Tour of Southwestern Ontario 600K Ride Reports: June 29, 2002
With contributions from Alan Thwaits and Don Magie.
Ride Organizer's Report
This was a great ride; I enjoyed myself thoroughly. It was my second 600, and the first one I've done without a sleep break. I didn't go seriously off route, and I was happy with my finishing time (31 hours, 31 minutes).
Three of us did the brevet - Brian Armstrong, Don Magie (on his first 600K), and me. Don and I started from the Erin Mills start together, while Brian, who had arrived just before the 6:00 AM start time, decided to grab a coffee before setting out. Don and I caught up to Brian at about the 80K mark, when he stopped to put on some sunscreen, and assumed he must have passed us when we stopped briefly in Paris so Don could get more water. Brian then pulled ahead quickly; we saw him briefly at the Tillsonburg control (147K), and then he was gone again.
Don and I, enjoying each other's company and a lot of good conversation, continued together past Tillsonburg and toward the Lake Erie shoreline. At about the 180K mark, I stopped to have a look at my rear tire. The problem was that it had developed a nasty bulge. It looked as though the tube might have been folded a bit inside the tire, so I first half-deflated it and massaged it to take the supposed fold out. When that didn't work, I took the tube out, and had a good look at both the tube and the tire. I couldn't see anything wrong, ie, the tire wall didn't look damaged anywhere, so put everything back together, pumped up the tire, and continued. I was a little worried I might soon have an exploded tire, but amazingly it all held together for the next 420K. (Thank heaven for the kevlar casing.)
I suggested to Don that he ride on, as his pace was faster than mine at that point (we had been fighting a rather strong headwind). As things turned out, that was the last we were to see each other on the brevet, though we did speak again in the middle of the night (more on that later). I rolled along the flat country roads through Port Bruce to the second control at Port Stanley (222K). By this time, the temperatures had gone up to about 30C, the headwind was still there, and the scenery was unintersting. So I was happy to take a break at Port Stanley, which I reached at 5:10 PM. I had a clubhouse sandwich, fries, and a large milkshake at The Bridge restaurant, and watched both the boats in the harbour and the holiday pedestrian traffic. Then it was back to the road again.
After Port Stanley, the route wound its way northwest to the third control at Strathroy (286K). I found a Tim Horton's, but was a little taken aback to discover that I couldn't get a "soup and sandwich special" I had been looking forward to. "We don't serve soup after 8:00 PM," the Certified Customer Service Representative told me. (It was 9:15 PM, so I was simply out of luck.) Dinner, then, was a sandwich, a donut, and a coffee. I then did my Clark Kent routine - OK, so it was a Tim's washroom, not a telephone booth, but it got me into power mode for the night portion of the ride. I changed my jersey, shorts, and socks, applied a new layer of Bag Balm, and got kitted out with reflective vest, lights, etc.
Now came a long, but surprisingly pleasant, long stretch to the next control, which came at Stratford (409K). Both the temperature and the wind had dropped, and there was almost no traffic on the roads. The route took me around past the western edge of London. By this time, I was feeling really good - not going terribly quickly, but maintaining a decent pace, and in a very good mood. At about the 340K mark, I came to a large detour sign, and pulled into a small country churchyard to consult my map. All of a sudden, I heard my name called from the darkness. It was Don, who had stopped for the first of what turned out to be many naps for him. I told him that, since I was feeling good, I was going to press on immediately. Since the detour sign also said "local traffic only," I chose to follow the set route past the sign. About 2K later, I found that the bridge was indded out, but was able to pick my way past (and over) various construction equipment, large concrete barriers, and those intimidating "Keep Out! This Means You!" signs.
Then it was clear sailing to the Tim Horton's in Stratford, which I reached at 3:12 AM. More coffee and a couple of cookies gave me a nice boost, and I was back on the road within about ten minutes. Once again, I was enjoying the night riding I love so much. By the time I reached the small village of Ayr, though, I was hungry for some real breakfast. No such thing in Ayr early on Sunday morning, though. Instead, I found "Bucky's Coffee Shop," a hole-in-the-wall establishment which served only coffee, bagels, and muffins. The upside was that Bucky made an exceedingly good toasted bagel and cream cheese, and the half-dozen or so patrons were among the most civilized fellows I've ever breakfasted with. For about twenty minutes, we discussed cycling and the World Cup game that was on TV. Then it was back on the road for me, and (I assume) more coffee for them.
I reached the Cambridge control (501K) at 8:27 AM, and was soon on West River Road, a very pretty stretch of the route that leads down to St. George. The route sheet said that there would be a 0.5K stretch of gravel here, which turned out to be more like 3K. It wasn't bad, though, as it was hardpack, not loose gravel. I got a bit turned around in St. George before finding my way out of the town and onto the last leg of the brevet. (Not the fault of the route sheet - I was simply a little tired at this point, and was coming into the same village I'd passed through 20 hours earlier, but from the opposite direction.)
Now came the tough part of the ride. The sun was up, it was getting very warm very quickly, there was a lot of glare coming off the road, and I had a steady tailwind (not necessarily a good thing on a fixed-gear, as there's a limit to how high a cadence one can maintain over a long distance). I'd neglected to re-supply myself with water in St. George, and soon realized to my dismay that there weren't going to be any places to get more until after I reached Highway 6. Temporary relief came when I filled my water bottles from someone's garden hose (the water tasted strongly of iron, but I wasn't going to complain... ) At Centre Road, I found a convenience store, where I bought a 1.5 litre bottle of water and a 500ml bottle of Gatorade. The water went into my bottles with some Cytomax, and the Gatorade went into my jersey pocket. (This is what I'd been doing every 120K or so since the first control, and it seemed to work well with both the heat and the need for fuel.)
I reached the Tim Horton's at 1:31 PM on Sunday, tired, warm, and more than a little sun-bronzed. But I'd accomplished my goals - I'd ridden my first sleepless 600, and I'd done it in a (for me) respectable time. Aside from stops for food, water, and washroom breaks, I rode through. My finishing time was 31 hours, 31 minutes, which I was very happy with. Better still, I'd avoided my usual pattern of getting hopelessly lost on a solo ride.
Bulgy tire and hot weather aside, this was a wonderful brevet. I enjoyed myself immensely
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Got Hot, Got Lost, Had Fun
I came in to the Tour of Southwestern Ontario with very few expectations,
basically, just that I would finish it in the allotted time, and it was a
good thing I didn't set many.
Having travelled on business the two days prior to the ride, I awoke
Saturday morning with insufficient sleep and some new equipment, but the one big thing I was missing is a highlighted map of the route which I have been carrying normally to ensure that I don't get lost . . . more on that later.
The ride started out fabulously, Alan and I were dropped by Brian early on,
but we enjoyed much good conversation until Alan experienced some difficulty with his rear tire. Sensing a little discomfort with my determined effort into the headwinds, I heeded his suggestion of going ahead and I left him to those kind children with a hose full of cold water and his slightly misfit rear tire.
As the afternoon heated up, and riding alone in completely unfamiliar
territory, I stopped many, many times for extra fluids more for the cold
than the fluid itself. My bottles remained full almost all the time, but
continually stopped for new, cold fluid. I pushed on until just before Port
Stanley, where I seemed completely devoid of energy. Pushing on slowly, I
arrived in Port Stanley and wandered into the lake to rinse as much as I
could afford to get wet (spare shorts would have been a blessing here). Downed a pizza without the cheese (Bookee's is not great pizza), some water
and moved on. Guys, every local told me to go to GT's. I have never been
to GT's, but I may go back to see what GT's is?!
By nightfall, I arrived in Strathroy, and had a sub at Subway (or Mr Sub?)
and spent 30 minutes explaining all aspects of the cycling, drug, racing,
sports and music universe to a bunch of 16 year old boys (their train of
thought not my delusions).
I had really hoped to make Stratford by 2 am, but alas it was all for
naught, my exhaustion was kicking in, and by around 12:15, I saw a Detour
sign and decided a rest was in order before I drove headlong down an
embankment. Sleeping on the steps of the church (I really don't know where
I was . . . Ballymote? Alan?), I slept for maybe an hour when I awoke to
Alan using the lighted church sign to figure out where to go for the detour. I urged him through because cars had been coming and going . . . he went . . . sorry Alan. The payback is that I reached the same impasse with no map.
Using my best impression of Zen (okay, all old farming communities are
grids, it was only when I got home and looked at the map of the area, that I noted the lake in the middle and imagined the impact that could have had), I guessed my way back on track, but fatigue was not finished with me yet.
I made it to St. Mary's, and that little community is blessed with public
benches in well lit areas which allow a 6' male to lie prone for 20 minutes
and a 24 hour Tim Horton's. Scaping myself off the chair at Tim's I figured the food would kick in soon and I would get my energy back. By Stratford I
was seriously considering waking my mother who lives there and getting a
shower and two hours in a warm bed, but then I realized it would take me two hours to explain to my mother that my wife hadn't thrown me out for pulling a stunt like this. I rode on.
About 6km later in Harmony, I choose to heed the fatigue instead of crash
and slept for another hour or so on the steps of the Harmony community
center. Now the sun was lighting the sky, there were many cars on the road, and I was bright eyed and bushy tailed . . . with no wind and a slow
downhill grade I made time until just past Embro, then I stopped and passed
out (sleep, not ilness) on a rock for about 40 minutes.
By now I was exhausted, I had a sore right knee, left calf and was getting a little down, but I was determined to try and finish by 2pm. Once again I
found myself stopped for food and drink in a little coffeeshop (Ayr?). The
proprieter tells me that Alan was in at 7:30 and began recounting Alan's and my stories to the other patrons. Amusement doesn't come easy to me right now, but this guy is pretty funny. Pressing on, I didn't reach Cambridge until 11:00. I got my card signed, ordered a significant breakfast, ate and passed out at the table for 5-30 minutes . . . I don't know. (If you can't tell yet I was annoyed by how tired I was, but I don't know if it is to be expected).
Now for the best story of all. As I lost myself one more time, I decided
that if I can travel dirt roads on my 20mm wheels at 2am, why can't I do it
at 2pm, and turned down some gravel trap to get back on course. Within
moments I appreciate the foresight of route planners who have given us
smooth packed gravel routes as I thunder along loose gravel with washboard
undercoat that I haven't experienced since my days as a teenage farmhand. I decide to press on. Then comes the dog . . . not a little dog, a big, well muscled, angry German Shephard. Any skill that I had at missing bumps left my body and went ahead, because this dog was on my ankle and I hit every, single bump for at least 300m (where are all those dogs that stop at the edge of the property line?). I was powering up a hill on extremely bumpy roads with the dog literally biting my shoe . . . and a flat front tire.
At the next farm house I decide I can't take it anymore. I lost the dog and
I am suffering from the heat once again. I put my bike aside, walk half way
to the farmhouse and here comes a new dog bounding toward me. Fear was
quickly overcome by the wagging tail. With no one home, I splashed some
water on myself from the pool and set up to change my tire, but the dog ran
off with my tire irons. I got those back and he was zooming away with the
pump. I was on the border of causing creulty to animals, until I put
everything important between my legs where I sat and began working.
If you had a camera, the world's funniest home videos would want the clips
of me changing the tire with the dog behind me standing on my shoulders
licking hair, ears, shirt, neck, hands, everything while I remained focussed solely on that tire. I appreciated my new friend and the lift he gave to my spirits, but I sent him home after he tailed me for about 0.5 km.
In the 60 minutes following lunch, I was asked for directions by three
travellers as I paused at intersections looking for some sign of my
position. This seemed ironic to me as I had spent the last 12 hours or so
completely devoid of any sense of my location or direction which only
bothers me when I think about how much I needed a sense for either my
location or direction to go with the route sheet. Here's to adding a
compass to my kit for long rides.
The rest of the ride was dull and boring. I stopped at many, many stores
and a few houses as well to ask for water or ice. Heat exhaustion and sleep
deprivation are not a good mix, so I decided to play it safe and stave off
the heat. The tail wind was helping by now though, and thoughts of my
evening plans (yes, I went to see fireworks after the ride) inspired me, so
my pace on the bike was good, but I made sure to stay cool pouring much
bottled water over my head as I rode.
At 4:25 I arrived at Tim's and for the first time since my trip across
Eastern Canada as a 17 year old, I was actually HAPPY to be OFF a bike.
I was thinking how can I do this in 10 sentences, but I guess that didn't
work. Thinking about it more though, this is only about 2 lines per hour on
the bike!! Thanks to Alan for the good conversation during the ride.
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by Alan Thwaits
by Don Magie