Italian Fair Crit

It was Fathers day, so I got buttermilk pancakes for breakfast and my choice of activities. Our afternoon brought us to little Italy for the Preston St. Criterium. We sat at the Heart and Crown, drank beers and watched the races.

The winning break of five guys worked together and dominated the field, leaving the race favorites scrambling 20 seconds back. However, my pancakes earlier won the day.

Italian Fair Crit

It was Fathers day, so I got buttermilk pancakes for breakfast and my choice of activities. Our afternoon brought us to little Italy for the Preston St. Criterium. We sat at the Heart and Crown, drank beers and watched the races.

The winning break of five guys worked together and dominated the field, leaving the race favorites scrambling 20 seconds back. However, my pancakes earlier won the day.

Marathon

 I used to show up to races and feel like there was something I should have been doing/thinking/knowing/being. That everyone else was in on some secret handshake or club membership that I was not aware of. This feeling of being an impostor goes with the territory though. After spending most of my young life rock climbing full time, and then moving to Ottawa and switching over to back-of-the-pack clydesdale in my 30's, probably explains it. I never learned the secret handshake. 

But now I've got this bike race thing down. The most gratifying part is that I can keep my head clear and know how to adjust the throttle. When I woke up from my tent, I sat with my coffee. No nerves. Today was going to be a good day.

Early on in the Ganaraska Marathon, a single speed guy in front of me slowed down and sat up. Then I did as well. We entered a pine forest unusual for these parts---open, clear of obstruction, with rays of light coming through the tree tops. The jungle had given way to dry brown earth.

Another single speed rider whom I was trying to pace during the first part of the course noted the two-stroke motos nearby. We both agreed that two-strokes actually have a nice smell, as long as you're not too close.

The denoument of the ride was the long loose gravel climb at 60 km. Before I had to hike, but I hammered it this time, cresting the steep section going anaerobic, just backing off enough to reel in the remaining bit of the climb, and then grab the narrows of my bars and tuck for the descent.

Marathon

 I used to show up to races and feel like there was something I should have been doing/thinking/knowing/being. That everyone else was in on some secret handshake or club membership that I was not aware of. This feeling of being an impostor goes with the territory though. After spending most of my young life rock climbing full time, and then moving to Ottawa and switching over to back-of-the-pack clydesdale in my 30's, probably explains it. I never learned the secret handshake. 

But now I've got this bike race thing down. The most gratifying part is that I can keep my head clear and know how to adjust the throttle. When I woke up from my tent, I sat with my coffee. No nerves. Today was going to be a good day.

Early on in the Ganaraska Marathon, a single speed guy in front of me slowed down and sat up. Then I did as well. We entered a pine forest unusual for these parts---open, clear of obstruction, with rays of light coming through the tree tops. The jungle had given way to dry brown earth.

Another single speed rider whom I was trying to pace during the first part of the course noted the two-stroke motos nearby. We both agreed that two-strokes actually have a nice smell, as long as you're not too close.

The denoument of the ride was the long loose gravel climb at 60 km. Before I had to hike, but I hammered it this time, cresting the steep section going anaerobic, just backing off enough to reel in the remaining bit of the climb, and then grab the narrows of my bars and tuck for the descent.

The Rhetoric of Flowers

These flowers are for someone special.

I am not hurrying, lest the wind blow them out of the pannier.

I check them one-handed while ambling down the road, because they are for someone special.

These flowers are the brightest, happiest flowers I could find.

They make drivers smile, even in rush hour.

Pushing the Needle

For the last two months there's been plenty of riding. From Spring classics, to Kanata Lakes one or two times a week, and many road rides. The needle has budged. Every night my legs feel abused, but by the next afternoon they spring back. Two weeks in Texas I'm off the bike: jogs from the hotel.

 Dog-days of Summer and long rides await. First up is the Ride of the Damned route. Later on I'll link this up to the stone dust path to Maniwaki for a really big day. I plan on doing a Garanaska race, Lost in the Rocks and Trees in Mattawa, and perhaps the Wilderness 101 in PA. Then off to Utah for another bikepack in the South Central mountains near Boulder.

Mufferaw Joe Lucky 7 Sportif

After four hours and 45 minutes we rolled into Quyon to find a dusty parking lot full of cars and empty bike racks. Quyon was our starting and now ending point for the 83-mile Sportif event. Our six-man group was the only souls around. About 10 minutes later some of the "faster" riders came in, on accounts that they started 15 mins after us. The ride was named after the Canadian lumberjack folk hero of the Ottawa valley called Mufferaw Joe (see video, credit to the Vegan Vagabond for finding this). It traversed the the farm country at the edge of West Quebec bush: Hilly, gravel roads. Awesome. Like the legend, the course was more of a concept and easy to get lost on.

Our fast time was attributed to the lack of getting lost, and the fitter-than-thou Quebec Wheelers who led the way. I can only take credit for having been able to hang on to the pack. This took everything I had.

After a casual first 40k, the main pack broke into fast and slow components. There's me in the grey (photo cred to Gary Monette). As per usual, I tried to follow the fast group. Halfway through I blew up and rode the next 15 miles solo down the highway. Those 15 solo miles were great. Riding in packs makes for speed, but I relish solitude in country riding. I eventually merged with the aforementioned finishing group. By chance, the fast riders took a wrong turn, and the slower riders got lost as well. Our middle group stayed on course and on pace, and the no other competitive teams passed us, which was weird for me.