Animalthon: It Ate Me Up

On Ferguson Lake Road

After my recent bold success at completing a 200 km Brevet ride with the Ontario Randonneurs, I planned to do one more long ride with them to improve my season’s training. The 300 km Animalthon was scheduled for yesterday and I made some useful preparations. I put the rack on the Marinoni, together with the rack trunk I have, so that I would not have to use a backpack to carry my supplies, and put the bike rack on the car so I would not have to reassemble the bike at the starting point.

Waking up at 4 a.m., I checked the weather and things looked pretty good. There was a threat of some rain showers and perhaps even thunderstorms in the afternoon but I did not think these would be too much of a problem. I did pack my windvest, just in case, and was soon in the car, drinking a nice strong double espresso, and heading towards the jump-off point.

First problem. It turned out that the directions from Google were wrong and it took some time to find the Cheshire Cat pub in Carp since the directions took me most of the way there and then went somewhere else. I arrived around 5:50 a.m. to find that there were only two others doing this ride, and the both left by the time I had the bike set up and was ready to go myself. Peter, the organizer, gave me my check-in card and I was off at 6:15 a.m. into the coolish morning air. I put on the windvest but thought I would have to take it off fairly soon.

Leaving Carp, I cruised comfortably along the country roads at around 28 km/h. I was hoping to average 25-26 km/h for the day, which would easily bring me back to Carp before darkness. There were a lot of birds singing, and I saw some cardinals and a blue jay fly by. At one point I thought I saw a deer lawn ornament but when it turned its head to look at me I realized that it was the real thing!

The Prince of Wales drank here!

The ride began with a headwind but my progress was good and fairly soon I caught up to Trevor, the slower of the two riders. He had also been on the 200 km Brevet ride. In fact, so had Mark, the first rider out, but we never saw him on that ride and would not on this one as well. Trevor and I had a nice chat was we rode through Almonte and then rode towards Lanark and the turn that would take us most of the way to Calabogie. Trevor pulled off at a convenience store to get some Gatorade but I wanted to stay warm and kept on going.

Gravel to asphalt...

The road to Calabogie was particularly nice, with some interesting climbs and some small lakes to look at. A fox came up to the edge of the road but ran away when I approached. There was almost no traffic and the road was in quite good shape. Unfortunately, after a brief stop, my Garmin GPS fell off the mount on the stem and landed in the grass. The mount had cracked and when I tried to reattach the GPS, the tongue holding the unit in place broke off. The GPS would function since it was not wired to the bike but by carrying it in my pocket I could not read off the directions or distance on the ride easily. But I guess randonneuring is about self-sufficiency and I knew that I could easily order a new mount once I was back home.

The road looked familiar and I realized that I was riding the same route that the Almonte Bicycle Club uses for its excellent monthly 40 km time trial and almost before I knew it I was back in Calabogie. I had my card signed off at a gas station/restaurant featuring one of the most unpleasant washrooms I have seen in Canada and prepared to start on the next leg. As I was pulling out, Trevor, who clearly is not all that slow, called out as he arrived at the gas station. We chatted for a bit, but as he was going to go in and have breakfast I decided to keep going. Clouds were rolling in and I wanted to get back in Carp preferably dry.

Riding out of Calabogie, which was at the 95 km mark, I came to Ferguson Lake Road, which took me on some quiet byways through woods and fields and past the small lake-of-the-same name. The road turned into gravel but it was not too bad, although I had to slacken my pace a bit. It was a pretty road but at one point I reached down when I felt something on my sock and discovered blood–it was black fly season! For those unfamiliar with these pests, they come out in swarming clouds in May for perhaps two weeks. Unlike mosquitoes, they don’t sting but actually rip out bits of your flesh. Nasty things and so I made sure to keep my speed high enough to keep them away.

But it was getting darkish now and the first drops of rain were falling. It seemed pretty light and I was in good spirits as I approached the first of a series of climbs on Opeongo Road. The rain was heavier now, and I stopped at a small cabin that was the local historical attraction (there was in interesting outdoor display about Pileated Woodpeckers and their nests!) and had some of my sandwiches. It did not look like the rain was slackening so I rolled out again onto the silent road and began climbing the first of seven hills which would eventually take me to the highest point in Ontario. I did mind the climbing, which was moderately steep, but the rain was hard and I turned on my blinky lights as I approached some stretches of fog. When I finally reached the t-junction that was at Foymount Road, I was completely soaked and soon, with a massive descent, become even wetter. The downhill leg would have been quite exciting in nice weather as it hits grades of 14 percent, but today was not so nice as the rain slammed into my face at 70 km/h like needles and I could feel my lips swell with pain.

This was followed by a rather dull stretch that brought me into Eganville, where I checked in at the local coffee shop and had my card signed. It was only 1:45 p.m. and I had ridden more than 170 kms, so I was pretty much on schedule. After I drank two large hot chocolates, I went outside to get on the bike and found that the rain had increased and I was instantly freezing cold. I rode two more blocks and then saw a German restaurant where I pulled in to figure out what to do.

I still had 140 kms to ride. It would be quite flat and most of it would probably have a tailwind. My legs felt good and I had been eating sufficiently along the route. But I was wet and very cold and had no additional clothing (as if that would not have been soaked through in a few minutes anyway). For only the third time in my cycling I decided to abandon the ride. I ordered a mushroom omelette and a salad and then used my cellphone to call home for rescue. Two hours later, my wife arrived bearing that most welcome of things–warm, dry clothing. I got changed at the restaurant, we loaded up the car and she drove me back to Carp through evil rain and thunderstorms to where I retrieved my car at 5:00 p.m. Trevor’s car was still there, so he had clearly determined to keep going or else was making other arrangements. When I got home, I sent the organizer an e-mail to let him know I would not complete the route today. I also ordered a new GPS mount.

After a good dinner, including a fine Doppelbock beer, I was sound asleep by 9:30 p.m.

At least I did the climbing...

Although I did not meet my goal this time, I did ride more than 170 km on a challenging course so at least I met my goal of more training mileage. The Animalthon is offered again later in the summer by the Ottawa Bicycle Club, but with the cue sheet I have there is no reason I could not do the ride on my own in better weather since I was riding this one by myself anyway. My average speed, including the climbing, still worked out to a respectable 24.8 km/h so I definitely could do it in daylight. This will be the longest randonneur I plan to do since I have no interest in riding at night.

A Saturday Randonnée: Exploring the Rideau Lakes Region

A nice Saturday ride...

After finding a Radonneurs Ontario brochure recently, I was intrigued enough to sign up for an early season ride. I have only done one randonnée, as these rides are called, when I did a 200 km ride in Virginia a few years ago which turned into something of an epic since I popped out my shoulder before I even started the ride!

There is a long tradition to the sport of randonneuring, dating back to the beginning of the 20th Century. With bicycles becoming both more reliable and more affordable, cyclists in Europe (notably France) began to undertake longer and longer rides. Labour laws in France were amended to include paid holidays so people who weren’t able to travel much could see the countryside by bicycle. The challenge became to go greater and greater distances. The famous Paris-Brest-Paris ride, which began as a professional race in 1891, has become an event purely for randonneurs who must complete the 1200 km course in 90 hours maximum. In order to qualify to ride P-B-P, which is only held every four years with the next being in 2011, it is necessary for a cyclist to complete 200-300-400-600 km courses before the event. I signed up to do yesterday’s 200 km event with the Ottawa chapter of Randonneurs Ontario.

Randonneurs are not racers and their bikes are set up to be as comfortable as possible to allow completion of the long course. The rules require the bikes have front and rear lights, and you have to have a reflective vest. Peter, the organizer, kindly loaned me a vest, which went into my left jersey pocket and stayed there for the duration. As for lights, I put on a small battery light from the commuting bike onto the Marinoni’s handlebars, and added a little blinky light to one of the rear seatstays, thereby meeting the letter of the rules. This would not be a set-up to illuminate an all-night ride, but since I did not expect to ride in darkness at all it would be find. I also brought along a very small backpack for food and additional gear. I would have preferred to use my handlebar bag but if I would have put it on it would have blocked the light (which I was not planning to use anyway!). For the longer rides, I would probably used my rear rack with one pannier for clothing and supplies. One element of randonneur riding is self-sufficiency.

Our small band of thirteen riders met at Ashton, to the west of Ottawa, and Peter gave us our cue sheets and our route cards. The latter are marked with the time as you get to each of the checkpoints on the course, of which there would be three between the start and finish today. Everyone was very relaxed and at 7:01 we rolled out as a group. The weather was beautiful, and the forecast was for a hot and sunny day. It was also supposed to be a windy day and leaving Ashton we ran into a rather nasty headwind that was to stay with us for half the day.

Very quickly the group divided up. A new rider, Mark, went off the front pretty quickly and we didn’t see him again for the rest of the day. I was riding with Vytas, a fellow OBC time-trialler, Suzanne, whose husband runs an excellent bike/ski shop in Chelsea, and Bob, on a very nice Merlin, who was wearing a Boston-Montreal-Boston jersey (the U.S. equivalent of P-B-P). Rounding out the group was Guy, on a RANS recumbent. We quickly got into a paceline, led by Bob and Vytas, and the flattish farmland soon became hilly as we rapidly reached our first checkpoint at 66 kms at Maberly, having the lady at the Post Office sign our cards.

I rode for a while with Guy and then went at my own pace for a while on the very pleasant winding road to Westport. I could see Bob further back behind me, his yellow jersey very visible in the distance. I enjoy a screaming descent into Westport, and promptly got lost, backtracking and getting onto Highway 42. I caught up with Bob at the Stagecoach Restaurant in Newboro, our second checkpoint and the midway point of the ride, where I ate one of my sandwiches and then enjoyed an excellent cappuccino and a warm blueberry scone. I also turned around my front wheel which I had installed backwards in Ashton–I just did not want to look a the quick release skewer on the wrong side for another 100 kms! Soon after Vytas, Suzanne and Guy rolled in and ordered some lunch.

Bob and I headed out together and rode through some small Ontario towns I had not heard of–Philippsville, Toledo–and one I knew because of its cheese factory, Forfar. I think that there is not much of anything else in Forfar.

We were in good spirits as the weather was fine and the nasty headwind had become a helpful tailwind. Bob was starting to suffer from some cramping so I went on ahead to Merrickville and said I would meet him at the next checkpoint, a coffee shop called Brewed Awakenings.

Merrickville was hopping on Saturday afternoon, with all the little stores and restaurants on the main street doing considerable business. It took three tries for me to find the coffee shop but after I was signed in I had an excellent strong coffee and sat outside to wait for Bob. I was joined by a couple from the area who were interested in our ride; they had an Irish Wolfhound puppy who was the centre of attention for anyone who walked by. After a while Bob joined me at the shop and then we were away for the home stretch, with 38 kms left.

Unfortunately 16 kms into the last leg I started to get some bad cramping myself in my right leg and had to ease off the pace somewhat. It stopped hurting and I was able to get the speed up a bit but then my left leg began to cramp at around 195 kms, to my extreme annoyance. But drinking a lot, taking a big shot of gel and spinning more easily helped. At least until we came to our last turn, onto Flewellyn Road. With around 2.8 kms of riding we discovered we had turned into an absolutely brutal headwind, right on the nose. Progress became painfully slow and it was with a sense of relief that I pulled into the parking lot behind Bob. The time was 3:32 pm.

After getting cleaned up a bit and changed, we headed over to Ashton’s Olde English-style pub to have a beer, relax and wait for the others; Mark had already gone. Everyone eventually turned up and I gave Peter back his vest and the control card before getting in the car and driving the 40 minutes back home, eating my two remaining sandwiches en route.

It had been an excellent day: 203 km in 7:19 of actual riding (with a bit over an hour stopped for coffee breaks and lunch), past nice rural scenery including rolling hills and lakes. The Marinoni, which I have not ridden on a long ride since the Mountains of Misery in May 2006, ran like a clock and was extremely comfortable for the whole distance. Maximum speed was 66.2 km/h!