Reuniting

Last year (2009) was my 20th high school reunion. I enjoyed it, and I kinda played a role in planning it. OK, no, I was more like the ring leader in planning it. I say that with some degree of surprise because for a lot of years I always said, “Everyone I care to see from high school I already see on a regular basis.” Over the last 20 years, my closest friends have been my three girlfriends from high school. We all went different directions in life, and we all have different passions, but we always still managed to find time to get together because whatever drew us together more than 20 years ago has managed to keep us coming back.

The girls including me (bottom left) 1989

Same girls 2005

I’ve been thinking a lot about reunions lately – and high school. When I was in the process of planning the reunion, I kept repeatedly putting out a call for old pictures. Only one person came through and only with a handful of photos. In the meantime I have about 6 photo albums filled with pictures I took through high school and in the years immediately after. I kept saying that I was going to upload them, I just didn’t have the motivation or energy to do it. I had my computer stolen in February and by the time I got a new one in the summer, I still hadn’t downloaded the printer driver to my printer-scanner.

That is, until this weekend. In the process of moving, those old photo albums came under my feet again, literally, and it was time to do it. My scanner is slow but I spent a good chunk of Sunday and Monday night periodically scanning a select few of these old photos and uploading them to that time-sucking bastion of social networking, Facebook.

The response amazed me. And four or five of the 10 or so individuals I tagged in those photos carried on an everlasting discussion about our high school lives. One photo has greater than 40 comments under it. Some of those comments are completely unrelated to the photo itself. Some of them are highly juvenile and inappropriate (I will admit to being the ring leader of that too – well, I can really only take partial credit, it is not hard to drag me down that road). But it was interesting to watch these four or five personalities, some of whom I haven’t had much contact with in the last 20 years, revert back to their 17 and 18 year old selves.

Yogi and Scoobie at Canada's Wonderland

People’s memories are funny. A couple of us couldn’t remember the story of Yogi and Scoobie being toted around on our high school band trip to Toronto. But one person did and that hole got filled. There were memories of flirting with Newfie girls, comments about fashion from 1989, thank-you’s for the laughs and the memories. I might remember something one way (e.g. the story of how my 18th surprise birthday party came about) while someone else remembers an entirely different angle.

Last night I typed a status related to this venture that said: “Kim is enjoying taking everyone on a walk (or run) down memory lane.” As an addendum to that status, I added (in part):

It is funny how I am watching these pictures turn everyone in them back into a high school kid if even for a few minutes. It is so easy to go back to that time in my head. I guess I enjoyed it and had a positive experience. I know not everyone did (and I certainly had my moments too). In my memories all these people still look exactly as they do in those photos. . . . . . If it wasn’t for facebook, I never would have had any contact with some of you again. Maybe I would have seen you around the city and maybe I wouldn’t even have recognized you while I was lost in my own world doing my day to day life. And I am thankful for fb (as time sucking as it can be) because it has been a positive reuniting.

And what resulted from this status was another discussion about how we were friends for life because we went to the same high school, phone numbers were dropped, party plans are being made. I noted that I had been watching my news thread and had seen several people I had tagged in these photos, friending each other. I asked one of the guys, in that same thread, why he didn’t go to our grad. He was a year behind us so he would have had to have been asked by a girl from our class. And what came was a confession and an apology to the person that did ask him and he had turned down.

That apology cued me into another memory of when, on that same Toronto band trip I mentioned earlier, I had needed to apologize to him for comments made behind his back under duress and teenage lack of judgement, which he had overheard. That situation is what comes to my mind every time I see his name pop up on my news feed. I wrote him a private message and told him the story. He had no real clear recollection of the event, yet for me, it is on my list of most horrifying things I did and wish I could take back. But I don’t even know if how I remember that scene is actually how it really happened or if it is just how my memory wanted it to have happened, magnified to epic proportions over time.

Part of the gang -- Toronto band trip 1989

You hear those stories, of people who have been bullied during high school and they muster up the courage and go to their high school reunions, terrified it will be the same, but they find that everyone has grown up and matured. So they walk away with renewed energy, perhaps glad to let go of the burden they’ve been carrying of that fear that deep inside they are still that gangly, ugly perhaps, mouthy, shy, social awkward – insert whatever adjective comes to mind – teenager they once were. And maybe we all go through that a little.

There are a few people on my facebook friend’s list that I was not really close to in high school. There are a few there that I probably never really talked to in high school at ALL, for whatever reason, social status maybe, fear of them because they dared to stray from conformity and be their true selves. I don’t know. Facebook has allowed me to watch their lives unfold as adults. I probably would not even have added these people as friends if it hadn’t been for that 20 year milestone. Why wouldn’t I have added them? Simple. I figured they wouldn’t be interested in me because I never talked to them. (Everyone has their own rules for what facebook is to be used for – but that is a whole other blog for me to write). But these are beautiful adults – smart, successful, talented, deep-thinking adults -- wish I had been able to see that when I was a teenager while I was self-centredly thinking about myself and worrying about being invited to the next party. (Most of my high school photos, by the way, are party pictures).

Me at my 18th Birthday Party April 1989

One of my facebook friends, and now real life friends who was not in my social circle messaged me in the midst of these photos appearing, stating how jealous he was that I had a good experience in high school. The photos proved it, he said. I guess I did. I’ve kept these photos for 20 years and they are not in a box or random envelopes but in contained photo albums with protective pages. I have about 40 scribblers of journaling from that time period (and several years following -- and that, by the way, explains my good memory for events -- sometimes I look things up) full of teenage obsessiveness and ranting and heartbreak. There was lots of heartbreak – so it wasn’t all good. And I’ve written two novels about teens, some of which were loosely, with A LOT of license to alter events so they turned out as I pleased, based on what my life was like as a teen. One is about the summer right after graduation and the other is about that infamous band trip to Toronto, because stuff happened on that band trip that probably bonded us all for life, at least a little bit and in different ways.

And as the last week proves, we’ve all held on to different memories and let others go.

WPC Class of 1989 High School Reunion, July 2009

Icebike 2010

From February 7, 2010

I’ll save you the suspense. I came in last. But they posted the results sometime late yesterday and two guys in my category DNF’d so you can say I at least beat them. I’m not sure what possessed me to want to do this race. Maybe it was the fact that I’ve been dying to ride my bike outside for several months and nothing was going to stop me. But I couldn’t just go out on my front street and ride. I needed RATIONALE to do it. A race is rationale. People such as myself who lack mountain bike handling skills and balance all wisely stayed home this morning and did more sane activities, like shoveling their overflowing driveways. (Speaking of which, mine is not done yet). It was -17. There was wind chill (-30). And there was lots of fresh powdery snow. Lots.


And then there was my always friendly taunting of Terri. I taunted her to the top of Mount Lemmon last week, surely I could taunt her into a snowy bike ride. I was on the fence about actually showing up to this race right until mid afternoon on Saturday when she said that regardless of having to be at choir practice at 1:00, that she’d be there. So in the process of unpacking yet more boxes in my basement came a period of reorganization when I dug my mountain bike out from behind my pile of future garage sale wares, checked the tires, not as flat as I expected, (and later that night, Stig told me not to pump them up. I would have more traction with them a little on the flatter side), and I knew at that point there was no turning back.

It was a rush in the morning because the Woodcock website said they would be taking sign-ins and registrations till 1100. I had to get my kids to my parents' so I drove by the forks, signed in with what cash I had in my wallet (the last dollar of the $25 fee included pennies and nickels and dimes), then dropped the kids off at Mom and Dad’s and then back to the forks. After I unloaded my bike I did a trial ride through the streets of the Forks to Johnston’s Terminal. I was slipping and sliding all over the place with no grip. This was NOT going to be good.

11:30: NO Terri. At about 20 minutes before the noon start time I start to head over to the race start. i only see one other girl and she is wearing a Team Manitoba cycling jacket. Great. I am wearing only my Tribalistic jacket and a base layer and my running room tights with cycling shorts underneath. I had forgotten my sunglasses but when I saw how the snow was blowing, I borrowed a fashion, rather than sporty, pair from my mother. It’ll do. I had made a last minute decision given the slipping and sliding conditions, NOT to clip in. Unfortunately, I also had not made the best decision in foot ware that morning so I was wearing my leather “fashion” boots. At least they are flats, but there is not much tread on the bottom to grip them to the bottom of my metal SPD pedals which are not much bigger than my watch. So I’m not looking like a pro. I don’t ride like one either.

11:55: STILL NO Terri. I’m already planning her early demise. Man I already cannot feel my fingers and toes.

11:59: Someone bumps the front wheel of my bike with their tire. Ah Terri…… OK. Here we go. We joke about dropping down to the one lap race. They do row call and my call of presence is less than enthusiastic. Terri laughs at me. They send off the Abominable 3 lap racers.

12:05: Race start. Three pedal strokes in and I already am cursing. My feet are slipping off my pedals at high cadences so I resort to grinding in a higher gear. I am missing my clips already because the race route has been groomed and this is much easier riding than the streets. I am lacking my power pull up on my pedals being unclipped. I can’t feel my fingers so shifting gears is hard. There is one gear that every time I set into it, my bike decides to have a mind of its own and shifts spontaneously. One kilometer in and I can no longer see Terri up ahead. My computer is functioning even in this cold. I’m doing about 12 km per hour.

Most of the race course is straight and well groomed. There is a couple of sharp turns, there is a section of grass on the slant of the river bank, there are stairs to go down and there is another big downhill that is like plowing through sand. I walk these. I don’t have a lot of grip in these boots for this but I made my choice to race like this. Most of the trail I ride. I can’t feel my hands and I am pretty convinced I am only going to be able to manage one lap. I am too cold. Then after running my bike up this big grassy section I suddenly realize that shifting has become easier. I can feel my fingers again. And I am feeling them more and more with each pedal stroke.

I am way behind and all the kids from the one lap race have passed me by now. Thankfully none of the 3 lappers have caught me yet. I hit a patch of pavement under the Provenchier Bridge and I look back at my back tire. It looks completely flat. I have a pump. The next thing I know I am back at the start of the lap. I get off and someone helps me pump my back tire. It really wasn’t as bad as I thought but I probably needed a break and I needed to clear my nose. My fingers are warm now. I no longer have an excuse to quit, I have to keep riding.

The second lap is better but my quads are burning. Probably half of the 3 lap field has passed me by the end of the 2nd lap. Terri is waiting for me at the end. (She was about 10 minutes ahead of me). It was one of those races where I cursed being there the whole time and then when it was over I was ready to go again. Maybe next year I should start winter commuting. Hmmmm? Now that I have a safer and shorter ride to work, that should be manageable.

You're really fast and pretty but a little cold and hard.... you'll do!

From January 25, 2010

So tonight I show up at the Monday night Tribalistic workout with my new bike. And before I am allowed to get on and ride, Michael, who was coaching for the evening as he does every Monday, lifts my bike and trainer into the center of the room and proceeds to begin pouring plastic wine glasses with Gatorade to everyone but me. I honestly had no clue what was going on. I was then adorned with an ivory coloured bow for my head and my bike with a black bow tie (after all, I did say, my bike was a He). He then whips out the Cyclist's Training Bible (really, that is the title) and proceeds to read the following:


I believe this is before the ceremony started. I had absolutely no idea what was going on here.

Dearly beloved,

We are gathered here to celebrate the union of a rider and her new bike. As we all know it is a relationship that we should not enter into lightly because the hours we spend in the saddle often exceeds the time we spend with some members of our family. We travel together with our bikes, we take them on vacation. Together we see miles and miles of beautiful scenery. Some of our highest and most exhilarating moments are experienced on bikes, and inversely, surely some of our lowest moments too.

Like in all good relationships, the more time you spend together, the closer you feel to one another. You grow with one another and you change together, perhaps growing more alike. Certainly the bike will grow more handsome and dignified in time as he gets scratched up and abraded with use. And hopefully the rider will morph into a steely cycling machine.

If you commit to a bike -- maintain it and respect it -- the bike will return your love and reward you with rich experiences. It's a sacred relationship that is worthy of exchanging vows, so,

Kim, Do you promise not to covet sexier time trial frames in transition?

Do you promise to maintain the bike, clean and oil its chain, keep his derailleur in tune and learn how he works so that you can do basic repairs as necessary?

Do you promise to not upgrade any of his stock parts in a bid to go faster, when instead more smart training would probably do the trick?

Will you endeavour to wear out the bike before you grow weary of his style and trade him in for a more fashionable and youthful model?

(Kim, naturally, says, "I do")

Bike, Do you promise to make Kim faster and more agile?

Will you forgive her when she rides you in the slush of Spring, the road grit that sprays up in the rain and the bleaching UV rays of a searing summer sun?

Will you cushion the bone jarring and teeth chattering vibrations of the road in Manitoba?

Do you promise not to be a searing pain in the neck, back and ass?

(On behalf of "bike", Krauss says, "I do.")

I pronounce you ride and rider. You may straddle the bike.

I then am asked to stomp on one of the plastic wine glasses (wrapped in an Ironman Canada plastic bag) for good luck.

I seriously think I am laughing harder retyping these vows that I did having them read to me. I can appreciate them more in retrospect while not feeling so stunned. I was the picture perfect blushing bride.

Michael reading from the Cyclist's Training Bible (Joe Friel, 4th edition). Naturally, the right bible for a bike wedding.



So that is it, I am officially married. To a bike. And thanks to Michael Krauss for the effort he obviously put into this ceremony. He seriously has too much time on his hands.





"I got married tonight, 15 guests present. The bride was adorned in orange seamed cycling shorts and technical shirt. the groom whore a lime green tux with silver accents, black bow tie, and ultegra cumberbun. The proceedings were conduced by Father Krauss of the Church of Tribalistic. Vows were spoken. A toast was given to this new relationship with a tasty red wine from the Gatorade vineyard, vintage 2010. Yes it is all true. I am hitched."



Oh and the bike rides beautifuly. Changes gears on a dime. The techy's ooohed and ahhhed over the ultegra. It is one fantastic ride. I am sure this will be a long satisfying relationship.

Life changes

Yeah I know. It's been a while.

I had a little blow up. Those who know me well know I have done this before. I coast along with a vague sense of disatisfaction and then I simultaneously change everything. In this case, I realized it was time to get out of my house. It was the house I bought with my husband and there were places in it I just couldn't go and sit and relax because they were places that I perceived still belonged to him. It was time for me to make my own space. 

So my fall, starting at around October 13th, looked like this:

End relationship with boyfriend. Look for house. Two weeks later, buy house. A week and a half later, get house on market for showing. Six days later sell house. Two weeks later, move. And all this took place while I was working full time and had picked up an extra course and while I was single parenting 57% of the time and while I was still exercising about 4 hours a week (a significant reduction).

Somewhere in the middle of all that I went out for a casual dinner with a friend who I'd met about a year and a half before at a triathlon. We had hit it off immediately at that first meeting and we ran into each other at various cycling and other sporting events throughout that period. He had become my occasional confident and a sure friend and I knew I adored him. So we had dinner and we had a long conversation and we enjoyed every second of each other. He advised that I stay away from men for a very long time. I said that was DEFINATELY the plan. He told me he was signing up for ironman again because he was giving up on looking for a relationship. I said that sounded like a very good idea. We parted with a hug ready to stick with our goals. He signed up for ironman the next morning. Two days later I was emailing him suggesting we reprise our dinner from several months before where he had made me mussels and wine. We set a date for two weeks later.

And I guess that is how it happens. She vows to stay away from men for a very long time, he signs up for ironman to stay away from women, and then we find each other. It was a pleasant and beautiful surprise.

So now the house is settled. The unpacking and decorating are done. The relationship is flourishing. Its time to write.

Heart Repair: Not so perfect after all

I spent a lot of time, as my marriage was coming apart, analyzing all the relationships that broke my heart from the time I was 15 through to, well, the present. I believe what I wrote about that is a 20-odd page document that won’t likely ever see the public eye. I never once considered at any point during this self-analysis that there may be boys/men’s hearts that I broke. After all, I was kind and relationship smart and always open and honest.


Yeah, right.

I never thought it was likely, that while guys were breaking my heart, maybe I was breaking theirs in return with my smart-mouthed uncensored ways.

I felt I had been hurt so many times buy young immature boys that snubbed me coldly on the rebound, who didn’t call, or couldn’t look me in the eye, or changed their minds, that I ceased to believe that guys could be hurt at all.

I’ve had recent cause to rethink my egocentric position on heartbreak. Sadly, many of the guys whose hearts I likely broke, I can barely remember their names.

Here is a brief tribute to all the hearts I’ve broken.

Kevin: this the first one I remember. I dated Kevin for a month when I was 16. He followed me home, stalker-like, from a Burger King baseball tournament. I was the first girl he dated and kissed. He said he loved me. I said it back. Just because. For me he was my rebound boy (ironically enough, from another Kevin). He sent me a rose one day and I felt nothing. I dumped him a couple days later.

Rob #1. (grade 10 about) he had a crush on me. I changed my mind.

Garth: I flirted with him mercilessly. And then proceeded to go on a ski trip and spend the whole time flirting with his friend. Male loyalty left me pretty lonely for the rest of that trip.

Stacey’s cousin: I can’t remember his name (Ryan?). He was a cute good looking country boy and he had a crush on me. I just wasn’t interested.

Jason: Around age 19. Jason was a mama’s boy who couldn’t go out anywhere without asking permission. I was the party girl who couldn’t stay at home long whose motto was, "I don't do homework on weekends." The day I met him, I found out that my ex-boyfriend had broke up with his girlfriend of about a year. That pretty much doomed me with Jason. Unfortunately, I think I dragged it out for about 3 or 4 months. I hated dumping people. I just hoped they would get the hint and stop calling. 

Ryan: He was a few years younger and super nice and fun and we talked a lot and I went to his cabin and slept in the same bed as him and he never made a move. And I just didn't look at him that way. He didn't exactly confess his feelings but we were at a social out in Killarney and I told him I didn't want to dance with him. He tried to drag me out anyway and I remember ripping my arms out of his hands and telling him to go away. He never really talked to me again after that. I see him once and a while now and he still acts like he doesn't know me. Maybe he doesn't.

Dave: he was a graphic artist and working for a living at 22. He bought me a 24 of beer prior to a social and he figured this would buy him my undivided time and attention for an entire evening. Instead I wandered and flirted with everyone else and drank his beer for weeks after. He was pretty pissed. Sorry Dave. Maybe that wasn’t a loss.

Rob #2. I was 21 he was 20. The guy was model. Girls swooned in his presence. He wanted me. I didn’t know why. I wasn’t ready and still cried over another one and I kept shoving him away. A classic case of approach and retreat. I didn’t like how he smelled. He didn’t smell bad, I just wasn’t drawn in by his natural smell.

Nurse boy: I’m disappointed I can’t remember his name. He was cute and nice and word got back to me that he was interested but I had my radar on someone else. Ooops. Picked the wrong one.

Brad: He was from Saskatchewan and I was from Manitoba and I met him at several lifeguard competitions over several years but we finally clicked in Canmore at a Canadian Championship. It was a pretty hot weekend. Enough said. We wrote letters back and forth for about 2 years without any committment. He told me he loved me and I told him that weekend we had wasn’t real. It was a fantasy. It would never work in real life and it would never work long distance. That was a loss. That was a dumb-ass loss. The next time I saw him, I was engaged to someone else.

The X: I loved him, I married him. He was my first long term, significant relationship. I had two kids with him and at the age of 35, after about 8 years of marriage, I left him (or more accurately, I made him leave) for many many complicated reasons, some of it because I was hurt too by what my marriage was never going to be. Two + years later and he is finally letting go of his anger.

My best friend: I cried on his shoulder about everything and he was so good to me, too good to me, and I fell in love in a desperate and needy way and I believe he loved me too in the only way he could at the time. But the timing was bad and the situation was disastrous and what resulted was a lot of hurt and anger. And while I recognize now that when he finally blew up at me he did it because he was hurting, I didn’t know it at the time. I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to. I didn’t understand.

The last: He loved me like I’ve never been loved before. He lay his heart on the table every day. We started to make plans for a future. He was ready enough for the both of us and he made most of those plans and I let him. I was barely paying attention to the progress, I was still hurting so badly from what came before. The relationship lasted a year but emotionally I only moved forward about a month in time. As he started to move stuff into my house, the same house I picked out with my X, I panicked. I wasn’t ready. I’m not ready. I wanted to love him the way he loved me so badly, I believed I did.

This is a long list. I’m shocked. I had no idea I could come up with this many names.

Time for me to be alone now. I’ve learnt my lesson.

I hope.

Riding Mountain MS Bike Tour: The 2009 Edition

There were a lot of things different about this year’s Riding Mountain MS Bike Tour. We lost some key team members. Mark moved to Qatar. Christine had a wedding. Michael dropped out days prior to leaving due to family commitments. Derek was absent with other obligations too. We gained Mike P. and his buddy Jim J. I went on this trip as the only female Red River Rebel Rider and all I can say is that the hills are still the same size and the ride is still the same challenge and we had dream weather.

Red River Rebel Riders:  Wayne, Jim, Mike, Yuri, Guy, Randy, Kim

I checked the forecast on Thursday prior to leaving and it called for days in the 20 degree range, sunny and with winds on Saturday blowing from the north (as we rode south) and blowing from the south on Sunday when we rode back north. How could this be possible?? But it was and it happened pretty close to prediction. Wind was a bit NW on Saturday and a bit SE on Sunday but it was still mostly from the rear and that was all that mattered. Summer had arrived, even in the North of Manitoba.

Saturday

Guy and I drove up in the RRC van and arrived in Dauphin around 7:30. Wayne, Jim J. and Mike arrived shortly after 9 PM and we all headed for carb loading (i.e. beer and pasta) at Boston Pizza. I got a room to myself and slept well. I was up before 7 a.m., dressed and ready to go and wandered over to Parkland Rec Centre to register. As I am walking into Parkland I see someone familiar at a table near registration. That looks like Gyula, I think… hmmm… can’t be. Then I take a few steps closer and I can see that it is Gyula, and Esther and Stig… Wow, Esther and Gyula came.. Awesome! Apparently Stig had talked them into it in the weeks before and Esther made some phone calls and got them in to a supposedly full event, last minute. It is amazing what a little tenacity and persuasiveness will get you into.

I kinda screwed up at the start of Saturday’s ride. The UPHILL ride. I can be pretty strong , but hills add a whole new twist. I went out too hard and did everything I said I wasn’t going to do. I had it in my head that I was going to try and stick with Stig and Jim P. (Michael’s regular ride partners). The only problem was that I couldn’t find them. The last I had seen them was when they went back to their hotel after registering and breakfast to change and get ready. As it came time for the start, the usual calisthenics and warm up routine was acted out in front of me on the stage on the street in front of Parkland Rec. I figured Stig and Jim would work their way to the front to be with the lead guys. I chatted as I waited with a guy named Andre that I had rode with at the end of the Muddy Water’s 100 mile ride. I guess he figured we would be around the same pace and I was a somewhat familiar face. The warm up ended, and still no sign of Stig and Jim.

You can just see me and Andre chatting here at the start. I think we were supposed to be warming up and I was exercising my right not to do aerobics.


So off the horn went.

I catch up to the lead pack. We turn out onto Dauphin’s main road and I am still with the lead pack. Our speed is about 32 km per hour. Manageable. Then someone jumps and the next thing I know we are doing 40. There is another girl in the group. Nice to see another girl in the lead group, she says to me. Well, we will see how long this lasts, I say. One thing I know for sure about myself as a rider and found out explicitly at Muddy Waters when I fell out of the lead pack at 17km is that starting out hard is deadly. But here I am in the lead pack with one other girl and about 8 guys and we are doing 40 and I’m hanging on… barely. We settle into a more reasonable pace again. About 34 km/hr. I’m chatting with some of the other riders. We’ve lost a couple already from the original 10 during the first jump in speed. Just as I am getting comfortable with the adjusted pace someone jumps again and they start to pull away. I think I have enough in me to follow still at this point but I know I won’t have it in me to do it a third time. And there would undoubtedly be a third. I find myself feeling irritated. This is BS. I don’t want to ride like this. There is 12 km of flat before the first hill and I don’t want to give it all before going into that first hill. And I don’t have the skills as a rider to keep playing these games. I need to pace.

I was told later that this is what they do. The strongest guys play mind games with the pack. They do it to shake off the weaker riders. They make you think they’ve settled into a pace and then make a jump in speed when you least expect it, trying to shake you off the back end. What an evil evil evil testosterone filled sport. What the hell have I got myself into? This is an effing charity ride, not the Tour de France. As I watch the pack ride off I think about getting out my camera and recording this moment for posterity. I don’t but it is still embedded in my mind. I look down at the computer – 4 km of riding done. I slow down mostly because I have no choice but also because I don’t want to ride alone. More reasonable riders are certainly behind me.

That girl in the lead pack, she stayed there the whole way. I found out later it was Netty, one of the girls that stopped on Hwy 10 when I flatted out near Clear Lake the Monday after the Triathlon. I didn’t recognize her. I certainly didn’t realize she was a girl-rider in a class of her own. I remember her saying that day that she didn’t even know how to change a tire. But man, is she incredible.

Jim P. rides up beside me about a km later. Where’s Stig? I ask. Oh back there, he says. Well let’s see if I can stick on Jim’s wheel. I’ve recovered from my hard start but not completely. I can see up ahead that there is at least one other rider that has fallen off the lead pack. It is one of the other guys I had talked to when I thought we had settled into a pace. He had also doubted he could stay with them the whole way. I hang onto the back of Jim’s wheel and it feels comfortable. This is promising. We pass the one other lone guy who fell off the lead pack. Well you hung on longer than I did, I say to him as we ride past. I don’t think he tagged onto us. Not recovered enough I guess. I hang onto Jim’s back wheel for about 8 km all the way up the first hill but at the top I need to recover. I ease off and he slowly pulls ahead. I think about calling out to him but I don’t want to hold him back so I let him go and I am on my own again.

Jim makes it to the top of the hill. This was after I was no longer behind him.

I stay on my own until about half way through the big 10km of uphill. It is harmless heavy breathing behind you, a voice says from behind me. I’m breathing heavy too, I say. In fact, I’m not just breathing heavy. I’m grunting. I’m too hot with arm warmers on and I want to get off my bike and walk. My speed is 11-12 km per hour. I’m in the lowest possible gear in existence on my bike and I wish I could go lower. I have no draft and these are the first riders I’ve seen in about 6 km. But I am not convinced that draft is relevant in this part of the ride. How much benefit would you be getting at 11-12 km/hr? I keep pushing forward. The voice behind me is Bruce. He is with another guy Paul who isn’t climbing as well and I think Bruce is quite a bit younger than Paul. It is hard to tell. The only thing I can focus on are my legs and my lungs.

I tell them I’m glad someone caught up to me. I tell them the story of how I got dropped from the lead pack. Yeah, young guys will do that, Bruce says. Especially if there are girls.

These weren’t young guys, I tell him. They were old guys.

Doesn’t matter, Bruce says. I tell him I think that is dumb. But there I go again: 38 years old and still naive about men.

Me, dead, at the peak of the mountain. Don't be fooled into thinking that is a smile.

I slog out the rest of the hill with them. Somewhere along the way the guy Jim and I passed earlier (the one who had fallen off the lead pack after me) passes me back again. I’m not feeling great. I want to stretch out my quads which requires I glide. It is hard to glide when you are on an uphill. I have a cramp in my right side from lord knows what. I have visions of having appendicitis and having to be airlifted to Dauphin. Good lord, please spare me Dauphin hospital. It is gas, I eventually presume. It doesn’t go away for the rest of the ride.

With “the hill” over, I need to slow down. Just as I start to fall back from Bruce and Paul, Stig rides by at a good speed with two other guys on his wheel and says hello. We’ve been riding for 32 km and have just passed Moon Lake. He passes Paul and Bruce and they tag on the back. I yell, See ya later Stig but it appears they are slowing down. I push to catch up, and I do. I catch them but just as I hit their draft they jump speed and I don’t have the energy to follow. I let them go. I am on my own again.

Stig looking pretty strong hitting the top of the mountain. That's Pat behind him who I rode with at the end of Day 2.

One more guy catches up to me. Another Paul. I latch onto his wheel and ride there comfortably for about 5 km until we hit a hill. I find I am waaaaaay stronger than this Paul on the uphills. I ride beside him for a bit and notice we are both in the same gear. The lowest gear on the big ring. He’s grinding it out and breathing heavy and I am spinning and talking easily. His bike is 13 years old, he tells me. A relic. This Paul and I are not very well matched riders. I leave him in the dust on the uphills and he zooms past me on the downhill. We hit a bigger downhill that pulls him further ahead and I can’t keep up, but I can always see Paul up ahead. We reach the section 23 km out of clear lake where you ride up continuously for 3 km. More climbing. I catch Paul easily. I thought I’d catch you here, I say. He says he’s been waiting for me.

I don’t think this Paul much liked getting his butt kicked on the uphills by a girl. I don’t really get a good look at Paul until after the ride is over. He is late 40s in age, grey hair, very attractive actually. It all starts to make sense. We rode “together” for about 35 km but never really helped each other out. But I have a feeling he didn’t really know riding. After he took off on me on the downhill on that one big section and I finally caught him again, I didn’t bother easing up any longer to stay with him on the uphill. I would leave him behind and then he would promptly giv-‘er as we hit a downhill or flat and be sure to catch up and pass. And so it went for the final 20km. He was burning himself out making sure I knew that he wasn’t as weak as his uphill riding suggested. I tell him at the end that it was all bike. If he had a lighter bike with a modern gear ratio he would have smoked my ass.

Paul and I came in, by my mental calculation, around the 13th and 14th riders. I’m giving myself 13th spot as he fatigued on the last uphill, and I pulled him in on the last 2 km. Then it was time for the massage. They told me when I walked into Danceland in Clear Lake that I was the second woman (which I knew). The massage therapists had a hay day with my tight legs (they were students). I think they gave me far longer than my allotted 10 minutes. I could barely straighten up as my side hurt so bad. But it did eventually dissipate. I had chili and fruit and veggies and chatted with Stig and Jim. Total distance: 68.89 km. My total time was 2:25 (and change). Jim was about 2:17 and Stig about 2:20. Those guys were easily 20 minutes ahead of me the year before. My average speed was 28.3 km/hr. Not bad. I think I could have been closer to 30km per hour on average if I had felt like I had any legs. What do I blame this on? My 200 km two weeks ago? My cramp in my side? Esther arrived back while I was still on the massage table. She was kicking butt too and must have been 3rd woman in.

Sunday

I tried not to over drink on Saturday night. I really did. Can’t say I was all that successful, I was having too much of a good time. I will let the photo’s tell the story. Enough said.

Esther, Gyula, Stig, Kim, Bonnie, Jim: On the peer at the lake

Fortunately, I did not feel all that bad Sunday morning. I had discovered I had a flat when I returned to my cabin to sleep. I get up early to fix it, discover I have the wrong tube size for my bike, “borrow” one from Wayne, break the valve and it starts hissing air slowly almost as soon as I finish pumping. I think I get it fixed but wait, on edge, for an hour and decide that the tire is not holding air. I take my bike to the repair guys and get a new tube and buy myself a little confidence for my ride.

I chat with Paul on the gravel road behind Danceland. He recognizes me (or my bike) not the other way around. This isn’t the Paul I rode most of the way with the day before who leap-frogged with me on the hills, but the first Paul, the one who rode with Bruce. He is 50ish in age, glasses, bald, over 6 feet tall. Massive legs. He says Bruce really worked him hard. He hopes to do the return ride in less than 2 hours. Me too, I say, except I don’t have high hopes of that. I rode 200km only two weeks ago and I haven’t felt strong since. I am just going to take this ride as it comes.

I think I might tag onto Stig’s wheel and see if I can hang on – five minutes behind isn’t all that much over 70km. I hoped Esther would hang on to me. I don’t want to ride alone. That was boring. I want company. Things, of course, don’t go as planned. I have a conversation with speedy Netty and remind her that we’ve met before. I’m taking a couple pictures at the start. I take what turns out to be a lovely picture of Esther and Gyula and I take my last picture of Stig and Jim. Stig whistles at me and tells me to put the camera away, were going. And there goes the horn and I am barely ready. As I am putting my camera away and getting my foot in my pedal a couple of riders who never should have started as far in front as they did, block my way. Stig and Jim are too far ahead to catch and off with the lead group. After yesterday’s experience, I have no interest in starting with the lead group. Maybe next year.

I follow Gyula out instead. I hope Esther is behind me but I see quickly that she isn’t. Gyula and I are basically alone. He’s breathing pretty heavy. A group of three guys pass us. I am in front of Gyula as I grab onto the last guy’s back wheel as he goes past. These guys know what they are doing. They have a smooth pace line going. This could be a good ride if the five of us stay together. Two of the guys are wearing FOG vests. At least I think they are FOG vests. I can only see their backs. As we move through the pace line, I end up second from the lead. We approach what I know is the biggest and longest uphill on the whole trip back to Dauphin and it is at the 5 km mark. Just as we approach the hill, the lead guy drops off. Thanks, I say to him. There is more than a touch of sarcasm in my tone. They’re going to let the chick pull up the hill, yeah right. So I drop my gears into my low ring, place my hands on my drops and I climb. I keep climbing and I keep waiting for one of these guys to be unhappy with my speed and overtake me. It’s not happening. My speed drops to about 19 km per hour. Oh yeah, here we go. Those boys aren’t going to let me lead much longer.

Then the next thing I know the road flattens out. I keep pedaling. I haven’t climbed at a killer pace. I’ve kept it comfortable. I take a quick glance behind me. There is ONE guy there. What the hell! And it’s not the FOG guys. It’s Paul. Not leap-frogging Paul but the first Paul, the one I had a conversation with on the gravel road before we started. I signal I want to drop back, he takes over the lead and it was like that for the rest of the ride; Paul and I together trading off. We are well matched. I couldn’t stay with him the day before but today I feel strong. There are no games and no showing off with him. There is one lone rider that fell off the lead group. He never gets further ahead and we never seem to get closer. I say to Paul that if that guy is smart he will slow up and work with us, he’s going the same pace and doing it all himself. We’ll catch him eventually, Paul says.

Two guys individually catch up and pass us. I would have let them go but Paul kicks it up both times to catch up and somehow I manage to stay with him. I am feeling strong. The first guy catches us at about 20 kms out, right before the road split and the 3 km downhill. We eventually drop him shortly after the end of the downhill. He at least chatted a little. The second guy, Brian, catches us not long after. He is with us for about 20km. I don’t think he said a word to us. We drop him too on one of the bigger uphills. Brian eventually catches us again and passes us on the big downhill. I believe he stays ahead and finishes ahead. He is a big guy and he takes his downhills well.

We catch the lone wolf guy at the 45 km mark. And if you know highway 10 you know this is right before the 10 km stretch of downhill, where, in reverse, 11-12 km per hour turns into 68. At least for me. (Jim got 74. Stig got 70ish.) I am sure that Paul and Pat (the lone wolf), hit higher than me as they were ahead of me on the downhill. I don’t know how to go faster than that. I’m tucking as best I can and I’m out of gears so no point in pedaling. I did hear someone else say he rode with 3 people and they all showed varying max speeds even though they were together the whole way down.

This is me and Paul, not on Day 2 but on Day 1 for that brief time I rode with him. The damn photographer was sitting right at the top of the steep hill so we all look trashed in those photos

The descent works in two phases. There is a stretch of downhill right immediately after the second worst uphill of the return trip, then it flattens out for about a km and then proceeds to descend again. The organizers have an RCMP car sit at the start of the second descent this year. We had been told this would happen to “slow us down.” The pavement has sagged and deteriorated greatly and they want us to be safe. So we see the RCMP, wave, and go. I keep watching for the broken pavement. Paul and Pat put on the breaks at one point up ahead of me and I follow suit thinking we are at the collapsing road, but it isn’t there yet. That RCMP officer sat in the wrong spot. He should have sat right at the crack. He was really about a km in front of it. Ah, there it is. I felt the drop in the pavement before I saw it as I flew through the rough section at probably close to 60 km per hour. Slow us down?.. Yeah Right. That worked.

And then when the big descent flattens out, there is the last hill out of the park and it is flat all the way back into Dauphin. Or, more accurately it is deceivingly flat, Paul claims it is on a slight descent. I glance at my watch and see that if we get back in 22 minutes we will crack the 2 hour mark. We have 13 km to go. I always base my calculations on averaging 30 km per hour. It is an easy calculation because at 30km per hour you do one km in 2 minutes. You double your distance to get your time. We needed 26 minutes at that pace. We would be back at 2:04. But as I keep pedaling, I notice we aren’t going 30 km per hour. We are going more like 37-40. Paul lets Pat pull us for a while but Pat is fatiguing. Paul takes over for a while and then it is my turn. I am a little slower and there is a bit of a side wind. I am going 35-37 km per hour. I signal for Paul to take over again. This is the final pull. Let’s take her home, he says. I am thankful for him doing that.

This is me an my broken bike... the tire was getting fixed

We ride into Parkland Rec Centre. I almost wipe out, I can’t get my foot unclipped. We compare times on our computers. Pat had fallen back on Paul’s last big pull. He was about 30 seconds behind. I see Pat now, he’s 30ish with what I would call rock and roll facial hair. Probably younger than me. Did we do it? Did we break 2 hours? I ask. We must have done it, I say. My computer says 1:56. But I had forgot to set it at the start. In the mess of getting my camera put away and getting off quickly I forgot to clear myself from the day before and we were out of Wasagaming and on the highway before I did. I figure I was only 2 minutes into the ride when I finally reset it (my watch said 9:02 at the time of reset – I remember that), but I didn’t know for sure. I didn’t know how my watch compared to the starter’s watch. The time on my watch said 10:58 when we arrived. Pat said we were 2 hours even. Paul had 2:00:56. So I will just say we got back at 2 hours even, seconds from our sub two hour goal. Average overall speed: 34 km per hour. Paul gives me a hug and thanks me for the great ride. It was a great ride and I had a great riding partner. I was 12th rider back. I’ll give Paul the 11th spot. He earned it.

So I hit the massage tables. Stig and Jim are already back and getting their massage. I am not on the table more than a couple minutes when Esther gets back and bonks me on the head. Yay Esther! I have a conversation with Netty how we need to make Rhonda (another triathlete) come out to this next year. My massage gets cut short because the riders start coming back in droves so I get exactly my 10 minutes. Stig asks what happened to me at the start. I got blocked, I tell him. We all go for showers. Have lunch and then home.

There is nothing negative to say about the weekend. It was perfect. I said to Wayne, Guy, Jim, and Mike night before the first day that I wanted to find something more challenging (and longer) next year but I don’t know, now, how I could miss out. This is just simply too much fun!

Riding Mountain MS Bike Tour

Hi Everyone,




Many of you know that in one week (September 12 and 13) I am participating in the Riding Mountain version of the MS Bike Tour. This ride involves about 140 km of hilly riding from Dauphin to Clear Lake and then back again over the two days. This is my second year pariticipating in the event for a team based out of Red River College known as the Red River Rebel Riders.

I know people living with Multiple Sclerosis and I have, as a nurse, witnessed its devistating long term effects up close. This is a disease in which its cause is virtually unknown and a cure is unavailable.

Last year I was able to raise over $1100 towards this cause entirely through the generosity of my friends and family. I hope to equal or better this total this year. Those of you who know me well, know that sending an email asking for money is a far harder hurdle for me to overcome than riding 140km over two days. Therefore I try and keep this request as low pressure as possible.

If you can help out in anyway, I appreciate your donation. Donating through credit card online through the link provided below, is the most efficient route but if that is not a desirable option for you I can take cash or checks in person. Just email or call (955-9744) and I will arrange a pick up.

Please check out my personal page for more information on how to contribute.

https://msofs.mssociety.ca/2009Bike/Sponsor.aspx?&PID=1084108&L=2

Thank you in advance for your generosity,
Kim

For anyone interested.... below is the write up I did of last years event and adventures, complete with photos. Happy reading.

Greetings!

It was an amazing weekend. Thank you to everyone who gave your support. As of this date I managed to raise a total of $1065 for MS. My team involving 9 “Red River Riders” raised a little over $8000. And those totals are still climbing as there are still two more weeks of pledges being accepted. A sincere thanks to you all for being a part of that. Many of you went above and beyond the call of duty and in the last couple weeks or so I have been surprised and overwhelmed by the response I’ve gotten by my request for pledges. I tried to be as low pressure as I could in my fundraising efforts. You are all AMAZING.

If you are interested, here is a little bit about the ride. WARNING I am pretty verbose in writing, as most of you know, so read when you have time . . . .




We left Friday afternoon at about 2:30 PM. Christine and I rode up with Guy (one of our teammates) to Dauphin. I had never met Guy before and he was great company on the ride up. This was Guy’s 5th MS bike tour so he was a veteran with lots of tips.

I was anxious about the ride. I wasn’t anxious so much about my ability to finish it but I seem to get like this before these kinds of events, so I didn’t sleep well the night before – I laid awake until I saw 2 AM and woke up at 5:00. I think I may have got 2.5 hours sleep, if that – quality of sleep – non-existent. In the morning we got to the Parkland Rec Center at about 7:30, got some breakfast and filled bike tires with air, Coffee to perk me up.

The ride started at 0900 and I had a conservative plan for the day. I estimated that I would take 3 hours to do the ride. This was the goal I had in my head when I started out. I also planned on at least one rest stop along the way. I’ve never ridden that far without stopping before. I really had no idea what I was capable of. My girlfriend Christine got off peddling before I did. I had trouble getting my feet in my pedals. I caught up to her and went ahead thinking she was right behind me but by the time I got to the highway I had lost her. There was another team of riders (Quads of Rock) that we had been hanging out with, people who were friends of Michael’s (one of our other teammates). So the next person I saw was Bonnie from this team. I thought I might stay with her but my adrenaline was picking up so I set my sites on Mark Walc (another teammate and team captain) and Jen (from Quads of Rock). I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to stick with them because Mark has done this ride and rides of similar nature for 14 years running (Riding Mountain about 8 times) and Jen was a more experienced cyclist than I too. I had to push it to catch up to them and I was panting pretty hard for the first 12 kms which was essentially flat until the entrance to Riding Mountain National Park. Somewhere around that point I started dropping back a bit but caught them again on the first hill and stuck to them after that.

The thing you have to understand about cyclists at an event such as this one (in particular, elite ones) is that they can be a little ruthless if you can’t keep up. No mercy. You will get left behind. As you enter Riding Mountain National Park the road starts into this tremendous incline that lasts about 10 kms. Somewhere on one of the longest and steepest hills I was switching into my lower gears and my chain fell off my bike. Jen narrowly escaped crashing into me. But she and Mark carried on and I had to get off and manually fix my chain. It took me a couple minutes to get it fixed and after about 6 cyclists went passed me without stopping, one finally stopped and helped me get going. To give you an idea of how well organized this event is. There was a truck with a radio that pulled up beside me and was calling for bike support within seconds of me getting off my bike. The route is that well monitored. Why did my chain fall off? No idea. It is just one of those fluky things that happens. Gear adjustment usually fixes the problem but until I got into Clear Lake I was on my own.
I really think that the two or so minute stop I had helped me out because I felt like I had been working hard prior to stopping and suddenly I had new legs. I figured Mark and Jen were long gone. But with my new legs I started passing people. I passed all the guys that didn’t stop to help me with my chain (as well as the guy who did). And I did this on my own with no drafting. The trick to long rides like these is riding in a group and drafting each other. It was a light wind day and perhaps a tailwind as well so wind was not a huge factor but it is still easier to ride by drafting. Everyone takes turns leading and taking the brunt of the “draft”. I’m not a very experienced cyclist, I’ve done 80% of my cycling this summer alone. They have hand signals and routines that I’m just starting to catch onto. I am a little nervous riding less than a foot off someone’s back tire (what do you do if someone has to stop suddenly as I did when my chain fell off and Jen almost crashed?) But that’s what you do when you draft. I’m learning.

After the chain incident and after I starting passing all the guys who didn’t stop (in all fairness, we were on the biggest hill, it was HARD to stop because getting started on an incline requires some power), I thought – I’m going to try and catch Mark and Jen. I wasn’t sure it was possible. I had already dropped back from them and had to catch up once. They are strong riders. After about 5 km I could see them up ahead and after another 5 kms I was back with them again. The adrenaline rush I got from catching up to them alone probably explains what happened next. I had worked pretty hard to catch up and 90% of that work was done on an uphill. Mark said they had slowed down a bit (“but not specifically for you” – LOL). Mark said I might be strong enough to go on ahead but at that point I was ready for a break so I stuck with them for another 10 km or so. Then we hit the 3 km of incline which is 23-24 km out of Clear Lake and I was going strong. A couple other guys had caught us by that point so we were a group of five. Somewhere in the 3rd km of incline I could feel riders on my tail but I looked back and couldn’t see Mark or Jen anywhere. I didn’t deliberately “drop” them, I was so focused on climbing I didn’t notice they were gone. Mark said later that Jen was struggling and so he slowed down and stayed with her.

I rode in the last 20 or so km with two guys, Walter and Anko, who were strong cyclists. Walter apparently owns Lifesport and was a Junior national cycling team member in his youth (I would estimate he was in his 50s). He said he had broke his back a couple years ago and he did these rides “for leisure”. I think he saw his main focus as latching on to strong but inexperienced riders and helping them learn how to ride better and smarter in the conditions. So he took Anko (also in his 50s) and I to the finish and taught us stuff along the way. Walter would let me lead on the hills and almost always be passing me at three quarters of the way up. He had the largest calves I have ever seen -- Anko called him “big guy” – he was powerful for sure. (This is how you recognize people because the pavement is so crappy on highway 10 that taking your eyes off the road could be damaging – you don’t ever really see people’s faces, but you see bikes, shirts, and body parts. If I saw Walter and Anko on the street tomorrow I wouldn’t know who they were).

Me and Walter on the Saturday


Final time: 2:32 approximately. That takes into account the short stop. Derek and Michael from our team and Stig and Jim from Quads of Rock did the distance in 2:09 (Derek blew a tire along the way actually so he was a bit behind). I smashed my predicted time by almost a half an hour. I was on a high for the rest of the weekend. Christine came in at an amazing 3 hours. She did awesome, given that my bike gave her some gear trouble and she had to stop to get it fixed. We all missed the rain, thank goodness. I discovered there are benefits to arriving in the first group of 20-25 riders. No waiting for the massage table. It was awesome!

Most of the Red River Riders on Saturday Night in Clear Lake.... after a few drinks... and yes, there is a story behind why I am standing like that but it is not to be told publicly in print.

Saturday night was dinner and a reception and a bit too much wine (I contributed a bottle of “Red Bicyclette” -- pretty apropos and decent tasting too. Try it out.) and several funny moments and good conversations. Christine and I actually crashed pretty early (by about 11). I hadn’t slept much the night before. I couldn’t even nap after the ride I was so wired and caffeinated as well. I did sleep Saturday night but woke up at about 2 and didn’t get back to sleep for another couple hours. Still it was more sleep than the night before.

More Red River Riders Photo session... I have no idea what is going on here....


Sunday was cold and continuously threatening rain. We were taking team photos and I was shaking throughout. I took my bike to “bike support” and had them adjust my gears – I didn’t want my chain falling off again. I decided to start off with Jen and Mark this time. I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle two days of heavy riding but I intended to “go hard” – as Michael kept saying to the boys the night before: What’s the plan guys? -- GO HARD. And there was the too-much-alcohol issue to contend with as well. Nothing that a bottle of water and a couple of Tylenol couldn’t fix. The problem was I had to pee something awful through the whole ride. It took about 10km for me to be able to ignore my bladder calling to me.

Red River Riders Team 2008 -- cold and shaking on Sunday morning in Clear Lake

Me and Mark



Mark and Jen and I pushed to get through the sea of riders who started ahead of us. When we hit the first hill I looked back and discovered that Jen was no longer with us. I couldn’t see her. In the end she ended up not riding – she pulled something in her glute and wisely stopped around 15 km before she made the injury worse in the cold. Later, I could tell she was pretty disappointed and ticked off. I would have felt the same. Mark and I pulled off ahead and pretty soon there were 6 of us riding in a group. Met up with Anko and Walter again as well as another guy named Michael (not RRC Michael) and Max who was riding a gorgeous looking Cervelo. (In case you’re wondering. And if you’ve managed to read this far, you might be . . . . (LOL). There is no big game of intros and handshakes on the road – we were all wearing name tags on the back of our bikes).

My riding group for most of Sunday until the end.



It was cold and the wind was wicked on the Sunday and picked up as the ride got closer to Dauphin. I led up one of the big hills and it just about did me in. I didn’t do much leading after that. I found myself struggling to keep my knees in as my quads were tired from the day before. It is bad to cycle bull-legged. Puts a lot of strain on your groin muscles. I still managed to keep up with these guys but at moments I barely kept up. Whenever I tried to lead in the wind, the speed dropped to about 24 km/hr. The guys never let me lead for long. Mark was super strong. I think he had been taking it easy the day before. I suggested later that he probably hadn’t drank as much as me. He said that was arguable. There were moments on Sunday that he deliberately slowed down to wait to for me. Those guys, Mark especially, kept me going on Sunday. I owe them.

The rumour is that this ride is mostly uphill on day 1 and mostly downhill on day 2. Well in reality that is far from the truth. There is a fabulous section of 10 km pretty much straight downhill but there is a lot of climbing to get to that. We lost Michael and Walter somewhere before the downhill. Michael’s chain fell off and he dropped off and when Walter discovered he was gone about 4 km later, he turned around to help pull him up. To give you an idea of how strong Walter really is. He passed me again before the end of the ride. He had done a similar back-track thing the day before on the big hill for someone else.


That downhill was fabulous. I wanted to turn around and do it again and on any other day, I might have. I just couldn’t have handled that uphill again that day (mind-you it would have been with a decent tail wind). Mark knew it was coming and he pumped his way into it. Anko was not far behind. Max and I were further back. Right before we headed into the downhill I hit a patch of uneven ash fault (there were many, as well as many huge water-filled pot holes), and the next time I looked down, my sensor wasn’t reading on my computer. I was getting weird mileage readings. At the worst possible moment I had no idea how fast I was going. Max was beside me most of the way. He said his max speed was about 59 km per hour. Without the wind and in better conditions others have done in the 80 km per hour range. Two years ago, Michael (RRC Michael) did 80 with a broken spoke. Mark hit 85 the same year. This year was not the year for speed.

Then you are down one last tiny hill and it is all flat into Dauphin. That would have been great any other day but against hefty winds on the open prairie, it was awful. I plopped down on my aerobars and tried to keep up with the guys but in that position other more sensitive body parts hurt more so I came back up and eventually I couldn’t keep up. There was no waiting for me this time. With about 8 km to go they dropped me. I did the last bit into the wind by myself. Everyone wanted to get home and be done. I could barely walk when I got in. Mark said we were even since I dropped him the day before. Not really true, he allowed himself to be dropped. If Mark rode more long rides to prepare (and perhaps had a better bike) he could have been keeping up with the fast guys of our group.

Time: about 2:27 (I’m guessing – My computer had ceased to function and was inaccurate). The fast guys were 2:04. We all only shaved about 5 minutes off our time from Saturday even with all that downhill. That’s how strong the wind was. Then it was time for bathroom, massage, shower, food, home. I was wiped out. It was an awesome and rewarding weekend. I met some really cool people. I had a great time. I’ll be back again next year.

Thanks for your attention. Thanks for your support. I couldn’t have done it without all your encouragement. Thanks for reading. Thanks to my awesome teammates and friends.