Day 1 of the BT700, June 18, Fathers’ Day, 2023
St. Jacob’s, Ontario – the start & finish line
Me & My Best Biking Partner
Photo#1 for the Picture Contest – Pose at the Tractor
So Mike, always looking out for me, started the race with me and before I even realized it, we were dead last. While I’m accustomed to that position, it was a new experience for him. Although only 20 racers registered spot trackers, 115 have registered to ride the race and we followed all of them. We rode rolling hills, past immaculate farms, and shared the road with horse and buggies on their way to the Mennonite Church.
I desperately needed the aid station at mile 32 but it didn’t exist (or perhaps they packed it up early, not realizing I really was on my way- that has happened to me before!). By the time we hit the first services at mile 37, I was toast.
Mike encouraged me to stretch and take my time; I tried to convince him to go ahead and ride his race. Afterall, he has stuck to sight distance of me since the beginning of April after my first visit to the Emergency Room. But I knew I was now okay so I pushed him to take off. Finally, he reluctantly did, after making me promise to text frequent updates.
I felt like I needed to slow down, laughable since it took me to 6+ hours to go the first 37 miles! I was actually thinking I might have to get a motel right there, but didn’t want to admit it aloud.
I stayed at the lunch spot for a whole lot of stretching and several rounds of PT exercises, and, felt so much better after an hour, I got back on the bike! At that point I had already increased my mileage from my recovery/rehab rides at home from a high of 25 miles. Who knew I would be able to triple that on Day 1!
With my “moderate” pace it seemed that I would arrive at the first single-track section at dusk so I anticipated riding (perhaps walking) that in the dark, either that night or after camping at the trailhead. However, I made it in the pure daylight and walked the longer, steeper climbs as well as the short punchy ones, but was ecstatic to find I was riding everything else well. I hadn’t yet ridden trails and needed to follow my PT’s directions to not stress my abdomen. I’m thankful not to do a forced camp at the trailhead since the skeeters are atrocious.
While I don’t see many people out around their homes, there are plenty of dogs that give chase. I do my best “Rio, you better listen” voice. (Rio was our beloved yellow lab from long ago, whose attention I would have by simply clearing my throat.) My stern warning is always “Go lay down!” and it works like a charm…..except on the duo who come after me—a German Shephard and a Dalmation. Well, maybe it slows them a bit since I do get away unscathed.
I focus on the first motel ahead since lunch, The Lighthouse at mile 77, while still keeping an eye out for stealth sites to camp, just in case. But, I do need water. It is farm country all around with lots of manure and cattle so I’m not too keen on filtering water.
As I push my bike up a steep rise, a car coasts down a long driveway to enter the road. I go to the far side so the driver can proceed ahead of me, but she stops to ask where I’m going. When I say I plan to get water at Mildmay Rotary Park at the Gazebo and then go on to The Lighthouse to stay the night, she tells me to give her my water bottles and she’ll drive back up to the house to fill them. She’s quite happy to have saved me time so I can get on to the motel without another stop. Should’ve taken her picture….
A few miles prior to The Lighthouse I regain cell service but become a little frustrated that all my calls to the motel are “not accepted.” I ride on anyway, fingers crossed for a vacancy.
I pull in to all lights on with a big Vacancy sign lit up and a big smile on my face to match it. But the sign on the office door “Closed- call #—- for assistance” makes me curse. Same number that had been rejecting all my calls for the last hour, but I try once more with the same result. After staring into the empty but lighted office, I finally turn to sit down on the steps for a good cry. There is another motel in 10-miles or so and a little more off-route. Still, I’m ready to stop and cry.
But my phone lights up in a bizarre way and I hear a woman asking if I’m the girl on the bike. She directes me to wave to the camera, says her husband had noticed me on the camera and then directs me to room 11 where I’ll find a key between the doors! It’s her last room, it’s a double but she will only charge me the single room rate. We’ll settle the bill in the morning since she is returning late tonight.
Despite my near cry, I am shocked I feel pretty good. 77 miles is considerably better than I had hoped for my first day.
Day 2, June 19
However, I take lots of recovery time and by 11 am have only made it down the trail to Mel’s Diner. Looks like my start time today will be in the noonish range! But, I feel good – despite the sunburned legs, the mosquito bites and the start of saddle sores.
No overwhelming fatigue, nausea or debilitating cramps ricocheting up and down my leg, all symptoms that previously plagued me after an arduous ride. That is a huge boost to my spirit.
Eggs & homefries & a butter tart, made by Mel’s niece, and I’m off to the supermarket to resupply.
Photo#2 for the Picture Contest – A Butter Tart (by Mel’s Neice)
I lament missing the Green Bean Pantry for coffee and fight the urge to make a 3rd stop for an iced coffee to go.
In the meantime, Mike is doing a heck of a job gaining ground he lost by hanging with me for 6+ hours yesterday.
As I pedal up to rejoin the course, I try to catch up to a fully-loaded biker and follow him off route like a lemming! Gregor has been having navigating issues with his device so I get us back on route, using the Ride With GPS app for the excellent audio cues with my Garmin 1030 tracking the route for a visual confirmation. I also loaded the course onto my Gaia app as an emergency backup for those times the first two devices don’t quite compute.
It turns out Gregor is there at the urging of Mike Roe, our TATR friend from Vermont. Mike Roe also stayed at The Lighthouse last night but arrived earlier and left for Mel’s Diner a whole lot earlier than me. Gregor and I ride along for the day chatting and taking breaks. He suffered cramps and from the heat yesterday, and I have saddle sores creating havoc.
I’m not able to pedal standing up so for more than 80 miles I’ve been pedaling only from a seated position. I still lack core stability in my right lower abdomen and have a few remaining issues in that leg. If I stand up to pedal, my hips and pelvis are thrown off level, and every muscle that shouldn’t be engaging on the right side goes into overdrive to make up for my core instability. And that triggers a terrible pattern on the right that affects my abdomen. So, my ace PT gave me his blessing for this ride if I stayed seated. That’s okay as long as I get to ride!
We pedal at a very moderate pace and take many breaks in the shade. Late afternoon I do a push to catch Gregor to tell him not to wait for me since I’m stopping at the first motel due to intolerable saddle sores. Just an hour later, at mile 110 I feel good again in Port Elgin, change my mind and start the loop westward through MacGregor Point Provincial Park. We ride the Lake Ridge Trail as it winds around the Saugeen Shores of Lake Huron, shaded trails providing relief from the heat. If it wasn’t a race, it’s the kind of place I’d camp and spend a day exploring. We’ll be riding the shoreline now of the Bruce Peninsula, also known as the Saugeen Peninsula.
MacGregor Point Provincial Park
Gregor is suffering from the heat so we part ways, with him riding to the campground store while I continue on, hoping to make it to a motel. I do, but I detour off-route for just a few miles to pedal back to the motel I passed two hours ago. Sometimes it’s frustrating to ride an out-of-the-way loop that races like these seem to add, maybe just for added mileage. But this loop was well worth the ride!
Day 3, June 20
In the morning I pedal on to Southampton for breakfast, the spot I had hope to make last night. Why couldn’t I have just pedaled the 5-6 miles to a Southampton motel!
Breakfast and a pretty fine cappuccino in the Dizzy Bird, a resupply in Foodland and I’m back on course. Gregor and I leapfrog some more, but the last I see of him is under a shade tree somewhere along the Georgian Bluff Trails.
Photo#3 for the Picture Contest – The Southampton Lighthouse
On I pedal, ignoring my saddle issues as best I can, to mile 165. I detour off for a meal and, eventually, a room in the Wiarton Willy Inn. I eye the Top Notch Diner, which looks perfect but is closed and won’t open in time for an early breakfast. I curse the downhill as I coast into Wiarton, knowing I’ll have to pedal uphill back to a motel, all off-course, but I’m starving.
As I experiment with a solid bike lean in front of the Green Door Café, a couple exits and tells me it’s packed and the wait for a table is way too long. I go full-on Cousin Roger, the craziest urban biker I know who jumps to the sidewalk to dart between pedestrians, skateboarders and baby carriages, and then back to the street between cars and trucks. I ride the sidewalk now in hunt of a restaurant. The Silo has beer but I see no mention of food, Lucille’s is closed, the Dive-Inn is closed….and I stop, scanning the main street for food. I’m so tired, my butt hurts, I’m hungry and it’s so hot.
A couple stop to ask me about my ride and Bill, when he realizes the Dive-Inn is closed, suggests I go to the best place ever to get a burrito. Turns out it’s a few miles beyond Wiarton Willy’s that I’ve set as my goal for the night. Already dreading the climb back up that hill, I just can’t go farther than the motel but Bill excitedly offers to drive there and return with food for me. He is so impressed with the race, he says it would be his honor. I consider it, but it just feels too complicated for my muddled mind. They understand and suggest the Foodland. They marvel at the ride I’m doing, we say our goodbyes and I walk my bike, delaying yet another trip to the grocery store….and missing yet another significant picture.
Enough time has passed that I now see empty tables inside the Green Door Café and bolt inside to order the best chicken dinner I’ve had in months. Before the hill out of town, I stop at the Circle K to restock brain food – sugary fruit pies, M&Ms to add to my nut supply, chips and a Coke….a snack bag of pickles for the cramps that I have so far managed to avoid. I never thought I would eat like this, but it all helps so much.
I finally make it up that hill to Wiarton Willy’s, Mike and I text our Happy 31st Anniversary wishes (I know he’s far beyond Owen Sound but I’m not sure where) and I fall into bed.
Day 4, June 21
Aside from painful saddle sores, I’m actually doing quite well. Never have I ridden this kind of mileage over consecutive days without many more physical issues and especially debilitating cramps and abdominal pain.
Off I go, hoping to get to Owen Sound, a motel and maybe a massage to be proactive. I backtrack to Mile 165 to restart where I left the course. As “eye spy” a “Massage Retreat” at a lovely farm house on a shady dirt road at 7 am, I realize it’s probably out of line to stop to ask about a massage, even though I can clearly see people are up and about! On I pedal.
I’m prepared for a nasty hike-a-bike section and some loose and rocky downhills but it’s all manageable. I have a few walks but they’re not long and as I ride rocky dirt downhills I hear Mike’s voice reminding me to get my weight back. I do and am quite pleased with the progress I’m making on my rehab/recovery ride.
The Bruce Peninsula is basically an extension of the Niagara Escarpment, which is formed in the bedrock of southern Ontario, from the Niagara River to northern Michigan. I stop for the view at Mile 188, the history, the coffee I’ve been carrying and my snack at the set table sculpture commemorating the Kemble Women’s Institute.
Photo#4 for the Picture Contest
Founded in 1897 by Clara Gardiner, it was the 3rd branch established in the world and still actively serves the Township of Georgian Bluffs and the city of Owen Sound.
It is the oldest active women’s institute in the world and is honored by the sculpture as well as an amazing view across the Georgian Bay.
This Bay, is the northeastern arm of Lake Huron and is sheltered from the lake by Manitoulin Island as well as the Bruce Peninsula. I’ll be tracing the shore of the Georgian Bay at times over my next few days.
Most of my ride down into Owen Sound is away from the shore, but by Mile 198 it’s in view. It’s hot in the Sound and I have no shade as I search for both a bike shop, hoping to find a recovery powder product, and a coffee shop. I give up on the bike shop when it looks like they are each an uphill climb out of the Sound – and going the wrong way. Instead I end up at The Goods Kitchen Pastry Coffee to get out of the sun as quickly as possible. From there I call the bike shops and learn that neither carry any kind of recovery fuel for cycling.
My tuna fish sandwich is served as a grilled tuna steak with some slightly hot and spicy Asian sauce. It is decidedly not your mother’s tuna fish sandwich but is the best one I’ve ever had. I have a long list of foods that I’ve found on these bike races that turn out to be “the best ______ I’ve ever had.” But this tuna….definitely is. I decide a spare one will not travel well in the heat. I finish my coffee and take a scone to go and decide to get out of Owen Sound and try to camp somewhere on the route to Meaford.
I pedal some more hot streets in the Sound and then relish the shade as I ride through Harrison Park. Back out on a hot road and then back into the cool woods after Inglis Falls. I walk my bike into this park as directed by the gate man and stop to take the requisite picture of the falls. So far, I’ve taken every picture at a significant site that is on the race list—if I get them all, I’ll enter the drawing for bike swag prizes.
Photo#5 for the Picture Contest – Inglis Falls
The gate man insists that bikes must be walked through the entire route but once out of sight of the entrance, I don’t see another soul on the trail.
Twelve miles later, ten of them in the scorching sun, I stop on a long uphill as I pass another beautiful home. The road is so close to the Georgian Bay but I haven’t even seen a glimpse of the water. So much for the pedal along the shore that I had envisioned.
As I dig through my bags for more snacks and assess my water, Basset hounds start chasing toward me. A young woman comes out, perhaps the first homeowner I’ve seen outside since Day 1, because she thinks I’ve fallen. She offers to refill my water bottles and returns with a huge ziplock of cut oranges, 2 bananas and electrolytes. She’s a nurse, specializes in the care of stroke patients, and makes me promise to start adding the electrolyte drops to my water. She gets me through that day and I don’t even think to take her picture.
Although I had planned to camp along this route, the areas marked with tent icons on the RideWithGPS map do not look feasible, so I push on. Soon after my resupply by the Trial Angel Nurse, the road with the upscale homes turns remote, dirt and skirts further inland. At near dusk I stop to get a picture of the setting sun, but fail, and fight off giant mosquitos as I eat a power bar. Only then do I see the Military Installation sign and realize the reason for all the barbed wire. I pack up, ride just a bit and then push up yet another hill. It’s dark when I reach the Bayview Escarpment Provincial Nature Preserve. I get my lights ready for the 4-mile single track through the woods. It’s cool and beautiful and magical in the dark. I love the first 3 miles. I start to tire on that last mile and am startled to see one dark, sinister looking pool after another so close to the trail. I try not to imagine the slimy, glutinous muck all over me—a certainy should I crash.
Eventually I make it out of the woods and face a series of dirt roads, some marked as rocky and loose. I have 14 long miles in the dark to a Meaford motel if I don’t see a camping possibility. I don’t, so I continue following the course until I survive the first section of a 5-mile stretch marked as “unmaintained-be aware of a few ruts.” A few ruts are fine but much of this “road” has been washed away and while I ride a good part of it, I know that it’s just too dangerous in the dark. I also hear some kind of animals, not quite like our coyotes but I guess that’s what they must be. I make noise and continue to an intersection.
It kills me to deviate from the official race course but I decide I must for safety. I turn “up” 11th Line Road, on which I backtrack to a parallel road that I now see was offered as a Route Alternative. I don’t know if taking an Alternative disqualifies you from the race or not. I still don’t know all the bike-packing race rules. But, safety first. I also justify my decision in my own head with the hellacious hill I climb, instead of continuing downhill on the washed-out road.
Four more miles and lots of climbing and I ride into a very dark Meaford. I find the Inn but it’s dark. The lady at the all-night gas station next door tells me to go under the stairs at the Inn and ring the bell. So I wake up the owner who tells me they’re full and isn’t very helpful about where to try next. Back at the gas station I call the BayVu Motel. No answer.
My phone will need a charge soon, and I waste some time and power following googlemaps as it takes me to a residential street that is actually behind the Bayvu. Two more tries and I find the motel. The Bayvu is dark too but there aren’t many cars in the parking lot so they must have a vacancy. I ring the bell. Silence. I call the number again and can hear the answering machine pick up behind the office door. I feel terrible waking people up this late, but the gas station lady pointed out it is their business. I stare at my phone, thinking I should find the bike shop and throw my sleeping bag down by their door. The door next to me startles me and I look up to shine my helmet light right in the eyes of the sweetest looking grandmother I’ve ever seen!
Despite me nearly blinding her, she is smiling and tells me to come right in. She never heard the phone but she did hear the bell (my 2nd ring)! She cheerfully chats, asking questions about my trip and telling me I can have extra time at checkout in the morning. Despite my waking her from a dead sleep at 2 am, she is absolutely lovely.
My room is spotless, comfortable and has a really nice couch and a spacious bathroom—the very best Mom & Pop motel I’ve ever stayed at in my life. I am missing a coffee maker for the morning but that has been the norm on this trip.
Day 5, June 22
I only delay a little leaving in the morning because of the saddle sores. I send texts out to every massage therapist in Meaford, thinking I may as well do something proactive for myself and have a short day to be kind to my seat. Nothing materializes and I think how amazing it would be to have a Magical Massage Card. Show the card to any massage therapist as you travel and they add an appointment to their schedule for you. Ah, a perfect world.
I decide to move on to Thornbury. A stop at the bike shop, no recovery products, a stop at the drugstore to replenish my supply of electrolytes – I give a silent thank-you to yesterday’s nurse — and stop for a proper breakfast, and an iced coffee and butter tart to go.
The bike path cuts to the shore, but I’m already in so much pain I take the alternate route, 8 miles straight to Thornbury. I know there’s a BT Host just prior to the town and I’ve heard she has a sign at a junction pointing the way to her house. Another scorching day, so I stop at a shaded bench to have my coffee and tart.
Finally I realize I won’t see the host’s sign since I’m on the alternate route. My mind goes to mush so fast in the heat. I turn at a nearby junction to find the host by google but ride only a few feet before meeting Jen coming to find me. We sit on her patio for close to an hour as she tells me stories of her biking career, her travels and her decision to host to give back to the biking community.
Jen rides into Thornbury with me and shows me all the town landmarks along the way. I chose the cheaper motel by phone this morning, The Beaver. Penny’s Motel, next door, the desirable motel, was twice the price. The Beaver was a typical $120, so I had picked it. I rationalize my choice to Jen by saying I’m only sleeping here for a night. She leaves me to survey my room, the kind of place you put a towel on the chair before you sit.
Later, I can only think of a night I spent decades ago in Mexico in Oaxaca. When I turned a light on in the middle of the night, hundreds of cockroaches scattered and ran in every direction. Terrified they’d return in the dark, I dozed the rest of the night with the light on, ignoring the lodge-keeper pounding on my door and screaming something about electricity. I sleep that night in Thornbury with the light on.
Day 6, June 23
In the morning I need some intense stretching so take my time, lamenting that I’m spending so many hours here when perhaps I should have stayed an extra night at the clean and comfortable room I had back in Meaford. I liked that motel-keeper. This one……not so much. I can’t imagine a dirty little motel would have a strictly enforce check-out time—but it does. I’m actually booted out of the crappiest little motel I’ve ever stayed in.
I stop in town to drink a cappuccino while I pack an iced coffee and butter tart to go.
Taking Photo #2 of the contest very seriously….seeking the best butter tart
I hop on my bike and immediately pedal straight up a steep hill before realizing I’ve started out the wrong way. Finally I get on track and my seat is feeling much more comfortable than the previous day.
I waste some time when my devices revolt over the trail I start down. In past years I’ve ridden off-course, not realizing it for miles. In an effort not to repeat those mistakes, I stop immediately, backtrack and hunt for some obscure path I may have missed. Nothing. I continue forward again, downhill again, and this time I notice signs marking it as the Bruce Trail. I can see from my maps that I do not want to follow the Bruce hiking trail. I trudge back up the hill.
I follow a double-wide dirt track through a gate and field and determine that is definitely not the direction I want. I backtrack, re-enter the woods and start down the trail yet again, this time ignoring my devices. Eventually the navigation catches up to me. I see the Bruce hiking trail veer off and that I am, in fact, on the correct route.
I do walk one bridge:
My fiasco searching for the trail costs me dearly. I ride into Kimberly and miss the General Store by 10 minutes. It’s 6:10 pm and I’ve gone 44 miles so far.
Photo#6 for the Picture Contest
I grab a coke from the aid station, the refrigerator on the porch of Kimberly’s General Store, and that helps. I pull the air pump off the porch to top off my front tire—it’s just the tiniest bit softer than the rear. My tires have held air well and I should’ve left them alone.
Something is up with that pump and my front tire deflates flat. I dig my hand pump out, then drop everything to take my phone to the crowded pizza place next door to charge it while I get organized. I get my tire squared away, back to exactly where it was when I first checked it, and then cross the street to the Community Building for the outside tap. I find an outdoor outlet as well and set up to charge all my devices.
I find the hose to wash my bike and do the daily clean & oil of my chain.
My mind is racing between finding a campsite along the river 5 miles ahead or riding another 5 miles beyond that to go off-course for a motel in Fletcher. I just can’t make up my mind. I just want to sit and wait for my devices to charge. A woman who stops to picnic at the tables behind the building on a little hill, suggests I camp right there. She points to a spot hidden from the street by some low trees and I eventually decide that is my spot for the night.
Online I see a warning that the air quality is expected to go downhill again. Saddle sores, scorching heat…..maybe the smoke will end up taking me out of the race.
Finally all devices are fully charged and I get a good night sleep on my first night of camping on the route, after just 44 miles for the day.
Day 7, June 24
I’m up and packing by 5am but then the rain starts, just minutes before getting everything put away dry. Everything is drenched by the hard downpour. Soon after Kimberly I turn off on the Grey 30 Road and everything goes downhill fast.
The normally hard-packed dirt road has turned to a deep, chalky sludge and my tires sink with every pedal stroke. It slows me to Granny Gear, despite being a mostly flat road, and that’s the speed the giant skeeters love because they can land and bite. I stop, battling the swarm, to put on my rain pants and head net. The pants are hot, it’s so muggy, but I need to cover every inch of skin.
I go 5 miles in 2 hours. Instead of calculating distance and time to the next water, I’m calculating how long I’ll take to finish this race at my new speed. What if all the dirt roads are now this horrible? July? August? My mind is mush and it’s so early in the day. I take a break at Hogg’s Falls campsite and give silent thanks that I didn’t wind up camping here with all the bugs. I hike along the creek to take the contest picture of Hogg’s Falls, still determined to get every photo on the list.
Photo#7 for the Picture Contest – Hogg’s Falls
I realize I should have pedaled on last night and gone for the motel in Fletcher. Yet, when I see the hill that I would’ve climbed to go off-course, I question what impulsive decision I might have made at that junction. I had been pretty scattered back in Kimberly.
I call Matthew, the race director, to ask his opinion about the dirt roads ahead of me. He’s surprised to hear how bad Hogg’s road had gotten so he can’t give me a definitive answer. The rain can be so localized there’s no way of knowing for sure. I consider cutting off the whole northern loop and taking paved roads over to Singhampton. But, I hate to cut the route short. I push on and find the next dirt roads to be somewhat impacted but not nearly as horrendous as Hogg’s.
So my goal for today is Richard’s Bowering Lodge at mile 320, making a 60-mile day for me. Although I’ve heard that Richard will definitely go out and pick up riders who can’t quite make it, I know I won’t call for a ride.
I use my electrolyte drops and I suck on dried coconut, and both help immensely. I take my time, still needing to walk up so many hills. The trails in the woods help with shade but once I’m on what I think is the final stretch on the pavement, I slow right down. I call Richard, not for a ride, but to make sure he has room for me and to ask if he has any food I might buy. He promises PB & J and that’s all I need to hear.
After talking to him, I immediately pedal up a hill before realizing I needed to simply cross the road and go back into the woods. Back on track in the woods, I continue on.
Now I’m on the pavement and it is hotter than ever. I mix a Pedialyte and that helps and I push on. I turn right and start pushing my bike up a hill.
And then, I get kidnapped. I was probably close to heat exhaustion when a bunch of partying women in a small bus stop and insist I get in. I refuse, they insist….it is so damn hot.
A little voice in my head whispers, don’t do it, but my mind is mush. They sense me wavering and jump into action to hoist my bike up through the back door.
I hear a louder voice in my head, “Never let anyone touch your bike”!
I get in, refuse the beer, take the water and they overwhelm me with stories of their celebration. The woman driving, thankfully sober, takes off like the Mad Hatter….right past my turn. She had asked where I was going! What the heck! But it turns out she didn’t know where the Bowering Lodge was.
The driver drops the ladies off at their resort and then gets me back onto the race course to the Bowering. My mind is thinking, this 2-mile cheat could be excused for safety, since I was toast in the scorching heat.
As I wheel my bike over to the lodge, something is not quite right. They broke my bike! I can’t trouble shoot the clunky and rough shifting and the gears are jumping. The back rack is loose.
No one is around at the lodge so I walk back out to the driveway to the Aid Station box. I forget, for the first time, to take Photo #8, an Aid Station.
I take a Coke and bite into a PB&J and nearly gag. Butter on PB&J! I try, but I just can’t eat it. Too many memories of trying to choke down Grandma Jane’s sandwiches…..you want mayonnaise? peanut butter?…okay but Grandma always added butter as well.
One phone call to Mike and he is on his way. The gears I should’ve been able to adjust myself through the cable tension, but I was fried. But the rack is the real problem. It sheared off at the front end. No, my kidnappers didn’t break my bike….that happened riding.
I hate to quit but I know I need to….the broken bike is just my excuse. 320 miles instead of 500. Still, I have to remember that this ride was my PT/recovery ride just 9 weeks after surgery.
Without finishing the BT700, I won’t be able to complete The Triple Crown (or enter the Photo/Swag Contest!) but I just need to get stronger with each race, hopefully completing the next two. That is what I need to keep in my mind.
Photo #2-The Winner of the Best Butter Tart is right back in St. Jacob’s – the very first one I ever had – at the pre-race dinner!
Bikepacking 