Ten minutes to nine on Friday morning, two days ago, last minute instructions were being given to approximately 320 participants lined up to start the 2012 Canadian OxFam Trailwalker. Where was I? En route, of course! In the driver's seat, my teammate Jesse was concentrating on driving as fast as was safely possible, while one of the support crew, Dan, was giving directions that had turned out to be "the scenic route". We were all alternately cursing and laughing about our predicament.
The OxFam Trailwalker is a 100km walk/run that takes place every year at multiple locations around the world. Teams must raise $2,500 for OxFam in order to participate in the event. The four team members walk and run together for the entire distance (i.e. it's not a relay), inside the time limit of 48 hours.
By four past nine, Team Ocho Legs Of Anti-Faminists had signed in, gotten our photo taken at the start line, and, aided by a nervous excitement and "oh my god we're late" adrenalin, running twice as fast as our planned pace for the first leg. By half-way through the 11km section, we had passed all 76 teams and were in first place.
During that time, the route took us onto the sandy shoreline of Wasaga Beach and it was then that we passed some veteran women running a slower and perhaps wiser pace. We traded friendly shots with them about each others' pace, but their "we'll scrape you off the concrete when we pass you later in the race" won that round.
Our first checkpoint was bound to be a little exciting, especially given our rushed departure from the start and the fact that we were arriving an hour ahead of schedule, but performed admirably and had us off again in just a few minutes.
The next section was through a beautiful marshland, but all the wildlife was hidden from view as we sweatily jogged by. Approaching the second checkpoint, Noah had his first cramp of the day - apparently his food poisoning from two days earlier was going to be a factor. Nevertheless, we got in, had another reasonably quick turnaround, and all jogged out of there soon after.
Now we were in to the meat of the run - 25km already run and the midday sun beating down on us. Noah suffered cramp after cramp, but stoically pressed on each time after a brief walk. Memorable moments included belting out wordless renditions of Indiana Jones, Superman and Star Wars theme songs, and reaching the T-intersection of the route that indicated checkpoint 5 left (and just a short way to the top of the hill) and rest-stop 1 right (a soul-crushingly long downhill we knew we would later have to ascend).
Despite marking half-way, our break at the rest-stop (complete with food and water but not accessible by support crews) was one of the shortest; we all felt the common sentiment of, why dally when there's no one there to pamper you? Then it was a quick march through some bogs and up to Horseshoe Ski Resort and checkpoint 4. NOW we felt it was time to relax!
And did we ever relax. Fresh burgers, massages, clean clothes...
Did I mentioned how amazing our support crew was? By the time we left, we were still all smiles and the next team had yet to arrive.
We stayed many times longer than any other stop. It seemed to do the trick for Noah, who locked in a solid pace from then on, whereas Jesse fared less well. Once on the trail, my intestines started gurgling. I grabbed a couple of toilet-paper-sized leaves and rubbed them on my arm to check for reactions, but hoped to reach the end of this section anyway. This was one of the tougher points for me: the bugs had come out in force as we passed through the bog section again, and, well, that was not the only bog I had to contend with.
Back through the rest-stop, and back up the long hill. The section after the rest-stop was supposed to be 7km, however our GPS said otherwise. I think the organizers slated this one for the mental games: we saw our first "half way there" sign on this section, about 5km before the end, and our first "2km to go" sign after over 7km.
Noah, to his credit, was laying down a solid pace as darkness fell. We descended what felt like a very steep gravel road on Mount St Louis Moonstone, and met our support crew at the checkpoint at the base of the ski hill with 73km under our belts.
Shortly thereafter it all came undone. Jesse changed shoes but declared his feet unable to carry on. We stayed for an hour in the hopes that he would feel better, but eventually decided to press on. By that time Noah had started shivering, and could barely manage to walk. We didn't make it more than 200 metres out before deciding it best he not continue.
The rules dictate that for safety, teams must be travel with another team if they have fewer than 3: should someone get injured, one person can stay with them while another goes for help. We had the option of travelling with another team, but by this point, we felt that finishing without half the team was not what we'd come to do, and retired from the race.
We later found out the veteran ladies we'd talked with earlier had a couple of withdrawals as well, and had only one team member finish. The team we'd overtaken to move into first place, all those hours ago, was next to arrive at the checkpoint, but stayed the night and finished fourth, while the team with the shortest time overall wouldn't arrive at our checkpoint for 4 hours, and finished 5 hours after that! Overall, the organizers really put together an amazing event, and that course...well, hopefully Geoff, Noah, Jesse and I will be back to take care of unfinished business!!
It may be news to those that don't live in Toronto that I've started running. I know, sacrilege! But Toronto is a terrible city to live in for bike racing training; also, I've shifted my focus to work and running is a more efficient workout. So starting at the end of last year's cycling race season, I've been running sporadically. Mostly 3km from the train station to home, but a couple of weeks back I did a trail run with Amanda that was supposed to be 5km and through poor map-reading, turned into 20+.
Then Noah convinced me to join his team for the OxFam Trailwalker 100km (4-person teams, everyone does the whole thing and must cross the finish together). We decided it would be prudent to do something to give ourselves SOME experience at long distance running (Dustin greatly encouraged it, partly because we were talking about aiming to complete in 10 hours...yes, somewhat delusional, especially given it was only two months away). So we signed up for the Seaton Mud Puppies 50km trail race which was happening in two weeks. I got in another 17km trail run, then the boys and I knocked off 30km on the road, and after a 10km this week, game time!
Let me start by saying the lack of training was not the best. Noah and Geoff, on a similar training regimen, DNF-ed after 40 (and a half!) kilometres. I hurt like hell doing the run, and avoided injury only through luck. But I'm committed to being more job-focused this year, and although running around in a forest would be fun it wouldn't help me do that.
So this morning we left at 5-something am for the 7am start. Ouch! It was cold enough that most started in long sleeves; I did, too, partly to have somewhere to put my Clif bars...I must still be a cycling geek, wearing cycling clothing at non-cycling events! Or maybe just unfashionable...
A quick note on my gear: I opted for no CamelBak (trying nothing new was possibly the most intelligent thing I did that day) and instead drank two cups of water at every aid station. Fairly quickly I started overheating in the long-sleeve, and became concerned that sweating buckets was not helping my low-water-intake game plan. Fortunately I'd pinned my number on my shorts, which worked in my favour when I decided I had to leave my shirt at an aid station half-way through the race and run the second half shirtless, clutching a handful of Clif bars.
There were about 40 of us gathered at the start line. After a few words from the organizer and the mayor of Picking (are long distance runners considered swing voters? haha) we all trotted off across the dewy grass of the school oval and onto Seaton Trail. There was a knee-deep river crossing 2km in, and I followed the lead of the gent in front by taking my shoes off to wade across. Turned out we were out in front by ourselves, and it wasn't until I started putting them on on the other bank that the next group charged across - no wasting time with shoe-taking-off for them! By the time I was ready to go, I'd probably dropped to 20th, so I was eager to catch back up. I took off, but after a couple of hundred metres, noticed the lack of flags. Crap. Back to the river...oh, it was a right turn. Haste makes waste! Off I go again.
Reeled in a bunch of people before the first aid station, but saw numerous cups in the trash. On! On! Some really pleasant running for the next while, alongside the river, up hills and down dales. Over and over. I had already started to wonder how much more I could handle, before reaching the 11km aid station. Not a good indication of appropriate pacing. I foolishly passed up the opportunity of a porta-potty break, at news that there were only two runners ahead, 2 and 4 minutes respectively. There wasn't a loo at the turn-around. On the return, I ended up doing some pretty serious waddling for a while, until I realized I wasn't making it back to the aid station, and dove into the shrubbery for a quick pit-stop. Ok, nature taken care of - good to go!
Shortly thereafter I sailed past the guy in second. He passed me again while I was putting my shoes back on at the river. I think he must have said something to the guys at the turn-around/start-finish (we were doing two out-and-backs) because when I came in, they asked me about it. I said I was avoiding soggy shoes and blisters. His reply was "But you're just doing the 50 k, aren't you? Don't need to worry about blisters for that!". haha Yep, just the 50. Ego back in check. I promised I'd consider not taking them off on the second out-and-back.
And I did. Splash splash, and then squish squish on the other side. Wasn't so bad, partly owing to the minimalist "barefoot" shoes I had. The mercury was also on the rise, so they only took a few kilometres to be damp-dry. By which point I'd moved back into second place.
I really struggled on the downhills. Again, probably the uncushioned shoes came into play, since they wouldn't allow me an unrestrained lope downhill. Upping the cadence was brutal on the quads, so I took it fairly slow. At the end of the long downhill about 5km into the second lap, another guy was coming up behind me. Since I'd been lolly-gagging a bit on the downhill, I had some energy to burn, so I picked up the pace, but was now aware I had two guys hot on my tail.
By now I was hurting a LOT. Inch-high roots became major hurdles to be overcome, and anything other than perfectly level path became a tremendous balancing act for each stride. I made it out to the second aid station and while getting my water, was asked if I was doing the 50 mile. "Hell, no!" and I headed off north. A minute later they come after me, yelling, this is the 52km turn-around! Crap, back I go. Maybe the fact that there was a 29km and not 26km short race should have clued me in. Now back in third place. I claw back to second, but the guy refuses to give up the chase. With 5km to go, I felt my legs starting to cramp, and bam! The guy blows past me and out of sight. I tried to keep it together, but started walking more of the uphills. Through the river one last time. See the second place runner (or a guy doing the 29km, also wearing a white shirt?) a few hundred meters away as I climb to the finish. Done. 5 hours and 30-or-40-something minutes.
Many thanks to the organizers and volunteers, and my heart goes out to anyone still on the trail, doing the hard yards on the 50 mile race!
Just back from the most AMAZING trip to the Caribbean!
For the last couple of months, my buddy Andrew been posting some envy-inducing photos on Facebook of his sweet setup down in Cabarete, in the Dominican Republic. I had some new kites I'd been wanting to fly, Andrew assured me the wind was killer, and the flights were cheap...decision made!
First night I arrived, I find out everyone from my hotel is heading to a local nightclub, where a bunch of our fellow hotel guests were going to put on a circus performance to cap off their week of training... Wow. Here's one of the acts:
Next day the wind had the flags whipping. With a poor forecast for the rest of the week, everyone wanted to make the most of it. I got out for a marathon kite session, only coming in to switch kites and chow down at the hotel's beach-side bar called Chichigua (that's Spanish for kite).
Sure was feeling the exertion the next day, but we again had great wind, so again I took advantage until lunch time. Two friends I'd met there, Cassie and Bay, had suggested a down-winder from La Boca. A down-winder is where you travel along the coast, usually a few kilometres, and jump in a car to drive upwind. By this time the wind looked to stay consistent, so we jumped in a taxi with two of the hotel's kite instructors and headed up the coast. Unfortunately no time for kicking back at the restaurant or doing any runs on the mirror-flat river, so it was straight on the boards, through the surf and out in the ocean. With a solid 20 knots I was getting overpowered on my 12m kite, making for crazy boosts off the 8+ foot rolling swell and some rag-doll wipeouts...good thing Edward was always there to zip over, pick up my board, drop it off near me, and carry on his way. I have a feeling he was defying various laws of physics and aerodynamics, but he might just be awesome. After two hours of blasting downwind, carving back and forth between toe-side and heel-side, and popping off chop, we arrived back at Kite Beach and our hotel.
That night a big group headed out to Ali's Grill for some amazing food. After the two big days and no lunch, I didn't hold back: first the Churasco XXL steak (a foot-wide piece of marinated, meaty goodness), repeated with a chicken schnitzel dinner, then helped someone finish their churasco, before we headed off for ice cream! So good! I haven't eaten that much since June last year!
Edward tearing it up
After two days of that, I was almost grateful the wind had abated so I could stay out of the sun and recuperate: mostly eating, drinking, reading, and generally laying about or chilling at Chichigua. Occasionally I went snorkeling out to the reef. It also gave me a chance to purchase super-cheap, super-fresh tropical fruit from the nearby fruit stands, and look into the hotel's other offerings: a gym with regular classes; a skateboard half-pipe, which usually had mats at the bottom to be used for some other sport; and some formidable-looking circus apparatus. I also went into town to sample some of the local restaurants (fish tacos at Gorditos!) a few times; I strolled in along the beach once, which took about 30 minutes, but generally hopped on one of the death-defying motorcycle taxis (eventually riding on the back of a motorbike, wearing no helmet, while people were overtaking at the same time in both directions, became practically run-of-the-mill). The wind got up a bit each day, just enough for an hour's play on the kiteboard, but also a few hours of torrential rain.
By Wednesday I was starting to feel pretty lazy, and donned the runners for a jog inland, into El Choco National Park. Apparently there's a hike called 27 Waterfalls, but I didn't see any. The touristy tours were anything from $50-100, so I opted for a self-guided mission into the rain-drenched forest and became at one with the local red mud. Four hours of that brought my energy levels down a notch or two, but managed to join a crossfit class that evening.
Kristin and I all smiles, but I'm still hiding from the sun
During the week I'd heard that there was a great local surf break, Encuentro, not far away, and I made plans with some other people to get up at the crack of dawn and head out there. I actually got out of bed at 5:50am! But since it was still dark and raining, opted to sleep until 7, before rallying the troops and heading off. The waves were great, and it was a treat to surf just in board shorts.
Back to the hotel, lunch, wait for the wind to come up and go for a rip for an hour or two. Then it was time for a Brazillian jujitsu class! Super fun, and I could imagine MMA being a blast if the other guy wasn't trying his best to kill you.
The next morning, Kristin and I hit up the circus instructors for a trapeze lesson. The first sequence to learn was swinging out on the bar, hooking the legs over to get the hands free, then doing a back-flip onto the net to dismount. I managed it ok, and Kristin's gymnatics background made her a quick study. Next, an instructor got on the other swing. I swing out, grab the hand's of the other guy, swing back, let go of him mid-air and spin around and grab my own bar! So disorienting, but after a few "which way is up?!" flails I managed to complete it! Super fun.
After that silliness, we'd earned our breakfast, and headed to the Belgian Coffeehouse for great food and simply outstanding coffee (I rarely drink coffee, and I had mine black, no sugar - it was that good!).
That afternoon, I had time for one more blast on the kite. By this time I really felt like I was nailing the big boosts, had back loops and kite loops pretty consistent, and even landed a double back-loop! (although I use the term "landed" very loosely...didn't get power up so I just sank). Since it was my last session, I really didn't want it to end and I'd probably still be out there now! but my kite deflated (fortunately it was just the deflate plug) so I swam ashore and called it a day. After toweling down the kite in Chichigua and having a quick meal, it was time to jump in a taxi and head to the airport.
Drying my kite in Chichigua, with Edward and Andrew
If you like kiting and/or free-spirit adventure, I highly recommend the destination. Fly into Puerto Plata and stay in Cabarete. The hotel I stayed at was called Extreme Hotel. It's more like a hostel with everyone in separate rooms, since there was no soap and shampoo, and infrequent towel/sheet changes, and at first I was surprised that, at $300 for a week, it was more expensive that some of the more typical, neighbouring hotels. But there were numerous advantages over other hotels, because it was really a summer camp for adults. The bar, Chichigua, had great food and was the social hub of the whole beach. The circus, gym, and skate-ramp/multisport room were all within easy reach (helpful during the torrential downpours) and had discounted rates. And the kite facilities were probably the best on Kite Beach, with a big, convenient patch of grass for post-session cleanups, and a bunch of the local instructors keeping an eye on the new kiters. I'm really hoping to get back there soon!
Heading to Puerto Plata this afternoon! First trip to the Carribean!
AND...I got a new kiteboard last night! Woop! (why use a period when there's exclamation marks to be used?!)
So how do I pack this baby? Tried a hockey bag: not long enough. Snowboard bag: not wide enough. Relive last year's bike travel madness with a bike box? Turns out it fit nicely, but three bears told me I couldn't...haha Actually, I didn't want to because lugging a big cardboard box around airport sucks, and it basically guarantees baggage handling charges. Was just about to head to Silent Sports to blow a morning and $200+ on a kiteboard-dedicated travel bag, potentially one of the golf-look-alike types, when I saw a large bag in the basement: L's golf travel bag! Fit everything perfectly! Board, two kites, harness, bars and lines, and even a pair of flippers. (Yes, I asked first :) )
A quick check of the weather forecast.
An elaborate practical joke? More importantly, the wind:
Boo! Time to find out if a kite can handle a lightning bolt on Wednesday arvo, I reckon!
This was to be my biggest cycling event in over a month. I felt relative calm as we lined up, but I used what nervousness I did feel to sharpen my senses and increase the blood pumping to my soon-to-be-taxed muscles. My preparation for the start had rewarded me with one of the two coveted positions at the front of the pack, giving me a boost in confidence. I adjusted my grip on the handlebars, poised for the start.
Over the PA system: "Pickering station stop". The doors opened, and we were off!
I relinquished the hole-shot as I fumbled while pulling the bike onto the platform. Then I lost another to an aggressive move at the door to the tunnel under the tracks by an unknown commuter. Damn! I knew my position on the train - that nearest the station exit - placed me among the most well-travelled veteran commuters, but I hadn't expected such fierce competition!
The same two savvy office-workers kept the lead, blocking attempts to pass in the double-track through the tunnel, but at the other end, I was able to shoulder the bike smoothly and take the steps two at a time to keep in contention. They kept their position ahead of me to take the coveted first and second places into the parking lot, but I was happy with third, knowing that soon it would be mine time to shine.
I pitied all those others with no bicycle, having to use their inefficient stride, as brisk as it may be, to reach their cars. The icy wind tore at us as we spilled into the car park. Momentarily I was taken aback by the others outside - where had they come from? Reverse-commuters perhaps? But quickly I refocused my attention to the task at hand. Once off the curb, I remounted and accelerated across the bitumen expanse, wind in my hair.
I had barely made it to the other side as the discordant symphony of starter motors began and dozens of engines roared to life. After another dismount for more stairs, I bounded up this minor obstacle and remounted once I gained Liverpool Road. There was no time to waste for they would soon be upon me, and I crested the 401 overpass quickly, the twelve-lanes below roaring with highway-speed traffic.
Quickly I became engulfed in automobile traffic. Only four traffic lights stood between me and the relative refuge of suburban side streets. Fate smiled upon me on this day, and the lights' synchronized timing gave me an uninterrupted passage, and soon I reached the residential area. But my aerobic efforts were beginning to take their toll, and sweat began to soak the cotton of my button-down. I pressed on.
Soon the last test was upon me: Heartbreak Hill. It's vertical presence loomed above me as I arrived at it's base. The pitch is such that it's ten metres in elevation gain can feel like twelve, but I was strong on this occasion, and big-ringed up and through the one switchback. There was no holding back now; I powered along the false flat at the top and through the park, surging toward the finish.
And finally, it was over.
I granted myself 100 metres of my home street to revel in the accomplishment and spin out my legs, ravaged from the three kilometres of exertion. Neighbourhood cats silently cheered their adoration from vantage points in upstairs windows. I stabled my steed for another day. A can of sardines waited in my cupboard, to reward me for a job well done.
Paul, Craig and I headed down to the Adirondacks in NY state last weekend to go camping. It was forecast to get a bit nippy. An early rise on Saturday in Ottawa but a slightly slow departure had us crossing the border around 9am, with an exclamation of "In this weather?!" by the border agent, and departing the car park at 1:30, with another warning of "I would *definitely* not advise taking that route at this hour!" by a ranger...while the other said we'd have a blast. :)
And have a blast we did: after making the very chilly summit by sunset, we descended the other side and made camp shortly after dusk. After wolfing down Paul's pasta and a little port, we found that the leftovers had started freezing, so we squeezed into Nigel's 3-man (we decided it was actually a 3-dwarf) tent for a cozy sleep. Up at the crack of 9am for an excellent brekky, and by 10am the next day it had "warmed" up to -25 degrees. Lovely sunny day for the hike out, and except for Paul breaking through the ice at Avalanche Lake and getting a wet foot, it was a "walk in the Park", as they say.
I'm getting some good shirtless time here in Australia over Christmas. It's been a few weeks since I last did a hard ride, but I really wanted to stretch the legs on Melbourne's renowned Beach Road. I headed out with a local racer and got my suffer on as we racked up 170 scenic bay-side kilometres.
The next day my decathlete brother took me to one of his track meets, where I had a really fun time with the welcoming Collingwood Harriers athletics club. First, Tim defied physics in a huge triple jump. Then I tried my hand at shotput, before the real reason for attending, the 5km. I started running a bit at the end of the cycling race season, but pulled my calf and spent time rehabbing under the knowledgeable guidance of Amanda at the Wellness Connection. Point being, I thought trying to get inside 20 minutes was a reasonable goal. So I was pretty stoked to run 18:08!
I decided to get a road bike after I got my butt kicked in the cycling portion of a sprint triathlon and someone stole my mountain bike. However, not knowing how to ride with fancy pedals and clips, the bike sat lonely in the basement for about a month until I had the chance meeting of a pro-cyclist who took pity upon me and agreed to teach me how to ride.
So it has been about 3 weeks and I can say with some confidence that I can ride reasonably well. Some things I have learned from my esteemed biking team (Nigel and Lockie) include:
- Never plan your route, as it will change when you get to a dead end, find an unassumed road or a interesting looking trail that just may lead to exactly where you want to go - If you haven't had to carry your bike across a stream, the beach or a farmer's field it probably isn't that good of a ride - When you fall down, veer off the road or smash into a pile of burrs, laugh, get up and continue riding - From a fashion perspective never wear a visor on your helmet, always wear your sunnies on the outside of you helmet straps and try and look as professional as possible. - Bike in a straight line, don't look at your gears, and don't stray your glance at all the "shiny things"
I can't wait till spring to ride again. Thanks guys!
Good time of year to ride. So why is it that I know the water is about 10 degrees in Lake Ontario?
My friend, Amanda, recently bought a road bike and wanted basic instruction on going from the trainer to the road. Enter: me (god help her).
I tried to get a few people out, but it ended up just being Amanda, Nigel and I. Her first day riding outdoors was a little on the breezy side (40km/h) but gave us a chance to do some easy spinning with the wind and cover a lot of ground. At this point you might think we ended up going too far, but nope. However we did take a different, unplanned, route back. This resulted in riding a few kilometres down a road that ended up being a dead end. Or was it??? There was a little trail off one side, which Nigel jokingly suggested we take. Amanda immediately said sure! Let's do it! At that point, can you imagine two intrepid males saying no, looks kinda sketchy? Hell no!
Two hours later:
It was actually great fun (route here) and I'm sure Amanda picked up some wicked bike handling skills. :) We made it back to the cars for dusk; in my books, that's not too bad!
A few days later, Amanda excitedly told her roadie friends about her first road ride. They were shocked and appalled. Gravel? Hiking paths? The horror! haha
Still, Amanda was happy to come riding again the following weekend. Nigel and I plotted a slightly more "run of the mill" ride. And it was. At least until half way. Since we were only an hour behind schedule, we figured on the return we would take the road less traveled.... Again, Amanda was partly at fault. But again, so fun! The result: we hiked about half a kilometre on the beach, crossed a small stream feeding into Lake Ontario (water was cold but not unbearable), more beach, rode through a bird sanctuary, out-voted Nigel on taking the actual road (sheesh!) and instead went back to hiking on the beach in order to meet up with the waterfront bike path.
I should point out that although Nigel sounds like the voice of prudence, in actual fact he was a large part of numerous diversions throughout both rides ("hey, google maps on my Blackberry shows a faint trail through this [impenetrable looking] forest!" and the like).
Amanda found out on this ride that an apple and 8 raisins doesn't quite replace 2,000 calories on a ride. She bonked so hard. Lesson learned, I reckon, and we got to make fun of her while she lacked any come-back power.
Start of October (yes, I'm a little behind) I moved back to Toronto. I'm staying with my buddy, Christian, who, in a funny things-coming-full-circle kind of way, was who I lived with when I first moved to Canada, ten or so years ago. Back then I spent 4 months on his couch in a one bedroom basement apartment, and since he tolerated me there, one can be optimistic that we can get along while I live in his several-bedroom house a little out of town.
Now that I've moved from the outdoor paradise that is Calgary, epics are nearly a thing of the past. I can't remember the last time I was unintentionally stuck outside, after dark. Miles from salvation. Potentially half-way up a cliff. Or other similiarly fun times.
Never the less, I try. Jesse and co were going to ride in the Don Valley, so I rode the 30km in to town on the mountain bike, rode with them for an hour or two, then, since no one was waiting for me any more, took the path less traveled to return... Where the road & bike path diverged from the Lake Ontario shoreline, I found a park which abutted the lake (Greyabbey Park, in case anyone is interested), lowered my bike down the cliff (I so wanted to ghost-ride it off, but decided I didn't want to risk walking 20km home, carrying a busted bike) and rode along the beach for a few kilometres.
I had no idea Toronto had such nice, secluded beaches
Wilson?
Eventually the bike path returns to the water's edge, and after giving the bike a quick dunk in the water (living by fresh water is occasionally a good thing!) to wash the sand out of the brakes, I was quite happy to get back on pavement - even with 3.5" tires and riding just out of the lapping waves where the sand was most packed, it had been pretty tough going!
A little jaunt with Erica around Mt Olympia ski hill in the neighbouring town of Piedmont. Fun enough that I went for a blast there on the MTB the next day.
Train on 'em in the winter, race on 'em in the summer.
Purchased in April, like new, less than 200km on them.
Included tubes, tires (Panaracer Race A) and skewers.
RRSP $2799, selling for $1699
I'll add the rest of my pro bling as I figure out what isn't going on my old bikes (2007 aluminium Wilier with Fulcrum 7s and SRAM Red? Yeah baby! haha).
There's some pretty solid mountain biking to be found where I live right now, Saint-Sauveur-des-Monts in the Laurentians. It makes sense, considering there are half a dozen ski resorts within 10km of here, but after you move away from the Rockies, it's easy to assume otherwise.
Given my tendency to crash when I ride the trails, I typically try to stay off my mountain bike for the summer road season. But now that road is finished, it's game on! And what better way to throw caution to the wind than go after dark? I hooked up with a few folks from my local bike shop, Espresso Sports, on the weekly evening ride, got to borrow a light, and off we went.
It turns out this was not a novel concept - we ran into three other groups over the course of the evening. And two dogs, both which could quite effortlessly overtake me on the uphills. Didn't anyone tell them about my fragile ego??
We started off at dusk, and so hadn't yet switched our lights on. But once we regrouped after the first section, it was time. I had almost declined the offered light, since I had my headlamp in my car, but luckily for me, I hadn't. I guess it has been a while since I last checked out the latest lighting options on the market...holy cow! This thing was akin to having car headlights attached to my handlebars. In fact, I wouldn't mind attaching to to my car hood, it's probably better! haha Ok, that might be an exaggeration, but I was blown away by how well it lit the trail, and blinded anyone who strayed across my path. The only time I had any issue was when the trail opened up and we bombed down some berms...since the light was pointing the wrong direction by being attached to my handlebars, trying to look through the turn was simply staring into inky darkness.
For fear of sounding like a shill, I considered not mentioning the actual maker. But I figured you're more interested in what I was using than wary of being peddled gadgetry. So I headed to the manufacturer's website, Light & Motion, and it turns out I was the lucky user of their highest-end offering, the Seca 1400. Oh, and look, the website includes the retail price....Wowzers! Until I got into racing, all my BIKES were cheaper than that bad boy. Or, to put it another way, I could pay someone minimum wage for two years to come on a weekly MTB ride and run alongside carrying a flashlight. But hopefully it'll be less than two years before I can MTB faster than someone on foot carrying a Dolphin! Or a golden retriever, for that matter.
End of summer often seems to correspond with injuries for me. I was wondering whether it is because my base and weight training is at it's most distant point for the year, or that I'm doing the equivalent of "one last run at the ski resort" as summer takes leave for another year.
Nothing serious this time, just a weird twinge in my ankle, but it hurts to ride. However when Craiger called to suggest a ride, I knew it wasn't one to pass up. 140km riding north from Ottawa, 60km of gravel, fall colours at their peak... I decided to tape up my ankle and give 'er!
It didn't disappoint. For starters, a spectacular day...I have to find out what temp it was and request that for all future rides. For the first half we were treated to amazing vistas of fall foliage, a neat hydro damn (clued us in to the reason for the name, Ride of the Damned) and great terrain. The second half added in some solid suffering, the historic mills and other buildings in Wakefield and Chelsea, Dave stomping on it with some monster pulls, and Craig keeping us on course for all but 10km. ;)
Generally, there's just something very satisfying about crushing it on back roads with some solid chaps.
This past weekend was an awesome, bike-themed extravaganza. I was at the Norco booth at the BTAC ExpoCycle trade show to represent Team H&R BLOCK, and happy to do so after their great support this season. I joined by two amazing Norco-sponsored riders, Andrew Watson, fresh back from the MTB world championships, and bad-ass BMXer Ben Kaufmann. It's normally a dealer-oriented show (shop owners come to look at what they can sell in the following year) but this year, for the first time, Saturday was for consumers. It seems someone forgot to TELL the consumers, but being quiet gave me a chance to wander around and geek out on 2012 bike bling.
OH, and I also did my first autograph signing session! Right after Ryder Hejedal. Does it count if I didn't actually sign anything? haha
Caught up with my buddy Jeff, who was the mechanic for H&R earlier this season and is now living the dream, travelling with the pros as a Spidertech wrench. Partied it up a bit...
Sunday was the World Tour race in Montreal. Tonnes of dudes from this year's Tour on a killer course - 17 laps of a course with a brutal 2km hill, totaling over 200km.
Almost more impressive was the way these dudes get down after a tough day in the saddle: Jeff was in the know, and we headed over to Club Musique to rock out amongst various national champs and such. Take Di Luca, he was in the break for 140km, and then 6 hours later, tearing it up!
Sweet.
This week it's back to regular life...a couple of job interviews, training for cyclocross, watching in wonder and horror as the leaves change and start falling...
There's a rather neat web site called vizualize.me, that allows one to create a visual representation of their resume. I found it particularly helpful because my work chronology is not straight-forward. It also has a cool feature that allows one to upload their work history, etc. from their LinkedIn account, avoiding needing to type in all that information *yet again*.
The screen shots below are hyperlinks to my actual resume. Feel free to pass them out to friends, family and pets that may be looking to hire a software developer!
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