Mariposa 200km Ride Report by Tiago Varella-Cid

The Mariposa Centenary was an exceptional brevet. Just being a Centenary had its own appeal as opposed to a brevet that can be repeated sometime down the road, but the special edition brevet card and medal was an extra incentive.

Years ago, I never had much of an appreciation for medals. Over the years the ones from my youth found their way into recycling as trinkets of little use.That changed with PBP. Here was an event that continues to inspire me even years afterwards, and the medal with it’s individual number is unique.I decided to buy some adhesive rare earth magnets and turned any remaining old medals into fridge magnets which we can’t seem to get enough of, so adding another to our fridge which holds up kids painting and family photos seemed desirable.

Over the years I’ve forged some great cycling partnerships, one of which happened on a rainy Hockley Hills 200 brevet. Jocelyn Delarosa had recently immigrated from France in 2018 and we chatted for a while as we rode away from the group.He then joined another club which I ride with, the GGG (Gravel Grinding Group) and over the years since we have shared many a great ride including brevets this year.Jocelyn & I agreed to ride the Mariposa Centenary together and we are in similar form these days so it was going to be a spirited ride. Better yet we invited Alex Stephen from the GGG to become an RO member and join us.

I arrived with time to spare and saw quite the gathering of randonneurs all well spaced apart except for a brief photo op. It was great to see so many familiar smiling faces.It was nice to check out some new bikes and catch up with fellow riders. Erin Marchak presided over the formal duties, and Martin Cooper gave a brief talk about the ride, and the history… Before long 7am had rolled around and we were off. I noted one of the riders had his dog in a chest harness. Cute and ambitious!

We started at a gentle pace, negotiating street car tracks and numerous turns away from the downtown core but it wasn’t long before we were heading east towards the Waterfront Trail. The pace started to pick up as we warmed up and by the time we left the Beaches only a handful of us were left at the front. I got to meet Burke Adams, who’s reputation preceded him as Jocelyn had filled me in on another rider that had been pushing the pace on multiple brevets.So Alex, Burke, Jocelyn & I formed a group of four and settled into a solid pace.

We made it to the first control at 9:23am and I set about orchestrating a coordinated refuelling. We each had an espresso, a bottle of water to refill our bidons and an ice cream sandwich.I had called a friend on route to the Coolest Ice Cream Shop, who lived around the corner and who’s son is my godson, but our stop was so brief that he missed us. No time wasted and legs still warm we were back at it.

Burke was feeling strong so we shamelessly let him be the locomotive for some longer stretches while we pushed our average speed to around 32km/hr. Before long we had reached the northern limit of the route and we turned west into the southwest wind. We knew winds were forecast to gust up to the 50s in the afternoon so settled into a working pace as we rode to Bradford.

In Bradford we stopped at Portugalia Bakery at 10:49am. Alex was starting to feel tired from the pace. On many days he is a locomotive, but that day he needed to hold back. We’ve all been there. Speaking Portuguese may have had it’s benefits at the bakery, if not for ordering, then just knowing about the desserts. We enjoyed a more leisurely break and then set off once more, but this time we knew we were in for a windy return and fighting wind is a battle rarely won but often endured. It wasn’t long before we came to Canal Rd and then went across the Holland March and south towards the rising tide of hills on Keele.

Burk & I spun our way to the top and waited for the other two who weren’t far behind. Alex offered to go solo and I had full confidence he’d be fine but we were having fun and it wouldn’t have been a pleasant return solo against the wind so we turned the pace down a notch and managed our effort. There were numerous lights going back into the City anyway and pushing a harder pace would have resulted in a series of intervals between lights so it was for the best anyway.

Before long we passed the current location for Mariposa Cycles and then came to Muddy York Brewing. Since we knew the finish was probably going to be anticlimactic we decided to stop for a beer and finish the ride in good style. If I had it my way the ride would have officially ended at the brew pub! It was the best part of the ride and we joked that there are easier ways to go for a beer.

Finally we wove our way back to the start, chatted a bit and with a little luck we’ll all ride together again soon.

A great day out. Thanks to Erin for organizing such a fun ride!

Haliburton Highlands 600k Permanent

This ride took place on 09-10 August 2021

By Timothy Ormond

I love this route. I first did it in August 2014. It was then my second 600k ever and it confirmed my belief that the 600k distance is the best. Seven years later, I still think 600k is the best.

2014 route on Gmap

I was eager to do this route to resurrect it. It’s name comes up from time to time during planning because it has similar terrain to PBP. Ultimately it is always dismissed because of the potential for riding through the night without any possibility of getting water or food. Back in 2014, there was a 24-hour Tim Horton’s in Minden. Even if everything was closed in Haliburton, you could count on the two controls in Minden to save you. That Tim Horton’s is no longer open for 24 hours. If you miss the closing times and you haven’t arranged for accommodation, it’s possible you will ride from Buckhorn to Bobcaygeon without the chance to resupply (a distance of roughly 280 km).

I came prepared for this possibility. I brought a “pocket rocket” and ISO fuel I use for canoe camping with a small 600ml pot for boiling water. I brought noodles, oatmeal and other food. I also brought a spork (aka fpoon). I didn’t want to boil water from lakes or streams, but I was prepared to do this in an emergency. Also, for emergency, I brought my SOL bivvy (which stands for Stay Outside Longer, not the other meaning of SOL, no matter how accurately it might describe circumstances).

Orono flow

So I was well prepared for most problems, but I also had a ridiculously heavy bike. The other big challenge was the extreme heat. These two factors combined made me perspire furiously at the crest of every hill. Soon I decided to walk up the giants. There is a part of me that really dislikes walking my bike up hills, but I wanted to avoid heat exhaustion. Before long I accepted that walking was going to be a thing on this ride. It forced me to admire my surroundings a lot more.

Working with Erin and Dave, I suggested a few significant edits to the 2014 version. Originally it began and ended in Markham. I suggested changing the start and finish to Rouge Hill GO. It also used to have a control in Peterborough. I suggested moving the control to Lakefield and bypassing Peterborough completely. The final edit was Erin’s suggestion for the leg between Bobcaygeon and Lindsay. I didn’t manage to check this portion of the route because I DNF’d.

2021 route with edits on RWGPS

I had forgotten how relentless the land is between Toronto and Peterborough. Constant up and down without any flats for getting into a good gear and cadence. My heavy bike really highlighted this. Nevertheless, it is gorgeous countryside and a good challenge (just bring a lighter bike!) I was really happy to avoid Peterborough. I remember it being very busy in 2014.

A Steep Hill, one of many
A quiet road south of Peterborough

Lakefield is a great control. There is a Foodland with lots of fresh fruit and a park directly across the street with lots of shade. The public library next door gives free wifi. I had a good little supper there (though I was concerned that it was already dinner time and I was only 160km into the ride!)


After Lakefield comes Curve Lake First Nation, Buckhorn, and then Flynn’s Turn. After that is the amazing 507 road. Once upon it, you know you have left the lowlands and entered the Shield. It winds endlessly, and around every bend is the type of terrain where beavers and moose thrive. It’s 40km from Flynn’s Turn to Gooderham. I don’t recall seeing a single car. Dusk was falling gently. I considered stopping to boil water for noodles at the trailhead to a skidoo track. No traffic there today!

Weird name. Shortly after this came the dragon flies.

But the mosquitos said that the price of my having a meal was that I would have to give hundreds. Supper could wait until dark. I pedaled. The mosquitos could not bite while I was riding, but there was plenty of evidence that they wanted to: dragonflies escorted me, bouncing of my shoulder, face, and sometimes getting caught in my spokes. Then, just as suddenly as they arrived, the dragonflies disappeared. The crepuscular food chain had completed its course for the evening.

Desolate Gooderham

By now I was at the control in Gooderham. Nothing was open. In any case, all that there is an LCBO and a Chinese restaurant. I don’t know if I arrived too late to eat there or if it’s permanently closed. Hard to tell in these COVID days. I had to make do with what I had. And if I couldn’t get to Minden early enough, I may be forced to boil water from some unknown river, pond or lake…

With the sun going down, it was now time to put on my reflective vest. It was still so hot that I decided to take off my jersey. It felt great to have the night air on my shoulders and arms and no sun. It’s funny how much attention I pay to the sun when I’m cycling, especially when it’s hot or chilly. It’s almost like randonneuring is a branch of astronomy.

Which leads me to my favourite thing about this ride. The stars, the planets and the Milky Way. There is virtually no light pollution in this area, much less than I’m accustomed to. Being a city slicker, I can go years without seeing the Milky Way. Both times I’ve done this route I saw it clearly. Thank goodness there weren’t any clouds and it was a New Moon. It reminds me of those stories about a voyage into darkness that turns out to be a journey to wholeness, you know, like Dante’s Divine Comedy. I dunno, it just seems to me that there is more to riding a bike than just spinning wheels, hammering cranks and counting kilowatts and kilometres. You’re out there, pushing yourself to your limit, under the cosmos (which is always there anyways, but you don’t get to see it because of Rayleigh scattering).

Whenever I muse like this, I get weird looks. I once suggested to another randonneur that riding the landscape around Belfountain was like being an ant crossing a pair of corduroy pants. The look on this person’s face… you’d think I said something offensive. But I digress. I will return to this report.

I arrived in Minden at midnight. I thought for sure I’d be stooping to the river to get water to boil. But, no. There is a Pioneer gas station open for 24 hours there. I suspected something would be open and I was happy that I was right. I bought more water than I could carry.

Three young men, locals with extremely red necks, were hanging out at the Pioneer as I sipped a Coke.

“Sure picked a hot one.”

“You can pick your day; you can’t pick your weather,” I replied.

I rode over to a picnic table, boiled my water, and made my noodles. Wow, noodles never tasted so good. I was glad to be getting all that salt too. I’m fairly diligent about getting sodium, potassium and magnesium into my system on a hot day’s ride. I’m not sure how much of a threat it really is, but I certainly want to avoid hyponatremia, which can happen if you only drink water without any minerals/electrolytes. About 40 minutes later, I could feel the impact of the broth and noodles. I really got my second wind.

This was on the so-called Bobcaygeon Road (which does not lead to Bobcaygeon). I really enjoy this road too. I’ve never seen it in the daylight, but at night it feels very rugged and remote. You turn off your lights and it is absolute night in the deep forest. It seems to me that it was a dirt road in 2014, but I’m not sure. It is paved now, but there are some very rough patches. It is a real roller coaster ride and totally worth the price of admission.

Despite joyriding on Bobcaygeon Road thanks to broth and noodles, I was still making very slow progress. I arrived in Haliburton at 4:30am. I was pretty sure there was no way I could finish the 600 in 40 hours. I lay down next to the public library and decided to make a choice when I awoke. I used my bivvy, not because it was cool, but because I was so damp from perspiration. It also kept the mosquitos off my body. I used my rain shell to cover my face.

When I awoke around 6:30am, I was still undecided. I had until 10pm. I didn’t mind the idea of going longer than 40 hours, but then I thought about then next day. Two whole days without proper sleep. I had to work on Wednesday and I had a major drive to Sault Ste Marie on Thursday. I decided to take the quickest route back to Lakefield, catch the bus at Trent University, and then take the train from Oshawa back home.

This was a mistake. Or at least insisting on taking the shortest route was a mistake. This meant passing through Bobcaygeon on roads we had not designated for the ride. Between Kinmount and Bobcaygeon is horrible. Between Bobcaygeon and Flynn’s Corner is even worse! I stopped for a snack and asked for some advice on using secondary roads. The locals were surprised at my question; I was even more surprised at the response! They seemed to think that bicycles had no business on the road, and, for reasons that are unclear, they blame cyclists for closing their shop for two hours. I didn’t even ask. All I could think about was how pointless it would be to tell them about the sections on bicycles in the Highway Traffic Act and the fact that the Ontario Legislature endorsed cyclists with the right to ride on roads in the late nineteenth century. I just smiled and nodded and got out the door as quickly as I could.

I rode back to Lakefield into a moderate headwind. With morale pretty low, and my new and uninspiring insight into the locals’ mentality, I felt a little fed up with the traffic. I longed for the late night hours when I had the entire road to myself. I got another picnic at the Foodland. I caught the GO bus on the Trent University campus and then the train from Oshawa back home.

I was a little disappointed that I didn’t finish, but I was just taking far too long. If I had more free time after the ride to recover, I would have just pushed through regardless of the time limit. The biggest learning lessons from this ride:

  1. Pack less! I used do 600k rides with only a pump and tubes and sunscreen. This time I think I was carrying the equivalent of a second bicycle.
  2. Cottage country traffic can be scary, especially on Sunday evening, but work traffic during the week can get pretty heavy too. Large trucks are particularly noticeable.

And what was good about this ride:

  1. The stars, Milky Way and Mars
  2. Certain roads (see above)
  3. The park in Lakefield
  4. The animals: I saw four deer, one wild turkey, countless turkey vultures, I nearly hit a porcupine and a skunk, countless goldfinches, and I helped a painted turtle safely cross the road. Oh yeah, and those dragonflies at dusk were pretty amazing too.
  5. spoon/fork, fpoon, spork. I will probably not ever bring my stove on a brevet/perm again, but bringing an eating utensil — yes. You can eat yogurt, soup, fruit salad etc.

I don’t know if this route will ever get formally put on the schedule. It is a little unruly and unpredictable. Sure, Minden was open 24 hours this year, but what about next year? Despite its flaws, Haliburton Highlands certainly offers a unique experience. And for the Toronto Chapter it is definitely the wildest route we have on offer.

Ride Report: Mnjikaning 400k brevet

Written by Tiago Varella-Cid

Brevet complete 17 July 2021

With recent pandemic restrictions it’s been uplifting to see the return of various cycling events. And although I’m not that excited at the prospect of racing XC or gravel races in TT formats since the social aspect of racing will be missing, it seems that brevets will more or less run the same as we are limited in numbers anyway.

While riding the Kissing Bridge 300 brevet on the solstice, Jocelyn De La Rosa and I agreed to align our schedules for the Mnjikaning 400 since we are well matched in drive and fitness.

In the days leading up to last Saturday, I watched the forecast intently since rain was forecast, and while a little rain doesn’t bother me, the prospect of 10mm of rain would mean dialling in gear to prevent feet from being soaked for over 16 hours.

I remounted my fenders, added a set of mud flaps, packed some extra wet lube and organized my waterproof breathable clothing for the morning with dry weather options packed in a saddlebag along with extra food to fill the space.

Waking up at 4am wasn’t an issue since I was stoked for a committed day of riding and I rode out into darkness ready for whatever foul weather was going to be thrown my way.

At that time, there was a hint of humidity but no rain so I enjoyed a casual ride to the starting point arriving about 5 minutes before departure. As expected, Jocelyn was there, as was Mike Henderson who I’d ridden with in a small group earlier this spring. Sergiy Tsymbal was also there, and I don’t think I’d seen him since our first ever brevet together several years ago where we both jumped in to the world of randoneuring by starting with the 3 Lakes 1000km. I’ve followed him since on Strava so knew he would be completely competent for a 400 also. Victor was there also as well as Rémi Parent who I hadn’t met yet so it looked like a good-sized group.

We left at 5am, or maybe a minute afterwards, and began weaving eastward for a while towards the zoo as the sun started to come up. 

Early morning start

The pace was light, as was the mood and conversation and we were all relieved not to be riding in the rain, even though a check on the weather network app showed rain would develop later that morning.

Nearing Udora

By the time we arrived at our 1st control in Udora at 97.5km, Victor had dropped back to a pace he preferred, but he joined us at the general store as we slugged back coffee, refilled water bottles and ate some food. The rain still hadn’t arrived so I packed away my light rainproof jacket and went down to a base layer long sleeve, which worked perfectly. I wanted to keep stops to a minimum but also didn’t want to be anti-social so waited till everyone was ready to ride, which was enough for most of the group except for Victor who was a few minutes behind schedule.

We rode on, enjoying roads that felt more rural, with little traffic and headed towards Lake Simcoe. 

As we reached the lake I was keen to maintain a strong pace and suggested a rotating paceline for the five of us that remained. 

It wasn’t as smooth as I had hoped as Rémi wasn’t quite familar with the format and he dropped back although he rejoined later on at a train crossing. 

We made it to the 2nd control 166.5km at the Mnjikaning Weirs at 11:08, which was somewhat of an anticlimax but it close to a Tim Horton’s and we’d save time instead of riding into Orillia. 

Mnjikaning Weirs

That break took much longer than anticipated since it was a very small Timmy’s and service was slow, but by now it was clear that the rain that had been forecast had vaporized and we were blessed with cool temps & overcast skies.

We set off towards Kinmount and established a good pace each taking 2km pulls.

I think at that point the terrain was quite smooth and we had a generous shoulder with gently rolling terrain so our target pace was somewhere around 33km/h.  To a degree we were willing to ease the pace for good of the group, but Serg recognized that we wanted to push and reasoned that he was fine going alone so we went ahead. 

One of many osprey nests

We saw multiple Osprey nests along the way, often with juveniles looking around, but I once saw a larger mature bird flying in and managed to capture a shot as Mike rode by.

I observed that some of the group was struggling so I took a longer pull that brought us within a few km of town and moved off the line so we could take an easier pace. With barely 3km to town Mike caught a gap on the edge of the asphalt and immediately had a double flat. We had just passed a parking lot at an ATV trailhead so we stopped there to fix the flats as a group since I had a full frame pump and an extra tube.

It didn’t take long and before long we rolled into town for our 3rd control 14:30, took a few photos at the railway station, and went our separate ways to gather a coordinated lunch of vegetable fried rice, water and coconut waters, and then shared a lunch on picnic tables by the river.

Serg arrived while we were having lunch, and Mike later mentioned he had seen Victor’s bike as he left so we were all within about half an hour of each other after, having lost some time to the punctures.

Mike decided to hang back as he wanted to ride solo for a while which I fully respect, so Jocelyn, Rémi and I rolled out after lunch. 

As we left town it finally felt like the cross headwind we hand been fighting eased up and we took it easy for the first bit to digest.

We arrived in Bobcaygeon in what seemed about an hour later so stopped to take some photos of the canal, when I realized I had forgotten or lost my phone. A quick call led to an answer from Mike who had seen it on our picnic table and was about 5 minutes away so we relaxed, took our shoes off and waited for Mike who arrived to a very positive welcome. 

Our foursome was back and we were off to the next control.

Ar Kinmount

The stretch between Kinmount and Lindsay was my least favourite as many of the roads were riddled with potholes. We rode a pace line and called out potholes while choosing the best line. When I say potholes, many of these were large enough to cook a chicken, but there were in clusters as numerous as a commercial hen house. On one stretch we had been riding closer to the centre of the road. This wasn’t a problem on the flat roads where we could see oncoming traffic, and my Garmin Varia would warn of any rearward approaching traffic.

As a car came into view ahead I motioned and moved to the right until the car passed and then checked my left shoulder before moving back to the smoother and more spacious line we had been following for a while.

It looked clear as no one was riding beside me so I moved left but then heard a crash behind me.

Rémi had been half wheeling and caught my rear tire. Unfortunately he didn’t veer left but instead fought to stay straight pushing his front tire against my back and once the contact disengaged he went over the bars.

Mike crashed into him since there was nowhere to go in that instant but fortunately Jocelyn steered clear.

It didn’t look good for Rémi who took some time to get up, but despite some nasty road rash and cuts on his hand he was coherent, conscious of details and eager to continue. Mike had hit his helmet and had some relatively minor scrapes when compared to Rémi but was OK.

A couple of cars stopped and one even offered Rémi a lift to town but he declined despite our encouragement that it would be a sensible thing to do.

After some time, some first aid, and a check that their bikes we were OK we set off again, and although Rémi had been hobbling after his crash he was OK to ride.

We arrived at our 4th control at 300km at 17:44 in Lindsay, and Mike went to pick up some extra tubes at a local bike shop while I went to a Shopper’s and got some bandages and peroxide, along with water for our bottles.

We spent a chunk of time getting Rémi patched up and tried to reason with him that riding wasn’t the best idea since he should seek medical attention, but Rémi was resolute to continue and it’s difficult to tell a older man what he should or shouldn’t do. If I was Rémi, I would have thrown in the towel, but I suspect his tenacity or stubbornness is greater than mine.

We took a break at a coffee shop that Mike recommended which allowed Serg and Victor to catch up, but it felt like the time was passing and we wanted to push on.

Mike hung back once more and we wished him well and set off as a group of three with Rémi, Jocelyn & I. We took a steady pace for Rémi’s sake but the 5th control was only 40km away in Blackstock.

We were about half way to the next control when we almost had another crash as Rémi once again connected with my rear wheel. Some screaming and a locked up wheel brought us to a stop. My fender had gotten quite bent against the friction of the tire, but with some care and effort we manage to bend it back to a ridable state.

This time Rémi’s bike wasn’t so lucky as he snapped his rear derailleur cable in that incident. Having not learnt from the first time about the perils of half wheeling or riding too close, left me somewhat frustrated with Rémi, but also sympathetic that he was struggling. I came to the realization that perhaps our pace was too much for Rémi on that day, and it’s a lesson worth noting to ride within your ability, or ride with others who you know and trust.

After that we arrived at 20:04 to 5th control, which hadn’t been far from Lindsay, which illustrates how much time was lost due to first aid, bike repairs etc.

We had hoped to find perogies there but only frozen ones were available so we opted for the local pizza place. I decided to order a large pizza since even though we’d only need a slice or two, I figured the other guys wouldn’t be far behind and having some food ready would help them save time as the sun was setting. As the boys rolled in we offered them dinner and took off.

We had managed to keep a moving average of slightly over 28km/hr till that point which is a decent pace for over 300km.

Rémi had declined on the Pizza and was ahead of us by about 20 minutes, so we were free to ride at our desired pace and gave chase just for the fun of it and pushed into the sunset enjoying perfect temperatures during the golden hour.

As a rouleur, I throughly enjoyed the rolling hills and took the lead for some stronger pulls, while Jocelyn set an excellent pace on some of the steeper climbs. It’s rides like this where we appreciate a well-established partnership that has developed over many a ride.

We passed Rémi as the night was drawing its blinds while he walked up one of the steeper hills. Knowing he had gotten that far, we left him to finish at his own pace and cruised to the finish arriving at the final control at 22:46 well in time to catch the train.

Mike rolled in with minutes to spare so we all enjoyed some spirited conversation on the train ride back to Toronto.

Despite the crashes it was still a great day.

Reading Rémi’s strava post it turned out that he fractured his collarbone. That man is TOUGH!

The Day I Became a Randonneur. Ride Report: Much Ado About 200km

By Fred Chagnon, ridden on 17 July 2021

Today was the day — the day I would try to complete my first 200km brevet; an organized group-depart event with the Randonneurs Ontario club. Earlier this year I didn’t think I would be able to make this event, which was a shame because it was the only brevet that starts in my resident city of London, Ontario. I was scheduled to participate in Race the RockStAR, an annual multi-sport adventure race up in the Haliburton Highlands. But it’s cancellation freed up this weekend which turned out to be serendipitous. 

Ride start with a great turnout

However, pulling in to the Tim Horton’s at 6:45AM, I was in a bit of a state. Sure I was excited about the prospect of completing my longest ride to date, and my first official ride with this club. But it was raining, and that was wreaking havoc on my psyche. I had attempted this route before once, back in October 2020, and the all-day rain had played it’s part in preventing me from finishing that solo run. I did not want a repeat of that when other more experienced riders were present. 

While I unloaded and packed my bike, my wife, Kim ,went in and bought me breakfast — two farmer wraps, one which barely saw the light of day, and the other which I packed for later. Kim told me that there were several “bike people” congregating inside, so she bid me well and left me in their capable hands. 

I sat among the crowd of folks wearing brightly coloured vests amid rain gear. While I introduced myself, many of them were reuniting after not having seen one-another for some time; this being one of the first brevets since the pandemic lockdowns had been lifted. Being in a group was putting my mind at ease. After a group photo, we departed as a group, 12 in total, and were on our way. 

Group depart

The ride within London was wet, but we stayed collected as a group for the most part. I chatted briefly with Brenda and Tim, both of whom had just completed a 400km ride the previous weekend. I met Xinghua who, along with Jersey, had driven in from Oakville earlier that morning. However, it wasn’t long before the lead pack started to peel off ahead, becoming nothing more than an array of blinking tail lights on the horizon ahead of me. Ride your own ride, Fred

Headwind and rain through St. Mary’s
I queued up an audiobook to keep me company; Ready Player One by Ernest Cline, expertly narrated by Wil Wheaton. The book was periodically interrupted by navigation cues from RideWithGPS. 

As I pedaled into the wind and rain along Prospect Hill I eventually lost visual on the group of taillights, but I was aware of a single headlight that was slowly gaining on me. That turned out to be Ben, who had just the day before, made the 220km ride from Amherstburg into London with the rain in his face. I assumed without asking that this also meant that he’d be making the reverse trip home tomorrow — over 600km on the weekend. You’re made of strong stuff Ben. 
As the two of us pulled into St. Mary’s the headwind picked up. It was as if the small quaint town was exhaling, doing whatever it could to prevent us from arriving. After the climb on the way out of town I was gassed. My bike felt like deadweight underneath me — as if I was pedaling my old Honda Shadow motorcycle. As Ben continued on his very consistent 20+kph pace, I fell back to something more manageable. Ride your own ride, Fred. 

Deja Vu all over again

Somewhere around Rostock I pulled over. The rain had stopped and I wanted to lose my rain jacket. While protecting me from the rain, it was acting like a giant sail, making it very hard to ride into the ceaseless headwind. Since I was stopped, I thought I would check the batteries on all my electronics. My Garmin fenix watch was the most important; it’s job was to record the ride for proof of completion (and bragging rights). Over 90%, so it was going to last. I had a Garmin 200 I was using for visual navigation — it was about 75% so was ok for now. My Android phone was running RidewithGPS for audio navigation cues, as well as audible — 56%. I decided to plug it into my external battery for charging. 

USB port disabled…

USB port disabled. Despite having my phone sealed in a bag secured to my top tube, the rain had found a way in and the phone was wet enough to refuse getting charged. I tucked the phone away in my much safer top box, and told myself to figure it out at the first checkpoint. 

Checkpoint 1: Millbank – 94km – 12:15PM

The first checkpoint on the route was Anna Mae’s bakery; a small bakery in Millbank at the 94km mark. While the rain had stopped, the wind certainly had not, making the ride into Millbank a mental and spiritual battle. 

Anna Mae’s

My last visit to this place was during a full lockdown, so the bakery was closed. Today, it was open….well….kind of. The pandemic restrictions in Ontario were due to be lifted the following Monday. As I sat on a bench eating the other wrap I’d purchased earlier, I listened to the restaurant patrons bemoan the fact that the bakery was not yet open for indoor dining. This didn’t deter any of them from lining up, however. The more the line grew, the more I knew I wasn’t going to be using that washroom to fill my bottles and empty my own reserves. It seemed that, for a second time in a row, I’d be leaving Anna Mae’s empty-handed (and full bladdered). 

No time for lineups… Onward!

I heard the approaching buzz of a freewheel behind me. “Little bit of wind, eh?”. I laughed before even turning around to greet the newcomer. Similarly dressed in a highly visible vest, bike packed for all kinds of adventure, this understatement came from Richard (Dick) Felton. Dick and I had connected briefly online prior to this event, resolving to ride together. However in the flurry of the morning departure I had lost track of who was who and wasn’t sure if he ended up in the lead pack. I was happy with the prospect of sharing the road with someone.  
My phone also started accepting a charge, so I secured it away in my top box and crossed my fingers. Dick and I left the checkpoint resolving to find another place to solve the water bottle / bladder issues.

With a blue sky in front of us (and not the stormy kind of blue), it was shaping up to be a nice afternoon as the two of us headed out to close the back half of the route. 

Where there is headwind, there must also be tailwind

The moment we made that turn southbound the world went eerily quiet. I’d had the wind in my ears for a solid five hours, and now it was right at my back. Dick must have noticed this too as he commented that “there’s nothing wrong with our bikes after all!”.

Dick was a great riding companion. We traveled at a similar pace, and when the road conditions permitted it, I got to hear all kinds of tales. This was a guy who was now in his mid-seventies, and took up ultra endurance running and cycling only after retiring at the age of sixty. And in that time he’d run in over one-hundred distance running events, and countless randonneuring events. He’d even been to France four times to compete in the Paris-Brest-Paris event. This 1,200km (750 mile) signature event occurs every four years, and is attended by amateur randonneurs who qualify by completing a 200, 300, 400, and 600km brevet within a single calendar year. The next such event will take place in 2023 and Dick figures he’s got one more in him. While Dick wishes he’d have started much younger, he stands as an inspiration to anyone that it’s never too late to make a turn to a healthy and active lifestyle. 

Checkpoint 2: Stratford – 140km – 2:40PM

The ride into Stratford was glorious. We’d long passed the high-point of the route, so most of the road before us was filled with sweeping descents and a tailwind that made for easier riding. The sun was out too — it was turning out to be a glorious day for riding. 

The route took us along Lakeside Drive which follows Victoria Lake and passes the Stratford Festival Theatre. As we approached the Boar’s Head pub, the site which marked the second checkpoint on this route, we saw no evidence of any fellow randonneurs. Like all eateries, the bar was closed to indoor dining, so we decided to make our pitstop at a Foodland up the road. 

When we stopped, I opened my top-box and checked on my phone. Battery was showing 10%, and it refused to charge. I sent my wife a flurry of texts indicating my estimated arrival time in London, and that my phone was likely going to die. I skipped taking a Checkpoint 2 photo. Once the messages were sent I swore as I put the phone away. 
“Don’t worry, there’s no need to get angry.” said the angel on my shoulder. (Actually, maybe that was Dick). 

While the Foodland didn’t have a bathroom (at least not one they would let someone who looked as though a clown had thrown up on a construction worker make use of), I grabbed some raspberries and a large bottle of water I used to fill my own bottles. Upon depart, the bathroom issue was still unresolved, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be handled discreetly once we were out in the country again. And so it was. 

The long ride home

At around the 150km mark Dick and I were introduced to another rider in our group approaching from behind. James was from Cambridge, and had missed the group depart. I didn’t catch the reason why — maybe he made the same mistake I did and set his ‘Monday-to-Friday’ alarm for a Saturday morning wake up. Whatever the reason, he’d started an hour after us and caught up. After a brief chat James resumed his regular pace and disappeared into the horizon. 

Sustaining an even tempo of about 20kph, Dick and I eventually made it back to London. As we approached the arrival at Tim Horton’s he motioned for me to take the lead. Recognizing this was my first completed brevet, he probably didn’t want me to feel like I was being pulled in by a ride sweep. So I made the final push to finish strong. 

As I rode into the Tim Horton’s parking lot, I spotted our SUV. Kim, along with our youngest son West, had been there for an hour and a half! Having lost the ability to track my movements live after my phone died, they arrived early and had kept themselves entertained with a Nintendo Switch. These little adventures don’t work without some degree of support and I’m always so thankful for this from both Kim and the kids.  

Fred and Dick. Proof of life. 200km complete!

I introduced Kim to my newfound friend. She mentioned having seen the other members of our troop, who tasked her with the duty of taking our picture upon arrival, before they themselves departed. And so she did.  

I had done it! I had completed my first 200km brevet. Like a runner who has completed their first triathlon and wears the mantle ‘tri-athlete‘, I could now proudly call myself a ‘randonneur‘. Lessons learned from this ride: 

  • Randonneurs are tough as nails. Also very friendly. 
  • In case of rain, pack your mobile phone like it’s going to be underwater.
  • Ride your own ride…
  • BUT…if you can find someone who also rides your ride, so much the better.
  • Even when it’s raining, pack sunscreen.

Darn It to Heck! Udora-Uxbridge-Utica 200km Ride Report

Ride report by Cameron Ogilvie.

Title: Darn it to heck

(For when your transgressions are insufficient to warrant more severe punishment)

I’m normally an early riser, but when my alarm went off at 4am I was in the wrong part of a sleep-cycle. But in my confused state, I was able to get my act together almost in time to make it to the start, or so I thought. I hadn’t been able to find my vest, but with the forecast and temperature, I thought I’d be ok. Additionally, thanks to the “Active-TO” road closures, the official start wasn’t the one I thought, nor did my bike computer offer any help. (Quite the opposite) Thankfully as it so happened, my ride to the start rolled right past the official start, so barring some confused Garmin bleeping of “make a U-turn” and “recalculating” which lasted far too long and was taking me on a confused mishmash in the lower beaches, I gave up following its cues and headed north to Kingston Road to get back on track.  

So away I went, but all alone. I wasn’t very late to the start, and being my overly ambitious self, I thought if I pressed hard, I would be able to catch the group doing the 400km (which was my original plan). Sadly, after the 30km mark where the 2 routes diverged, I realized that it would be a fool’s errand attempting the longer distance solo, so thank you to the Toronto chapter VP for enabling me the registrational freedom to choose at the last moment (by registering for both).

It was by this point that the rain started. I had fastidiously checked the weather modeling the night before and had noted that the rain would be mostly in the south, and with an early enough start I would hopefully be able to avoid most of it. Sadly, I wasn’t speedy enough to escape the rain before it had made a mess of Twyn Rivers Road. If you haven’t enjoyed Twyn Rivers Road before, it features a 30% gradient descent landing you on an open-mesh bridge. Needless to say, traction in the dry can be problematic. I gingerly took the descent and continued on my way unscathed, but somewhat damp.

As my ride continued north, the rain stopped, the roads were dry. The northbound stretch of this route crosses through the Rouge River Park many times on its way to Reesor Road on its way to Goodwood. The route to Goodwood is very well known to me and seemingly all the other cyclists in Ontario, but due to the chill from the cool air, the threatening rains, there wasn’t anybody else to be seen. On arrival at the Goodwood control, I ran into the other rider on the brevet. Sadly, we had both made good enough time that the Café at the control hadn’t yet opened. I decided to take my requisite picture and press on.

Control 1, not open…

As I continued north to Udora, the roads were empty, and the winds were light. It was almost surreal how alone I felt. This portion of the route offered smooth enough roads and before I knew it, I had arrived in Udora. It is a tiny little no-stoplight town that wasn’t much more than a few houses, a gas station, and a general store. Again, I had arrived BEFORE the shop was open. Thankfully this time, I only had to wait a minute before they did. I was in need of something to eat at this point so I went for the “healthy” option of 2 butter tarts. They were surprisingly good considering they were not freshly made.  Either that, or I was in enough of a dark place emotionally from the long solo ride, dark skies, and chilly weather. Whatever it was, they brightened my spirits and away I went.

Almost open at control 2

The route to Uxbridge was almost a straight shot without much elevation change. Just some little rollers through typical Southern Ontario Farmland. As for the Uxbridge control, I took my geo-locational photo featuring the Uxbridge post-office mural in the background and pressed on. (After some more Garmin induced confusion… I really should have studied the route a little harder)

Uxbridge control

The journey home from Uxbridge was where my mostly enjoyable ride started to feature some more of the lovely “character building” experiences that you MUST expect on every Brevet. The rain started as the temperature hit about 15C. Not ideal for my clothing choice and forgotten vest. That said, my feet got swamped, as well as the rest of me as the rain came down. It was at this time that my power meter decided to go a little crazy, perhaps due to some water ingress. If it wasn’t for the cold and the grit, I wouldn’t have been so “happy” about my current situation. My legs were still feeling reasonable, but I was nowhere close to setting any records on this route. The cold was just too much.

The route south out of Uxbridge goes through some lovely terrain and a descent that seems to last forever. The forest smells and occasional blast of WARM air out of the woods was most welcome. The descent out of the highlands was lovely, but I was so cold and wet that my hands and wrists were starting to complain. It was of course at this point that I arrived at Whitevale Road. If you haven’t experienced this road, you are in for a “treat”. The potholes are impressive, as are the multiple construction and detour signs on the route. So, what did I do? I ignored all the warnings and pressed on, following the route with stubborn belligerence. Problem one: loose gravel, and potholes large enough to lose a small child. Thanks to the relentless construction and development in the area. The “use at your own risk” signs are always fun. After getting through the worst of that, I arrived at problem two: Whites Road has been “improved” into essentially a highway with medians and guard rails. The route is completely interrupted at this point, so I had to “portage” over the median to get back on route. Shortly thereafter, I arrived at problem 3: detour signs leading to a COURSE gravel road which I again ignored and pressed on to the road blockage. Concrete k-stones blocked my path, but in true Randonneur fashion, this is just part of the fun. Again I portaged over the blockage to continue the route.

The Whitevale portage

It’s at this point where my opinion about the route differs greatly from the route designer. I think the route should have gone south and re-tracked the start, but the route takes you through perhaps some of the worst trafficked roads in this part of the city. Character building of course. Thankfully my legs were feeling quite sprightly at this point and thanks to an increasingly strong wind out of the Northeast, it was easy to keep pace with traffic. Additionally, a good chunk of this portion of the route now features separated bike lanes. I wasn’t completely thrilled about this portion of the route, but it wasn’t much trouble thanks to increasing temperatures and the helpful wind.  I arrived at the finish with little fanfare and only city traffic to greet me. I took my completion selfie and rode the remaining distance to home.

Back where I began

In summary, this route is not without its charm. Perhaps a little too much character building for me on this wet and chilly day, but maybe when the fall colours peak on a sunny day I’d consider it again, but only if I could arrange for some company. 

Coureur de Bois Ride Report by John Cumming

July 3-5, 2021

Coureur de Bois had been on my to-ride “bucket list” for a decade.  Fellow Huron randonneur Terry Payne rode Coureur de Bois in 2011, and his descriptions of a challenging ride with beautiful scenery, horrible roads, and ambiguous cues convinced me that I had to do it one day!  After doing my first 1,000 (Lake Ontario Lap) in 2015  and doing 1,200’s in 2018 and 2019, I realized that a 1,000 is actually much more challenging than a 1,200:  With top-notch support and organized controls, the Granite Anvil was a “picnic” compared to LOL!

In addition to Terry Payne’s yarns of Coureur de Bois, my motivation for doing the ride was fed by the romance of the fur trade and French Canadian history that was taught to all children in Canadian Schools in the 1960’s (before the realities of certain events and the treatment of indigenous peoples tainted our perspectives).  Perhaps more than a lot of English-speaking Ontarians, I had a fascination for rural Quebec which evolved while I was a summer student in the Gaspe in the mid-1970’s.   Bicycling along the shore of the St. Lawrence River on my CCM Gran Tourismo 10-speed during that wonderful summer was, in fact, the only real cycling I’d ever done in Quebec! 

Until a week before the Brevet, I expected that I might be the only rider signed up for Coureur de Bois 2021.  (If it had worked out that way, I am certain that my ride would have ended in dismal failure).  But on June 25, I was delighted to receive an email from Peter Grant indicating that he and JungAh Hong also intended to do the ride.  Peter explained the history of the CdeB route:

“The route has been used since about 2005 and has been updated after each ride with input from our riders as well as notes sent by Quebec riders.  There is a lot of Route Verte, particularly approaching and leaving Quebec City.  There is more than 20km of bike paths around the city of Quebec. 

   Some the paths on the south shore I have ridden before on a cross Canada ride.

  I remember that there were areas were bike paths were the only option for cycling, but that they could be confusing.  That was true of the area where we will cross the Chaudière River just after turning west bound and leaving Quebec.”

It was a relief to know that I would not be dealing with the ride alone!  I told Peter and JungAh that I would be arriving in Ottawa the day before the ride, and JungAh suggested we get together for lunch, to discuss last-minute logistics.  Peter, JungAh and I were joined for lunch on a sun-drenched roof-top patio by Vytas Janusauskas, who rode the inaugural CdeB in 2005.  We were cajoling Vytas to join us on the ride, which he said he would do if we paid a high enough fee!

After lunch, I headed to my Orleans Air BnB (from which I had intended to bike to ride-start the following morning).  Guy Quesnel, with his usual top-notch organization skills, had arranged for car parking close to the official start, so a pre-ride to the brevet starting point wasn’t necessary and getting prepared to ride became even easier. 

While “killing time” on Friday afternoon before ride day,  I received an email from Vytas informing us that he and his wife Colleen had decided to provide drop-bag and meal procurement support at the two planned overnight controls!  Only true randonneurs will fully appreciate what a significant commitment and “godsend” this offer presented.  Peter, JungAh and I had anticipated that we would be arriving at each overnight hotel after near-by restaurants were closed, facing a mere few hours of sleep on an empty stomach.  But with Vytas and Colleen procuring meals, ready and waiting in our hotel rooms on arrival, life would be good!  Even better, I could plant a few cans of beer in the drop bag for my favourite form of day-end “carb loading”!! 

Refueling, with Vytas standing by

From anticipating a “solo” ride with no support and unknown weather a week before, prospects for the ride, and the weather forecast, were definitely getting rosier!   

I arrived at the ride-start parking site about 4:15 am and began to get my bike ready.  There was another car at the far end of the parking lot, with what appeared to be another cyclist.  I was completely focused on my own tasks so I didn’t walk over to see who it was.  Guy Quesnel, and Peter and JungAh arrived a few minutes later.  Guy informed us that we would have a fourth registered rider, but I didn’t recognize the name when Guy pronounced it.  It was only when the “mystery rider” rolled under the light of the street lamp that I realized it was Serg Tsymbal, who I had ridden with on several brevets.  In classic “rando” style, Serg had driven down from Kitchener the evening before and slept in his car!

Getting ready to ride! Saturday 5 am

So four riders set off promptly at 5 am, with two days of “no rain but strong North East Winds” in the  forecast.  Peter stormed out of the gate, setting a brisk early pace as we weaved through the streets of Ottawa suburbs into the countryside.  I’m never very good at remembering specific details once the ride itself starts – geographic features, weather and road conditions, and hazards and highlights all blend together as the kilometres accumulate. 

It was apparent that both JungAh and Serg were excited to be approaching their first-ever visit to Quebec.  Serg wondered whether we’d be able to do a short detour to see “Montgomery Falls” (I explained it was “Montmorency”, and that I, for one, would not be joining him to see the falls!).  Aside from his jacket, Serg had brought no additional clothing, having anticipated that “Quebec is warm, right?!?  It’s not Manitoba!”  His plan was to catch a few hours of sleep on convenient park benches under the temperate Quebec night sky.  But with the brisk cool winds off the St. Lawrence River blowing in our faces, Serg readily accepted the offer to share the hotel rooms which I had booked for each night.  Serg continued to talk about “Montgomery Falls” being higher than Niagara, and I realized that his mis-pronouncement probably sounded no more absurd than my own efforts to pronounce place names, or menu items at control stops!  Montgomery Falls it is.

The Open Road

It was about 8:30 am when we crossed the bridge at Hawkesbury into La Belle Province!  Apprehensions that we would encounter legendary bad roads were not immediately realized.  (As Peter had indicated, much of the route in Quebec follows “La Route Verte”, which Vytas described as “roads dedicated to cycling because they are so bad that car driver’s wouldn’t want to use them!”).  While we eventually did encounter some pretty bad roads, we also encountered some wonderful new sections of pavement.  Overall, I won’t make an assessment on the state of roads in Quebec vs. Ontario, although JungAh, Serg, and Peter may have a strong opinion about it.  As for the drivers in Quebec, we experienced a full spectrum of behaviours ranging from ultra-polite to aggressive and hostile.  Unfortunately there was more of the latter, with a number of dangerous close encounters and verbal (unintelligible, to us) taunts.  This was a big surprise and disappointment for me, given all I had read about Quebec’s push to be a haven for safe cycling .

Morning Smiles

For the most part, we rode traditional randonneur “accordion style”, sometimes as a group but often separated.  Three of us were carrying Spot Trackers, which greatly facilitated Vytas and Colleen’s control support efforts.  So when we arrived at the Travelodge in Trois-Rivieres at 10:15 pm, the Pizza and Salad we had previously ordered (along with the aforementioned drop-bag of beer) was hand-delivered to our rooms by Vytas & Colleen!

After a few hours of sleep we were back on the road at 5 am, contemplating whether we might find any quick breakfast stop before the next control at St Stanislas.  Thinking the control closed at 07:28, I raced ahead of the others, only to note as I rounded the corner into the tiny hamlet that the control card said 07:48!  The others rode leisurely into town a few minutes later, ahead of the control close time.  Of course, the only gas station / variety in town was closed, and breakfast would be further down the road.

As we pushed on toward Quebec City, Serg and I gradually rode ahead of Peter and JungAh.  Having to stop at a traffic light part way up a >10%  incline, I was forced to dismount and walk.  Serg, with a much lighter load and superior biking skills, was able to keep riding and got ahead of me.  I had to work hard to catch back up to him as we wove through the streets of Quebec City.  An extremely steep descent towards the ferry terminal was an excellent test of new V-brakes recently installed on my ancient LiteSpeed.  Extensive reconstruction and detours on the bike path along the waterfront slowed us down – I expect this section will be wonderful for the next running of CdeB, after the construction is complete.

Serg and I arrived at the Ferry Terminal at 14:13 and easily found the kiosk for bike tickets.  We were delighted that the Ferry was just loading when we arrived.  Standing in the queue, I checked the “Follow Riders on the Road” on the Randonneurs Ontario website.  It looked like Peter and JungAh were close behind, but we could not see them as our Ferry left the dock.  Although Peter and JungAh were back only a few minutes, waiting for the next ferry (which was itself delayed!) put them further behind.  While JungAh and Peter waited on the north shore, Serge and I were being pushed southwest, along beautiful bike paths in Levis, by a strong tail wind under a hot afternoon sun!  We easily maintained a 25km/hr moving pace and arrived at the second hotel in Becancour (across the river from our first night stay) at 21:35!  Again the custom food order (2 subs apiece, along with my remaining beer) had been deposited by Colleen & Vytas in our hotel room fridge.  Aided by the sleep-inducing qualities of a cold tallboy, Serg crashed quickly.  I couldn’t “turn off”, and waited for JungAh and Peter to arrive more than an hour after us.  Unlike the hot sun and tail wind that Serg and I had enjoyed, JungAh and Peter had to deal with post-sunset cold temperatures and unhelpful still air.

662 done!

With much less sleep than Serg and I, Peter and JungAh were once again ready to ride at 5 am.  We covered the 72 km to Sorel by 8:06, conscious of the 8:44 control close time and 9:00 scheduled ferry departure.  Riding beside JungAh towards Sorel under the early morning sun,  I asked if she had any idea what “coureur de bois” was all about.  It surprised me that she had no idea what the name referred to – but then, in perspective, I realized I knew nothing of her South Korean history nor the folklore of Serg’s Ukrainian heritage.  I tried to explain the “Coureur de Bois” to JungAh.  I also tried to teach her a song which I understood to have been popular with the Coureur de Bois, helping them to pass the hours as they paddled along.  The song is “Mon père n’a plus qu’vingt-neuf poulets “, and it had been an “earworm” which I had been humming to myself for over 700 km!  

As I began to sing it out loud, JungAh took out her phone to capture my poor singing, which you can watch here.  Whether paddling a canoe or pedaling a bicycle, the song is a perfect anthem for Randonneuring …

Marchons au pas accéléré

Et allongeons la jambe

Et allongeons la jambe, la jambe

Car la route est longue!

(Very roughly translated,

 “Step up the pace,

and stretch out your leg,

because the route is long!”)

We arrived in Sorel with sufficient time to enjoy a “grande” A&W breakfast before racing to the ferry terminal.  Under bright sunshine, we enjoyed the crossing back to the north shore, and the ride south west toward Blainville.

When I had been sharing my plans for Coureur de Bois with family and friends in the days before the ride, a family member asked “don’t you have to tow a canoe full of beaver pelts, to make it a real Coureur de Bois ride?”  While my heavily-laden bike sometimes made it feel like I was towing a canoe, the one experience we got to share with original Coureur de Bois was the “portage” – We encountered several serious sink-hole-induced road closures, where we were obliged to carry the bikes over treacherous paths.  If I had been on my own, I probably wouldn’t have scouted out a way through these road blocks.  Input from Peter, JungAh and Serg “saved my bacon”.

A Coureur de Bois “Portage”

I should also mention my Garmin 1030.  A recent software upgrade, complete with enhanced map display and directional chevrons, was supposed to make navigation easier.  But on the bi-directional segments of the Coureur de Bois route, I still found the Garmin (or me interpreting the Garmin, or both) to be error-prone.  On more than one occasion, Serg kept me from heading back toward Montreal as I heeded my 1030’s prompts.  Whatever brand of bike GPS you use, you should spend as much time together as possible to be sure you understand each other’s limitations!

As my Garmin announced completion of each 100 km “lap”, I was pleased to see that Serg and I were more or less sticking to a 24 – 25 km/hr moving average.  Vytas and Colleen texted me, indicating that JungAh had encountered problems and was thinking she might dnf.  If they had to go back to pick up JungAh, they might not be at the finish to give us our drop bags (a trivial concern, as compared to retrieving a stranded rider).

After being worn down by some bad roads, ferry delays, and what she experienced as hostile treatment by Quebec drivers and some people she encountered at controls, JungAh had a flat at 893 kilometres, and discovered that her pump was malfunctioning.  In her own words: 

“This was my first time in Quebec except Gatineau, and I was surprised to receive such poor treatment for speaking English. I love the little chats with locals during my ride which didn’t happen during this ride. As soon as I started talking in English, their face just changed. Now I know better what to expect. I better start learning French …I just laughed at myself how I never get flats on the road but it somehow happened during my biggest ride just 100km from the finish. I guess my pump got too much rain over the years. It was rusted inside and leaking air.”

 Unfortunately, Serg described his first impression about Quebec as being very close to JungAh’s.

Vytas and Colleen were able to rescue JungAh and drive back to the ride finish shortly before Serg and I arrived.  We pedaled into the parking lot at 11 pm, ahead of threatened rain, to enthusiastic smiles and clapping from JungAh, Vytas and Colleen, and Guy.  Peter was still out on the road, dealing with darkness and a short cloudburst.  He would successfully complete Coureur de Bois exactly three hours after our arrival.

Riders who have completed PBP will tell you about the incredible range of emotions encountered as you approach the finish.  For me, the Coureur de Bois finish also produced a complex emotional reaction: pride, of course, in completing a challenging course. And a sense of awe in travelling though the history of a country I love.  But also a feeling of sadness, that two relatively recent immigrants (and randonneurs extraordinaires!) had a less-than-positive experience.

For me, this ride would have ended very poorly without Vytas & Colleen’s support, Guy’s coordination, Peter’s insights, and the enthusiasm and support of three fellow riders.  I hope that JungAh gets back to Quebec soon (with a working pump) to experience good folk and French Canadian joie de vivre, and I hope that Serg one day gets to see the beauty of Montgomery Falls.

John Cumming

July 2021

Ride Report by Fred Chagnon: You can dampen my map and my phone, but not my spirit!

Ride Start: London, ON

It was still dark, and already raining when Kim and I set off for the departure point; my bike strapped to the hitch rack of the SUV, and all my gear in the back. I couldn’t help but think that I should have done this yesterday when the weather was cool but dry. This was not just a casual bike ride that I could decide to do another day, however. When you register a ride through a club like Randonneurs Ontario, the date is logged and there’s insurance involved. And besides, battling through discomfort is a core tenet of the randonneur.

Kim steered us through the drive through where I picked up two farmer wraps; one of which I ate immediately, and the other I stowed away for later. I thank her for the ride and told her that if I could maintain a pace of about 20kph, I’d be about 10 hours. She initialed my brevet card, we said our farewells, and I set off just before 8AM.

My trusty Trek Chechpoint AL3

The Long Road to St. Mary’s (0 – 40km)

It was only about 500m up the road that I hit my first snag: I wasn’t getting any audio cues from my mobile device. I pulled over and pulled my phone out of my pocket. The marked route was there, as planned, but it seemed the data I downloaded to my device in advance of the ride failed to include audio cues. This meant that I would have to keep my phone mounted on the handlebars in front of me, which presented two issues: extra battery drain, and exposure to the elements. 

The first issue I was prepared for — I had a spare battery pack that I could use to charge the phone, so I could sustain the extra drain that would result from having the screen on. The issue of rain, well, it was supposed to stop around noon anyway, so we’d just have to see how that went. 

About 90 minutes into the ride, I had just passed through Prospect Hill, well north of London. The audiobook I was listening to was interrupted by the robotic ramblings of something else on my phone. At first I thought that my navigation app had decided to start using audio cues, but that delight was quickly dashed. The rain had soaked through the buff I was using as its makeshift rain-cover, and the water had activated talkback mode – the accessibility option for the visually impaired. After struggling to disable this feature for several minutes I finally screamed “Turn Off Talkback” to the Google Assistant. Decades of experience working with technology, and it was proving to be my undoing today. 

I decided to stow my phone in my rear trunk bag to keep it dry. After another 15 minutes of riding however, I had a nagging feeling that it wasn’t going to record the ride that way. Not wanting to lose the digital proof of the ride’s existence I pulled over to confirm. Sure enough, when I unlocked the screen, the navigation app had not yet resumed recording, as a result it cut off a small corner of my route. “Please let that not be the difference between 199 and 200kms” was all I could think. I confirmed the nav was running properly and put the phone in my inside pocket instead.  

St. Mary’s to Millbank (40 – 95km)

Pictures never quite capture fall beauty…

The ride from St. Mary’s had me pretty settled in. I had music, my phone was charging, and the fall colours were beautiful. But the rain was constant. In fact anytime I thought it was settling down Mother Nature would betray me with a gust of strong spray. Eventually I turned south into a strong, cold headwind. I was averaging only 15 kph until I could finally turn back north-east toward Milverton. It was only a few short kilometers, but that battle was draining. On this route, checkpoint 1 was Anna Mae’s Bakery & Restaurant. It was just a few kilometers ahead, but every time I looked at my nav screen it felt like it was getting further and further away. To keep my mind occupied, I began to list the things I needed to do at this checkpoint: eat, drink, pee, change sock, picture, brevet card stamp. 

I let my find conjure up images of the apple fritters I’d heard the bakery was famous for, and maybe something warm to drink, oh and a butter tart for the road of course!

When I finally pulled up to the bakery I wasted no time snapping a selfie. I’d logged 94.6km, and declared victory on reaching CP1. 

Anna Mae’s Checkpoint 1, 94.6km

I removed my helmet and my wet gloves. I fished my brevet card out of my inside jacket pocket and found it was sopping wet, and completely useless. So too was my paper cuesheet. If this were a real brevet event, that would have been grounds for disqualification! I cursed myself for not thinking to pack these articles in the map protector I own for adventure racing events. Nevertheless, I donned my mask and proceeded to the restaurant entrance. 

It was closed. There wasn’t a soul in sight. It was a Sunday afterall, and Google confirmed that the restaurant doesn’t open on Sundays. Why I failed to work that detail into my plan is another thing I’ll chalk up to rookie mistake.

I walked my bike around the side of the restaurant and leaned it up against a bench. I pulled out the farmer wrap I’d bought earlier and ate it while I considered my options. I had food, and plenty of water. I’d taken note of my arrival time at CP1, and the fact that I had no witnesses was likely a non-issue, given the situation. Honestly the only problem I needed to solve was that I needed a washroom.

I removed my shoes and my wet socks. I used a buff to dry the insides of my shoes as much as possible before putting on some dry socks and replacing my footwear. So involved was I in this costume change that I failed to notice the patrol roll up next to me. The officer had clearly been watching me for awhile. 

“You picked a hell of a day for a bike ride” the officer said. 

“No bad weather, just bad gear, right?” I said, unconvincingly.  

“Where are you coming from?” he asked. 

“London” I replied. 

“London?!? That’s a long way back” he said. 

“Should be about 200 kilometers by the time I’m done” I told him. 

“Well you probably do this all time time”, he said, “But if you’re going back through Stratford, try to avoid highway 7, it’s pretty busy today.” I nodded in agreement. I knew my route didn’t touch the highway. “I bet you were hoping for a hot coffee and a pie, eh?” he laughed. 

“Actually, it was their little boys room that had me most excited” I told him.

“There should be a port-a-potty behind the building” he said. He wished me well, and he was gone. I packed up and mounted my bike. I looped around the building, and although there was evidence of a construction operation, there was no port-a-potty. This is normally an issue I could solve with a little discretion, but cycling bibs make that discretion more difficult. My spirits were lifted as I resume my ride. Despite my full bladder, I was fed, I was rested, and my feet were dry. On to CP2.  

Millbank to Stratford (95 – 140km) – Toil and trouble in the Bard’s backyard

My elevated mood was well timed because the afternoon was filled with a series of climbs and descents. I always tell myself that climbs are the price we pay to ride the descents — but today the descents were equally unwelcome. The hard rain just hits harder and cuts deeper as you pick up speed. And so the combination of effortful climbs with grueling descents forced me back into a game of mental endurance. “Embrace the suck”, my aikido sensei would say. And so I did. 

At around 130kms, the Bluetooth earbud I’d been wearing finally started alerting that it’s battery was low, so I pulled over. The earbud’s case stored a little bit of energy, allowing them to recharge when stored. I swapped the dying ear bug for it’s fully charged partner. While stopped I checked my phone and saw my battery was at 35% so I decided to charge it from my portable battery pack. When I plugged it in, nothing happened. I removed the cable and tried again – still nothing. I checked to see if the battery was capable of charging my headlight and confirmed that it was indeed issuing power. Tried the phone again, and this time I saw a warning message that told me the USB port had been disabled because it detected water or debris. Not good, but not something I could deal with by the side of the road in the pouring rain either. I was still 10km outside of Stratford so I resolved to evaluate my options over a pint, which would only happen after I used their washroom (yes, even now this was still a going concern). 

Bad news

The route in Stratford was brilliantly mapped: a picturesque cruise along Victoria Lake that took you right through the theatre district. I imagine on a day that wasn’t pissing it down, where I wasn’t suffering from extreme battery drain anxiety, and worried my bladder was going to burst, I might have even stopped for a picture to take it all in. It was 4:30 in the afternoon by the time I arrived at the 2nd checkpoint. CP2 was marked at the Boar’s Head pub, a British style pub noted for it’s bicycle friendly patio. I pulled into the patio and parked my bike beside two others clearly packed for touring. I hoped I’d be able to swap stories with these individuals, whoever they were. 

Control 2, Stratford — The Boar’s Head 140km

I made a beeline for the washroom. I took a free stall and removed my soaking wet clothing. Once I was relieved, I just stood in place with my eyes closed for several minutes. It might have been five minutes before I finally began to re-assemble myself. I went to the bar to make my order.
“Can I make an order for the patio?” I asked. 

“Oh, hon, the patio’s closed. It’s raining outside”. she replied. 

You don’t say? I supposed I earned that. Honestly this is just an issue I have leaving my bike unattended. I accepted that I’d be eating inside so I sat at a table where I could see my bike parked. I ordered a cider and a bowl of chili. As I waited for the order to arrive, I tried to charge my phone again. Still nothing. The battery was at 10%. 

The waitress arrived with the cider. I took a long swig and sighed deeply. Then I called Kim. 

“Where are you?” she asked, after we greeted. 

“I’m in Stratford, at the second checkpoint” I said. 

“That’s amazing! What time do you think you’ll be back in London?” she asked. 

“I think I need to call it here. Can you come pick me up?”. I explained the issue I was having with my phone, and that I had no cuesheet to fall back on. Also, I really didn’t like the idea of having no means of contact in case of emergency. 

I used what was left of my battery to stop my trip recorder in RideWithGPS, which triggered an upload to the Strava social network, followed by a quick update to Facebook to report on my accomplishments of the day. 

I had one realization that dawned on me while I waited in the parking lot for my rescue ride. For all the challenges I had with technology this day my bike was absolutely perfect. Not once did it skip a shift, make an odd noise, or even an unwelcome grind. I reflected on how much of a mental load it can be for a day like today if you’re not completely confident in your ride, and bike-related mechanicals were the furthest thing from my mind. Someone must take very good care of that thing. (You bet I do!)An hour later Kim arrived. She’d brought a dry change of clothes for me to change into. As we drove home and I related to her my highs and lows of the day I couldn’t help but think about the endurance it would have taken to spend another few hours pushing through the rain, especially as daylight started to recede. A dryer day would have seen completion of the route, I have no doubt, but I have no regrets about knowing when to admit that enough is enough. It’s critical to have a lifeline for events like this, and I was thankful for the rescue.

Live to ride another day, whenever that day may be. 

Scugog Circle 200k Permanent — Ride Report

This ride took place on 8 June 2021.

bright and early with sombre skies at the Rouge Hill GO Station

I tend to like starting my rides very early. Even for a 200km route I will book a 5am start. The roads are quiet, the sun is coming up, and often, but not always, the winds are weaker.

For this ride I knew I was going to have to deal with rain, but I also knew that it would be rather hot (a high of around 30°C), so I didn’t bother bringing any rain gear. I counted on being wet and warm. This turned out to be true. It rained heavily from about 6am to 8am as I rode between Markham and Leaskdale. It was quite enjoyable and refreshing, though on the downside I spent the rest of the day in wet shoes and shorts.

The wind was projected to be moderate, but constant, coming from the NW. That meant I could only count on a tale wind from Zephyr to Lindsay (roughly 50km). Most of the rest of the ride would be with a crosswind or headwind. The wind must have been fairly weak because I don’t remember it being a particular help or hindrance at any time.

I brought a half loaf of bread so that I could avoid making stops for food. It was heavy pumpernickel. I sprinkled it with coarse salt. It was crunchy. I learned this culinary delight from my travels in Russia. It was a hot day; I needed the sodium. COVID-19 restrictions were still in effect; I also needed simplicity. Black bread with salt in Lindsay and then again in Blackstock. I can’t confirm that I gained any performance benefits from the salty pumpernickel. All I can say is that I never felt hungry.

snappity snap
on the road to Lindsay is Corn Country. No passport required…

I saw two snapping turtles, the first at Pefferlaw River and the second on River Road on the south shore of Lake Scugog. I saw an Osprey as I passed a place called Osprey Farms

the blue camel. Every time I do Scugog Circle (and this was my 8th edition) I take a photo of this guy

The most memorable part of this ride was the struggle. I knew I could finish it, but I wasn’t sure how close I would get to the 13.5 hr cut-off. I am not really at my normal level of fitness. I did a fair amount of running in the winter, but then that stopped (basically because of depression) and I was sedentary for at least two months. I did a lot of reading, writing and drawing to cope, but physically I had become quite diminished. My legs were not very happy to be pushed into a 200km commitment. But I persevered and finished it in 11hours and 50minutes.

2020 Ontario Randonneurs O-12 Award by Ken Jobba

When I first read of the new “Ontario Randonneurs O-12 Award” in the 2020 Award Dinner Blog, I thought that it was a worthy challenge.  And set my mind to completing the O-12 with all rides in Ontario. 

I was not completely naive about this goal.  I had completed the Frosty 200 from Tillsonburg in January 2018, so I had some experience and confidence about completing mid-winter 200km rides. 

Fortunate for me, Timothy Ormond had requested a Permanent, The Gentle Start 200, for the end of January.  It would be great to have someone to ride with.  Unfortunately, Tim had to bail out at the last minute due to family priority, but, undaunted, I set out from Oakville in late January on the first of my O-12 rides.  It was below freezing, but the roads were dry.  Two memories stand out.  When I reached St. George, my toes were freezing cold even though I was wearing warm wool socks and neoprene booties.  I recalled reading about wrapping toes in aluminum foil to preserve some heat.  So when I stopped at a St. George sandwich shop, they obliged me with some aluminum foil which really did help.  And my second memory of this ride was stopping at The Trail Eatery for a delicious, sugar loaded, slice of pecan pie that got me to the finish. 

Tim and I got together to ride The Six Nations 200 Permanent in February.  It was very cold, and we had to battle a very strong wind riding west to St. George.  I had learned from my January experience about cold toes, so I had inserted some Toe Warmers in my cycling shoes.  They made all the difference.  And I had brought some extras with me that I was happy to give to Tim when his toes were going numb with cold.  Still a bone chilling trek until we made it to St. George.  We stopped into the re-named Tansley’s Coffee Emporium to get warmed up knowing that we would soon be turning around in Paris with the wind at our backs.  We actually felt reasonably warm with bright sunshine and no longer fighting the wind heading back to Oakville. Don’t know that I would have completed this ride without Tim. We finished with broad smiles.

Ken and Tim, still smiling at the end of a very cold 200k in February

COVID-19 reared its ugly head in March, and the OCA imposed ride restrictions.  I chose to ride the Grand River 200 as the route passed through Ancaster, where I live, on both the out bound and in bound legs.  With permanents, we have the latitude to start/end anywhere along the route.  So I started the ride in  Ancaster and stopped again at my home mid-ride for food and drink avoiding stops anywhere else.

COVID-19 precluded any sanctioned rides in April and May, but I wanted to continue my string of monthly 200’s.  In April I cycled 200km on my rollers.  But I didn’t think that really qualified, as the rollers offer little resistance – I averaged 40km/h.  Being hard headed, I did another 200km on my trainer. That was a worthy effort.   And in May, I rode an unsanctioned 200km ride from my home on a route that I have proposed, The Grimsby Circle 200.  The thing I remember about that ride was dense fog for about 30km in the early morning.

Finally in June, we could again resume sanctioned rides but with appropriate restrictions.   I cycled the Niagara Plateau 200 out of Brantford.  It’s a flat, out and back route to Port Colborne with no places to refuel on the route.  Otherwise a nice ride, save for the extended, drenching rain on the last half of the return leg. Still, finished a happy cyclist.

July was my favourite ride of the year.  And the hottest.  A scorcher.  Much Ado About Nothing out of London.  I had ridden this route a couple of times before with the Huron Chapter to take in a play at the Stratford Festival.  Good memories.  I carried a picnic lunch that I enjoyed at the park surrounding the Festival Theatre in Stratford.   Despite an early start, there was no avoiding the heat.  The heat max’d out at 39C on my bike computer.  Drank lots of fluids.  Kept the pedals turning.  And made it back to London before the late afternoon thunderstorms.

Ken in a July scorcher

By mid-year, I determined that I did not want to repeat any routes on my quest for the O-12.  August was Tour of the Valleys.  For September, I chose St. Thomas-Paris-St. Thomas except that I started in Paris which is closer to home.  I was almost completing a 200’s in under 8h’s, and set out with that objective in mind. Just kept rolling, except for the one and only flat I got on the way back to Paris.  No mind, still finished in just over 7-1/2h’s.  Best ever time.  Surprised myself.

Rode another sub-8h permanent in October – Frosty 200.  Normally starts in Tillsonburg but I began the ride in Port Dover which is closer to home.  Nice riding in Norfolk & Oxford Counties and along the roads that skirt the Lake Erie shoreline back to Port Dover. 

Only two left to go, but weather could start to become a real impediment to finishing.  No bother, I was determined now to get the O-12 one way or another.  Fortunate for some reasonable conditions for the Niagara Ramble in November.   On the morning of the December ride, Castle 200, I wondered if I ought to postpone.  There had been snow the previous day.  And very strong winds were forecast, but at least the temperatures would be above freezing for most of the ride. And I knew that weather was likely to get worse later in the month.  So I set off prepared for a long day in the saddle.  I encountered some snow, slush and icy roads on the escarpment above Grimsby.  Bike handling skills from trying out cyclocross in the last few years were put to use.  And those winds – sustained at 40km/h with gusts up to 70.  Felt like I was hardly moving at times going south to Port Colborne.  Blown from there to Fort Erie, but then virtually no respite from the energy-sapping wind until the last northbound leg down back to Grimsby.  Even got blown off the road once by a strong gust, but manage to stay upright.  Otherwise, just a tough slog but happy to endure with the end of the O-12 at hand.

Did it!  Set out to complete the O-12 with an All Ontario set of different routes.  Never had in mind that all but one ride would be solo, but that’s how it worked out with COVID-19 restrictions.  Keys to success: Determination.  Perseverance.  And most important, Love & Enjoyment of Cycling. Thanks to Randonneurs Ontario for setting this challenge.  Great motivation in the year of COVID19.

We don’t have any patches for the O-12, so here is a virtual one. (I used the moon to signify months) Congrats Ken!

Paris-Brest-Paris 2019, a Ride Report by Matthew McFarlane

Mes Amies!
Erin and I are in France! It’s been a wild adventure getting to this point. Everyone expects the ‘red-eye’ to Europe to be challenging, but add on
the stress of such a long bike ride and a transfer in Iceland and it’s a bit
When we arrived on the afternoon of the 16th, my bike didn’t show up. I was gutted. We waited around in the airport for a couple hours. Waiting, wishing, hoping. It didn’t come. Reports were filed and we got on the
train for the two hour trip to Les Essarts-Le-Roi bike-less for a cycling

We spent the rest of the night on the phone and email trying to find my
bike. Turns out there wasn’t even tracking on it. The airline and the
airports didn’t even know where it was. Not even which country it was
in. I finally got a hold of someone who told me they found my bike and it would be in Paris at 1300 in the 17th. I went to bed stressed, exhausted,
and a little relieved.

In the morning I was trying to confirm my bike was Paris bound to land at 1300, when I found out that it was still in Canada. It wouldn’t make it to Paris for another 28 hours (time change / flight schedules / etc) and Paris is still a 5 hr round trip train ride. More panic. By this time I had slept, eaten, and had been watered. I was feeling gutted, but was trying to find a solution.

Dick, the man who’s done PBP and who rented the house here in Les Essarts, took to social media and texting friends. There were requests made for available bikes, rental bikes, no-longer-riding-the-PBP bikes. A few little leads but nothing fantastic. One of the texts was a note that four years ago, four people had their bikes stolen from their hotel and they had gone to a local bike shop and bought bikes to be returned after the event.
With this information Erin and I headed to a nearby town with a bike shop.

I went in and started google-translating with the 22 year-old manning the repair stand. I tried to rent a bike. I showed him the text. Florian’s face wrinkled. We google-translated more.

He tried to explain that I could borrow the bike for a week and return it. No deposit. No payment. Just ride it and return it. I had no idea what to say.

He pulled a bike off the wall, asked if it would fit, and started setting it up for me. We were floored. My saddle and pedals went on. The derailleurs adjusted.

I ran around the store, buying cages and bottles and bags to carry my stuff. In an hour we were out the door. A Triban RC500. A full load of bikepacking bags and determination. I had a bike. A bike that fit! I was over the moon. So thankful for the people in that shop. So thankful for Florian.

I spent the evening packing and repacking the bike. I cut down to the minimum stuff needed to survive the next few days. It wasn’t that hard. I didn’t have most of my stuff. I had bought a raincoat. I had bought a helmet. I had my fingerless gloves. I had my knee warmers. I hoped that would be enough. Dick warned about low night time temperatures heading into Brest. I was determined.

I went for a test ride. Erin said I came back with the biggest smile on my face. I had a bike. I rode in France. The PBP was a possibility.

The next day I headed to Rambouillet for a tech inspection in the pouring rain. I needed to get my loaner bike through inspection. The bike was brand new, with brand new tires and brakes. I wasn’t worried about that. I had poor strap-on lights with a pocket full of extra batteries. This was my worry. The inspection man inspected the bike. He tested my brakes. Then he pointed to my lights. I turned them all on, trying to show they’d be bright enough for the event. Bright enough to ride 10 hours through the night. He looked at them and smiled. I had passed tech. More relief.

I had a few hours to ride back to the house, dry out, sleep, get changed, and then line up in Rambouillet at 1800.

I lay down for some rest that afternoon. For the first time since I landed in France I actually thought about the event. All my thoughts so far had been just trying to find a bike, just trying to ride. Getting through one obstacle then the next. It was now almost time to ride. Only 1200k to go.

The Ride
The ride is a big ride. The first time it was held was in 1891 and it’s been occurring ever since. It’s now run every four years from the outskirts of Paris all the way to Brest on the Atlantic ocean. It’s 1200km long. It has over 11000m of climbing- Everest is less then 9000m. And if that wasn’t enough. You’ve only got 90 hours to complete it. Just under 4 days.

The 2019 edition of the PBP had about 7000 entrants. You can enter for three different time limits. 90 hours for the touristes, 84 hours for the randonneurs, and 80 hours for the vedettes. Having no idea what it would take to ride 1200km or 11000m of elevation or both, I entered the 90h group. It is by far the largest group.

Carey and I rode slowly to the start. We had a 14k ride through a few little villages to get to the Chateau and the start of the ride. The sun was shining. It was now a beautiful day and the weather over the next few days looked to be fantastic.

When we got to the start line there were so many people. The crowds were huge. There were ordinary bicycles. There were tandems. I saw fixed gears and even a fat bike. Everyone was cheering. I had never been involved in anything like it. Carey and I lined up in the “I” group and just watched in amazement at all the people.

My first stop was Chateauneuf-en-Thymerais. This is a little town before the first control. The sun was setting, I was already getting hungry, and the procession of cyclists was flying through. On the edge of town was a little tent. A grandfather was cheering the riders on and slowly pouring water into everyone’s water bottles from 3L jugs hauled from the house by the grandchildren. Bon route! Bon courage! The town had a couple stands set up. I bought a jambon-fromage and an ice tea and munched at the side of the road watching the event. It was great. I ran into Carey again and we took off into the evening.

The sun set over rural france. We streamed through small village after small village and into the first control. Mortagne-au-Perche. There were hundreds of bikes with number plates on them. People going in every direction and the smell of grilled meat. I was hungry. I threw my bike aside and found a counter with a guy selling sandwiches. It was perfect.
Over the past 120k I was starting to deal with my riding position on the Triban. This was expected and mostly ignored. I knew the bike wasn’t going to fit just right and I took the time to drop the saddle a touch and rode off into that dark.

This was my first night shift. The first time I realized how bad my lights were. The first time I realized just how much I was in the dark. I rode along only see a small dim spot in front of me and glad for the moonlight over top of me. There was no traffic. It was quiet with just the hum of bikes passing bikes. It was great. and dark.

One of the things that started to stand out to me that first night was how much the French people love cycling. I’d be riding along at 2 – 3 – 4 in the morning and I’d come up on a family standing at the side of the rode cheering us on. I’d see couples with the trunk of their car open and a pot of coffee or a case of water. I’d see kids, grandparents, clubs, and whole villages out cheering us on. It was incredible. I hit Villaines-La-Juhel just before first light. Control card. Water. Food. I don’t even remember what I ate, but I ate. and lots. The sun was about to rise, and I found new energy. I had 240k to ride before my first sleep and I had the warm sunlight to get me through.

Fougeres, 306km. Lasagna. Melon. Banana. Of course a croissant. Tinteniac. 360km. A man was playing a clarinet. A woman playing an accordion. I bought some fruit for the afternoon.

Finally. Loudeac. 440km. A night and a day. 24 hours of cycling. I’m tired. I found a dormitory, paid 5E, and asked the man to wake me at 10. He wrote 2200 down on a little board and asked me to confirm the correct time. He smiled and left. The dorm had clear panels in the ceiling and I was warned four years ago that it was hot and bright, and I’d have trouble sleeping. I was out moments after I got my shoes off.

10pm. Ready for the night shift. My second night. I knew it was going to be dark again. My lights would plague my night. Just as I was rolling out of town I spotted and RV with a big Canada flag on the hood. It was the other Huron Chapter Randonneurs. They had just bedded down. I ate half a cold pizza with a big smile of my face. The perfect fuel for a night shift in rural France!

La Harmoye. A party set up in the middle of the night under the tower of another church. Saint Nicolas-Du-Pelem. 488km. Carhaix 521km. People sleeping everywhere. It’s hard to navigate the controls for the bodies. Last stop before the Atlantic!

After Carhaix I was getting drowsy. It was 5am and I still needed to descend to Brest. In the dark. At 4’C. I was wobbling all over the road. I remembered my space blanket and found a little spot in the grass. I set the timer on my phone for 12 minutes. I was asleep instantly.

I woke. confused. I checked my phone. My timer didn’t go off. I had no idea how long I had been sleeping at the top of that hill. I rolled my blanket up. Lashed it to the side of my saddle bag and descended, shivering, to Sizun. Sizun was beautiful. The sky had started to lighten, and the village was full of cyclists. I spotted a cafe that was open, found a wall to rest my bike, and tried to warm up with a chocolat-chaud and a croissant and an apple treat. The waitress had a big smile on her face and kept bringing me wonderful things to eat.  Merci, merci! I was almost in sight of the ocean. I had almost made it. I remember texting Erin. I was excited. Cold, but excited

I cycled on until I made it to the bridge at Brest. I couldn’t believe how emotional an arrival it was. I’m not, by nature, a terribly emotional person, but I was just floored at how far I had come and where I was standing.
Brest. 610km. It was 9 in the morning. I had the day in front of me. I was on my way home! Sizun. Second time in only a few hours. This time, two pieces of pizza, a macaron the size of a canadian donut, and some saucisson-sec for later. Carhaix. 693km. This time I notice the bunting hanging across the road celebrating the PBP.

I knew tonight was going to be long. I wanted to get as far as I could to maximize my daylight and minimize my lightless night-time riding. I found a nice warm field in the sun and had a 20 minute snooze. I tested my timer first. It was a wonderful cat-nap.

Loudeac. 783km. My knees were in a fair amount of pain by this time. I raised my seat a touch.
I found a couple of women at the side of the road. They were making crepes. Had coffee and water, and were cheering people on. Incredible hospitality.

I was shooting for Tinteniac. If I could sleep there, there was only 350km or so to go for the last day. I made it to Quedillac. There were lights on, and I saw a sign for food. I still had 25km to go to Tinteniac, but I was hungry. I go in. Ordered soup, bread, and who knows what else. Two dinners worth. That’s when I saw it. A sign for beds. I didn’t even know there was a dorm here. I asked the man if they had any beds left. They did. 4E later, I sunk into a six-inch block of foam to wake at 3am and the last day!

Tinteniac. 869km. Soup. Pork. Rice. Fruit. Coffee. Pie. A big smile on my face. My knees were feeling better after my sleep. Then I fell. Out of the blue. I wasn’t moving, I was in the bike lock-up area and all of a sudden I was on my side with my bike on top of me. Two guys ran over and helped pick both me and my bike up. I was fine. I had just landed on the grass. I had just lost my balance.

A family was trading coffee for postcards. Giving their address out on little pieces of paper.

Fougeres. 923km. Shortly after I ran into a guy I met my first time through Sizun. Pete and I rode together for a bit. We had started fifteen minutes apart, days ago. We had both realized that we were very close to breaking 80 hours. 80! We picked up speed.

At the side of the road a few families had got together and set up a stand with treats, coffee, water and fresh crepes. They were telling stories of previous PBPs and watching all the riders come through their little village.

We run into a man at the side of the road with a giant basket of plums. He had just picked them and was offering them to anyone who rode by. Merci monsieur!

Villaines-La-Juhel. 1012km. Picking up speed.

We pull into a man’s driveway. He has tables, chairs, and tents setup. My knees and ankles ache. I’m limping badly. He’s got some treats for us and gave me some drugs. I had never heard of it before, but Pete’s from the UK. They had that brand there. He said it they took it for headaches. I took the kind man’s medicine.

Shortly down the road I get a flat. I had some CO2 cartridges in my bag, but Pete had a pump. So I borrowed Pete’s pump and set to work in the early evening changing my flat. Before I knew it, I had an audience of five or six people and a dog. The one man kept helping me while the rest asked me about my ride, where I was from, how it was going. They invited me back to their place to use their floor pump instead of Pete’s little pump. Soon after, a man on a motorcycle and a woman with a camera show up and start taking pictures and notes. I wonder if my tube change made the local news?

Mortagne-Au-Perche 1097km. I’m hobbling now, and probably losing speed. I get my card signed, grabbed a sticky bun and headed back to the bike.

Dreux. 1174km.  I’ve got 50km to go, and the sun was setting. These last 50 were the longest of the ride. The last 50 are always the longest. Pete was sore and falling asleep. I was in so much pain, every pedal stroke hurt. I actually found riding reasonable fast with a fast cadence was the most comfortable, but it was a speed I wasn’t strong enough to maintain. We were riding around in the dark trying hard to find Rambouillet.

With the chateau in sight, the end came soon. We congratulated each other. I realized that I wasn’t able to ride the 14km back to the house – I was in too much pain. The trains had also stopped running. I started asking around for a cab, a taxi. The first man I asked said that he could call a taxi, but it wouldn’t come. I looked at him and asked if I should then ride back to Les Essarts, and he told me that he didn’t recommend it. I found four other older Frenchmen at the bike lockup area. I asked them for a taxi, and the one man stuck up his finger and told me to follow him. We met a big, smokey man in an alley. He didn’t speak a word of English. I asked if mon velo et moi could get a ride to Les Essart and he nodded. In minutes I had said goodbye to Pete, pulled the front wheel off my bike, and was speeding down the highway in the back of a van.

When I made it back to the house, Erin was waiting and helped me out of the van. I soon collapsed into the couch at the house. I had done it and I was exhausted.

Exhausted. Broken. Unable to walk. 1224km. 11008m of climbing. 23 437 calories burned. 79 hours spent. About 7 of those sleep. I was ready for a break.

Even now the thing that stands out in my head is the generosity, friendliness and hospitality of the French people and their love of cycling. I have never felt so welcome standing in a strange town dressed in lycra and smelling a bit off. The food, the cheers, the encouragement and the smiles. The high-fives from the kids, and the constant calls of Bon Route! Bon Courage!

I now know why people keep riding the PBP.

One of the fun parts of PBP is all the stories you hear. During the ride, after the ride, and years later when the stories get told over and over again. Some of them get shorter while some of them get longer!

One of my favourites I heard the day after the event was when a bunch of us got together for dinner.

Tiago was riding through the night when his light started wobbling. At first he didn’t think much of it. As he rode along it started getting worse. It wouldn’t stay focused and centered on the rode in front of him. He reached down and tried to straighten it. It kept wobbling. He tried again. Tried to straighten it. Tired to tweak it. Nothing. It just kept getting worse and worse. He was having a hard time seeing the road. All of a sudden it let go completely. His light shone straight down. There was a spot lighting up the road right underneath him and he couldn’t see anything in front of him. He caught up with a few other riders with bright lights and managed his way to the control and the bike shop to get his light fixed up.

They found the problem. He had lost a bolt out of this light mount. They dug through bins and searched the shelves. Finally it looked like they had found the bolt they needed. It threaded in, but it turned out to be too short. The girl that was working there suddenly had an idea. She said that she had that exact bolt in her knee. Her prosthetic knee had the bolt needed. Tiago couldn’t believe it. She was offering the bolt out of her knee to fix his headlight mount. He refused. He couldn’t take the bolt out of her knee. She said she had an extra. He refused again. They dug through the bins a few more times until they bodged the light mount back together.

A bolt out of her prosthetic knee. For the love of cycling.

There are countless other stories. Everyone has them. Carey crashed the day before the ride and broke both his wheel and his rib and still completed PBP in less then 89 hours. Incredible! If only I was half as strong.

My friend Pete was riding along and his knee kept getting bigger and bigger. The more he rode, the more swollen his knee got. He had stopped in a few clinics at the controls, and there was nothing they did that seemed to work. The pain kept getting worse as well. Sitting in one of the controls, this Japanese man came up to him and said “You don’t need French medicine, you need Japanese medicine.” Before Pete knew it, the man had pulled a metal can out of his pocket and was spraying something all over Pete’s knees. He didn’t even realize what was going on, and before he could say anything, the man had walked off. Shortly after, Pete looked down and realized he couldn’t feel his knees anymore, and the swelling was going down. Japanese medicine!

Lastly are the stories that involve hallucinations. It seemed that everyone had one, and they all seemed to be hilarious. One man had Gordon Lightfoot bring him in. Another saw the flags of the world along both sides of the road. Someone saw trees growing. One saw monkeys in the trees, on the bikes. Everywhere. I wasn’t so lucky to experience any of these, but I love to hear the stories.