people who have no family doctors and forced to attend the hospital emergency room for health care? But then the loudspeaker called my name again for registration; I had to provide my address and other information, information that the hospital already possessed. During this time a little girl, perhaps three years old, held by her father, was crying constantly, adding to the loud buzz in the emergency room. This whole experience was emotionally taxing on me and imagined that there were people here who have had much more serious problems than I had. But Lyme disease can be very serious in the long run if not treated.

But after five hours, as announced on the large bulletin board entering the emergency room, my name was called again, and I entered a large room with a dozen or so examining rooms around a central area where the emergency doctors and nurses worked and consulted with each other. A nurse directed me to a small waiting room that I shared with a young teenager. He moaned about how hungry he was, having been here for eight hours with no food. I asked him if he would be picked up by his parents, when finished. Or were his parents waiting in the outer room and could get him some food at the food outlet next door? No, he said, his parents were not there, he will take the bus home after his stay at the emergency room experience. That surprised me and felt sorry for him.

It was close to midnight when an examining room had become available, and I was invited to enter it. I did not have to wait long, an emergency doctor came to see me and in ten minutes, prescribed an antibiotic for the blood test that showed a high count of white blood cells and another drug for the rash. And that was it; he said he did not know about Lyme disease.

Leaving after midnight after a seven hour stay tired me out. And I found it emotionally taxing observing all the people in the emergency room suffering from some ailment. But the simple recommendations of the emergency doc soothed me somewhat even though he did not confirm I had Lyme disease or even identify my illness. 

The bombshell came the next week when the the blood test the nurse practitioner ordered showed I had Lyme disease. I had been tick-ed. And I received the typical treatment: twenty-eight days of taking doxycycline.

I learned a few lessons from this experience. A conscientious nurse practitioner may provide excellent service. An emergency doctor treats obvious symptoms and may not search for root causes. And although I find emergency rooms interesting, I prefer to avoid them in the future.  When I go for a walk in the country now, I wear long pants and long-sleeve shirts and tuck my pant legs into my socks to make sure no nasty ticks can access my body for a blood-sucking treat.