Chris Vs. The Hill/For Love of Music
Okay, now I originally sent this story to the CBC's Vinyl Cafe Story Exchange
on Juny 11th, 2004, shortly after having gotten home from seeing Hawksley
Workman as part of the Celebrate Toronto Streetfest.

I've only actually added one or two additional things to this story, mainly a
commentary at the end that I think gives it some meaning.


Anyways, here's the story - sorry, there are no pretty pictures to entertain,
as I didn't bring my camera with me.

Tonight I rode on up to Yonge & Eglinton to see Hawksley Workman as part
of the Celebrate Toronto Streetfest. It only took me 30 minutes by bike to get
there - I was actually a little bit surprised I arrived at all. You see, I live a
good 7km's cycling distance South West of Yonge & Eglinton, and probably
a hundred feet or more lower in altitude.

You see, as one heads North out of the downtown of Toronto, there is what
is known as "The Hill". In talking with a coworker at the Shout Clinic a few
months back, we joked about "The Hill", and he noted how, in the Toronto
cycling community, there's a joke that you lose friends because they move
"Up The Hill".

Now, I've done The Hill a couple of times before, to get to group meetings
on Mount Pleasant, where I simply rode all the way up Mount Pleasant to
Davisville, laughing at the irony of the cemetery at the top of The Hill, and
it wasn't too bad. Not something I wanted to do regularly, but not too bad.

I've seen The Hill on Bathurst before too, as the TTC bus I was on struggled
to get up it, and I watched a cyclist trying to do it. I felt sorry for the poor soul
and vowed never to take The Hill on Bathurst.

So, tonight, I tried mounting The Hill via Avenue Road, which, to us "almost
always South of Bloor" types means "University Avenue North of Bloor".

My trek began, and it wasn't too bad, and then the road started to incline,
and on I rode. It got steeper, and I actually picked up a bit of speed, shifting
into top gear. I knew what would lay ahead.

And then I saw it.

There would be no slowing down before reaching the foot of The Hill, or I
would be a dead man, this much I knew. So, remaining in top gear, I gave
it all I could, gaining speed for that moment when I hit the bottom of The Hill
and gravity became my enemy.

I made it a good 20 feet up The Hill before down shifting. One down shift
became another, until I was firmly in mid-gear and not about to down shift
any more. My leg muscles began burning, my lungs were like twin furnaces
within my chest, and my heart was threatening to jump clear out of my chest
and throttle me if I didn't stop. I stood on the pedals, leaning forwards to be
able to pull on the bike frame, to add greater strength to my legs, pushing
against the pedals in a vain attempt to defy gravity.

And then I beheld a true horror that could only have been devised by the
most sick and twisted imagination. A stoplight. Somebody put a stoplight
three quarters of the way up The Hill. I instantly resurrected my Kill List
and added "person who put the bloody stoplight on The Hill".

I slowly down shifted as it turned red in front of me, now with the main
gear at its lowest setting, and the rear one almost matching it. Taking off
would be painful, and I knew it. My legs, relieved by the momentary rest
would attempt to defy my orders to push the pedals once more and continue
the journey North, and Up The Hill.

The light turned green and, with agonizing slowness, I began to pedal once
more. I gained speed and quickly up shifted, moving the main gear up to its
central position as The Hill began to crest.

With relief, I made it over the crest and once more made my way into top gear.

"Not much further to Eglinton" I said with confidence.

Then, after a couple of streets, I got to St. Clair. I had forgotten that St. Clair was
South of Eglinton, and thus that Eglinton was still a long hike from The Hill. But
at this point, there was no turning back.

And so I rode, onwards and upwards.

And on.

And on.

The rode dipped in spots, and rose in others. On the whole, it rose a whole lot
more than it dipped, as I seemed to be riding an incline without end. Until I
reached the end of Oriole Parkway (which Avenue Road had turned into - I never
knew that before), at Eglinton. I've rarely been so happy to see a road sign in
my life.

I was relieved to turn East and find that it sloped down, toward Yonge Street
and the Hawksley Workman concert. When I got there, I parked my bike on the
additional bicycle parking the festival organizers had set up beside the port-a-
potties and wandered into the crowd just in time for Hawksley to introduce himself,
talking about how he used to live in the area, and how he used to work at the
What-A-Bagel and the Pickle Barrel, whose signs shone down upon us. I ran into
my friend Mike there as well. I haven't seen Mike for about a year, and it was good
to find out that he's doing well.

Well, the band played for an hour and a half, ending a little after 11:00pm, and I rode
home, back down The Hill. I had conquered The Hill again today, although I don't think
I'll make a habit of challenging it.


We've all got Hills in our lives - some of them are large, physical ones, and others
are large mental ones. What is important is that we work hard in preparing ourselves
to overcome them. It often takes a lot of practice and building to overcome the larger
hills, and often, it's the people around us, encouraging us, admiring us, and working
with us that help us to make our way up them.

When we challenge our hills, we often don't find a complete victory, or we experience
setbacks and stoplights. Sometimes we have to turn back because we can't make
it to the top, and sometimes the hill that we conquered before conquers us. This
doesn't mean that we can never challenge that hill again, or that we will never
succeed when we do so, it simply means that we only succeeded part-way this
time, and that, in itself, is a victory to be celebrated, because we were still able
to challenge the hill, to stand up to it and refuse to let it control what we do.


"Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising every time we fail." - Confucius




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