Small Loop, Big Lessons: A Local Bikepacking Story
A father & Son bikepacking overnighter near Montreal
Words & photos : Nicholas Spooner
Adventure often begins with a pause. This time, it was the kind where rain drummed on the garage roof, filling the air with restless energy. My dad and I stood side by side, staring out into the grey, our gear scattered across workbenches and his new Taïga gravel bike leaning nearby—ready, but waiting.
New to bikepacking, we’d spent the morning wrestling with a tangle of straps and zippers, packing and then repacking again to find the right balance between weight and accessibility. Our setup was far from the sleek efficiency of seasoned riders, but it didn’t matter. Every adjustment, every misstep, was part of the learning process.
Our plan was straightforward: a one-night 90km loop starting and ending at home. The route mixed ferry crossings, bike paths, singletrack, and a stop at a provincial park. It wasn’t one of the epic journeys we had read about on bikepacking.com, but it promised just enough challenge to push our limits, test our gear, and spark a sense of adventure.
When the rain finally eased, we clipped in with quiet eagerness. The hum of tires on wet gravel replaced the fading noise of the city as we left Montreal behind. Soon, the urban sprawl gave way to the dense, rain-soaked woods of Île Bizard. Familiar singletrack offered a welcome break from pavement, the trees alive with the energy of a recent storm.
At the ferry crossing to Laval, dark clouds gathered above, hinting that the rain wasn’t finished with us. The river shifted uneasily under the breeze. On the other side, the bike path became our guide, a smooth ribbon of asphalt that wove through quiet neighbourhoods, open farmland, and shaded stretches of trees. This path, part of the Route Verte network, was well-maintained and a joy to ride—its gentle curves and subtle elevation changes offering a perfect rhythm for the journey. The rain returned in bursts, forcing us to duck under bridges and overpasses, a welcomed break. Each pause was a reminder of how weather shapes a ride.
The campground in Oka National Park offered respite. Or at least it should have. My dad, in a moment of optimistic packing—or perhaps outright denial—had forgotten pants. The bugs wasted no time taking full advantage. As we swatted, scratched, and laughed, I couldn’t help but think how small oversights on short trips can become major annoyances on longer ones. If ever there was a reminder of why local adventures are the perfect testing ground for honing your kit, this was it.
The morning was calm and clear. We brewed coffee on the beach, savouring the quiet before setting off. The trails were empty, save for the occasional deer darting away at the sound of our tires. We continued along the bike path from Oka Park, through neighbourhoods and town, toward the ferry. The ride was effortless, the rhythm smooth
as we crossed the Hudson in a haze. The journey back through Vaudreuil and Île Perrot carried a quiet satisfaction, the feeling that our loop was nearing its end.
The Taïga handled it all with ease—gravel, mud, smooth pavement, and everything in between. But this wasn’t just a test of equipment; it was a reminder that adventure doesn’t need to be grand to be transformative. Sometimes, it’s as simple as a father and son, two bikes, and a loop that starts and ends at home. We arrived home with a head full of ideas of what our next ride would be.
