Until a couple of days ago, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d asked permission to use the bathroom.
Not to use someone’s bathroom. Just permission to do normal things the body needs to do. As in, is it OK if I go to the bathroom now?
Or do you need me for a photo/cheque presentation/team introduction? When would be the best time for me to use the washroom?
I’ve asked these actual questions of other adults so many times over the first few days of the Tour de Rock, which has seen our team of police officers, paramedics, media and community members ride more than 340 kilometres in three days from Port Alice to Campbell River in support of pediatric cancer research.
Bathroom breaks are such a hot topic, we actually devoted time in an evening debrief on our second day to talking about when we’re allowed go to the bathroom.
Because the thing is, between riding our bikes, visiting schools and businesses, and mingling with locals at lunch and dinner stops, we’re always on, so squeezing in our very necessary bathroom time is challenging.
An emergency side-of-the-road pit stop between Port McNeill and Woss (when half of the team was in physical pain from holding their bladders) cost us precious time.
That and a very minor crash that took several of us down while grinding slowly uphill (myself included, but don’t worry, everyone’s fine) meant we arrived in the tiny town of Woss 20 minutes behind schedule.
We’re told the community of about 200 people waits all year for the Tour de Rock to come through, and we need to tighten up to stay on schedule. Like children on a road trip, we’re reminded to use a bathroom every time we see one, even if we don’t think we need it.
Despite leaving behind schedule the next day from Sayward, after a short ride with some elementary school children, we make up time on the road. (During the ride with the school children, I learned from a young boy that living in Sayward can be tough because he can’t go out after dark for fear of bears and cougars, but on the plus side, he doesn’t have to worry about “being taken” like kids do in Campbell River).
We’re figuring out that two-minute warnings mean “be ready now” and dialling in potty time.
After a few days of riding, I’m learning just how strong tour tradition is for many of the places we visit. Our meals in remote north Island towns are served in crock pots brought from home and tupperwares with names scrawled on them. Many of the people we meet have been involved with the tour for years.
In Port Alice, we hear the two biggest days of the year are ÎÚÑ»´«Ã½ Day and the day Tour de Rock rolls in. A kitchen in Sayward Elementary School is apparently only used once a year to cook breakfast for the Tour de Rock team.
It’s the same in Campbell River, where we roll into Dick’s Fish and Chips for lunch. Owner Dick Tansley has been feeding riders since 2007 and he’s not quite sure how to put into words what it means to him. “I just love it.”
After two days of long stretches of cycling between far-flung communities, riding into Campbell River on Tuesday feels like entering a bustling metropolis.
The streets are busy with cars and the sidewalks are lined with people waving the team in.
It’s an emotional moment for one member of the team. Chris Seeley wipes away tears as he leads us into his hometown to a hero’s welcome, waving to family and friends.
The Seeley family has been feeding Tour de Rock riders at their Boston Pizza restaurant since the very first year of the tour’s existence. Twenty-seven years ago, when Chris’s dad, Larry Seeley, got a call asking him to feed the group, it was only about a dozen riders and a few support crew. They came for an hour and were gone.
“I look at all the activities that have happened since. It’s probably the only event on the Island that small communities can embrace and become involved in,” says Larry Seeley, a cancer survivor himself.
This year, he watched his son walk in as part of the 2024 team. Talking about it brought tears to his eyes.
In the corner of their restaurant is a framed Tour de Rock T-shirt surrounded by photos of teams from years past. They’ve now been joined by a picture from this year’s Tour de Rock team.
The roads of Campbell River will never look the same to him after leading his team in, Chris Seeley says.
At Boston Pizza, Christa Corrigall tells the team that Tour de Rock means “hope when you don’t know if you can muster it up from within yourself.”
She recalls jumping out of her car with her nine-month-old daughter, Natalia, to watch Tour de Rock roll down the highway years ago.
Four years later, after Natalia was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia, the tour carried her family through their toughest times, she says.
“That’s the magic of Tour de Rock. It has a power all to itself.”
Natalia, now 15, is considered in remission, but Corrigall says the worry never goes away as a parent when you’ve watched your child go through cancer treatment.
“You are always watching. You’re always wondering. You check them at night, you know, you keep a close eye on them,” she says.
After a few exhausting, long days, we’re released to our shared hotel rooms for bed, and we can take toilet breaks as we please until morning.
Where the Tour de Rock team is
The team is continuing south today, riding from Courtenay to Parksville, with stops in Royston, Union Bay, Bowser and Qualicum Beach.
To donate to Tour de Rock, visit
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