Note: This is my first day of crossing Toronto on foot. Sept. 11, 2026 . Start with the pre-walk background here and read what happened on the second day here.
It’s the first day of my walk across the entire width of Toronto.
I leave the apartment at 8:15am to a waiting taxi downstairs. It’ll take me to the starting point at Pearson International Airport.
We go through a set of mid-sized city streets and onto Highway 401 which bisects the North end of the city from East to West. The ride takes 45 minutes which is enough to get me ruminating. Will I be able to complete this cross-city walk? I keep thinking that “it takes two”: my crossing of the city also depends on whether the city wants it to happen.
My thoughts drift to how this is a solitary heroic quest. Except, in preparation, my wife bought me a nut mix to keep me energized. And she’ll take care of the kids. And she’d made plans to call throughout the day to make sure I’m safe. No matter what my lyin’ brain says: I am not doing this alone.
We reach Pearson’s international terminal. I take a selfie while touching the Departures board at 8:53am. It’s on.
The architecture of the place is semicircular with everything looking like the ribcage of a whale. The people here seem relaxed. This is strange because whenever I have to fly, I’m always in a high-stress rush at the airport.
Maybe it’s calm because it is Friday morning?
Perhaps these people are freaking out on the inside?
Airports are not generally designed for entry on foot. Despite doing some preliminary research on how to walk out of Terminal 1, I couldn’t figure out a simple way to leave. So off to the intra-airport “Link” train I went. Destination: Viscount Station, where several large parking lots are located.
Airport to Mimico Trail
Getting out of the airport’s vicinity was challenging because large highways strangle it from all directions. I eventually had to step through a narrow gap in a parking lot fence, and to walk for a long while on a “sidewalk” that was just a symbolic strip of asphalt.
It was difficult to get oriented in this unpleasant zone. But then I saw the hazy figure of the CN Tower appear in the distance, and I knew that I was going in the right direction. The CN Tower is visible from many parts of the city and helps me feel properly situated.
Turning South now on Carlingview, we’re in a typical “light industrial/commercial” street along a highway. Surprisingly, a billboard promoting an artist rises above this desolate place:
Running behind schedule, I have a late breakfast at 10:24am at Lamont Village Cafe – a tiny cafe inside an office building. As I approach, I see a welcoming set of chairs and tables outside. I order a bean salad. A little heavy on the balsamic vinegar but it’s hearty and hits the spot. Yes, this is a food blog.
An unusual sculptural pedestal peeks out beyond the parking lot:
Leaving the commercial plaza’s parking lot, I see an interesting sign that says “Mystery School” and just have to check it out.
The Mystery School’s subtitle is “Advanced spiritual training” – and an Internet search shows that this is where you can learn Salomonic and Enochian Magick. Next door is “Seduction Spa” where you can get hands-on practicum with Magick in the way Aleister Crowley practised it.
South, on the bridge above Highway 401 the sky is clear. It’s hot, and the bushes are many shades of green. I keep thinking that a long walk is just a long string of individual steps. I will succeed at the walk if each step is painless and does not incur damage. This probably means proper technique, footwear, general health etc. but runners and hikers will have a much better language/culture of this than I do. All I know is to monitor my body for pains and be kind to myself.
I finally make it out of the pedestrian-hostile tangle of highway paths. I am now on the Mimico Trail that runs along the highway. The only people around are men in late middle-age who are riding their bikes.
I smell malt in the air. I figure there must be some sort of cereal factory – but soon a big Molson brewery comes into view and the mystery is solved.
At around this time, I put in my earbuds and listen to LA Priest’s Time and Message. The heat of the day and the humming of the man turn it hypnotic.
Getting off the recreation trail, it’s then through a warren of small streets and on to the major street of Kipling. At this point my legs are stiff. I’ve been stopping to rest whenever my knees complain even a little bit.
Kipling to the 3-way intersection
It’s a long walk down Kipling. My boys, The Cleaners From Venus, are keeping my ears company. Especially with the track Helpless.
I was certain that walking down stretches of boring roadside will have my mind monologuing, quipping and yipping – just like Craig Mod’s appears to do on his walks. After all, there are rabid blog fans to satisfy (that’s you amigo!) and my brain does occasionally go wild when I walk. I hit my stride. There are no quips. My mind is still. Which is a blessing in its own way.
I reach the next key destination: the intersection Kipling with Dundas and Bloor. A giant ogre of a condominium compound rises out of the earth. Nothing else it’s size anywhere around. It must be one of those “let’s put a massive number of housing units in the middle of nowhere, with no amenities” projects that are common in Toronto.
A few steps East of there, where the neighbourhood developed more organically, you see a pleasing mix of condos and dumpy retail plazas. With a side of wild meadow in undeveloped lots.
This is the halfway point of today’s journey. My legs are sore and I stop for coffee at Galata Cafe. I’m feeling adventurous: my order is a sesame pastry and a “Turkish coffee” (I’m usually a Flat White man).
While waiting for the coffee I stretch out my legs comically long.
The coffee has a deep smell and a light flavour. The lakum is lightly flavoured, and I appreciate that. I wish there was more coffee. As I sip down the drink, a solid lump of sediment emerges one-third of the way from the bottom. I must’ve drunk my Turkish coffee wrong. Should’ve swirled it or something. This is the third disappointing Turkish Coffee experience that I’ve had.
Dear reader, I can piece together a pattern. I’m not an idiot. I make the logical mental note: NEVER VISIT TURKEY.
In contrast, Ethiopian coffee has never disappointed me. Order the “coffee ceremony” at any Ethiopian restaurant and you’re in for a memorable experience. I check my mental notebook. There’s a note there that says: VISIT ETHIOPIA.
Bloor to Humber River
I exit the cafe and walk down Bloor to the next big intersection, Islington. There is a notably dumpy bus terminal. With those plants growing on the roof that say “nobody loves me nobody maintains me”. Of mild interest: there are 3 “generations” of tall buildings visible at that one spot.
I would not live this far out in the West of town. This is too distant from Toronto’s civilizational centre and the people here speak in barks and yelps instead of human language. They eat a kind of pancake they make out of acorn paste. They bow before a two-headed squirrel god. You know, the usual thing that happens when you’re too far from the core.
Going further Eastbound on Bloor St., there are barricades and I see merchants setting up for the “Taste of The Kingsway” festival. Some have their own branded trucks, some brought their stuff on a U-Haul. Offloading gas tanks and grills.
Could I be one of them?
I have been thinking of converting my cash into mid-priced productive assets. All I can think of is specialty foodmaking equipment that would require me to work weekends at festivals if they are to bring any cashflow. I couldn’t last. I like my weekend rest too much.
I keep walking through this bustling scene for a long time and finally reach the Old Mill neighbourhood. Now we’re cooking! We’re at the first familiar area – and I can navigate by memory from here.
Beyond that light is the Humber River – one of the two major rivers in Toronto. (I am a Don River boy, myself!).
I go down a long set of steps to the water. My legs are achy and I have to choose between a convenient paved leading away from the river, and a rustic path near the water. Eff it, let’s take the scenic route:
I go down the wilder path and sit on that bench at the end. Turns out that the discomfort in my left foot – which I thought was due to a crease in my sock – is actually from a big blister across the back of the heel.
This was unexpected. It’s genuinely been over 10 or 15 years since I last had a blister. I cover it with a band-aid and hope for the best.
The pathway along the Humber is very disappointing, because you don’t actually get to see the river. You walk along a wall of trees. Then you’re thrown out onto the street and have to walk among apartment buildings before you can return to the woods.
When I finally reach a wooded path, my legs are hurting. I am alone. I lift my face to the trees and say aloud: “heal me”. This is a bit personal, but Toronto’s ravines and wild paths are the place where I go when I need emotional or psychological healing. Perhaps it’ll also work if I request physical healing?
I walk for twenty minutes. Squirrels are chasing each other. There are fallen branches from powerful hailstorm that recently hit Toronto. A beautiful snake sits still on the path. I crouch low to take a picture but see that it is mortally wounded. Run over by a cyclist.
I arrive at the place where the Humber River meets lake Ontario.
Lake and lunch
As I cross the modern Humber River Bridge, the CN Tower looks small in the distance. Reminding me that I have at least 2 more hours of walking left.
Past the bridge is a nice lakeside boardwalk. It is about 3pm. Couples and daycare teachers with toddlers are out and about. There is a cooling breeze that I feel grateful for. People are tanning in front of “Sunnyside Pavilion” (who’s architecture won’t be out of place in Mexico). Swans groom themselves in the water.
I leave the boardwalk via a graffitied pedestrian bridge. It’s hot. There is a panhandler sitting on the narrow walkway. We’re entering the edge of my old turf and I’m hungry for my late lunch.
Lunch is at “Paddler, Thai boat noodles“. It’s hot and the ceiling fans are losing their battle against the heat. Plants are growing lush in the window. The music playing in this place is “jazz” with lyrics that are so generic I am sure they’re AI-generated. I Shazam several tunes: no hit. Jazzslop.
My pork “boat noodle soup” arrives with some nice chicharrones on the side. Nice mild flavours. I usually prefer bolder flavours but I did get the least-spiced soup on the menu, so I can’t complain. It comes with morning glory which is the favourite vegetable of a Friend of The Blog.
There used to be many antique shops in this vicinity. They are gone now. But that doesn’t mean that the place lost its soul: bookstores, tiny doughnut shops and pottery studios are its neighbours.
I finish the meal and resume walking. My legs ache now. I only think of how close I am to finishing as I head into the neighbourhood of Parkdale.
Parkdale to Union
I enter a part of Parkdale that’s dominated by Tibetan restaurants. Suddenly, I am walking alongside many people. They’re getting off buses, must be returning home from work. Toronto is a city that often appears depopulated: the physical breadth of the city is completely out of scale with the population. It is unusual for me to find myself in a group of people and it feels nice. Lively.
The next significant milestone is the intersection of Queen and Ossington. Back in 2010 I was part of the first wave of people gentrifying that area. For good and ill. It has changed significantly: there are now many new highrise condominiums surrounding the CAMH mental-health centre. The street is filled with people at 5pm and I am glad that more folks have a chance to enjoy this hip lifestyle – I wish we had more cool areas like Ossington in our city.
I see my old home. When I first moved out here to live on my own, I was going to reinvent myself. Was going to be a different guy: outgoing, talkative, a great listener! In the morning, I approached my neighbours in the hallway to say a friendly “hello”. You should’ve seen the look of confusion and horror on their faces. I started pretending to be unaware of my neighbours. Unfortunately that’s how we roll in Toronto.
It’s been 8 hours of walking. The whole walk should have taken only 6. My mind is gone at this point. I can’t be bothered to take photos. My legs are sore and all I can think about is the end: Union Station.
I play a Dirtyphonics concert on the earbuds and it invigorates my body. Yes, Dear Reader, I am a dirty lil’ junglist and can throw up mean gun fingers with the best of em. I barely restrain myself from doing footwork while waiting at pedestrian crossings – what stops me are visions of horrifically mangling my blistered feet.
There are lots of people on the street now. I pass by a street that’s been pedestrianized for TIFF (the Toronto International Film Festival). I pass by Jim Treliving (owner of the all-Canadian business “Boston Pizza”). I see the CN Tower (so very far just hours ago, now so near).
A woman’s shirt says
pro-gluten
pro-fiterole
pro-secco
I reach Union Station. It is a transit hub that connects several railway lines and Toronto’s subway. Inside it is absurdly confusing – another “classic” of awful architecture and woeful wayfinding that we keep accumulating.
A quick selfie that comes out looking like AI-Generated Fake News:
I go inside, to the place my family considers “The Heart of Union Station”: the cafe % Arabica. I get a killer decaf latte and head to the subway.
It’s 5:56pm.
It’s been 9 hours and 25km of walking.
Day 1 is done. Onwards to Day 2.
Postscript
The next day I feel fantastic. Just as long as I don’t move.
I am in pain when I walk. Especially in the hip joints (but they are strangely limber now – I easily bring my knees up to my chest).
Continuing the walk the next day is completely out of the question. Day 1 took me right up to my limits. That was a 25km walk starting fresh. Day 2 would be a 37km walk uphill – and doing it right after Day 1, I would start out hobbling in pain. No way I’d finish.
The next 6 days are spent eating lots of protein and recovering. My glutes hurt in ways that reveal an inner anatomy that’s much more intricate than the “that there’s the Ass Muscle” of my prior understanding.
I have a new appreciation for Craig Mod. His physical conditioning must be tip top to recover from each day’s walk and to also write at night. He must have a supreme understanding of his own body and its limits.
The day before the walk it is hard to focus. Whatever I do, I am not fully present. I am mentally already in the future. Already walking.
