Eighteen Hours of Montreal With a Bike and an Appetite

After an erratic summer, Montreal—lauded for its myriad of cuisine options, festival culture, and laissez-faire etiquette—continues to be the place that can say no to global corporatization and still carry summer’s brazen tendencies along a breeze of good food, good romance, and good talk.

Now that we’re in the shoulder season with autumn’s foliage in full swing and inspired by September’s 2026 UCI championships, the city still has that same summer spark. From community bike outings to solo bike trips, the biking bug has got the city buzzing, from block parties at the McCord Museum to Persian jazz nights at Barbossa, Montreal in the fall is still our favorite open-circuit island-city.

What a triple crown we have, where even the summer rain is remedied by six oysters plated up in almost any neighbourhood. There’s so many ways to love this city, to show up for this city. A Montreal core summer which extended out and into nights in Laval, watching our beloved Montreal Roses and over to early mornings in LaSalle catching a wave and hanging out with the crew at KSF.

We wanted to paint a picture of what a full Montreal summer day looked like seeping into the fall season. The point of this piece isn’t to set a peak of what a “perfect” Montreal day should look like, but to showcase the breadth of what can aspire in an 18-hour span of food, drink, and action. Plus what’s autumn without the final rays of summer peaking through?

Consistency and spontaneity co-exists in a city like Montreal which supersedes infatuation for those of us who’ve made it home. Too often we end up exploring wine bars as we bike between neighborhoods (Zamaleks and some Quebec living wine at Mitch Deli, anyone?).

That’s what went into the mapping of this cross-seasonal and slightly impulsive day. The great thing is that these spots and the people you catch up with along the way never miss.

St-Viateur Bagel: 7:00 a.m. (5km)

Boom, it's a 6 a.m. wake up. I make some assam tea I previously picked up from Marché Atlas in Petit Maghreb. I’m finishing up Andreas Ammer’s Portrait of an Oyster, so I read a few pages and will probably be referencing how much the “proletarian snack” was a staple for 19th century New Yorkers the rest of the day.

I rush down the stairs with my bike in tow. I’ve got an order of bagels waiting for me off Mont-Royal avenue at St-Viateur Bagel, the house that flipped this city into a serious competitor for hand-woven doughy rings. People are sat outside already on a then still car-free Plateau block. I grab my roll of two sesame, two cinnamon-raisin, and two plain to-go with a readymade spread.

St-Viateur bagels and their honey-bathed, free-form process are as good a surprise as any to bring back to others on a sunny September day. Even better when your people are still on the verge of waking up. Luckily, I’m not going too far with the very shareable snackable handhelds. The bagels come out of the mason-built oven, subtle in their sweetness and with a comforting freshness that lasts for days. If Montreal has better bagels than New York, then St-Viateur Bagels is definitely the source.

River Surf: 8:00 a.m. (12km)

From the Plateau, I bike up Saint-Urbain towards downtown, passing Old Montreal and Griffintown as the city stirs up. I get near Habitat 67’s socially decadent blocks, and to my left, the city is in full swing across the pier. The morning sky is clear and ocean blue. I head round back to the H67 surf point. I’m meeting friends Chloé Mocombe and Trey Horton who spent most of their summer days here.

Some regulars are already on the river. Chloé’s been surfing this river for the past 13 years. It’s my first time at this spot and I quickly learn the rumors are correct. The current is fast and heavy. The rapids chew me up again and again. The bagels help some.

It quickly gets too hot for the wet suit I have on. I go bareback and shorts after finally making it back to shore after my first run. I’m too sporadic in the waters to be considered a surfer. I only get incrementally better this session but everyone’s extremely encouraging.

I marvel at the grace in which the seasoned and consistent surfers glide over the wave. It gives me a boost to see how tight-knit the surf community is here. They plan travels together, put together film screenings, and support the independent shops which have helped some of them get their first boards. They teach me how the ease of each season is determined by simplicity. They wake, surf, hang, and work so they can surf globally. Then they repeat.

Café 92 Degrés: 10:30 a.m. (21 km)

After the morning surf (and a boogie plunge from me) we pack the boards into Trey and Chloé’s car. My friend, graphic designer and Montreal pizzaiolo Josh Holung, takes me on his favourite Montreal cycle route. We go across Concord bridge on a 10 or so minute trek to get to Île Notre Dame and do a few warm up laps on the Gilles Villeneuve Circuit. The riders sharing the tracks with us are sparse, so we have mini races amongst ourselves, passing unknowing competitors. I lose sight of the exit and do an extra lap.

During the summers, I’m in search of a proper affogato; not a crema, but the perfect ratio of ⅔ shot of espresso to a latticed rounded scoop of fully dairy ice cream. Pistachio crumbles or chocolate drizzle are not a must but pleasurable additives.

The affogato is a simple concept. Garnishes can be a distraction without intention. I’m content between the darkly bitter espresso and creaminess of the buttery balled ice cream, but at Cafe 92 Degrés, they’ve got a special thing going on with the addition of the biscoff butter schmear on the inside of a short glass. Charge me, I’m guilty.

This is what I’m thinking of as we ride the petite vole de fleuve south cutting under the Samuel de Champlain bridge. We cycle into Nun’s Island and tap across the corner of Verdun. We furiously pedal stroke on Galt and into Côte Saint-Paul, through neighborhood mazes where Josh is the only one who knows which direction we’re going in.

92 Degrés, the Mexican cafe cools me out as we ride along a stretch of highways, feeder streets, and partly paved roads.

Lulu Épicerie: 11 AM (28km)

We pop back out somewhere familiar crossing the Atwater footbridge and doublecrossing the Lachine Canal this morning. Lulu Épicerie comes to sight with its cedar green and white marquee sign.