Bikepacking

Thursday morning as I reflected on the previous day’s lesson – don’t try to charge uphills yet – this little guy stopped me 10’ away.   He posed for some time, allowing me to admire the fur collar around his neck.  He was showing me the need to slow down, take my time and, yes, take the dam picture so he could get on with crossing the road!

So in Danford Lake I stopped in the park to  have 2nd breakfast.  I chatted a little with Reni and Zack whose field I camped in the previous night. They were at kids camp in the park and were pretty proud of their dad’s cycling adventures. Their parents, Marcel and Helen, had been so kind to me. 

I did pedal smart the rest of my day. I miscalculated the distance though to Lac St. Marie and arranged a room rental through the cycling network. I was happy to know I’d be inside since I knew a storm was forecasted (through my watch) but couldn’t find any time or other details through weather apps. 

An old timer in the Danford Lake store told me that all power workers in Quebec were out on a forced holiday shutdown for 2 weeks.  He said that’s why the area’s weather outlooks were showing blanks on my apps.  Anyway, everyone assured me the storm was much later and would be short. 

As I stood on Gracefield’s Rue St. Joseph, hunting for the convenience store for a quick resupply, the wind started whirling and, simultaneously, the rain came down “bucket” heavy!  I bolted for the Resto Smoke’n Grill Burger Pub. As I parked my Carver 420 between the steps and the covered deck, the wind started tearing the roof panels up and slamming them back down.  So I bolted around back and found an area where the 420 would be better protected. 

Once inside, the staff told me to take 2 tables and use 1 to dry out my things. They conferred with many of the other guests trying to come up with a place for me to stay. There were many tries but they all failed, except for the one that was 17 kilometers in the wrong direction.  The hostess wanted to call her husband to drive me and my bike there in his pickup truck. I declined the kind offer since it was just too much distance off-course, even with a one-way ride.  

The storm died down and it did look calm, although a little eerie.  I finally had weather app information and another thunderstorm was predicted at 10 pm along with a tornado warning through Friday. 

Yes, I could pedal for a couple of hours before the 10 pm storm but it would take me more than double that to get to Lac St Marie and a room, 34 miles away —lots of chunky gravel on the route. I don’t mind camping in the rain if I have to, but I wouldn’t want be in a tent in the kind of storm from which I had just sought shelter. Plus, the tornado warnings …..

When Mike and I talked, I learned there would be more deteriorating weather conditions over the next couple of days.   Yes, I have gotten much stronger over these last two rides but my body has not fully recovered yet. There’s a reason I’m still in PT 🙂 

So…..my physical condition from trying to push too hard on Wednesday, along with my sub-optimal overall physical condition, and the weather-oh, the weather!  All conspired to make the next 34 mile section too risky.   Too bad lodging options are so few and far between that I couldn’t even wait out the weather. 

So I pulled the plug & turned off my tracker. 

My hero husband, Michael Feldman, who had just completed the race in 4 days plus some hours, who had just become a Lifetime Finisher having completed all 3 races in the St Lawrence Triple Crown, who had just finished the race after midnight, drove through 3 tornado warnings to retrieve me before my restaurant shelter closed. He drove through some crazy weather, staying just ahead of a number of road closures. I’m happy to call Mike my wingman!

Interesting number 320….I think my mileage here matches my dropout point on the Butter Tart race last month.

The Butter Tart was my 1st rehab race, barely 9 weeks post-op following small bowel resection surgery to remove a 50-year old adhesion. That adhesion (invisible to all diagnostic tests available) had basically glued a section of my small intestine to the abdominal wall. My movements had always been inexplicably restricted and the surgery made clear why.

The Butter Tart was quite a helpful PT ride, as I gained strength while following my physical therapist’s orders to stay seated. Without right abdominal core activation, it was important for me not to stand up out of the saddle. That made preventing or adjusting for saddle sores impossible but I managed to ride 320 miles.

With my body finding new movement possible, I realize I had been pursuing all the activities I love as though I had one hand tied behind my back all these years.

My backpack was only tolerable with the hip belt synched down tight over that intestinal area, but I managed to backpack for a few years through Africa, Europe and the Himalayas.

I whitewater kayaked for decades by synching a band over my kayak skirt to support that intestinal area.

Now my body no longer needs to instinctively protect my right abdomen.

With the Log Drivers Waltz I worked on getting out of the seat to coast as much as possible. My “standing to coast” ability and stability became way stronger than my pre-surgery ability in just a few short days.

I started to gradually work on pedaling while standing – 4 standing pedal strokes the first day, 8 the next, continuing to double or add 12 each day until I achieved 48 standing pedal strokes in 1 day! Granted, this work was only on the gentle baby hills and I still had to pedal up the LDW monster hills while seated.

So the LDW also proved to be a good PT/recovery/rehab ride. Of course I’m disappointed not to have finished, but I think my recovery is coming along quite well.

There’s lots to recap later, but until then stay dry!

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 3^rd 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 31^st 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 3^rd 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” 11^th 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!

Our goals for the spring originally included 3 bike-packing races in Virginia with a ride back home on the newly created Eastern Divide Trail.  Mike and I spent months planning it all.  That epic plan though, about 2500 miles, was cut short by a surprise surgery for me to resolve an issue in my small intestine.  The surgeon told us to cancel our April-May plans but he’d have me out the door for the BT700 in Canada.

That Grand Depart is this Sunday, June 18. Originally 700 kilometers, the BT700, which starts and ends in St. Jacobs, now stands at 495 miles.  Being a slow rider comes naturally for me, so I expect I won’t mind treating this “race” as part of my PT-recovery program and taking my time to sample all the Butter Tarts along the route!  I am grateful the first 120 miles or so is the flattest of the course. 

This race is the first in the St. Lawrence Triple Crown – just created this year.  The Log Driver’s Waltz will follow in Ontario and Quebec on July 29, another 500-mile loop.  The third and final race is The Adirondack Trail Ride (TATR), which starts and ends in our hometown, a course I have a fair bit of experience riding.  As usual, I did not plan to ride TATR AGAIN, but it turned up in the Triple Crown and off I will go!  If I finish this year, it will be my 6^th TATR finish.

Back in April as I was grappling with the thought of a recovery that would take up our entire spring, it was a bit serendipitous that the Triple Crown was announced.  The starting race just fit into my recovery schedule, and the longest race at 585+ miles is the final one.  

I’ve left packing my bike until the last minute this time, since being ready to go a month early for Virginia didn’t work out so well J  I’m looking forward to Canada, finding the best Butter Tart and biking some new scenery.

If you’d like to follow us on the route, here’s the link:

https://www.followmychallenge.com/live/bt700/?43.553523,-80.605029,7.33

TATR 2020

There’s always a wild card on TATR (The Adirondack Trail Ride).  At least there is in my experience.  Really, how can you mountain bike 585 miles, solo, through the rugged terrain of the Adirondack Mountains and not expect at least one wild card?

Some of these wild cards hurt more than others, some are fed by your mental state, and some are downright scary.   After racing in the annual Grand Depart of TATR for five consecutive years, I’ve finally learned that “something” will always happen to me out there on the remote trails, in the woods, in the middle of this gorgeous 6-million acre mountainous park in northern New York.  The idea of this race is to bike-pack solo and independently, keeping your load as light as possible while balancing the gear that you certainly may need in mid-September for the cold and rain and to camp in the Adirondacks.

TATR has grown in popularity among bike-packers since the first race six years ago, but the finish rate remains at about 50 percent.  It’s a grueling course:  deep mud, downed logs to hoist your bike over, two river crossings, at least 70 miles between resupply potential at convenience stores, 50,000 feet of climbing and dense blowdown deep in the woods that makes navigation even more challenging.

With over 2,000 miles of racing and countless training miles on the course, I was shooting for a personal best on TATR 2020.  Central to my strategy was to complete the section of woods from mile 36 to 56 by the first evening.  In every past race, I’ve camped between mile 43 and 48, deep in the woods and utterly exhausted. 

As I stumble in the dark this year hunting for the trail, my bike, all my warm gear, my GPS and food I’ve lost, I see my personal lead over last year’s time evaporate.  First night, I’m riding strong, faster than ever before, and I make a stupid blunder….all in my own backyard.  I know this section of the race so well and regularly train on it since I live just 20 miles to the south on the course.

My first year riding TATR I made the mistake of leaving my bike in an attempt to find the trail. Panicked when I couldn’t find the bike, I lost precious hours and daylight as I worked to retrace my steps.  I learned that lesson well – don’t leave the bike. 

This mistake is different, or at least it’s a variation.  I didn’t intend to leave my bike.  

Embarrassment played a part in swearing just a few people to secrecy about this story.  Last month though, a friend from Boston turned up at our place with a version of the story he heard in New England so I decided it is time to tell it from my viewpoint. 

I know the tendency will be to judge me for this foolish mistake.  But for those who lean toward armchair quarterbacking, know that it has taken me nearly a year to wrap my head around this.  It helps to think about the psychology of being lost and the stories of how a person lost for days finally exited the forest only to cross a road and go right back into the woods.  I have been picking apart exactly what my mind was doing every step of my first night fiasco.

*************

I hit the enormous blowdown deep in the woods at about mile 52, and it’s dark at 9 pm.  I lay my bike down to locate the easiest path through the jumble of logs and branches.  I have a euphoria about me, excited to feel so strong and to be so far along at this point.  I feel like I have the energy to ride for several more hours.

Without realizing it, I quickly become disoriented.  I’m certain of where my bike is but when I “backtrack” around one blowdown, I realize it’s the wrong blowdown.  Still, I spot another blowdown and move toward that.  That euphoria gives way as I study the woods, the jumble of logs, individual trees, searching for a round trail marker but they’re old ones, non-reflective types, that are often hard to see on this trail.  Plus, the marker I need might be on a downed tree.

I have a good helmet light so I methodically pick routes to walk in my search, knowing that I must take care not to wander deeper and even further away from the trail.  I finally admit to myself that I’ve lost all sense of direction and I know the smart move is to hunker down and wait for daylight.  But, all my warm clothing is on my bike.

I’m small, thin and my body temperature drops like a rock.  I balance the need to keep moving for warmth with the potential of wandering further away from the trail.  I keep moving but slowly and with as much awareness as possible.  When my light gives out, I have no choice.  I make it to one of the trees I’ve picked out that has a deep hollow at the base.

I sling my pack off to get a water bottle and realize I have ground cloth, a 2’ size piece of minicell foam and a chamois hand towel with me.  So thankful I also have a light wool shirt and an airshed pullover that I put on along with my pack.  I keep my helmet on and curl up in the hollow of the tree with the foam pad under my hips and the chamois draped across my bare knees.  Wish I had worn my bike capris instead of shorts.  Wish even more that my Garmin and cellphone with the Gaia app was in my pack.

I have no idea of the time but think about Guillaume, the one racer behind me who camped several miles back and intends to start riding at 3 am.  I call out, “Anybody out there?  Help!  I’m lost.”  Wish I knew the time.  I shiver and shift to my right hip, repositioning the chamois to cover my top leg.

Guillaume is certain to see my bike laying in the middle of the trail, in front of the blowdown.  But what if he assumes I slipped into the woods for personal needs and simply keeps going?  Even if he decides something is wrong, he won’t know where to look in the dense forest.  I call out again.  Perhaps I doze lightly for a few minutes but then my hip aches so I need to switch to my other side.

What if I missed a trail marker and the blowdown that stopped me is actually off the trail?  Guillaume would then never see my bike.  I call out louder.  I switch to my back.  I try to guess the time but I can’t see the moon, only bits of moonlight filtering through the dense canopy.  I develop a routine.  I call out, I switch to my back, reposition the chamois on my bare knees, and do my ten-minute round of breath work.  I try to sleep, just a little, fearful I’ll miss my window to call out to Guillaume as he passes.  Then I start the routine again.

I’m cold, I shiver, I do more breathwork to try to increase my body temperature.  All my years of studying breathwork is paying off.

I wish I had my sleeping bag with me, or better yet the Garmin or Gaia map app.  If only they had been on my pack instead of on my handlebars I would have easily gotten back to the trail.  My spot tracker is on the bike too and I think I’m grateful it is.  Otherwise Mike, having seen my icon off-trail on the trackleaders.com map, would worry whether I was camping or lost.  He probably would assume I’m camping but when my icon failed to move in the morning, I know he’d start looking for me.  That’s when I start wondering just how far off the trail I am.

I did walk for quite some time in the dark.  I thought I was careful not to venture too deep into the woods, but how could I tell since I didn’t know for sure the direction of the trail.  What if all this time I had been traveling further away?  I could be truly lost out here and not just off the trail a bit.  If Guillaume doesn’t hear me and I can’t find the trail in the daylight, I’ll have to be rescued.  I know Mike will find me once he finds where my spot tracker last pinged and my bike is laying on the trail, but I calculate how long that could take versus how cold I am and how hungry I’ll be.  You can certainly survive without food for weeks but my energy level drops fast without it.  I have nearly 2 bottles of water with me and a water purifier in my pack.  

I think about all the rescues the DEC rangers do.  I’m confident they would find me, but I don’t want to be one of the rescued.  I call out even more often.  If Mike knows I made this mistake, he’ll want me to drop out of the race.  If I make a mistake like this, maybe I have no business being out here.  I decide I’ll just have to drop out.  I’m so cold that I’ll need to recover once I find my way out.  I keep calling out, switching positions and guessing the time.  I think I doze lightly again but I’m certain it’s only for five or ten minutes.  I try sitting up against the tree but that’s even more uncomfortable, and colder.

In my mind, I retrace my steps before my helmet light failed.  I had managed to traverse back to a few landmarks I had identified to try to keep from wandering too far.  I remember seeing a light in the distance, up over a hill.  Startled, I had called out, wondering if a racer ahead of me had camped.  No one had responded, so for some reason I walked the other way, convinced I was moving toward my bike.  I remember that seeing that light actually scared me a little.  My thought process was to proceed in the other direction and only if that plan failed would I walk toward the light.  I never saw the light again, obviously unable to retrace my steps in the dark forest, even with my helmet light. 

Why would I not immediately go toward that light?  I think back to last year’s race when my mind was jumbled and lacked all clarity.  I rode off the race course when I had been within two miles of a resupply at the Olmsteadville general store.  I remember all the decisions I made that at the time seemed reasonable but which added 12 miles and more than 1,000 feet of elevation to my ride, and utter disorientation.It turned out I had bonked.  Bonking, caused by the depletion of glycogen stores in the muscles and liver, causes severe weakness, fatigue, confusion and disorientation.

I hadn’t bonked tonight so why had I made the decision to leave my bike and then, even more importantly, to continue walking away from a light?   Suddenly startled, I realize that light was probably from my bike.  My bike headlight, powered by a Dynamo hub when pedaling, casts a “stand” light for hours even after the pedaling has stopped.

I think about stories of what people do when they’re lost.  I try to think of the name of that book on mistakes people make when they’re lost (Lost Person Behavior: A search and rescue guide on where to look – for land, air and water by Robert Koester).  How serious are my mistakes tonight?

I call out, I switch to my back, reposition the chamois, and do more breath work.  Maybe I doze.  Maybe I don’t.  I stand up to move around and hear something in the distance.  I call out again.  Guillaume calls back and I see his light!  He yells to come toward him but I can’t see anything in the blackness and simply can’t walk without stumbling.  He makes a long, slow hike with his bike my way to lead me out with his light.

The relief floods through me and for the first time I feel hungry.  Guillaume shares some food with me and we continue making our way through the brush back to the trail.  I shiver until we’re back to my bike and warm clothes.  I follow Guillaume through the blowdown, incredulous to think how daunting it seemed the night before.  

He suggests we walk for a bit since the trail is rugged and I’m grateful for that since I’m not sure my muscles will work on the bike.  I just need to get to Rt 8 to quit.  When he does get back on his bike, I follow, amazed at how effortless it is and how good my muscles feel.  By Jimmy Creek, I’m back to normal and scoff at how I considered quitting.  

After asking Guillaume not to tell Mike should he run into him in Speculator, I assure him I’m fine and tell him to go ahead since I plan to slow my pace just a little.  I am well aware that I owe Guillaume for getting me out of the woods before I went too far downhill.  Because of him, I am able to recover from my night and continue my ride.

I make Speculator by mid-day, ironically my fastest pace to that point of any year.  I resupply and continue on through Fawn Lake to Perkins Clearing and then to Mason Lake where I camp early at about 8 pm.  The next day I start about 5 am. pushing on to Indian Lake and Inlet and then past Stillwater, determined to make the Oswegatchie Educational Center that night.  

My judgment is certainly impaired that night since I should have at least stopped by Soft Maple to camp.  I keep going though until in the dark of night I become suspicious of my Garmin.  My recollection of the turn into the woods for the Center doesn’t mesh with my Garmin directions and I retrace my route on a dirt road looking for it a couple of times.  Finally, utterly exhausted at 5:30 am, I throw my sleeping bag down on the side of the road.  It starts drizzling and big logging trucks start passing through an hour later.  

By 7:30 I’m moving again and discover I simply need to continue further along this dirt road.  As usual, the kind folks at the Oswegatchie Center have put out snacks and water for us in the woods.  Todd, Sherry and their daughter Hannah, and Robin all greet me as I exit the woods.  They send me over to the Center for coffee and breakfast with Bill.  These folks are like extended family who I look forward to seeing each year.  

My eventful first night had ramifications, particularly in my decision-making.  I certainly exhausted myself on Day 2 as I tried to make up time from that first night.

Day 3:  I only make it to Wanakena where I camp at the village lean-to.  It’s always so cold waking up in Wanakena, despite going to bed with every shred of clothing on I’m carrying.  It is though, the prettiest little village in the entire Adirondacks – in my opinion!  It also has such a warm and roomy public restroom in the village “square” and Nolan at Otto’s Abode makes TATR racers so welcome.   These are the important things on TATR!

Day 4:  I make it through the Peavine Swamp and Cranberry 50 section.  I continue through the Tooley Pond Wilderness Tract and out to Rt 56.  Soon after turning off that road I find a secluded spot to camp.  

Day 5:  I know it’s a long haul to Lamphere’s Store up in Hopkinton and I need water.  It’s shortly after 6am but I knock on a door where I see lights and Shirley not only fills my water bottles but makes me a cup of hot coffee!  I peddle on.  I have another relatively late night.  I make it to Meacham State Park to camp at 11:30.

Day 6:  I’m up before dawn but while I’m in the bathhouse, it starts raining sideways and all my gear under the pavilion is wet.  I push on.  Because of Covid, I had planned to camp as much as possible to stay on top of social distancing.  By the time I get to Wilmington though, I need a room in my favorite motel – The North Pole Lodge!

Day 7:  By 5 am I’m on the singletrack headed toward Hardy Rd.  Halfway through the day I start to get sluggish, still feeling the effects of my close to “all-nighters” on the first two days.  

By 5 pm I’m in Westport where I intend to resupply and coffee up at Ernie’s Deli….but it looks like the little store was a Covid casualty. That’s a shame.  It was a great little store.  There is nothing else in Westport that I know of for food.  There’s a motel back up the road behind me, but I need food.  I had planned to eat and continue on until I needed to camp.  Now I’m cold and hungry.  

As the temperature continues to drop, someone on the street tells me about the Westport Hotel, a mile out of town by the fairgrounds.  They serve food.  I decide to go for the food and a room.

Day 8:  As I peddle up over Mountain Spring Road and think about Grover Hills Deli in Mineville, I have sudden clarity about my food situation.  I had an emergency freeze dried meal and a few snack bars in my fork bag.  I could have eaten that the previous night and kept going.  The mistakes keep piling on.  That night I camp near the Boreas River.

Day 9:  The frost is thick at 7 am.  I easily make it across the river and through the first few miles of Lester Flow.  Beyond the first creek though, no brush or downed trees have been cleared and it is increasingly difficult to even find the trail.  I navigate with my Gaia app in hand in addition to my Garmin.  

Eventually I make it to Olmsteadville to resupply in the mid-afternoon.  I continue on through North Creek and on toward Crane Mountain. First though, I must contend with a narrow plank that has replaced a bridge. I simply cannot negotiate it that high in the air.

TATR magic strikes though as a group of young teenagers on motor bikes rides toward me. One of the boys steps up and tells the others who are wanting to go that first he has to help this “girl” across with her bike! I have a grandson just like him – a kid who would jump up to help someone.

I pick up the trail in the woods and continue toward Crane Mountain where I will eventually camp.

Day 10:  I start before dawn and make it to Northville in about 14 hours from my camp spot.

Finish Time:  10 days; 12 hours; 12 minutes

This was my fastest ride of the 4 TATRs I’ve completed, and  I was stronger than I had been in the past.  One huge blunder had a ripple effect that likely cost me two days, and that’s probably why I feel like I have unfinished business out there!  

I do enjoy the training.  Especially during Covid, it helps to keep me focused.  I also love how much I learn about myself while I’m out there each year.  

So, TATR 2021 starts on September 10 and my bike is packed.*  

*My backpack now contains a number of items that would have addressed my problems on that first night. I’m also returning to my early TATR strategy of wearing bike capris instead of shorts!