Tour de Ontario

So usually I'm the kind of cyclist who likes to take things easy, you know, enjoy the sights and sounds of being on the road. I relax in the comfort of knowing that I don't have to make it anywhere on any one's time by my own, indulging in long coffee breaks at greasy diners and afternoon naps on picnic tables. But sometimes, I've gotta kick it up a notch and find out what I'm made of. Sugar and spice and everything nice? I think not. Muscle and bone and a heart of stone? Not quite right either. I guess I'd like to think that after nearly two months on the road, I've developed some sort of superhuman strength, which enables me to cycle for extended periods of time without exhausting myself entirely, still possessing sufficient strength to have a night time conversation or two and cook up a scrumptious meal.

So my endurance was put to the test the other day as we left Sault Ste. Marie. Toby and I and Kevin had all joined up three musketeers style for the ride into Toronto, leaving the Soo with a gusting tailwind at our backs and sunshine on our faces. The terrain was reasonable, the sights were scenic but not breathtaking, and our energy levels were high after taking a day off to rest and recuperate. We pedaled through Bruce Mines, Iron Bridge, Blind River and Spanish, stopping to mow down on avocado wraps at a marina and wade out into the waters of Lake Huron. Our average speed was running at 25-27km/hr, so we just kept riding the sweet sweet tailwind and pedaling forth down the road. Kevin was the carrot dangling in front of Toby and I, leading the way with his superhuman strength and unrelenting drive to break his own record of 213km in a single day.

At Massey we reached 210km and made a pit stop to top up our water bottles. We crossed paths briefly with a couple of kids from Montreal (well, they were probably 18 or 19) who were hitchhiking to the West Coast. One was a lanky fellow with blond hair and an over sized tie dyed shirt. The other boy had the most gorgeous blue eyes framed with thick eyelashes and wore a plaid shirt, a red bandanna wrapped around his curly brown hair. "What are you gonna do when you make it to Vancouver?" we asked them. "I dunno, hike some big mountains I guess" the curly haired one answered. I looked down and saw he was wearing hiking boots. They wanted to make it to the Soo by nightfall (it was already 7:30pm and they were still over 200km away), but if they didn't make it was no problemo, they would just "camp in the bush or something like that".

I smiled as I watched these two bright eyed young fellas wave to us as they walked off to the other side of the highway after filling their water bottles up at the tattoo parlor. I thought of summer and all the traveling nomads and hobos, the thousands of pedaling velotramps, train hopping vagabonds, hitchhiking treeplanters and roadtripping fruitpickers making their way around the countryside. I thought about all the folks sleeping in the bushes and cooking up cans of beans over the fire and sharing conversations about everything under the sun, and I felt my heart warm to know that others in the world share the same simple pleasure found in discovering a beautiful place to sleep for the night, a simple meal, and companionship on the road.

So the boys did a little dance, waving a cardboard flap reading Sault Ste Marie in black sharpie marker as the cars and trucks and RVs passed by and the sky darkened with rainclouds at the end of the day. Within 5 minutes, they were picked up. We watched as they tossed their belongings into the back of the pickup and hopped in the backseat, then we kicked it down the road to Webbwood, clocking in at a remarkable 225km. We stopped at the Webbly (the local motel and only business still open at 9:15pm) and asked permission to throw up our tents on their front lawn. Permission granted and water bottles refilled, we set about making up a high calorie dinner before crashing out for the night.

And that was the farthest I've cycled in a single day. Now I know that it's not fair to compare, but the fellas competing in the Tour de France usually do less than 200km a day, and I would like to point out that they don't have to do it in fully loaded touring bikes. But I guess they do climb up and down insane slopes and ride at killer speeds. Nonetheless, I'm pretty stoked about my new record, and wouldn't have been able to achieve such a feat without the support and encouragement of my cycling buddies :)