Victoria by bike and paddle

Kingfishers flash along saltwater shallows, chittering the staccato song their prey apparently cannot hear. Baitfish rustle the surface like tiny painters with stiff-bristle brushes. Ancient oaks and willows lean out over the water from low-rise bluffs. Gulls circle overhead and herons prowl the shallows.

This kayak trip might be almost anywhere in the thousands of miles of shoreline waters along Vancouver Island – but this morning's paddle is in the middle of the island’s biggest metropolis, Victoria, population: 400,000. It exemplifies the city’s awesome recreational character, one that is as easily available to visitors as to residents.

My wife Nicole and I left a rental dock near the city’s inner harbor floatplane base at 9 a.m., heading northwestward into the backwater bays and channels of the waters known as The Gorge – so named because after traversing a couple large inner bays, the route turns to a narrow channel between bluffs lined with quiet neighborhood homes.

Though you’re passing by residential neighborhoods, the homes are up high rather than at shoreline, so the impression is that of a far more remote locale. Not a spruce-lined backwater inlet in Clayoquot Sound, but not Seattle’s Montlake Cut either.

About a mile up the inlet, a narrow defile holds a tidal cataract that reverses twice a day, a mini-version of the famous Skookumchuck Narrows 50 miles north. Best that amateur paddlers consult tide charts and time their journey to pass during slack times; or simply stop here, gawk at the sight and head back. Urban wonders await you afterward, but more on that in a moment.

Halfway up The Gorge paddle route you pass right under the second crown jewel in Victoria's outdoor panoply, the Galloping Goose trail. Here it’s a low-lying trestle crossing a small bay just before the start of the actual Gorge. On the trestle, bikers, walkers, runners and skaters are heading out for a modest stroll or awesome adventure, one that calls us the morning after our Gorge paddle.

But first, a mandatory stop at a crucial Victoria cultural institution located right across the street from the trailhead.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” my wife asks as the Fol Epi organic bakery server hands us a couple of lemon cream butter tarts, their take on the signature Canadian pastry that is as much better than an American cinnamon roll as a ribeye is better than chuck steak. Same culinary mission, infinitely better vehicle.

“Carbs are the gasoline of exercise,” I remind Nicole.

“Carbs may be the rocket fuel, but butterfat is the long-term lubrication of your metabolism," the server adds, noticing our bike helmets. “Heading out on the Goose?”

The “Goose,” as it’s known colloquially, follows an old railroad line from downtown Victoria out toward Sooke. The gentle grade necessary for logging trains in the 19th century is a great boon to mainstream riders today; the 40-mile trail passes from urban center into suburbs, then over tumbling creeks and along quiet maple and alder woods, winding up in the foothills at Sooke Potholes Regional Park. A hardcore summer ride would bring dedicated riders here, to one of the Northwest’s best swimming holes, deep pools of clear mountain water that stay cool no matter the heat of summer. Plunge in the early afternoon of a hot day, and you're ready to hustle back to Victoria in the cool of evening. For those who want to savor the journey and divide it in two, several inns along the trail and in Sooke cater to bicycle travelers.

But one need not trek nearly that far to reach the pastoral countryside west of Victoria. A good two-hour morning ramble brings you far outside the city; sheep graze in golden pastures and hawks prowl the skies above; then two hours back and you're ready to savor the urban delights that Victoria offers.

If you've been on the Goose, you might – in fact, you should – head across the Johnson Street bridge to Victoria’s compact, one-street Chinatown for a dim sum feast at Don Mee, a splendid venue for these matchless Cantonese treats that range from savory to sweet. A proper dim sum repast leaves no room for dinner later, but that doesn’t mean one cannot stop back by Fol Epi for a late afternoon dessert.

For paddlers, upon return to the dock in the Inner Harbour, the mandatory stop here is Red Fish Blue Fish, purveyor of the finest fish & chips in North America. I am paid to know these things; the tempura-battered wild B.C. salmon is unmatched.

These awesome amenities, paths and provender, are here first of all because of Victoria's unique geography. It’s a major oceanside metro area whose exurban environs include large areas of field and forest not far from the city center; the foothills of the island’s Central Range reach close to the city.

This also represents Victoria’s 21st century identity. Long considered a fusty, rusting old outpost of what was once the British Empire—150 years ago, clipper ships hauling tea from Asia docked in the inner harbor—B.C.’s capital was once derided as the home of the “newly wed or nearly dead.” No more – the city is a vibrant mecca for young technology and government workers, and its coffee shops, pubs and cafes thrum with life, not to mention its recreation pathways.

Few, if any, other cities offer similar experiences.

And what does “Fol Epi” mean? Crazy wheat head, says the bakery. Chew on that, literally, as you're paddling or pedaling or even just strolling along, lacking neither space to roam nor fuel to do so.   X

Eric Lucas lives on a small farm on San Juan Island, where he grows organic hay, beans, squash and apples – and watches Victoria in the distance from his kitchen window.