Riding Every Street: How One Cyclist Redefined His View of Toronto

When Dave Laird first imagined cycling the whole of Toronto, most of his friends laughed it off as a "nice idea… if you have a lot of time and a strong stomach." The city spans 630 square kilometres, contains more than 2,600 named streets, and throws every kind of traffic, weather, and construction zone you can think of at a rider. Still, in the spring of 2025 he strapped a bike to his back, loaded a GoPro, and set out to prove that a single pair of wheels could knit together every neighbourhood, from the industrial lands of Etobicoke to the historic brick lanes of the Distillery District.

The journey began on a cool September morning along the waterfront, where the lake’s breezy smell mixed with the distant hum of ferry horns. Laird chose the Martin Goodman Trail as his launching pad – a smooth, bike‑friendly artery that would give him an easy start before he plunged into the city’s tangled grid. "I wanted a soft landing," he told CTV News, "so I could warm up my legs before the real chaos started."

What followed was a patchwork of experiences that felt more like a series of micro‑adventures than a single, continuous ride. Some streets were blissfully quiet, flanked by mature maple trees shedding amber leaves; others were congested arteries where buses, trucks, and pedestrians fought for space. Laird kept a notebook (and an ever‑growing list of photos) to track the mood of each block, noting things as simple as the scent of fresh‑baked bagels near St. Lawrence Market or the echo of a distant siren in the shadow of the CN Tower.

One of the most surprising discoveries came in the form of "the missing streets" – tiny lanes that don’t appear on most navigation apps. In the heart of Scarborough, Laird stumbled upon a narrow, cobbled passage that led to a hidden community garden bursting with sun‑loving tomatoes. He stopped, chatted with an elderly couple who had tended the plot for decades, and learned that the space was a relic of an old railway spur that had long since been removed. "It felt like stepping back in time," he said, "and it reminded me that cities are layers, not flat maps."

The physical toll was real, too. Toronto’s weather is notoriously fickle. Laird rode through a sudden June downpour that turned the Danforth’s bike lanes into slick ribbons, and later braved a biting November wind that whistled through the skyscraper canyons of the Financial District. Each obstacle forced him to slow down, adjust his route, and, most importantly, listen to the city’s rhythm.

People he met along the way added colour to the ride. A street vendor in Kensington Market offered him a fresh‑squeezed orange juice; a group of university students on the Bloor‑Danforth line invited him for a quick coffee break; an off‑duty police officer shared a tip about an upcoming construction detour that saved Laird several kilometres of back‑tracking. These interactions turned the solo quest into a community story, underscoring how a simple bike ride can weave together strangers into a shared narrative.

By the time Laird finally crossed the last untraveled block – a quiet residential street in the north‑west corner of Etobicoke – he had logged roughly 2,200 kilometres and spent over 120 hours in the saddle. He estimated he’d passed by more than 30,000 houses, 500 parks, and countless storefronts that most Torontonians never notice unless they live right next door.

"I came out of this with a completely different view of Toronto," Laird reflected. "It’s not just the skyline or the big attractions. It’s the small moments: a child’s laughter echoing from a backyard, the way the sun hits the water at Queens Quay at sunset, the quiet patience of a traffic light that finally turns green after a long wait. Those are the things that make the city feel alive."

His adventure has sparked conversation among local cyclists, urban planners, and everyday commuters. Some argue that his project highlights the need for better bike infrastructure on lesser‑known streets, while others simply admire the sheer determination required to tackle such a massive undertaking. Regardless of the takeaways, one thing is clear: Toronto, when explored at ground level and at a human pace, reveals layers of character that are easy to miss from a car window or a high‑rise balcony.

For anyone considering a similar odyssey, Laird offers three pieces of advice: plan for the unexpected, stay flexible with your route, and, most importantly, enjoy the pause. "Sometimes the best part of the ride is when you just stop and watch a street performer, or when you let a pigeon land on your helmet and you both stare at the same passing cloud," he chuckled. "That’s when you really feel like you belong to the city, not just pass through it."