It has taken this long for me to process the fact that I actually did ride across the continent. Many of us standing in the harbour in Jersey City waiting to dip our tires were asking each other if we really had done the ride. It was surreal. Strange as that might seem, the fact that each day was so intense made focussing on the ride as a whole something difficult to do. Now that I have all my film photos developed, I can actually remember each day. And it helps, too, that I can read so many of my fellow riders' wonderful blogs and view their digital photos. I still fight with feelings of failure as I was unable to ride every inch of the way, but I did ride each day for a total of over 6,000 km out of the official 6,246 km. Definitely the last few weeks were more enjoyable, though not less difficult, as the distances or wind or steepness of the hills still presented a challenge.
There are many whom I would like to thank for supporting me on this venture: the churches that endorsed me - my home church of Emmanuel CRC (Calgary), Trinity CRC (Anchorage AK), Covenant CRC, Maranatha CRC and New Hope Community Church (all of Calgary); so many people who kept all of us in prayer; those who made financial contributions; or sent mail enroute; Norm, Neil and Noah at Lifesport, the local bike shop, where I bought my beautiful blue & silver LeMond Versailles road bike, who answered all the questions this neophyte had and outfitted the bike at low or no cost; friends who trained with me; people who provided stops along my primarily rainy training routes; the Mirich family who kept my car safe in Seattle all summer; and all the friends and family in BC who encouraged me on the way to Seattle and fed me and let me sleep long hours in real beds on the way back.
I would especially like to thank the fabulous group of cyclists, tour staff and volunteers at churches along the way whose emotional and physical support allowed me to complete this ride. There are many people whom I will probably never see again this side of heaven, but there are many others whose reaquaintance I anticipate with joy.
I had begun this ride believing that it was half vacation, half mission trip. Well, I needed a vacation to recover from that vacation, but as a mission trip, it was a tremendous success. Over 2.2 million dollars was raised by Sea-to-Sea, but, more importantly, the number of people whom we met along the way, and who became engaged in the causes, grew exponentially.
The tenor of the ride changed significantly when we left Grand Rapids with 60 new cyclists. Though I tried hard to meet everyone, two weeks just wasn't long enough to remember them all. The role of the SAG drivers changed as well. With so many small towns and refreshment stops provided by the local CRC congregations, the SAG stops were no longer the lifesavers that they had been in the desert and mountains. The social aspect changed as well. From a group of 5 or 6 cyclists at a SAG stop and the opportunity to easily socialize together, there were now 20 or 30 people milling around. And we all missed the cyclists whose ride ended in GR.
But the countryside was lovely. The beautiful beaches and homes along Lake Michigan, the cardinals that sang for us, the towering hardwood forests and manicured farms were a pleasure to ride past. The border crossings were a blast. From our assembly at the lighthouse in Marine City MI, we rode as a group dressed in our official Sea-to-Sea jerseys to the small ferry. Although all 195 bikes would have fit on the St. Clair River ferry, there were only 50 lifejackets onboard, so the cyclists took four ferries across with our support vehicles making a fifth trip. Once in Sombra, we lined up single file, passport in hand, with our bikes. One Canada Customs officer took the passport and read the name while another one checked the name off a list that Ed, the tour director, had presubmitted. That was it! No questions asked.
Among the throng of well-wishers gathered on the Canadian side was my friend, Diane Pautler, whom I met when she rode the 2005 C2C and billetted with me in Calgary. There was lots of food including Timbits and 400 red-and-white cupcakes with Canadian flags on them. It was a loud, joyous celebration where we stayed for quite a while. Then I got to ride a part of Canada I had never seen from Sarnia to London. The first stop on our dip south to Chatham was slightly off-route in Wallaceburg to visit the first Tim Horton's we could see. Tent city was at a local arena where they were many billeting, laundry and swimming options posted on the bulletin board. I chose to follow a chalk-marked route with Liz and Corinne to a house where a church member had opened his home to let us enjoy their beautiful new outdoor pool and refreshments. It was a lovely hour or so with Steve & Rose Dykstra.
The next morning, I set off with my fast friends, Dora and Diane who had joined us for a day ride. Fortunately the ride took us along quiet country roads where even my voice could be heard as we caught up with each other's lives. They are stronger riders but I had the navigational responsibilities, so I stayed sheltered from the wind at the back of our pace line shouting the route instructions and asking Diane to slow down a bit each time she got excited and rode faster than our agreed pace. It was a great day with coffee at a blueberry farm/restaurant, another yummy CRC stop in lovely Mt. Brydges, and a great welcoming committee at the end of the river pathway in London. I was tired after trying to keep up with the D's all day and took far too long getting my tent up and organized. For the perfect ending, Diane's husband Ron took us all to East Side Mario's where I had a scrumptious shrimp dinner. While we had been enjoying each other's company and the passing scenery of green fields and old brick farmhouses, about 20 cyclists took part in a time trial (race) along a 40 km stretch of road.
We found hills on the road to Ancaster, and an increasing number of CRC stops as well. Diane was serving at her church's stop just outside Woodstock where the hills become increasingly steeper. Again I had time for a nice visit with her. Then we passed through my ancestors' hometown of Brantford where I took my favourite photo of the trip - a pastoral scene with two swans nestled together on the edge of a tree-shaded pond. As I pulled into Redeemer College where we were spending the night, I noticed that the rubber had scrubbed off my rear tire. It wasn't even flat as the layer of Kevlar, which the Armadillo tires have, protected the tube inside. With training rides, I must have put about 6500 rough, thorn-infested km on that tire! So instead of the free pedicure which I was gleefully anticipating for my nerve-damaged feet, a willing volunteer drove Dora and me to a bike shop where she bought a mirror and I found a replacement tire. Back at camp, Dave Meyer kindly spent a long time mounting and balancing the wheel by the light of a headlamp. I could have done it, in fact I put the original one on, but Dave did it to perfection and taught me a few things at the same time.
I rode with the Meyer family the next morning, pausing on the Niagara escarpment overlooking Hamilton. From there, with great concentration through the morning mist, the CN tower and my birthplace of Toronto was visible across Lake Ontario. It was quite fun coming off the escarpment as the road was fairly smooth on a winding, forested hill with a 12% grade, though we had been warned of a stop sign at the bottom. For that reason, I kept my speed a little lower than I might otherwise have done. Some of the fast guys rode it a couple of times to familiarize themselves with the road, then sped down it, with John Vanderveen attaining 90.4 kph!! That's mindblowing! Someone (JK, I believe) used electrician's tape to change the grade sign to read 112% which is how it felt. Again we were treated to many wonderful refreshment breaks along the way and many warm welcoming church members. In Port Dalhousie ("Da-loo-zee" here, not like "Dal-how-zee" in Halifax), Justin and I rode the original highly-decorated wild animal carousel from about 1885. His mother treated us to the nickel ride. That night I joined two busloads of cyclists for a trip to Niagara Falls. I enjoyed a lovely evening strolling around with Pete & Julie after we had missed the final trip on the Maid of the Mist by a couple of minutes.
On Sunday we headed back toward Niagara and an outdoor celebration service. The skies opened and thunder rolled as we huddled under crowded pavilions, then just minutes before the service the sun came out and the rest of the day was beautiful. As we were near General Brock's monument, we Canadians felt the need to remind our fellow cyclists from the States, that Canada won the only battle ever fought between the two countries.
We were anticipating a more difficult crossing at Niagara that Monday morning as there were the dreaded US Border Guards to deal with this time. Early in the day, we rode along the magnificent Niagara River for some extra distance. It was a great ride and we got to see one of the locks on the Welland Canal up close which we would have missed if we had stayed on-route. As before we gathered in a group in a parking lot, all wearing our official jerseys. The left lane of the Rainbow Bridge was closed to traffic to allow us to cross as a group and we were told there were three customs booths opened for us. This time, we were directed by laughing border guards to keep on riding, no slowing, no stopping, no checking of passports, although we were openly being video-taped by one of the smiling guards. We were incredulous! They were obviously enjoying the parade riding past them and we thought this must have been a wonderful break for people who carry such heavy responsibilities.
We had a relaxed time taking lots of photos above the American Falls, riding onto Goat Island, and viewing the falls from every angle. For only the second time (the Chicago area being the first time), we were told to stay in groups of at least six. As someone who hikes in the Rockies, my first thought was, "Where are the grizzlies?" As before, no one had trouble that I was aware of, and I never saw anything happen in the way of crime. The rest of the day was a pleasant ride through upstate New York. It was the second time where we went off-route, not lost, but with many others as we later discovered, we interpreted a corner differently than Ed thought he had written the instruction. I think all the other groups turned back and put lots of extra mileage on. Our group's good leader asked the right questions of the locals and so we cut cross-country to rejoin the route without too many extra miles. It was a beautiful day in beautiful countryside, so I didn't mind in the least. We did ride through a reservation which was another new experience, but the detour ended at an ice cream shop so all was well.
That night was the first of our special last week evenings with a bonfire, singalong, s'mores, and neighbouring campers from a blue grass band who invited Vonda, a symphony conductor and concert violinist, to join them. She does a great version of "Turkey in the Straw" on a borrowed fiddle. And some of the younger cyclists had the energy to dance well past our usual quiet time of 9 p.m.
The Finger Lakes lie nestled in the steep Adirondacks. Our progress was slowed by the steepness of some of the hills, but there were so many lovely sights along Lake Seneca including another off-route which took us to a marina where one of the men asked if we could get a lift on a canal boat to the other side mere feet away. That wasn't possible so we, and others, had to backtrack several miles to ride around the north end, but were rewarded with wonderful desserts at a beautiful lakeside cafe. That night the Canadian flags and cake came out again as Coby & Marti celebrated their newly granted citizenship.
The beautiful undulating Adirondacks led to the Catskills and the Appalachians in the following days. I loved seeing the wonderful old town squares where I could easily imagine horses and buggies driving by and the 200-year-old barns and magnificent gothic and early American architecture. We had been later coming in than anticipated to Chenango Falls and I was in a hurry to hit the shower. Just before our campsite a local rider came alongside me to ask what we were doing. Normally I would stop and talk, but I didn't slacken my pace and just invited him to ride into camp with me as I answered his questions, then showed him the gear truck, kitchen trailer and tent city and introduced him to some of the other cyclists. The sight of 190 or so tents usually results in a jaw-dropping expression.
I was so glad that I had a banner on the side of my tent as there were five other identical ones. One night I had approached from the bannerless side, opened the fly and wondered who had rearranged my belongings before I realized it wasn't my tent. With a new location each night, there were always a few people wandering around who had "lost" their homes. For some reason, I couldn't seem to remember where my tent was in St. Catharines. Even though we were there for two nights, I spent time searching the grounds each time I needed something from it.
The church in Chenango Falls hosted a tasty barbecue of chicken and polled pork that night. As usual Hans Doef of Lacombe led our mid-week worship service after the pelaton. They were all peaceful, thoughtfully presented, reverential experiences. Jenna and Annette, who are both graduates of King's University College in Edmonton, played their flutes, various people were asked to read scripture, and Hans often taught us new songs. I really appreciated their contributions and was glad I made the services a priority as they helped me find some sanity in the hectic days.
Hills, hills, hills. That's mainly what I recall of the last three days. Once in Pennsylvania, we were all fascinated by the town named Hop Bottom, an old mining town and now the site of an annual bluegrass music festival. The road into it was an amazing downhill which went forever, but it was also a little scary as the shoulder wasn't good enough to ride, so we had to "take the lane" which meant competing for space with transport trailers on a winding road with a double solid yellow centre line most of the way. In sections, large cracks and holes extended well into the driving lanes forcing cyclists to swerve to the middle of the road without much warning. Our usual few cms between bikes spread out to several meters as we just couldn't warn each other of all the hazards. At Nicholson, a high huge concrete railway bridge crosses the deep valley. It is picturesque and we spent a lot of time reading the inscriptions and taking photos. Just beyond we turned onto a country road leading to Lackawanna State Park which, unbeknownst to us, must sit at the top of a mountain. Clare, always willing to let others try his recumbent trike, had just switched with Hans. I think Hans may have regretted the timing of his request to ride such a heavy beast, as not too far down the road, the last 10 km were just about the steepest part of the whole tour.
That night all the cyclists and support staff formed one large circle to share communion for the final time. The light was fading so it was difficult to clearly see each face which I would have liked to have done, but it was an emotional and blessed ceremony. I had a difficult time sleeping knowing that this incredible adventure was ending soon and I would miss so many friends.
The dew was heavy on the tent and there was the distinct odour of skunk when I awoke before 5 a.m. Whew! At least it wasn't too close. I was hoping that no one had been sprayed. Someone was apparently spared that fate when another cyclist saw him almost walk into one on his way to the washroom. Around breakfast time, I caught the whiff of another one. We had been warned of bears here, but the only wildlife encounter was with a raccoon that fought its way into someone's tent only to get a good whack from the occupant who wasn't too thrilled with the company.
Sussex was 132 km and many hills away. Again the ride was beautiful as we left at the crack of dawn. We were on back roads and the coffee shop we hoped to find was none existent in this farming area. So I did what Leanne and I had done the past two days, pictured the perfect, most scenic spot that I would like to eat. Sure enough, shortly down the road, a sign for the restaurant at Cherry Ridge Airport appeared. It was a short ride off the road, a pretty, unique place with great food that overlooked the airfield and a few small planes. There was a warm and friendly waitress, and a couple of pilots also there for breakfast, as well as Hans from BC and Wiebo. A conversation ensued with the pilots being told what we were doing, then the question was asked, "How much would it cost to fly us to Sussex?"
Thinking aloud about the cost of fuel and the weight of the bikes, a pilot quoted about $60 each. We looked at each other. Hmmm! Heads started nodding affirmatively. I think it was Marcus, the most prolific Sea-to-Sea card distributor, who said, "Think how many cards we could drop from the air and how many people we could reach." Clare jokingly said he could do a forest survey and claim it as a business expense. Was it Tony who asked, "Is it required that we ride every inch of the way?" I was quite sure that I wouldn't make the whole ride that day given the length and elevation and how little sleep I had had. By that point, only Fred and Marcus hadn't yet taken a SAG ride. There were other comments about skywriting as we pondered this possibility on the day of the tour with the highest elevation gain of 6,857 ft. Fred's suggestion of trailing a banner behind the plane with the words, "Draft this, guys!" was greeted with appreciative laughter. Disappointment reigned as the pilot said that we would have to disassemble the bikes for the small plane. Sighs were heaved, then it was back on the road again.
By the summit before Milford, my knees had had enough and I was beginning to struggle to keep up with the others, but I did want to make it to the New Jersey state line at about 100 km. Beyond that was 30 km more and a summit of 1900 ft. The downhill into Milford was a relief and by then it was time for a pleasant lunch together. I told the men they should go on without me, then found an ATM and more leisurely continued on my way through town. Sure enough, Marcus who had stated proudly at lunch that he hadn't had a flat since getting a new tire weeks ago, was at the side of the road with Clare helping him to change one. A state trooper pulled up and asked if we needed help. He could go pick up a floor pump if we wanted. What a nice guy! It wasn't necessary, though, and he looked a little disappointed that he wasn't needed. All along the route, police departments were notified that we were coming and, for the most part, they were great in their response to us. Even in Colorado where we were warned that they were looking for infractions and would ticket any offenders, all I ever saw was a thumbs up and the comment shouted out an open window, "Great job. Keep it up."
I kept riding with the intention to get to the start of the climb and see how I felt. The hill to High Point State Park came into view and with it the decision to start walking to give my knees a break until I saw a SAG wagon. Since I wasn't hurt, I wasn't going to call for help, but just walk until one of the vehicles came along. Not two seconds later, Art and Betsy passed me. I raised my arm which was the sign for help. While they loaded the bike onto the van roof rack, I took a quick photo of the New Jersey welcome sign. What timing! That meant time to set up my tent, take a shuttle to the showers which were at a different school than where we were staying, and getting organized before supper by which time the others had made it in. The unanimous verdict - "We should have taken the plane ride!"
The shower situation was always a question at the end of the day. Most of the time we stayed at beautiful high schools or middle schools where there were clean, spacious facilities. After setting up my tent, I would head to the shower room and walk in wearing my cycling clothes. The clothes would be laundered as they were removed. It was the quickest, most efficient way to do laundry and get clean. It was also the time when we women had great conversations about the day and what was happening in our lives, if the showers were warm, that is. If they were cold or sandblasters or there were only one or two for the 40 to 70 women who had to share them, then speed became the factor. Sometimes we had to get on our bikes after arriving in camp and ride a mile or two to the local YMCA as we did at one elementary school where the cute little sinks were knee-high or there would be a van shuttle to a Y, a spa (Woo-Hoo!), or a private home or there was a local pool or lake. Once there was a hose and a tarp set up outdoors with times alternating between men's and women's showers. I was fighting a cold and feeling lousy that day and a cold shower was not in the books, but down the road was a huge truck stop with large, comfortable private showers and real fluffy enormous towels for a price. I was glad I paid the price that night.
At the pelaton that night in Sussex, we played Tour Bingo with numbered lines stating different tour facts, like #15 Five or more flats, or #38 Has new slang/accent after trip, or #56 Had a PB & J sandwich every day. We filled in blank Bingo sheets with the numbers that reflected our experiences and played with Jen drawing the numbers. Then it was time for one last night in my tent, this time on quite a hill. I put extra stakes in the uphill side just in case the tent starting sliding in the night.
My sweep team was on duty the next morning, so my alarm went at 4:30 a.m. to give me time to pack my tent and get ready to ride before helping with the breakfast setup and serving. I had special permission to leave early so that I had a chance to make the 1 p.m. meeting point 82 km away for the final group photo and police-escorted ride to the ocean. Eight km out of camp, my rear derailleur cable broke which left me with three gears, not the 30 that my knees like. The guys offered to fix the cable so I could still ride. Depending on which rear gear I chose, it would either be too high for the steep uphills or too low for the flats and downhills. I decided to call for help, but was teasingly accused of looking far too happy at my fate. I wasn't really.
While standing at the side of the road waiting for a SAG wagon, many cyclists passed me, each asking if I needed help. With thumb up and words lost in traffic noise, I said I was okay, then I got the bright idea to take photos. That way they wouldn't ask if I needed help and I'd get photos of lots of people. It was two hours of riding Art & Betsy's SAG wagon with Jerry & Lynda whose tandem bike needed a tire before we found a bike shop in Montclair about halfway down the route. The techs were great and had us back on the road in no time, but I needed food and water and a washroom so stopped at a deli where the clerk kept me talking about the ride. Back on the road, Jenna caught up with me and we both felt it was fitting that we should ride the last day together as we had ridden the first one together. She is such a lovely person that that was quite a thrill.
Len
Ed
