Bikepacking the Log Driver’s Waltz

“You show me your friends, and I’ll show you your future.” – John Wooden

“Anyone interested in bikepacking the Log Driver’s Waltz?” I should have guessed cycling with our friend Anne would result in Care Bear and I pushing our limits (Yes! Care Bear is back for another adventure!). Anne competes in Ultraman events, roughly two Ironman distance triathlons completed over three days, once placing 3rd overall at the Ultraman World Championships (you read that correctly, 3rd overall, not just in the women’s category). So, it might be hard to definitively say who is responsible for conjuring the idea of cycling the Log Driver’s Waltz bikepacking route in just four days (*Anne*). The Log Driver’s Waltz is an ultra-distance bikepacking route through the Ottawa valley region, spanning 800km of gravel and climbing nearly 10,000 meters of elevation through rough technical terrain on bikes loaded down with gear. I quickly did the math. That would equate to 10+ hours of hard riding each day, pushing our bodies through the accumulating mental and physical fatigue. Somehow Care Bear thought this was a great idea. The suggestion had barely made it onto the training calendar when Anne’s Ultraman friend Amy (who placed 2nd on that same Ultraman world podium) invited herself along. Thus, our coven was born, all starry-eyed and bustling with emotion. Anne, with a healthy dose of fear-based anticipation to ignite her incredible organizational attention to detail, which effectively crowned her our matriarch. Care Bear was in familiar form, radiantly cloaked in blind optimism. Amy, curiously chose to remain veiled in blissful ignorance (she didn’t even bother looking at the route before we left). And me, your documentarian extraordinaire, thrumming with excitement to take this crazy train out on the gravel. 

We never did end up developing distinct nicknames for Amy and I. Truth be told, I kind of like being referred to as “The Amys,” but admittedly this is a bit confusing in writing. So for the purposes of this blog we will refer to Ultraman Amy as J’Amy.

The entire route mapped out by the eternally optimistic Ride With GPS. Actual elevation totals close to 10,000 meters of climbing.

I was so excited about this crew and its percolating shenanigans I could hardly wait to tell my coach, Andrew L’Esperance (better known in the cycling world as L’Espy). Honestly, I can’t say enough cool things about this guy. Beyond being a decorated professional off-road cycling machine with supremely badass bike skills, he’s just an excellent coach. I gave him the run-down of our plans. 

“That’s too much load. Maybe consider doing it over five days?”, he suggested helpfully, trying to nudge me in a sensible direction. This was concerning. Every time I have gone against what L’Espy recommended, I lived to regret it. Like the time I was so tired from training for an ultra-distance mountain bike race that I decided it would be ok to stop doing pushups, despite him specifically telling me not to. The first body part to fatigue beyond recovery during that same event was my triceps. “Did you stop doing your pushups?!” he asked during our post-event call. I could practically hear his knowing grin on the other end of the phone. Indeed I had, and I came to that training decision all on my own.

As you follow along with this tale of misadventure, I’m sure you’ll be inclined to agree with Coach L’Espy because against professional advice, we decided to ride it in four days anyway. Over the next four blog posts you’ll see exactly what too much load does to the mind and body, witnessing our progressive deterioration from four eager cyclists - adorably clean and full of feelings -  to four haggard bodies, precariously taped together with Red Bull, Immodium, a Big Turk, and a kindling friendship that intensifies in inverse proportion to our collective deterioration. 

Let’s begin.

Day 1 - Parliament Hill to Mont Saint Marie - 182km, 3200m, 72% unpaved

2700 meters, that’s cute Ride With GPS.

In 1800, Philemon Wright left Massachusetts to establish the first settlement along the north shore of the Ottawa river for what is now Hull, Quebec, Canada. You have to give Wright a lot of credit, he recognized the economic potential in Canada’s emerging timber industry, but there was a major limitation regarding transportation. No one had figured out how to get cut logs from the depths of the boreal forest to Quebec City for export. It was Wright who came up with the outlandish idea that timber could be floated as a method of transportation. In 1806, he organized the first log drive on the Ottawa River to Bytown (renamed Ottawa in 1855) and on to Québec City via the St. Lawrence River. Though for this first drive the logs were fastened together forming a giant 700-log raft (which Wright coined the Columbo), and yes, Wright was onboard to supervise the expedition to Quebec City, ensuring the logs’ safe passage and helping to navigate the rapids. He was accompanied by his 17-year-old son and only three other crazy men. It took them two months to reach Quebec City, effectively crowning Wright the pioneer log driver, or maybe more accurately, captain of the log drivers? Either way, he remains one of the region’s most important economic figures, fixing his name into several of Hull’s important landmarks, one being the neighbourhood of Wrightville, which is coincidentally where Will and I currently reside. I was pleased to learn this :)

Timber Raft on the Ottawa - GH Andrews 1860 - London Illustrated News

I left our home in Wrightville at 5:40 am on August 22, 2025, to zip across the Ottawa River to our chosen Log Driver’s Waltz departure site of Ottawa’s Parliament buildings, and just at the perfect time to catch the sunrise over the Ottawa River.

It takes some imagination to visualize how different this scene would have looked in the early 1800’s with logs floating downstream into Bytown. Construction of Canada’s parliament buildings didn't begin until 1859, so at the time of the early log drives, Parliament Hill served as a military outpost and supply commissary.

We gathered just in front of the eternal flame without much fanfare. Though this journey would prove to be amongst the hardest things each of us had ever done, few will truly comprehend the odyssey of which we were about to embark. But our energy was palpable, even with the absence of customary start-line hoopla. With the obligatory group photo and a few goodbyes, we were on our way.

The decision to start the route on Parliament Hill and ride counterclockwise - as opposed to the more traditional Almonte start to a clockwise route - was because the majority of the technical terrain is through Gatineau Park. Care Bear and I have logged innumerable hours on rugged forest trails, but this was less comfortable territory for our two roadie companions, most comfortable on slick tires with pavement underfoot. I, as the most experienced mountain biker, had spent some time in the weeks leading up to our departure giving Anne and J’Amy a crash course in bike handling skills (though I was surprised they thought this would be a good idea given my fairly recent performance). 

Anne wanted to approach the technical sections fresh, so she crafted our trip to start in Ottawa, riding ‘in reverse,’ to route us into the more technically challenging Gatineau Park early on Day 1. Gatineau Park is my playground, my happy place, and the terrain I’ve spent the most time exploring. It’s my favourite spot to spend time as a family, and where I’ve solidified my closest friendships. Will and I even got married in this area. Truthfully, it is the sole reason I remain living in this part of Canada, so it felt serendipitous to begin this epic journey on a trip through what I’ve delusionally come to view as my forest. Plus, technical riding is my jam, so I was absolutely in my element. We reached the park entrance within an hour of leaving Parliament. We weren’t 10 seconds into the technical riding before I looked back to find J’Amy on the ground bleeding. This wasn’t a good start. The girls were already nervous about this section and we’d just solidified that fear with exposed flesh, and all before 7 am. But J’Amy’s experience in mental resiliency prevailed. She shrugged it off and presented as remarkably collected and ready to continue without much trepidation. 

A few kilometres ahead lay the first mountain biking section that contained a technical feature Anne likes to call "Crash Rock,” and she’s pretty intimidated by it. Crash Rock is a step-up-and-over a five inch rock wall around a blind corner, a feature I made her practice repeatedly during her technical riding lesson. I rode it first, pulling to a stop just beyond Crash Rock. Care Bear tucked in behind me. We turned to watch our favourite roadies approach Crash Rock with their loaded down bikes. Both executed the line perfectly! Cheers erupted and I danced a little jig as we shared high-fives in enthusiastic praise. It felt good to have conquered this small but monumental obstacle. The celebration was short lived as we continued on to climb Gatineau Park’s famed Penguin assent with 11% inclines on loose gravel, eventually reaching the cycling Mecca that is Champlain Lookout. Elated to be atop this familiar gathering point, we snapped a quick group photo before carrying on to the first memorable downhill of the trip. Care Bear, a proficient technical rider herself, raced after me, and we were all smiles as we hit the parking lot. First half of the day’s technical riding challenge complete. 

The route carried us behind Lac Meech, Lac Phillip, and through an open meadow. I scanned our surroundings. “This is one of my favourite areas of Gatineau Park.” I remarked out loud to no one in particular. Care Bear nodded in agreement, her familiar full-faced grin visible beneath her bike helmet and sunglasses. Anne and J’Amy were less overtly enthusiastic about our surroundings but diplomatically kept their opinions to themselves. I had to hand it to them, they had managed to maintain their composure incredibly well through our nearly six hours of technical riding.

Only seven kilometres later, we dropped into Wakefield for what Anne recalls as her trip highlight. Tears of joy clouded her eyes as we sped down Mill Road towards Wakefield’s main drag. Anne’s most feared sections were finished. We had executed the route’s largest section of technical riding unscathed, and she could now breathe easily. Though we were only 80km into our 182km day, it felt like we had achieved something great. We were all smiles and smooth sailing as we pulled up to the Wakefield confectionary, and just in time, because I was starving. So was Care Bear, identifiable in her signature bikepacking care-mode - agreeable famine. 

“Care Bear, do you want some nuts.”

“Yes”

“How about a banana.”

“Sure, I’ll take one.”

“Wanna split a package of cheese.”

“Oh yeah, for sure.”

Honestly, I have yet to find a food group she will pass on when she’s like this. It’s my favourite :)

We took a good break, recapping the morning and enjoying the rest. J’Amy provided us with a comprehensive demonstration of just how much joy one can glean from a shopping cart (hint: it’s a lot). After scarfing down a sandwich, a Snickers bar, cheese, nuts, some fruit, and a bottle of Coke, we were regrouped, refueled, and were back on the gravel. 

It wasn’t long after that my mood started to decline with inverse proportion to the rising afternoon sun, so I called for a stop at one of the small lakes prevalent in this part of Quebec. We soaked our feet, dunked our jerseys, and splashed water on our faces, breathing life back into our tired bodies. I was surprised how dirty we’d already become, but the refreshing waters cleansed deep to our very souls, reviving us in ways I hadn’t realized we needed. Care Bear, now back in familiar form, took the opportunity to make friends with the lake’s resident mermaid who’d stopped by to say hello. 

After the trip, I asked everyone about their absolute favourite moment. This task proved hardest for Care Bear, and after much deliberation, she was able to narrow it down to four highlights, one for each day. I obviously adore these little Care Bearisms, so I allowed it to stand. Our surprise encounter with a fabled mermaid was Care Bear’s Day 1 highlight.

130km into the ride we finally reached Low, Quebec, our last possible refuel spot for the day. It had been 50km since our previous stop, and I was disproportionally enthusiastic about the prospect of chugging a Coke and crushing some chips. It was a quick but glorious pause, cramming in more calories than would seem physically possible. As we cleaned up, we sorted our small mountain of plastic bottles into their appropriate recycling bins like responsible bikepacking ambassadors. Care Bear held the lid of a giant blue bin as J’Amy started hucking plastic bottles her way, somehow missing the giant recycling bin entirely and almost connecting with her face. We had a good laugh at the sad attempt, surprised it was possible to miss by that much from barely an arm’s length away. In hindsight, it was likely an early sign of our rapidly deteriorating physical abilities.

Refueled and resupplied with 52km to go, we climbed up and over the Paugan electrical dam, arguably the entire route’s most influential landmark to the log driving trade - and not in a good way. The dam was constructed in 1932 to regulate the Gatineau River's natural flow, slowing the current downstream to generate electricity. But log driving requires faster natural flows. The spring melt alone could carry millions of logs downstream. Once the dam was built, tugboats became necessary to guide logs through the dam's chutes. This effectively marked the end of log driving as a trade—that romanticized career of rugged, daring, light-footed Canadian men risking their lives to “dance” log jams free on rivers swollen with icy spring-melt rapids, the shores lined with swooning 1930s debutantes. Log drives had already begun declining after railways had expanded deeper into the forest in the early 1900s, but they continued with diminishing returns until the last large-scale drive occurred in 1990, completing nearly 185 years of drives in the Ottawa Valley. Debutantes everywhere wept at its completion.

National Film Board short film Log Driver’s Waltz. The film was released in 1979, directed and animated by John Weldon. This legendary Canadian ballad was written by folksinger-songwriter Wade Hemsworth.

Next up was the familiar yet still dreaded climb up Paugan Road, the longest continual climb of the trip. Unfortunately, the road had recently been graveled and it was 7km of soft gravel hell. I was miserable. Like, to the depths of my soul miserable. Every pedal stroke was a torturous lash that drove me further into the fiery abyss of the day’s godforsaken heat. I wasn’t moving fast enough to outride the horseflies, Satan’s little demons, mocking me and sinking their sharp little fangs into my delicate, too warm flesh. I was sure Anne and J’Amy, with their stupid roadie legs, were already atop the hill, having a picnic or possibly a refreshing nap, maybe even fast enough that the horseflies constructed a shrine in their honour. Six years later, I made it to the summit. Salvation came in the descent, giving me time to load up on candy and reassemble my shattered soul. 

As four riders we could take turns either upfront, responsible for keeping both pace and morale high, or dangling off the back, questioning all the life choices that brought us to this point. But with different skillsets to draw from, our progress remained steady, and we were knocking off kilometres - until we weren’t. Our progress came to a screeching halt at a surprise technical section on Chemin de la Solitude, an unmaintained logging road for which we were horribly under-biked. Fortunately for me, I find this kind of chaos wildly entertaining. Unfortunately for my roadie comrades, they do not. Care Bear and I gave Anne and J’Amy some space as they precariously hiked their bikes through extremely unforgiving hazards, large cobbles of rocks, and loose sandy hills. Care Bear entered full care-mode and turned to ask a very obviously frustrated Anne and J’Amy how they were faring. I stopped her mid-sentence. “Maybe don’t ask. The answer is clearly very bad. Just let them work through it. You can cheer them up on the other side.” We had four kilometres of this loose, chunky, hilly, rock-avalanche of a road before the end finally gave way to firm-packed gravel. I’ve never seen Anne more relieved. There may or may not have been tears. Care Bear finally got to outwardly expel her care-mode energy, a victorious display of exaggerated triumph worthy of commemorating this monumental win, leading us into the last 8kms of Day 1. 

However, this never-ending story of a day had other ideas for us. There were still several hundred meters of climbing to overcome before the Mont Saint Marie base camp was finally visible over the horizon. It was an excellent sight, and I was euphoric. I love that place. I’ve gathered with many of my communities at Mont Saint Marie for adventures on bikes, skis, and snowboards. This simple base camp, an outdoor haven, embodies the essence of my being. It was a perfectly poetic place to end Day 1 - at least for me. Anne and J’Amy weren’t far behind and once again, looking less thrilled about it.  

“That was the hardest thing I have ever done.” J’Amy announced, looking all of exhausted, relieved, and defeated with a hint of imposter syndrome, clearly having lost sight of the bad-ass fitness queen she is. “I didn’t do that much deep breathing in any one of my labours.” (Of which she had three. I would take her word for it).  

“Honestly I think I could have run those four kilometres faster,” Anne agreed. Anne’s an excellent trail runner, so that’s probably true given her time on Chemin de la Solitude was mostly spent pushing her bike loaded down with gear. She might have even run it faster wearing her bike shoes if she could have ditched the burdenous load of her bike.

Despite the looming aura of hardship, I was super proud of everyone, portraying my enthusiasm with a jig reminiscent of a log driver’s fancy footwork while they daringly rode a slippery, wet log down river rapids. We'd earned every kilometre today, as rugged and determined as any log driver in his prime. Debutantes, eat your heart out.

We switched gears into recovery mode, starting our evening routine of shower, laundry, bike care, and food, while the assault of the day still lurked just below the surface. Every mildly traumatic event could benefit from an emotional support buddy, and J’Amy grew quite fond of an oven mitt which she wore to ‘mush’ around her freeze-dried bag of food, keeping it on while we sat in towels, waiting for our turn to shower.

We cleansed our clothes and our bodies of their filth, slowly regaining composure, and entering a WTF just happened stupor, laughing at how proud we were to have made it over the morning’s small ‘Crash Rock’ feature. 

Regrettably, this was the only night I had enough energy to stretch before bed—my body craving the soothing release for tired muscles. This brought an end to our short hangout, then it was lights out for a proportionally short recovery period before tackling our biggest day of the trip. 

Day 1 Totals:

Distance: 182km

Elevation: 3200meters

Ride time: 10h32m

Elapsed time: 13h 11m

Thanks for Reading!

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