My mate Snorky

When I got smoked from behind by a car last week, I was riding my cyclocross bike. While my tri bike tends to get all the flashy attention (because I am, after all, primarily a triathlon dork), my 'cross bike is my workhorse and my ticket to some of the most wonderful rides I've ever had.

August 11th, 2010 - just arrived at his new home!

I spotted him out front of The Hub Bicycle Shop in Hespeler one August evening - resplendent in my beloved country's red and white, he looked to be just my size. The shop had advertised amazing deals available, so we'd stopped in to have a look, but this sweetheart caught my eye as he sat racked on the sidewalk. I saw that he wasn't brand new - there were a few signs of wear - but I had to ask about him.

He'd been a demo model for the shop, but was now up for sale at half the MSRP. I'd been looking for a cyclocross bike, as all I had at in my quiver at the time were my time trial/triathlon bike (a bit high strung for everyday riding, and certainly not at home anywhere but pavement) and my old rigid steel mountain bike (which was not exactly suited to racking up the training miles on the road). A moment later a set of flat pedals had been spun onto the crankarms and I could take him for a test ride..

We'd headed over straight from work, so I wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion. Tanker still rues not having got a photo of that test ride, though it has burned itself into his memory. In a probably-too-short skirt and no helmet at all, I pounded the pedals through the hills of Hespeler village, my unfettered hair streaming out behind my helmetless head. It was a moment of childlike bliss as I flew through the streets, the bike translating the staccato beat of my legs into an intoxicating wind in my face.

It was love.

First real ride, though still with flat pedals.

It was still more money than I could really afford, but Tanker insisted I must have it - our anniversary had been just a couple of days previous, and he said this would be my gift from him. I married a keeper, and that day acquired another one. He was fast, gorgeous, and even made by a Canadian company!

As the days and months passed, I modified the bike a little and came to enjoy it a lot. It opened up new possibilities to me as I now had a ride that could go almost anywhere - he was equally happy on the roads and most of the local trails, so I could take Tanker (on his own CX bike) exploring both near and far. We rode 100km to Wilkes Dam in Brantford and back via rail trail, we rode to the farmers' market in town, we rode for coffee, we rode in the Tour de Grand and we rode through the mud of Paris to Ancaster.

I even threw on my tri bike's wheels and rode it in the Cambridge Crit

P2A 2011

P2A 2012

P2A 2013

I rode my one and only true century on the bike that came to be called Snorky, on the hottest day I think I've ever experienced. I've rode him in the snow and weather cold enough to make my bottles freeze up. He's always ready to go for a ride, and has never let me down.

161km at the 2012 Tour de Grand

Wheeling along at the 2013 Tour de Grand

The poor bike even deals with this indignity most of the winter

When I was hit last Monday, I had no idea what the damage might be to good old reliable Snorky. His rear wheel was certainly destroyed, but I felt like I'd absorbed most of the impact from the hood of the car and subsequent skid on the ground (I still have some fascinating bruises and bits of me that are not yet entirely functional) - his bar tape hadn't even been torn, and the frame looked ok. I wasn't going to rely on "looks like", though, so last Saturday he was delivered to the caring hands at The Hub for a thorough inspection.

Never bring a bike to a car fight

After a few days of anxious waiting (sorry for the million text messages Cliff!), my old friend and battle partner was checked over and found to need...

..a new barrel adjuster on the rear derailleur.

He lives!

It seems that between the rear wheel and I, we successfully cushioned the frame from bending out of shape or cracking. It was like finding out a beloved pet doesn't need to be put down - he just needs a new collar and leash!

Wahoo!
(Tour de Grand 2011)

Thanks to my incredible mom & husband, I'll even be getting a spanky new wheelset to replace the writeoff rear and make him even prettier.

These will practically turn him into a ghost bike, which seems appropriate somehow.

So we're going to pick Snorky up from the shop again on Saturday, and soon I'll be tearing up the roads and trails with my ever-eager pal once more. I see blue skies and summer clouds, leaf buds opening and flowers in bloom all over the place. It's the absolute most inspiring time for cycling, and I can't wait to go for a rip!

The trails are calling!

Before I even take a single pedal stroke, though I probably won't be able to help but show my buddy a little bit of love.

20th Anniversary Paris to Ancaster Spring Classic - April 14th, 2013

A muddy walk in the woods punctuated by occasional bike riding.

Awoke around 7:30am with stabbing pain under my left boob - couldn't take a breath without nearly crumpling in pain. Awesome. Off to the bathroom considering that I may be having a heart attack, I managed to stretch my left shoulder up and away from my left hip, loosening things up significantly. It seems I may have lapped a rib in my sleep, pinching the soft tissue between the bones. The more I stretched it out, the less painful it became. Now I just had some lower back pain (caused by - get this - doing a yoga pose on Thursday morning that is recommended to relieve back pain), somewhat dead legs from a snappy 9k trail run on Saturday, and almost no recent bike training to deal with. Oh, and the fact this was apparently the muddiest the course has been in its 20 year history: they'd already pulled out the first two 2 single-track sections off McLean School Road, and the Charlie's Farm slide was taken out a couple of days before the race with the possibility of more revisions to come.

From the pre-race email.

Against all P2A tradition, it was a beautiful sunny morning. The temperature left something to be desired, as did the dusting of snow on the roadside fields as we drove down to the start in Paris, but we'd been tantalized by promises of 7c by the afternoon. We had also both packed a ridiculously huge assortment of apparel for last-minute decision making - I finally settled on bibs, leg warmers, an awesome long-sleeve Craft base layer with short-sleeved jersey over top, my merino helmet liner cap and my favourite LG jacket over it all to keep out the chilly wind. I knew I was probably overdressed and toyed with the idea of just wearing my vest instead, but once hypothermic, twice shy. I really hate being cold. Tanker took the same tack, bundling himself up in a windproof base layer, bibs, a long-sleeve thermal jersey and thermal tights, plus a winter-weight jacket. I wondered about the wisdom of all that - he has a tendency to dress for the first mile, not the rest of the ride - but it didn't seem like that bad an idea as we puttered around in the morning chill.

Note to self: keep chamois creme somewhere warm prior to application.

Of course we managed to forget a pump - we're idiots, and hadn't managed to outsmart ourselves by putting it in the kitchen the night before. Fortunately, we parked right next to a fellow Cambridge chap in Hub kit who coincidentally rides exactly the same CX bike that I do, and he was kind enough to lend us his. With fresh rubber on the rear instead of the bald-ass excuse for a tire I used last year, I felt reasonably confident running about 55-60psi both front and rear. I'd been out running on the Cambridge to Paris Rail Trail the day before (though a different section than we'd be riding), and conditions were much better than expected after a solid week of rain: there were lots of wheel ruts in the crushed gravel surface, but it was nicely hard-packed and had drained very well. There would be some puddles and slightly softer bits, but should roll fairly fast - a far cry from Steaming Nostril!

In the interest of seeing what my legs had to offer, Tanker and I mounted up for a bit of a warmup ride. The parking lot was a ridiculous pit of soft gravel and mud, so making it out the driveway onto Green Line upright was a decent accomplishment in itself. I pedaled up the hill, then turned around to see what the hell happened to Tanker. He appeared on Green Line just as I was nearing the parking lot entrance again, so a quick u-turn and back up the hill, right onto East River Road, then up to the top of the little rise. I turned around in someone's driveway and looked for Tank, but he was nowhere in sight. Rolling back downhill, I tried to shift to the big ring, but encountered hesitation - an extra nudge on the lever, engagement, then the chain gets spat off the outside onto the crank. This is really boding well, especially since my stupid wrist is already hurting and both of my braces are at home. Whee!

Sunny at the starting area - from the P2A Twitter feed.

Chain re-seated, back to the small ring (knowing that's likely where I'll stay all day), and roll on down to the starting area. We'd registered in Wave 4, and Wave 3 hadn't left yet, so I wasn't too concerned that there was still no sign of Tanker. My only goal for this "race" was to get him across the finish line with me - his first attempt in 2011 had been aborted by a broken rear derailleur hanger (one of dozens claimed annually by the P2A mud) and this was his grudge match. We had a spare hanger riding along with him today, but I'm the one that does the cycle repairs and maintenance in the house and it's an easier job with an extra pair of hands, so I was determined to stick by him on the course. That would be made significantly more difficult if I couldn't even find him at the start..
Wave 3 went off with much cheering and ringing of cowbells, and the Wave 4 riders started to shuffle into the starting corral. I made my way in, but stayed off to the far right to try to look for Tanker as he came in. I was starting to wonder if he'd gone off a wave ahead (he doesn't wear a watch and might not look at his cycle computer) as the stream of cyclists was waning to a trickle, then I finally spotted him halfway up the driveway chatting away. I waved at him to try to get his attention as I really did not want to be stuck at the very back again (part of our problem on the first rail trail section at Steaming Nostril), and he finally moseyed on into the start corral with me. Only about 500 people in front of us; no big deal.

As the clock counted down to our start, I pulled out my zipper-bagged phone and started Endomondo so I'd have a bit of a record of the race. I totally forgot to take any photos at the start, as did Tank. It was a trend that would continue as the horn sounded and we rolled through the muddy grass, up the hill and down the pothole-strewn laneway that would lead us to the rail trail. Not even half a kilometer in, the bumping had ejected dozens of bottles from cages of those ahead of us - some people were going to have a tough day.

The trail was in just as good a condition as I'd expected, and we were able to pass a significant number of riders while still rolling quite easily. The sun shone, birds sang, pedals turned - it was still cool, but a lovely day nonetheless. Much better than the rain from 2012 or blinding snow from 2011! They'd even filled in the worst of the washout damage I'd seen a few weeks back, and the gravel had seated well. I could have rode this all day, and look forward to doing so as the spring and summer progress.

Coming to the turn-off at the fire road, it became immediately obvious that things had been churned up too badly by the waves ahead for my 'cross tires to keep sufficient traction up the hill. I quickly dismounted and started walking with Tanker right by my side. By the time we reached the top of the hill, he was panting and roaring about being too hot. A brief stop and a surprisingly accommodating jersey pocket served to ditch his jacket plus a wrestle to get back into his wet insulated gloves, then on we rode to try to overtake all the people who'd re-passed us while we were stopped. 10k down, another 52 to go (as far as we knew).

Onto McLean School Road and past the usual turn-off point into the woods, we were into some mild rolling hills and passing loads of people on mountain bikes. This is totally why a cyclocross bike is ideal for P2A - most of the really muddy stuff I couldn't ride on a mountain bike anyway, so might as well use the road sections to make up time. We turned onto Highway 24 and were funneled across the road to that weird section of giant cement blocks beside the drainage ditch - the mud here was at least as bad as any other year, and we elected to take the old route on the shoulder rather than brave the calf-deep mud crossing the course seemed to indicate. We were far from alone! I also realised here that I'd totally flaked on screwing in the mud studs that came with my new mountain bike shoes, but the soles were providing ample traction while traversing the steep and muddy roadside. We managed to re-mount afterward and roll for maybe 100 feet before coming to the first singletrack section of the day. I was in the granniest gear I had and it felt like my wheels were jamming with mud, but when I hopped off to inspect they were clear - the mud was just sucking all of my energy and my legs felt like crap.

Perhaps time to stop calling them "new" shoes.

With a hey and a ho, away we...walked. Tanker had adopted his usual training regimen for this year (read: none), so was well-tapered going in - he was able to ride a few more metres, but then even his legs succumbed to the wheel-sucking mud. Even the mountain bikers were dismounting to walk, but fortunately the mud was not building up and jamming wheels. Soon enough we were sloughing it off as we rode down Howell Road and enjoying a new addition to the course - a loop around Orchard Home Farm on a gravel lane. This was almost all rideable (except a short section of 3" deep mud at the top of the loop), so we once again made up a bit of time - even moreso once we got back out onto Howell.

Right turn and through the gate, onto muddy doubletrack. This section has been mostly rideable in prior years, but most years don't include enough rain to cause massive flooding throughout the region as a prelude. I'd say it was something like a 50/50 split between pedaling and walking for us this year, Tanker putting his handling skills to good use and me just trying to hang on and keep things light on the pedals. That weirdo even rode (at least some of) the final downhill swoop with the sharp left-hand turn that spits you out at Highway 5 - myself and a girl on a mountain bike prudently stepped our way down instead. I'm in a good place with my post-broken-wrist wussiness. Fortunately the grumbling it did during my warmup was the last I really noticed from it, even having neglected to re-wrap my bars with the squishy gel pads I'd bought specifically for this event.

Back onto roads of both paved and gravel persuasions, it was a quick jaunt down Harrisburg Road as we met up with a big bunch of riders doing the shorter St. George to Ancaster version of the race. A big clench as we slogged through the soft gravel of that bloody farm lane (which I rode all the way through for the first time!), out to German School Road and into the first aid station and cut-off point at Harrisburg. 28km done, and definitely time to eat something and refill bottles - I'd only had about 3/4 of a bottle of eLoad so far, and we'd been on the road almost 2 hours. After a peanut butter chocolate chip Larabar, a small banana and an eLoad re-load (plus a second pee break for Tanker), we mounted up and pedaled off...only to dismount again almost immediately. The water and mud were 4" deep in places in the ball field!

A bit of road, then some doubletrack trail - not the nice crushed limestone of the rail trail, but some reasonably hard-packed dirt that let us get past a lot of the S2A riders. We ate even more of them as we came out to Weir Road, followed its jog onto Governors then right on the continuation of Weir, and then found ourselves at Rosehedge Farm. This section - riding down a farm lane and then across a field - is brutal at the best of times. I was able to ride most of it last year, but not today; I don't think I saw a single person make it more than 20 yards in the saddle. Even walking was difficult, as there was ankle-deep mud everywhere that tried to suck the shoes right off your feet! We finally got out to Powerline Road, enjoying the pavement for all of about 3 minutes before hitting the Prenderlaan.

This section was new to Tanker (as it had only been added last year), and was another hopeless mud pit. We both tried to slug it out on the bikes but quickly gave up. I had rode it all - however sketchily - last year but the suckage was relentless! To make things even better, once I re-mounted on the gravel section toward the end some kid came right across in front of me as I was trying to pass on the left, forcing me off the lane and into a muddy cornfield. I thought for sure I was going to end up in a heap of twisted metal and bodies, but actually managed to ride it out (while screaming at the little puke) and tried to un-clench. We eventually emerged at Indian Trail, then it was just a 3km road-based hop down to the Hamilton to Brantford Rail Trail with around 20km left to go.

My Endomondo data - interactive available here.
Please don't disrespect the private landowners by trying to ride it outside the race.

The rail trail was a little more than 8km of pure bliss - the sun shone, the rolling was fast, and Tanker and I might as well have had a recording of "on your left" going on a constant loop. Of course, someone had to pee again, so we got to pass a whole load of people twice. At least it gave me a good chance to hydrate and remove the top half of my jacket - it had got up to 11c per my cycle computer and ventilating with the zip wasn't doing the trick, apart from acting like a bit of a parachute. I zipped it down to my waist, pulled my arms out, then tied the sleeves around the front and tucked the ends in; probably looked incredibly stupid, but let me dump a ton of excess heat and stayed put. It felt great to cool off, but my legs had been complaining a lot even on the fast, flat surfaces of the rail trail and they made it readily apparent on re-mounting that they heartily disliked stopping and then starting again. Some days you have it, some days you don't; this was clearly one of the latter. It being me, though, I kept chasing as long as there were people ahead of me to pass with Tanker hooked firmly to my wheel.

Just past the 50k mark we were spat back out onto Powerline Road, about 30mins before the new 2:30pm cut-off time (riders proceed along the rail trail after this point). Up Hwy 52 and onto Mineral Springs Road, I started looking for the first big slide, not remembering that Charlie's Farm had been dropped from the course - probably a good move, as it's the longest of the mudslides and has been the worst for wheel jams in my recollection. We found ourselves in the Mineral Springs Slide instead, in which I had my first wheel jam of the day. I got it clear, shouldered the bike, and slogged onward with Tanker just ahead of me - he'd tried riding some of the slide, but gave up after a tip-over that left a really sharp print of his butt and hip in the mud. Fortunately, no damage done!

Coming out to the 2nd aid station at Slote Road, we spent some time clearing our frames and wheels of the jamming mud before re-mountain to do that horrible grind up to Powerline. I think I broke a few people's hearts when I had to tell them they still had the Powerline Slide left to go! A lot of people were walking their bikes up the road, but the one thing I won't let myself do is walk on a paved or gravel road - farm lanes are a different story. It's not even really that big or steep a hill, but since you're starting off without momentum and it's covered in chunks of mud flung off the bikes ahead, it makes it rather a drudge. We had a couple of kilometers to roll before the final mudbath, and I was starting to get very tired - realistically, I'd only drank about another half a bottle of eLoad since Harrisburg and was probably starting to fade from caloric deficit. Hindsight is 20/20, right? I had a gel in my pocket I could easily have gobbled, but it seemed unnecessary with (as I thought) just under 10k to go.

Last bit of road; last checkpoint done, and into the Powerline Slide. It actually wasn't as squelchy as previous times I've done the race, though I did see one of the hidden hoses pumping out some muddy water (yes, the mud does have help). I carried my bike a lot, spent a great deal of concentration on not losing my shoes, and discovered that the worst-looking parts of the mud (ie: the wettest) were actually the easiest to walk. Got to the bottom, mounted up again and saw the sign for Martin Road - the very last section. Tanker spotted a sign that said we had 2k left to go, which didn't jive with the 56km my cycle computer was showing, but I was more than happy to believe it. We climbed a hill that I mistook for the end, teasing Tank with an end to the torment, but it was not to be. I dismounted and walked a bit of that sharp little bastard, just too tired to care - my legs ached and the lack of calories was really taking its toll on me. Tanker got out of the saddle and fought to the top of the hill like a champ!

The last section of double-track trail had been rideable in places last year, but again the rain had taken its toll - we walked our bikes up, un-jammed the wheels once more, then mounted up and tried to ride down the other side. Bad choice; too sketchy. With maybe 30% of my braking power left and fatigue robbing me of what little handling skill I have, I managed to tip myself over onto the side of the Old Martin Road Trail. I landed on my left side - the one with the damaged wrist - and even stupidly put my hand down...but came out ok. The side of the trail is raised there, so I didn't fall far, and didn't put my arm out until my hip had already touched down. I still had to un-clip my left foot, but I was back up and walking again quickly with no pain. I waited until we got right to the bottom, just before the two big rocks, before I re-mounted.

I managed to pick up a bit of speed as we came into the final hill, but walking was a foregone conclusion with my legs thoroughly roasted. I managed to make it almost 1/3 of the way up in 36/27, but stepped down and started the walk of shame probably a touch earlier than last year. As I pushed my bike along a mountain biker came up beside me at almost the same pace I was walking and asked if he was close to the end - I told him he was nearly there with about 300 metres left to go, but he quickly ran out of gear (or legs) and ended up walking just behind me. We pushed up through the steepest section, then I mentioned that around the start of the next right-hand curve it flattened out and we could re-mount to ride across the line.

As the grade diminished I looked back to see if I could spot Tanker, but I didn't see him - I knew he would make it up to the line somehow, though, so didn't concern myself too much about waiting for him. The mountain biker stuck with me and hopped back on where I did, coming in about 35 seconds behind me. I crossed the finish line and moved to the left to get out of the way, pulled out my phone to stop Endomondo and tried to get the camera set up, but completely failed to get a photo of Tanker coming through the finish just over a minute after I did. It turns out that, due to the final adjustments made to the course, the whole thing was 57km - I showed 58.8km per my cycle computer and 58.09km via Endomondo.

Team Ill Advised Racing Inc. - mission accomplished.

We chatted with a few people, dropped off our bikes, peeled off some muddy things and wandered into the arena to join in the post-race festivities. We really enjoyed the pulled pork they had brought in for the 20th anniversary (which I could actually eat, unlike the subs they'd had the last 2 years), I bought Tanker a celebratory Highlander Pale Ale, and we were both surprised and delighted by the finishers gift we were given in the food line:

Sweet!

Better yet, after we went through the logistical nightmare of: shuttle bus back to Paris; grab car; drive back to Ancaster to pick up bikes; drive to Cambridge; hit coin-op car wash to clean bikes; hit Viet/Thai restaurant for amazing bowl of soup, we finally got home and I checked the results:

14th out of 19 mixed teams!
Just don't look at how far back we were from the leaders.

Not only did both of us finish, we weren't last, or even second last, or even the last team from Cambridge! Tanker's DNF from Steaming Nostril and the 2011 P2A were avenged, along with his DFL from Tour de King last year! Odd that he says he's not interested in ever doing Paris to Ancaster again..

For myself, despite the perenially wonderful organization and volunteers, plus the added touches for the 20th anniversary, I'm a bit ambivalent about the race overall. The mudslides have lost a lot of their novelty and I found them easier to navigate this go 'round than in others, but it was annoying that the extra moisture this year made sections I'd enjoyed the challenge of riding in the past beyond my capabilities. It didn't seem to be a matter of tires or even bike, though; almost everyone around us walked as much (or more) than we did, and we were only passed by a handful of people (except during stops). I wasn't even really that muddy at the end, though my bike certainly was - hopefully it doesn't destroy another bottom bracket or more cables, as replacing that stuff costs dearly. The timing of the event isn't great for me, either; I'm generally targeting a spring running race, so run training ramps up at the cost of cycling fitness. I'd only put less than 1,000km on the bike for the year up to the race start, and an embarrassing amount of that was easy spinning to try to work out legs sore from running, or triathlon-focused long intervals that are pretty useless when the land gets lumpy. I'm also pretty sure that my cleats are further back on my new shoes than my old ones, throwing my bike position out of whack a bit and changing the angle of application of force; I found it much more difficult to engage my glutes for extra power, feeling a lot of it coming from my outer quads (vastus lateralis) instead, and my neck and shoulders were getting tight while riding the second section of rail trail. That's something I'll need to work on prior to the 100k Tour de Grand, though it's about time I pulled out my time trial bike and started doing some work on it to get ready for tri season - less than 6 weeks away!

Yeah, yeah - tri dorks are full of excuses!

From freezing to drowning

Having eventually warmed up again after the hypothermic debacle that was Steaming Nostril, I've managed to put in some pretty solid training for the Mississauga Half Marathon on May 5th. I actually got my toughest workout for the half done last Saturday - a 22-odd kilometer riot of hills, finishing with a half-kilometer ascent of the big bugger upon which my neighbourhood perches. I ran it faster than I expected (by a lot) and felt really strong on the hills despite the extra weight of my hydration pack and some nasty headwinds on some of the biggest climbs. Given that the route I chose is much more challenging than the net downhill point-to-point course for the race, I'm feeling pretty confident and it's looking like I might actually be going into a road race with adequate preparation.

I guess there's a first time for everything.

If it seems a bit odd that I'd do this almost a full month out from race day, it's because of a minor scheduling issue; I'd rather not put in a long, hard run the day before Paris to Ancaster, which just happens to fall this Sunday. I only did 14km the day before Steaming Nostril, but ended up with over 3 hours of training for the day, and was marginally depleted for the "race" that ensued. This year's P2A is shaping up to be a bell ringer, as they've lengthened the route from 60k to 70k for the 20th anniversary after last year's addition of the Prenderlaan.

Then this happened.

What you see above is what I get for thinking "at least it's not hailing" as a thunderstorm descended upon me during Monday night's run. It was kind enough to start just as I turned off the main street (that has bus shelters) and end just as I returned to it, leaving me with no choice but to plod along as I got pelted with ice from above.

Since then, it has rained every single day. However, that wasn't the worst part.

Note that the icicles lean slightly away from the prevailing wind.

Southern Ontario got whacked upside the head with a stinkin' ice storm. Power outages, downed limbs, even hydro poles knocked over by nasty, gusty winds.

Downtown Hespeler - Queen & Guelph Ave - completely dark.

I tried to go for a swim last night, but the power at the pool had been out for 15mins when I got there and stayed off for another 10mins, by which time they'd decided the evening was a writeoff. Out running in the gale, I saw branches down on the sidewalks during my second loop that hadn't been there during the first - a bit unnerving, that. We woke up this morning to a world imprisoned in a layer of ice.

Looks pretty, but makes for a lousy commute.

Especially when you have to chip all this off your windshield.

So with the ground thoroughly saturated and flood warnings in effect all over the countryside, we'll venture forth into the mudslides on Sunday to test our luck as Tanker makes his second attempt at finishing Paris to Ancaster - we've already got a spare rear derailleur hanger ready to go in his jersey pocket so he won't be foiled the same way as he was in 2011. The organizers have already removed the first two sections of singletrack due to the conditions, so he may have a better chance despite the longer course, and at least the temperature is supposed to be around 7c so I probably won't turn into a shivering wreck.

Posted on facebook this morning by a friend.

Perhaps instead of the cross-country skis I pondered for Steaming Nostril I should pack along a snorkel and fins - maybe I won't be missing my Sunday swim after all!

Laying plans

Getting on things a bit earlier than last year, I've finally got 'round to building myself a racing season! Things get going next weekend (ack!) with Steaming Nostril on March 24th as a warm-up (irony: it's likely to be damn cold and the trail may be snow-covered) for Paris to Ancaster three weeks later on April 14th. This is mostly about the tri season, though, so breathe deeply and soldier forth.

I've known for some time now that I'd be doing the Half Iron distance triathlon at Welland as my A-race this year, as I'm sure I can improve on my 2011 result if I can just manage to avoid another crippling (and entirely self-inflicted) sacroiliac joint injury. 6:25:56 is the time to beat, and I think running the Mississauga Half-Marathon 7 weeks beforehand will set me up for success much better than the Waterloo (full) Marathon did in 2011 - I had an additional week in between, but recovery from a road marathon (into which I went undertrained; surprise, surprise) took for bloody ever and I was only just starting to feel myself again come race day for the half iron. I've been getting really consistent running mileage in for the last couple of months (broke 500km for the year last night), so hopefully this will translate into an improvement on my one-and-only half marathon time of 2:09:24 and a quicker half iron run leg.

All the sooner into the canal!

When I raced the Welland Half in 2011, it was my first tri of the year and I had an abysmal swim. I've been putting in some decent yardage at the pool and am swimming much faster overall than I was then, but I've also made the decision to go back to one of my favourite race venues for an early season warm-up: Woodstock doesn't have the 750m-30k-7.5k distance I did last year anymore, so I'll actually get to try the standard sprint distance (750m-20k-5k) for the first time! It's exactly half of an Olympic tri, and will basically be a speed workout and dress rehearsal 4 weeks ahead of the half.

Everything after Welland is more or less gravy, as we're going touring on the motorcycles come the July 1st weekend - I learned early in my racing career that you don't schedule anything for which performance is required after a week of road food, minimal (if any) training and casual boozing. That being said, we'll return to reality on July 8th with a whole 12 days to whip ourselves into shape for the Belwood sprint relay! Hopefully this year I won't let Tanker down with the worst swim pace I've ever recorded (like 2011 - I seriously swam slower than I did in my first 2 races back in 2009!), and will actually be able to get through the whole 7.5km run without collapsing into a wheezing heap of greasy ooze. Ok, there was no collapsing in 2011, but spending a week camping and drinking right before the race was certainly not the best idea we've ever had...or maybe it was!

No, probably not.

August is usually occupied with Mine Over Matter, which I had every intention of doing again this year (despite previous .500 record for completion and associated damages) until they announced it would be moved from the last weekend of August to July 7th, at which point I won't even be home from our moto camping expedition. I thought about racing the Toronto Island sprint, but Tanker balked at the idea of having to be at the ferry docks by 05:30 - the words "logistical nightmare" kept escaping his usually un-protesting lips, and I couldn't honestly argue with that. Given that the 750m-30k-7.5k distance has been eliminated in favour of the shorter, standard sprint for this race as well, I was having a hard time convincing myself that it was worth over 4 hours of travel for a scant 90mins on course. I gave brief thought to trying the other Element race (Muskoka Grind on Aug. 18th), but decided against another out-of-town race for this year. The plan instead is to pack the bikes up and go camp somewhere for a few days instead - I'm going to give my sweet husband and wonder sherpa a whole summer month race-free!

September brings the end of tri season in Ontario, and I had a tough time deciding which of two great Olympic-distance races I'd be using to close out the year. I've done Lakeside the last two years (including while broken last year - whee!), and I do love the venue and its convenience - take off before dawn, but home by 2pm! Wasaga involves a little more planning - when I did it 2010, we stayed Friday and Saturday night in Collingwood, and that was a really comfortable way to go as it gave us a lovely weekend away after the Saturday morning race. As terrible as the pavement on the bike course is, I've chosen to return to the frigid waters of Georgian Bay again this year for a few reasons: the run course has got to be one of the most beautiful in Ontario, it will give Tanker and I a lovely excuse for a weekend together, and it's also the one triathlon at which my Dad came to see me race. That alone is enough to make the venue special to me, and one I'd like to re-visit.

By the end I thought I could fly.

One other advantage to Wasaga is that it's a week earlier in September (the 7th as opposed to the 15th), as I'm having some very stupid thoughts about trying to run my first 50k trail race at Vulture Bait on October 19th. If I do, I'll need the extra time in between for some recovery and last couple of long runs/doubles before setting out for 6+ hours of pain...and then possibly running another 6 hours a week later at Horror Hill?

So, the plans are more or less laid, and I've actually managed to say "no" to a race for once. All that's left now is to stay healthy and keep the training consistent! If the end of the season shapes up as described above, I may also need to start making sacrifices to a few deities..

A year already?

Yes folks, it's now been a year since that first ill advised blog post. At almost 9,000 views, I'm nearly certain there are at least a couple of people reading who aren't my mother or my husband - hopefully they found what they were looking for, except for that one who apparently landed here by using "butt plug Gravenhurst" as their search terms.

A whole year of bad crayon art!

The 2013 season is shaping up to be a good one: I've already registered for a number of races including the inaugural 65km Steaming Nostril off-road cycling race on March 24th and the 20th anniversary Paris to Ancaster off-road mudfest with new-and-improved 70km route on April 14th, both of which will be accompanied by Tanker. After all that cycling I'll be attempting to run again at the 10th anniversary edition of the Mississauga Half Marathon on May 5th, then Tanker and I will saddle up again for the 100km route at the Cambridge Tour de Grand on June 9th. The "A" race for the year will be the Welland Half Iron triathlon on June 23rd, which will hopefully happen without a massive SI joint injury this time. As the cherry on top, Belwood has returned as part of the MultiSport Canada Triathlon Series after having been dropped by that other series last year. Tanker and I are already registered as the ill advised racing relay team for the 750m-30k-7.5k sprint on July 20th. There will be a couple of other races sprinkled in there as well, but I'm already pretty stoked! The winter insulation (courtesy of my Christmas baking) is coming off a little faster than last year, I managed not to spend most of January injured and grumpy due to lack of running, and I'm generally feeling pretty optimistic.

Moving forward, I'll try to continue with the gear reviews and other potentially edifying stuff...but realistically you can expect a lot more self-serving race reports, mundane tri-babble (AERO TRANSITION CADENCE BRICK SPANDEX RAWRR!), bad humour and even worse drawings.

It's what I do.

Thanks for reading - hope you at least had some laughs!

Tour de King 50k - September 30th, 2012

I'm starting to feel like this less of a blog than a confessional for all of my dimwitted ideas.

It was about 4 days before I broke my wrist that I signed up Tanker, myself and our two new mountain bikes for the 2nd annual Tour de King - a 50km off-road race that seemed to be the fall version of Paris to Ancaster. I was pissed at the idea I might miss it because of a putzy broken bone, but since I had 5 weeks post-break to heal I figured I might be able to make it. It would be the only race so far this year that Tanker and I were doing together, so I had a lot of motivation to get me out there!

Of course, I still had to figure out whether or not I could ride the bike at all with the cast still on. Wednesday evening, Tanker and I saddled up to see whether or not Arven (my gorgeous - if slightly homicidal - Louis Garneau Apex Elite) would play nice with me. I rolled around on the road a little, then over some grass, down a bumpy turf hill and back up some broken pavement. Down a loose, gravelly spillway, over a curb, back onto the road - I seemed to be doing ok, but it was getting dark so I couldn't really do much off-road testing. The outside of my wrist was a little unhappy with the way the cast exerted pressure on it and I couldn't just rest my hand normally on the grip because of the lump of fibreglass where my thumb joins my palm, so I rode another 10km or so on the road to see if it worsened with time. Back to the house, I spent another hour trying various adjustments to see if I could get the damned seatpost to stop creaking, all without avail. Oh well, I could ride - good enough.

I love you, even though you've repeatedly tried to kill me.

Having overslept for a car service appointment on Saturday morning, I was paranoid Saturday night and kept waking up every hour or two. Didn't get to bed until 01:00, was back up at 06:20 after 3 short naps and 3 panicked awakenings. At least I wasn't feeling the cold I'd come down with last week as much as I had on Saturday morning - being able to breathe was likely to be key to success.

Slack 29er vs. aggressive 26er wheelbase comparison.

For not having done a damn thing to prepare for this race in advance save for switching out Tanker's clipless pedals for platforms (he had an infected ingrown big toenail, so wanted to just ride in his trail running shoes rather than use cycling shoes) and taking another whack at silencing the creaking that accompanied any pedaling done sitting on my saddle, getting out of the house went rather smoothly. We only had to do 1 lap around the block because I'd forgotten chamois creme and Tanker had forgotten to tie down the excess strapping on the Gran Fondo to prevent it whipping at our bikes as we hauled down the highway. Basically, we had to stop to prevent multiple kinds of chafing, but were still actually on time leaving. Eerie..

Some of us took longer than others getting dressed.

Tim Hortons. Cafe Mocha. Yes. Nearly awake, we cruised up to Cold Creek Conservation Area and arrived with plenty of time to pick up our race packets, put on our number plates, finish getting dressed and even get a bit of a warmup in. We needed the warmup - the overcast skies threatened rain at any moment, the forecast called for showers, and there was a brisk, chilly wind blowing right through my base layer. I'm sure all of this was awesome for recovering from my cold.

Tanker's ready to rawk in his fighter plane jersey.

Wearing a single glove and arm warmer is the new black.

The first wave went off, so we shuffled ourselves into the starting chute for the neutral roll-out. It had become apparent during our warmup spin that my legs would be DNS'ing this race - maybe running 16km for the first time since March the day before wasn't my best idea ever, especially since this would only be my third time on a bike in over a month. Tanker wasn't in any better shape; he'd never rode anything technical on his new bike, and other than Wednesday's little 35min noodle he hadn't cycled at anything faster than my (glacial) running pace in about a month and a half. We made sure to stay well back, as I didn't want to get in the way of anyone who had a chance of not finishing last.

The innocent smiles of those who have no idea what they've got themselves into.

"No no, after you - we'll ride sweep today"

The horn sounded, we rolled out with the rest of the second wave, and the punishing hills began immediately. Apparently King Township doesn't believe in flat ground, so my poor legs were going to have to haul my gravitationally challenged arse almost as many vertical feet as horizontal ones. Perhaps if I'd used my fork lockout on the road climbs, things might have been easier...but since there are only a precious few kilometers of paved road on the whole course it not only wouldn't have made that much of a difference, but I can virtually guarantee that I'd forget to unlock it again and ended up in agony from pounding my wrist into dust.

This may be from 2011, when the course was run backward.
Doesn't matter. Still massive ouchness.

As it was, the only time my wrist actually hurt was on the bumpy descents...of which there were a lot. I had two options; I could lay on the brakes and hang my butt off the back of the saddle, easing myself down at walking pace, or I could let go of the brakes entirely and just rest my left hand gently on the bars. Anything in between was pain personified as the bucking of the bars shot bolts of pain into the break site, probably disintegrating the new bone I'd had to grow to patch the two halves of my radius together. I can't say I really preferred one method over another; selection depended mostly on how sketchy the descent looked, how far ahead I could see, and what I thought might be at the bottom. Unfortunately for Tanker, stuck with me as he was, there were a lot of times that I opted to ride the brakes.

He didn't seem to mind too much, though.

Into the first section of singletrack, I quickly ended up dismounting and walking my bike through some technical stuff I was simply too wussy to attempt. This particular portion didn't even appear on the route map I'd seen, and I knew there was a long day yet to come. As I walked, I sipped on my bottle of eLoad, as it was only just barely possible for me to pull the bottle from its cage and drink while I was in the saddle - stupid gimped hand! At least it was an improvement from Wednesday, when I hadn't been able to do so at all. I did manage to ride some of the first trail section despite some twisty, bumpy, semi-vertical bits, so I didn't feel completely useless.  I'm pretty sure my bike was disgusted with me, though, and expressed its distaste by continuing to creak throughout the whole damned race.

Map shows 2 singletrack sections. There were at least 5.

Another blogger found this the toughest section of trail; grassy, slippery in places, and hard on the legs, so I guess I should be pleased I rode any at all. We were eventually spat out onto road again, making our way through rutted, potholed packed dirt and gravel country lanes and always climbing, climbing, climbing. Saturday's ten miler was looking like a worse idea all the time, but at least the weather was looking more cheerful - we actually saw some patches of blue sky and even caught a bit of sun, nearly making us forget about the chilly wind blowing in our faces. Scratch that: you never forget a headwind on an uphill. Ever.

The next sections of off road riding took us through what Chico Racing calls "road allowances" and what I called "taking my bike for a walk". After hup-hupping over a barrier and riding a few feet, we came to something resembling a wall of mud that someone laughably thought a crappy mountain bike rider like myself might actually be able to ride up.

Uhh, no.

Tanker and I had a tough enough time just slogging our bikes up on foot, as did many of the people around us at the time. A gentleman with whom we lugged our steeds up this monstrosity said he hoped we liked technical riding, as there was lots to come. I was apparently grossly misinformed somewhere along the line, as I'd heard this was a pretty non-technical course. Clearly the people who said this forgot to add the caveat that they were perfectly at home with riding terrain that even mountain goats would only tackle with ropes and climbing harnesses, could bunny hop small buildings at will and were expert two-wheel drift racers. I paused to suck down a packet of peanut butter Gu since we'd already been rolling for over an hour, hoping it contained a large dose of bike handling skills and luck as well as the usual carbohydrates.

We crested the giant mud hill, rolled along to the gate at the far end, and ended up negotiating a terrifying loose gravel descent through a chicane before hitting the next "road allowance". Off the bike once more, up an even longer mud wall, then mount up and roll down the other side...and have to give up all of that lovely free speed immediately since there's another barrier at the bottom.  

With the course being reversed from last year, this used to be a descent.
The very thought makes bits of me clench.

After a few more hills, we finally arrived at aid station #1. I haven't the foggiest clue why it was called aid station #1, since contrary to the information provided by Chico Racing (and much to our later consternation)  there was no aid station #2. In any case, we were about halfway through the course by my cycle computer, so we stopped to take on some calories. No fruit (again, contrary to pre-race info from the organizers), but I was able to refill my bottle of eLoad and grabbed a Halloween-size Aero chocolate bar for courage (how tri dork of me!).

Back on the bike, figuring I could always get my smaller bottle of water re-filled at the second aid station (ha!), we grumbled over the logic of putting the aid station at the bottom of a hill. Grinding away, we made it up only to see that it marked the start of a series of rollers. I was making a lot of use of the 34t cog on my cassette, and my legs were doing a lot of talking. I was really missing my cross bike here, though I know it would have been pretty useless on the trail portions due to my aforementioned total lack of bike handling skills. Soon we arrived at the Centennial Park trails, running through a gorgeous arboretum with some trail I could actually ride.

Tanker ripping it up out of the saddle.

We had a great time in here, though the trails quickly got more technical and had me hopping on and off my bike like I had a spring in my butt. I am totally never using my cyclocross bike for this race - I'd have to walk just about all of the trail sections (well, even moreso), and I don't think I'd make that up on the road. Another blogger agrees that mtb is the weapon of choice, especially after hearing of a guy on a cx bike cannoning into a tree and snapping his collarbone. I had been expecting that this would be less technical than Paris to Ancaster, but it was turning out to be the opposite. I dabbed. I schluffed. I executed endless "manual turns" by getting to the apex of some ridiculous hairpin, stopping dead, unclipping and lifting the rear wheel around to where I wanted it. 

Occasionally, I even rode the bike.

For all that I was a total wuss with no skillz, I did actually end up taking on a few obstacles that I wouldn't have expected going into the race: as I bombed along a straight section, a small rock garden appeared in front of me out of nowhere. First one I'd seen since the one that broke me, and I had Tanker right on my butt. After an initial thought of "OHSHITOHSHITOHSHITI'MGONNADIE", I actually managed to do the right thing - whip up the pedals to keep my speed and roll right over that sucker! I'm sure I made some kind of unintelligible and ridiculous noise of triumph when I landed on the other side, still upright and moving. I have to be one of the most annoying people in the world with whom to ride trail, as almost every maneuver is punctuated by some silly exclamation of "uh-oh" (if it's something that terrifies me), "ARGH!" (if I think I'm going to wreck), "WHEEEEEEE!" (if I actually get above walking pace) or "YAY/WOOHOO!" (if I manage to ride over even a tiny logpile, fallen tree or rock garden, or make it up the slightest climb). I have no idea how Tanker puts up with me, especially since I was actually starting to build some confidence and roll over some obstacles, so the woods echoed with the sounds of my foolish rejoicing interspersed with the occasional click-stomp-stomp-stomp of me dismounting and walking yet again. I had a close call where I nearly fell over trying to climb off my bike, but managed to hop a bit and get my back up against a tree without even banging my cast.  I was finally getting back into the groove of looking where I wanted to go (rather than right in front of my wheel, which is a nasty habit of mine), and feeling the flow of the trails. Good times!

I had initially wondered if I should even bother with clipless or switch out to flat pedals (making it less likely that I'd fall over if I got hung up), but I'm pretty sure I made the right choice - being clipped in let me pedal smoothly to keep the rear wheel from breaking free on some of the soft, loose surfaces, and gave me much better control when bumping along over roots and logs on the trails. There were a couple of hairy descents in the singletrack where I might have lost my pedals, too, and that's just never a pleasant experience. Tanker was happy with his flat pedals, but that was mostly due to his ingrown toenail business and an increased ability to stop in a hurry when I chickened out on something right in front of him.

Out of the woods and onto the road one last time, we were back into the rollers and suffering. I'm pretty sure I left it in the granny ring here, as we'd already been out for over 2 hours (of actual moving time; probably closer to 2.5hrs total) and my fitness was pretty much spent. Tanker mentioned something about water, which finally prompted me to have a suck on my bottle of eLoad - I get pretty stupid about remembering to take in calories sometimes, and this was definitely one of those. We chatted a bit about how lovely the scenery was and how we'd both be happy to do this race again. Despite the huge weenie I was being on the trails, we were having a lot of fun!

We haz a happy!

Into the final off-road section at Seneca College's King Campus, and what I felt to be the most challenging part of the whole race. We entered through an open field with trails that are apparently frequented by wolves during their migration for mating season, riding easy and enjoying a bit of sunshine and the beautiful fall colours.

This was very reminiscent of portions of P2A.

Soon we ran into double track ATV trail, which was a pleasure to ride, and some tight, twisty, damn near vertical mountain bike trail, which was mostly a pleasure to walk. I did manage to make a couple of climbs about which I had my doubts, but there were some steep descents into hairpin turns and some big roots that I knew I would be foolish to attempt. I was getting tired, and at that point I start making bad split-second decisions - having passed a volunteer who told us we only had 6k left to go, I didn't want to wreck myself when I could nearly taste the end of this! We could actually hear the announcer and band at the finish, but the twisting trail kept turning us aside and we wondered if we'd ever get out of the woods. I almost fell over again, but managed to pull what Tanker said was a pretty impressive-looking little leap to clear myself of the bike and land on my feet. I rode over a bridge made of logs, and somewhat regretted its effect on my tiring wrist. After a climb that left me gasping, I decided I didn't care if we were almost done; I'd only taken in 2 bottles of eLoad, one gel and that mini Aero in the 3+ hours we'd been out, and I was starting to bonk and lose focus. I called a break at the top, and with almost the last gulp of water I had I sucked down my secret weapon; an Espresso Hammer gel. I hoped the caffeine and sugar would trick body and brain into cooperation, as I really needed to be able to keep my eyes up and ride this thing out!

TRIUMPH!

Mere moments after the nutrition break, I was bumping along down a descent and came down rather hard in the saddle, which shifted under me to point its nose quite high in the air. YEOWTCH! Hopping up on the pedals I apprised Tanker of the situation, and we stopped once again so I could whip my multi-tool out of my Awesome Strap and stop my saddle from getting quite so personal with me. We're just friends, ok? At this point I was really looking forward to getting off the bike for the day - apparently the lining of my cast wasn't chosen for its anti-chafing properties, and the outside of my wrist was starting to feel pretty raw and sore. 

More or less sorted out (not having level ground makes it tough to adjust saddle tilt with any precision), we were rolling once again and heading for the finish, quickly passing a hand-drawn sign that joyously informed us we had "1K LEFT TO GO!". Despite feeling as though my seat wanted to dump me onto my top tube, I think I actually managed to ride the rest of the way out, emerging onto a grassy field and clearly able to hear the post-race party happening at the finish line. Our tired legs stroked away at the pedals as we rolled and bumped along, finally climbing a knoll and crossing the line exhausted but grinning.

With the end of the road behind us!

Official time: 3:43:48.96

While we may have been almost dead last to finish (there was 1 whole person behind us), I can't think of a better way to spend a day. We had incredible scenery, fun trails with something for every skill level (even mine: "practically non-existent"), and my bike didn't try to kill me! Tanker also finished his first off-road cycling event, having snapped his rear derailleur hanger at Paris to Ancaster in 2011 and declined to ride it with me in 2012. Since neither one of us focuses on cycle racing, we're perfectly happy to ride in tourist mode - just because there is a clock doesn't mean we're really racing against it, or anyone else for that matter. For anyone thinking of doing the Tour de King but shying away because they're not competitive, just come out and enjoy the day! For those who are less ambitious, there is a 35k version that cuts out some of the more technical singletrack sections. Had I remembered that earlier than 2 days before the race, I might have switched to the shorter, easier event...but then what fun is taking the easy way? It turns out that the "long course" isn't a full 50k anyway - my cycle computer showed something like 42.8km (and 3:06:49 of actual moving time) at the end.

On the bus to pick up our car.

Chico Racing puts on an excellent race. I'd have been happier if the second aid station had existed (since both Tanker and I nearly ran out of water), and if there had been bananas or other fruit available at the aid station(s) or the finish (since I'm gluten intolerant my post-race meal was a hamburger patty with a couple of tomato slices - couldn't have a bun or any of the pasta salad), but overall it was a great time. Even the live band was pretty good, and they seemed to have some awesome draw prizes. We didn't win anything, of course, unless you include huge grins and the satisfaction of having taken on a race that most people wouldn't attempt even without a broken wrist. There were 13 DNF's and 18 DNS's on the day, but we weren't among them!

The ill advised racing team!

We hope that the Tour de King continues for years to come, as this makes a great way to end a cycle racing season that begins with Paris to Ancaster in April and I'd love to return and see what I'm able to do on this course when I'm not broken. Speaking of P2A, though, their 20th anniversary is 2013...and Tanker says he's in!

At least by then I shouldn't have a cast to break..

Oops..