Alliston-Stratford 400K Ride Report: May 24, 2003

Alone But Successful
by Paul Dicks

I started my personal epic cycling ride Friday evening after work, riding in the rain up to Alliston to sleep at my sister's place. I noticed six kilometres from home that I had forgot to place one of my front lights on my handlebars, so back home I went. The extra twelve kilometres ensured I hit the heaviest part of the rain. I arrived in Alliston at 2030, had a hearty supper, and a good night's sleep

The next morning was cloudy, raining, and didn't look like riding would be much fun. I showed up at the Sobey's/Tim Horton's parking lot at 0530, and Isabelle Sheardown arrived a few minutes later, and thankfully offered me a seat in her nice dry minivan. Scott Chishom and Michael Thomson showed up a few minutes later, nice and dry. We chatted for a few minutes, then the three of us headed out at 0610.

Isabelle had reversed the route for us so that we would do the Forks of the Credit riding in the daylight. She had lost some distance when she reversed the mapping, and we found it on the very first leg. Other than that, it was grey, wet, raining, but we had a bit of a tailwind. We also slaughtered a lot of worms that had wriggled up onto the road to keep from drowning.

We rolled into Erin at 09:05. I discovered that Michael and Scott had no intentions of leisurely stops, and were aiming for a midnight finish. To leave with them, I resumed riding with a chocolate bar hanging out of my mouth. A few kilometres later, on Wellington 22, they started to pull away, and I decided to let them go without a chase. I had to pace myself to ensure finishing.

Alone, I continued the ride. Not long after I started riding solo, I came upon an older couple on fully loaded hybrid bikes, stopped on the side of the road. I stopped to see if they needed assistance. After chatting for a couple of minutes, the lady said that she bet they were on a longer ride than I was. I said I wasn't so sure. It turned out they had started in Tennessee, and had crossed the border the day before. They had stayed in Stoney Creek the night before. They were rather in awe of the distance I was trying to complete in one day; I was in awe of the distance they were doing, period. We talked about eating and carbs and protein and such for about fifteen minutes, then we all decided to press on. I took off at about 30 kph, and never saw them again.

Wanting to ensure I survived this trip, I stopped in Cambellville; while not a control, it was a bit of civilization, and had a store to get some Gatorade and some Kit Kats in case of bonking.

As I neared Cambridge, the weather looked competely different. The rain had stopped before Erin, but now, it was sunny, the roads were completely dry, and the radio in the Tim Horton's said it was 16 C at the moment - time to start stripping off the Goretex. I had been resigned to eating at a McDonald's, but found a local person in the CTC parking lot, and was directed back to south of the last turn to find a full service Tims. A soup and sandwich deal, and I was on my way. I had reached Cambridge at 1415. I packed one of my soggy cold weather gloves in an empty water bottle holder, and another in a mesh outer pocket, hoping they would dry for nighttime.

The day was absolutely wonderful at this point. I could see by my pace that I wouldn't reach Stratford for a while, so I pulled into New Hamburg. Penaten cream to ease saddle sores if they should appear, and Gatorade from the IGA, as well as a horrid piece of pizza I waited 20 minutes for at a video store/pizzaria. I left half of the slice in the garbage.

As I approached Stratford, the wind turned into a headwind, so I requested that the direction be changed. Just south west of town, and south of Shakespeare, I had to ask some local youngsters for assistance regarding clarification of the road signs. It was not clear to me where CR 112 was from my vantage point in the intersection. Just before that, I had overshot a turn by a couple of kilometres, so again I pulled out the map. The youngsters had no clue either, so I took a guess and found a sign indicating it was a good guess just outside of the town.

I started worrying about my lights as well. They had got soaked in the morning, and the dim, long lasting one would not turn off, while the bright one had turned on by itself, and kept doing so until its batteries were dead. I cruised into Stratford at 18:45. This was to be my major rest. Asking one of the locals, the closest Tims was to be found by turning left on Ontario St. instead of right. I headed back the way I came. Another soup and sandwich deal, reloading of the CamelBak with carbs and protein, and some serious look at my lights, thinking I might have to call Isabelle for help. Lo and behold, the long lasting light worked as if nothing had been wrong (with the same batteries in it from the 400 the week before) and the bright one just needed fresh batteries. But now, I was short of batteries. I found them, some more Gatorade, and another couple of Kit Kats in a 7-11. NEVER buy batteries at a 7-11. They were $4.99 for 2 AAs, and I needed 8. OUCH! However, I was now certain I could get through the night without major mishap. Hah!

I dressed for night/cold riding before I left Stratford at 19:30, and I had about one hour of daylight left. I was doing okay, finding Amulree and Linwood as described on the route sheet. The road from Linwood was absolutely atrocious. They don't seal the cracks, at least not for the past few years, so instead of a skinny crack you get a two-inch wide gap that jars everybone in your body and every bolt on your bike. Five kilometers of this was rather irritating. The wind had shifted again, once again into a head wind, but it was not too strong. No problems came up until I was heading north on CR 23, looking for Zuber Corners. There was no sign at what I judged to be the correct distance, and my meanderings had made the route sheet's cummulative distance near meaningless, except for celebrations everytime another 50 km had been completed. I kept going, in the dark. No moon, no stars, just clouds and pitch black, in the country, with no lights anywhere. Finally, I came to a sign that said that CR 23 ended. This wasn't right; I was looking for a West Montrose Covered Bridge. So, I pulled out the maps, figured out I had passed it about 5 kilometres back, and decided to change my bright light, now that it had gone out.

South I headed, and still no sign for Zuber Corners (at least to be seen in the dark), but a sign for CR 86 was visible from this direction. Another check of the map ensured me that this must be the turn, and onward I continued.

I finally rolled into Elora, nearly getting mixed up and heading to Elmira instead, at 00:30. There was nothing open but noisy bars and a little pizza place. I feared for the integrity of my body if I ventured into a bar clad in Goretex and Lycra, so I decided on pizza, though I would have loved a Tims. The pizza was much better now, and the young ladies working there were friendly and charming. It started to rain while I was eating, but stopped by the time I finished. I was feeling very cold, so I stayed inside for about 45 minutes to warm up.

Attempting to leave Elora, I found I could not. I was looking for a South River Rd, a left turn from Metcalfe St. I rode up and down the length of Metcalfe five or six times, but could not find that street. I finally asked a taxi driver, who was rather surly. I found out that one has to take Water St, which went on an angle south-east of Metcalfe. So off I went, heading to Fergus, only to find TWO Tim Horton's, both open, and two 24 hour variety stores. I wanted to stop, but I just had done so, but this would have been a so much better choice for the control, and it was only six kilometres further. Then, I get all mixed up in Fergus, and end up going back east, thinking I passed Hwy 6, as it does not run straight through the town. I was trying to figure out how to get onto CR 18 when a police car pulled up across the intersection. Whoever said there was never a cop when you needed one? I cycled over to him, posed my querie, and he pointed, and sure enough, I could make out the sign under a streetlight. Thanking him, off I went.

Right at the turn for CR 18, I found Martin Heath waiting for me. He must have seen my lights and decided to wait. We chatted for several minutes, and he told me that Michael and Scott had just been finishing as he started. I was very glad I had not continued to ride at that pace. Some group motivation would have helped me ride faster, but I was doing okay, no major aches or pains, I wasn't tired (much) and I still had energy to ride. Martin and I decided to continue our separate ways, and then he chased me down when I forgot to make the turn and kept going straight. Thank you, Martin.

The 30 kilometre stretch that ensued was an adventure in monotony. One little group of houses, and one well lit intersection that I could see for quite a distance. It was so heartbreaking to find out that it was 10/24 instead of Hwy 9. There was, however, a moment of excitment along this stretch. As I was riding, into the wind as usual, and uphill for nearly the full 30 kilometres, but at least a nice gradual climb, I heard a rustling at the side of the road. Naturally, I looking toward the sound, into the inky black. I looked back to the road with my circle of light to see, right in front of my front wheel, a large bloody dead thing. If it was a groundhog, it was a big one. I hit it, and rode right over it, front wheel and back, without even really wobbling. I was desperately hoping it wasn't a porcupine, as I did not want to be changing two flats in the pitch black night. Happily, the air pressure held up, and I rolled, getting rather tired, into Orangeville. It was so nice of Isabelle to have a Tim Horton's right in the middle of the last 80 kilometre stretch. I parked my bottom in front of a large hot chocolate and a chocolate glazed donut, and rested a while. I finally remounted my aluminum steed and headed back into the night.

Night was turning into day as I neared Alliston. As I coasted along the Hockley Valley Rd, the birds were waking up and starting to sing. It was so peaceful. I didn't meet a single car from Orangeville until the outskirts of Alliston. Once I reached Hockley Valley, I pulled under the bright lights to just check the map one more time, then started the last 20 kilometres. The sky turned from black to grey, cloud covered, as I cycled north on the Adjala - Tecumseth Townline, and I pulled into the Tim's in Alliston at 05:47. With my route errors and searching for Tims, I had added 25 kilometres to the distance.

I had another hot chocolate and donut, then headed homeward. It was pure agony - down the Tottenham Rd (where did all these hills come from?), across Hwy 9 (more hills), through Schomberg and Pottageville to Jane St; at this point I had to stand up to pedal on almost every hill. Now, hands up. How many of you have ever seen me stand up and pedal? I was feeling pretty wretched, then suddenly, south of the King Rd, the donuts kicked in, and I had energy again. I got back up to 30 km an hour. I passed my apartment to stop at the McDonalds to get two sausauge and egg McMuffins and two hash browns. I knew I needed calories, and I did not care where they came from. I went home, arriving just after 09:30. I parked the bike rather haphazardly against the squat racks, noting blood all over my rain booties and the bottom bracket and chainstays of my bike, along with the dessicated carcasses of a lot of worms, then headed to the kitchen. I downed a Gatorade while mixing up a protein drink, swallowed that, ploughed through the McDonalds fare, and hit the nice warm waterbed, of which I had been dreaming of since about 20 kilometres before Orangeville, or 120 kilometres earlier. My odometer stopped at 499.12 since 0600 the day before, and at the time I didn't care that another kilometer, simply riding the streets around the plaza, would have gotten me 500 km. The waterbed had me, and I was in a coma until mid afternoon.

When I woke up, I knew I had finished a 400 km brevet, basically completely on my own. The week before, DNFing on the 400, I actually contemplated quitting the Randonneurs. Now I know I can do it. Bring on the longer rides!