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THE CYCLIST WHO BROUGHT A COUNTRY TOGETHER
Chris Robertson biked to the Arctic Ocean, unifying Canada and growing closer to God

by Chris Robertson

In 1995 my beloved Canada was in danger of falling apart. Quebec, representing one-quarter of Canada's population, considered separation from the rest of the country.

Thankfully, on October 30, 1995, a razor-thin majority of Quebec voters decided, in a referendum, not to secede. But I knew divisions still existed. Was there something I could do to make my country stronger?

I needed a spark to get people thinking. It crystallized into a question, posed to the nation: "What will you do before the year 2000 to make Canada a better country than when you found it?" If 30 million Canadians did one thing to make Canada better, it would create a country so wonderful that no one would ever want to leave.

North to unity
As an inspirational speaker and former vice president of marketing for Golden Griddle (a Canadian restaurant chain), I had lots of experience with the media. I knew I couldn't just send out a few faxes to get my message across; I had to do something to attract coverage.

I decided to become the first person in history to travel, under their own power, from the very bottom of mainland Canada, to the top, 6,520 kilometers (4,042 miles). Many Canadians have traversed from east to west, by foot, bike, and other means, but no one had ever gone from bottom to top.

At first I considered walking the distance—a two-year trek. My wife didn't like the idea. Biking would shave a year off the journey.

I spent 1996 at home in Hamilton, Ontario, preparing for what would be an arduous journey from Point Pelee, Canada's most southern mainland point (farther south than the northern border of California), to Tuktoyaktuk on the Arctic Ocean. Roads—paved, gravel, or dirt—in Canada only go as far north as Inuvik, north of the Arctic Circle, in Canada's Northwest Territories. To reach Tuktoyaktuk, I would have to ride down the center of the frozen MacKenzie River and across the Arctic Ocean.

I wasn't even a recreational cyclist, so I began training hard. As my send-off date approached, I rode 51 kilometers (32 miles) in hilly country two or three days a week. I began reading up on bike maintenance, precautions to take in bear country, and other issues I would face alone in the Canadian wilds.

The carefully planned route included intentional stops in 51 communities. I wrote letters to the mayors, created proclamations, and made "Friend of Canada" certificates to hand out.

My wife Carol and 11-year-old son James were a little skeptical at first, but once they saw my determination, they got behind me. My son, knowing my 41-year-old, 272-pound physique, jokingly called my effort, "Buffets across Canada."

On March 1, 1997, after a year of steady preparation, the To The Top expedition began. All the major Canadian television networks were there in force. The reporters seemed intrigued that I had cashed in $36,928.68 from my government registered life savings plan to fund the expedition and allow my wife to pay the mortgage while I wasn't working.

A local Anglican minister prayed for my expedition. Then I handed my giant Canadian flag to James, before kneeling to pray myself. Afterward I stood up, exclaiming, "I ride for all Canadians and for the glory of Canada!"

I took off on my aluminum-frame mountain bike with 250 pounds of gear on my back. The gear included my camping equipment, a survival knife, flares, food, clothing for all kinds of weather, and binders full of press material. A few days later, I added a small single-wheel trailer behind my bike to hold the gear.

Glorious sights, wonderful people
Each day I averaged 70 to 80 kilometers (50 miles). Some days I rode more; my record was 132 kilometers (82 miles). Half the time, local people or businesses provided me hot meals and lodging; otherwise I pitched my tent by the side of the road, dining on cookies and pop. I called my wife every day I found a pay phone.

Each community that knew I was coming usually had an enthusiastic welcome, sometimes with a marching band or a parade. One town let the children out of school to greet me.

In Whitehorse, the capital of the Yukon, school children sang Canada's national anthem, "O Canada," to me. The entire school started singing in French, then switched to English, and finished in the native language of Southern Tutchone—Canadian unity at its best!

I made a point to visit hospitals and churches. I usually made the patients laugh when I told them they would be out of the hospital long before I reached Tuktoyaktuk. At the churches I particularly wanted young Canadians to know that I considered my Christianity an honor.

There were interesting discoveries along my route. A sign posted in Beachville, Ontario, proclaims the "first" recorded baseball game in the world was played there in 1838. Vegreville, Alberta, is home to the world's largest Ukrainian Easter egg, more than 25 feet long and 18 feet wide. This aluminum ornament sits on a pedestal in its own park in town.

To my surprise, in northern British Columbia, I biked through a boreal jungle; it was like stepping into the movie, Jurassic Park. The jungle valley is sustained by geothermal heat warming the Liard Hot Springs. Early British explorers heard of the valley from native Canadians, but considered it a hoax. The U.S. Army rediscovered it during World War II, while building the Alaska Highway.

Dodging death
On June 10, 1997, I was riding on the TransCanada Highway, west of Thunder Bay, Ontario. A giant transport truck pulled out to pass a car pulling a U-Haul trailer and was coming straight toward me. I have the right of way. He'll pull back over, I thought.

Five seconds later, reality set in. I'm going to be a bug on his windshield! I dove out of the way, just as the truck almost ran over me.

My face hit the ground first, my cheek biting the gravel hard. Thankfully, I only suffered scrapes, but no one even stopped to see if I needed help. That made me angry. I counted to ten and then remembered Jesus' exhortation to turn the other cheek. God loved even the trucker who came close to killing me.

About a week later in the Provincial Forest Reserve of Manitoba, east of Winnipeg, I had a run-in with a black bear. Camped at a small rest area, I was awakened at 1 a.m. by sounds of steel crunching. Peeking out the slightly opened flap to my tent, I could see the bear chomping on a trashcan.

I reached for my knife, jumped to my feet, and prepared for a fight. The bear ambled off. I counted my blessings as I lay awake the rest of the night.

On July 4, I was bicycling through Saskatchewan on the Yellowhead Highway. The prairies were flat as far as the eye could see, with no buildings or civilization on the horizon. I was listening to praise music on my CD player, preparing to set up my base camp for the night by the side of the road.

A minute later, thunderheads rolled in from nowhere and lightning struck the ground all around me. Static electricity raised the hair on my arms. I went from barely pedaling to a sprint in a few moments, pushing it until I pedaled through the storm.

Lastly, just a few hours after I passed the Toad River in British Columbia on August 29, two hundred feet of rock fell, blocking the road. It took nine hours before the highway could be reopened. I was thankful for God's protection.

In September I traveled through the Yukon and the Northwest Territories, areas I had never seen before. Through the cold days and long, colder nights in remote wilderness, I knew that God was watching over me. Even in the heart of grizzly bear country, I had no fear. Daily I praised God for his glory, especially the beautiful natural tapestry that surrounded me.

At the end of September I reached the town of Inuvik in the Northwest Territories. To complete my journey, I would have to wait until the MacKenzie River froze over.

Moonlit destination
On October 4, I flew home to Ontario thanks to Magna International, a car-part manufacturer. I was one of 10 co-authors for their book, As Prime Minister I Would … . It was great to see my wife and son for three months, and sleep in a warm bed.

In January 1998 I returned to Inuvik, again thanks to Magna, for the final leg to Tuktoyaktuk, 187 kilometers (116 miles). The ice trail had just opened, and the sun had returned for brief appearances after a month's absence.

For two days, I rode down the center of the MacKenzie River on special tires with metal studs ordered from Finland. The MacKenzie rivals the St. Lawrence River in width, and runs from almost the corner of northern Alberta to the Arctic Ocean. I could hear the cracking below me as the ice strained to hold my weight.

As I neared my destination on the third day, cycling under the beautiful Northern Lights, I kept my eye out for dangerous cracks in the ice caused by high tides. The windchill was 80 degrees below zero Celsius; it felt like a sharp needle was being driven through my cheeks. Fighting the drifting snow and the high winds of the Arctic Ocean, I cycled forward slowly. My cheeks and the area around my eyes got frostbitten.

But I forgot my pain when I spotted Tuktoyaktuk, visible under a full moon hanging low in the sky. Tears rolled down my face and froze, as I cycled the final few kilometers. The faces of the millions of Canadians I had met over the last ten months flashed through my mind. I quietly thanked God. It was January 7, 1998.

During my trip I had been reading the Bible all the way through. I had never done this before, even though I had been a Christian since childhood and was a faithful member of St. Christopher's [Anglican] Church in Burlington, Ontario. At the beginning of the expedition, I started reading Genesis and got up to the book of Numbers. Bored, I jumped ahead to the New Testament. I read the entire New Testament and returned to the Old Testament.

On the day I arrived in Tuktoyaktuk, I completed the Old Testament, beginning with Zechariah 14:6: "When that time comes there will no longer be cold or frost, nor any darkness. There will always be daylight, even at nighttime. When this will happen is known only to the Lord" (GNB).

This had been the toughest week of my life, battling the cold and darkness of the Arctic, but this verse promised light and an end to cold. The reference to daylight at nighttime was significant, especially in the Arctic, the land of the midnight sun. This message took my breath away!

The next day, all 600 residents of Tuktoyaktuk gathered in the local school gym, clapping and cheering. There were several native dances in my honor and the Mounties gave me a t-shirt. On January 8, I got a ride to Inuvik to prepare for the 18-hour flight home to Ontario. That night I had a warm bed and hot dinner at the Eskimo Inn.

My journey was over. It was worth it all. I have heard from students of all ages about projects they've undertaken to make Canada better. One class is helping build schools in underdeveloped countries to spread Canada's love abroad. Another class is building an Iroquois canoe to paddle down the Great Lakes to Quebec City where they will give them a proclamation telling them that Canada needs Quebec.

I'm changed, too. The expedition made my faith more personal. Now, I'm striving to spread God's love to everyone I meet—the love I saw throughout my journey. I'm trying to give God 110 percent every day, a small portion of everything he's given me.

Chris Robertson can be contacted on the Internet at chris.robertson@sympatico.ca or by calling 1-905-387-0721. He will speak for free to any Christian organization, and he's also raising funds to build the first permanent Anglican Church in Inuvik.

A Christian Reader original article.

Copyright © 1999 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian magazine (formerly Christian Reader).
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