When I turned off my light and closed my eyes, I was lying on top of the sheets of my hotel bed, and when my alarm went off at 1:30 AM I was still on top of the sheets. It was hard to believe three hours had already gone by. I put on the same clothes as I had worn the day before, filled my hydration pack, repacked my drop bag, and headed out the door. I put the drop bag in the back of Marcia's car, which she had left unlocked for my benefit. Before going to bed I had sent Jonathan a text so he'd know what time I was getting up; and when I got on my bike I sent another so he'd know what time I started. Since we had been riding the same speed, we figured this would give him a pretty precise idea of when I'd be getting to Bowmanville. Riding into Bowmanville Jonathan had scouted out places where we might meet in the morning, and settled on a grocery store that would be open 24 hours.
Cobourg was deserted. I saw no cars moving, and heard nothing but my tires. But going down the first hill I saw a flashing light ahead of me and quickly identified it as a bicycle tail light. Another randonneur! Who had got out ahead of me, I wondered. But as I caught up I realized this rider didn't have the regulation reflective bands on his ankles, nor even the required reflective vest. If this was a randonneur, he was risking getting disqualified. When I passed him I gave a cheerful “good morning!” and the guy gave me a horrified look and didn't reply. Not a randonneur at all, just some guy on his way to work.
More little towns with little Victorian houses and well maintained business districts. More quiet rural roads. And the occasional train passing through in the near distance, never seen but always heard. They make an ungodly racket that starts in the distance and gets louder and louder until it seems unbearably close, and then it goes on for a long time before fading into the distance again. I was lucky that I didn't have to stop for any of them at the many level crossings.
Coming into Bowmanville I found the grocery store no problem. I texted Jonathan my location (according to my phone, that text was sent at 4:16 AM) and went ahead and got myself some coffee, blueberries, and stroopwaffeln. I'm familiar with stroopwaffelen from having visited the Netherlands in the past, but I've never seen them in the US (Trader Joes has tiny little ones, not quite the same). When I came out of the store, Jonathan was arriving; we sat on a bench and ate our breakfast. I got another cup of coffee, and we started riding. And climbing. To get around Toronto, we would have to get up to higher elevation, an area of rolling hills. From the tops of the hills you could see the road stretch ahead and behind, disappearing over a hilltop and reappearing on the next, all the way to the horizon. Here's Jonathan:
Okay, this was four days ago and I'm already having a little trouble remembering anything. I may have to edit some detail into this account at a later date....
The next controle was Stouffville. Realizing that Jonathan and I were ahead of the other riders, possibly pretty far ahead of them, I sent Marcia a text telling her where we were and that we did not require any assistance or support at that time. No need for her to check up on us.
By this time we were riding through new subdivisions on the outskirts of the Toronto suburbs. They are building an unbelievable number of houses and apartment buildings, densely packed, though they look to me like nice houses. Some are freestanding, others are townhouses. In style they seem to resemble the turn of the last century townhouses I'm familiar with from cities like Philadelphia and DC, but these all have a garage next to the front door. And there are thousands of them. There is construction everywhere, sometimes involving road closures and detours. The RBA had been adjusting the route to avoid road closures, the last updates coming only a few days before the ride.
If you're patient, check out this photo. I know, it's a terrible photo, but there's a lot of detail there:
Note: the four lane road. Just about all the roads are like that.
Note: on the horizon at the right are finished houses. I caught only the western end of that row; it went on much farther than you see. Between them and the camera is an open field.
Note: on the horizon at the center, some woods and an older house. Will these still be there next year?
Note: near the left edge, earth moving equipment, with a few new houses immediately behind them. They are ready to turn the open field into houses.
Leaving Stouffville Jonathan and I realized that our respective GPS units had different routes programmed into them, and we weren't sure which to trust. We followed Jonathan's until at some point we found conclusive evidence that mine was the correct route, and after that we followed mine.
There was rain on the horizon, rain in the weather forecast, and occasionally the roads were wet from a recent shower; but we did not encounter any rain for many hours. When we did finally catch a little rain, it was a very gentle drizzle, not enough to make you more wet than you get from riding on a hot day.
Toronto and its suburbs are laid out on a grid pattern that isn’t exactly oriented to the cardinal points, but I won’t digress. Heading west on a four lane road, we spotted a bike path on the other side of the road and decided to try that for a while; traffic was too heavy, and passing us too close and too fast. But riding on the bike path proved to be just as stressful, with pedestrians walking dogs, other cyclists, and poorly designed road crossings. But gradually the foot traffic on the path disappeared, and we found ourselves riding alongside houses so new that they weren't even occupied yet. The sidewalk ended abruptly near a major cross street, so we got on the road again. Jonathan's photo:
The cyclist in the upper right corner of the photo, that's me.
At the cross street, the development ended; the four lane road we had been avoiding suddenly became a quiet two-lane rural road with corn fields on both sides. All these corn fields will be full of houses the next time they run LOL. I don't want to go on about this: suffice it to say Greater Toronto is huge, and it is growing unbelievably fast. As soon as we passed out of it to the west, we turned south and came into Mississaugua, which is growing just as fast. We eventually turned west again into Erin Mills, another rapidly growing suburb, where we had a Tim Horton's controle; I texted Marcia again to update her on our progress. Leaving Erin Mills we crossed another border and were in the countryside again, quaint old farmhouses in fields with cattle and crops, high cliffs visible to the west. I think this is the Niagara Escarpment or something; basically, somewhere between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario there is a major elevation change, hence Niagara Falls.
Coming into our last controle of the day, Jonathan and I split up. I was inadvertently pushing him to go faster, and he was slowing me down, and this wasn't making either of us happy. We were almost done for the day anyway. I had a few hours of riding ahead of me and just wanted to get it over with. Following the western edge of the lake, the route took me on the access road of a superhighway, with a headwind and hot sun. The road was well paved except for deep contraction cracks at regular intervals. We had been on roads like this all day, and much of the day before: perfectly smooth but for a regular BUMPBUMP, BUMPBUMP, BUMPBUMP, and so on. It is quite literally a pain in the ass. The access road was cracked up in this way, with a highway on the west side and a dense wall of vacation homes on the east. The lake was under a hundred yards away, and I rarely caught a glimpse of it. Not that I was looking; avoiding each BUMPBUMP was top priority, though sadly impossible. The access road had a bike lane on the right, which had more debris, but was less cracked up. Debris means a risk of flat tires; I didn't care, as long as I could avoid those bumps.
The access road connected beautiful little beach communities with brightly painted cottages
surrounded by suburban sprawl houses, and rarely a bit of agriculture (apple orchards and other crops). After Port Dalhousie, which is very pretty, I crossed the Welland Canal, where a large ocean going ship had just passed through the lock.
Then Niagara-on-the-Lake, a pretty residential community with a lot of nightlife.
I don’t know how much randonneurs look at maps these days. I used to look at maps all the time, but when relying on cue sheet and GPS I never look at a map at all. So, thinking schematically, I know the Niagara River flows from Lake Erie to Lake Ontario and Lake Ontario is to the east of Lake Erie. So as I rode along the Niagara River, I had a general sense that I must be heading west. So it was a little alarming to see the sun setting behind me (I was actually heading SE). I stopped to put on my reflective gear.
Before I could get to my motel, I had to climb a height equivalent to that of Niagara Falls, and at this point in the ride the climb was unwelcome, though not surprising. I was rewarded with a spectacular view of the river. This photo --taken by a passerby whose name I didn't get-- faces a little east of due north.
Note to the photo, since I think that's the only photo I'll be sharing of my loaded bike. The bag suspended from the top tube contains a two liter hydration pack reservoir; you can see the drinking hose sticking up at an oblique angle from between the brake cables. It's held to the brake cables with a velcro strap. To drink, I had to put my hands down in the drops, which turned out to be a good thing, since it forced a frequent change of position for both my hands and my butt. It was pretty easy to take the hydration pack out and fill it with ice (especially at Subway).
On arriving at my motel, a little after 9 PM, I checked my phone and found a text from Marcia; they had gone out to get dinner a few minutes earlier, and I couldn’t get my drop bag until they got back; but they could bring me something to eat. The motel had no outdoor seating, so I pulled a chair up to the door of my room and looked out over the parking lot for a while. It was not exactly picturesque, but I had been up for almost 20 hours and had just ridden 213 miles. Sitting down and doing nothing at all seemed like an excellent use of my time. Some time later my dinner appeared, delivered by none other than @
antimonysarah, who was kind enough to hang out with me while I ate. Sarah had been forced to quit the ride the day before –but I will let her tell her own story if she wishes.
I gave Marcia the key to my room, so when I left in the morning I could just leave my drop bag on the floor and go. This being a busy area, she preferred not to leave her car unlocked.
Before turning my lights out I texted Jonathan to see if he would want to ride together the next day; but no, I would be leaving too early for his taste. Lights out at 11:15, my timer set for three hours.
To be continued...
