Visiting a Pro-Shop

Starting eastward on this our 21st day we were following the advice of a trucker who had chatted with us at the campsite. We were taking a secondary road not shown on Bud's map, thereby avoiding some reported construction on Highway 10. This smaller, quiet road followed the valley-bottom for about 10 km until it crossed the Qu'Appelle River, where it climbed the river bank to rejoin #10. A strong headwind was challenging us and Bob was more than willing to switch off the lead every kilometre or so.

Braking hard for our first rest stop about an hour into the ride my handlebars let go again, spinning forward and again nearly throwing me face-first into the road. Not nice! I tightened them with an Allen key, cursing them silently. (At least I think I did it silently.) They still didn't hold! Now, for the rest of the day I must ride with my hands on the bar-tops, putting them deep into the hooks and holding the bars level whenever it becomes necessary to brake. This is a very dangerous and nerve-wracking way to ride. It was almost a certainty that if/when something unexpected should occur I would be instant roadrash.

Because of the handlebar situation I backed away from Bob's wheel somewhat, giving myself perhaps three feet between his rear tire and my front one. Normally I stayed about one foot back to get the maximum benefit of his wind-shadow. Close-proximity drafting saves about 10% effort at speeds of 30 kph, with the percentage increasing as the velocity or headwind increases. The lead rider in this "paceline" situation has total responsibility for all those behind and it is imperative to remember these responsibilities. Firstly, the ride should be straight and steady. Bob was an excellent lead rider in this and other regards. He pointed out every stone and crack in the road; called out and pointed to patches of glass; and he gave ample notice prior to braking or changing speed or direction. He did, however, have an annoying habit of suddenly rising from the saddle to shift position and to give his butt a new resting point. This caused him to momentarily slowdown, and if not quickly compensated for I would overrun his bike. If our tires should happen to touch, in all likelihood I would fall down as it is always the following person who is subject to the crash. (Never having ridden behind myself, obviously, and despite my best efforts to do everything correctly I am sure that I, too, have a few quirks to which those following me must adapt.) By now I had long since accustomed myself to Bob's restlessness in the saddle. Automatically I swung to one side or the other to avoid touching wheels when he rose up, then fell back into line when he settled down. With my braking capability now somewhat hampered I increased the following distance and kept myself at a very high state of awareness. This constant mental effort made for a tense and tiring day. I'm sure there are many cyclists who would have stopped riding with the bars so unstable, but I'll take the odd risk if I believe the odds are small against me. Hey, riding a bicycle on a highway has an inherent risk at any time. If anyone were ever to weigh all the possible dangers of every moment, then nobody would ever go anywhere on two wheels. So I continued onward.

After a couple hours of riding we changed onto Highway 22, stopping when we reached Neudorf so Bob could buy some lunch. We left the restaurant, emerging into drizzle that extended into about two hours of rain. Eventually we got ahead of the wetness and kept dry for the rest of the day.

Scenery on this flat land was pretty basic - the crops and the occasional grazing cattle herd. What did catch one's eye were the regularly spaced grain elevators, about 15 kilometres apart, marking the location of the next small town. Connecting each elevator was the rail line. Every day we rode with or against several trains and had ample time to count how many cars the multiple-diesel engines were pulling. One hundred cars was not unusual, with these rolling giants frequently extending over a mile in length. Just for laughs one day when the engineer waved back at me, I pumped my arm twice, as if I had just made a touchdown or hit a home run. Moments later a double blast of the big air-horn resonated back at me. Yep. We'd made contact.

It seems we were both eager for a small break in our different but equally repetitious routines.

About 1300 the winds shifted to NNW, which was behind us enough to give a small push. Much better than the cross- and headwinds we had been fighting. My right knee had become sore in midmorning, then an ache developed from my knee to my ankle that lasted until around 1500 when both pains stopped. I attributed the aches and pains to the wet air we rode in all day.

Bob stopped again in mid-afternoon, this time for a burger. Despite our stops we were still among the early arrivals into the campsite. Bob had two speeds: stopped and rapid! His riding speed was faster than I preferred, requiring a tad too much effort on my part to stay with him. On the other hand, his stops for meals took a tad longer than I was comfortable with because I stiffened up somewhat and became restless. I was growing more and more annoyed each day riding with him but stuck with it for now. The alternative seemed to be riding alone, and I really hadn't joined this tour to ride across Canada by myself.

Ray, meanwhile, enjoyed a bit of a sleep-in. Then Debbie ferried him about 50 km out from Fort Qu'Appelle. Ray thought he must be late, and last. Consequently he rode hard all day trying to catch up. Only at day's end did he learn he had actually been in front of everyone and was first to reach camp.

Somewhat later Bob and I got there. With nerves as taut as guy wires I threw my bike directly onto the repair stand, unwrapped a portion of the bar tape and loosened the stem bolt. I severely filed the tips of the stem's jaws, hoping to shave off enough metal to prevent them from touching each other when tightened. As well, I wrapped three or four turns of electrical tape around the bar, under the shim but inside the stem's jaws. This, I hoped, would further increase the diameter of the bar enough to enable the stem to get a solid purchase on it. Putting it all back together I tightened it down. The jaws did meet each other—but just. On my brief test ride the bars seemed to hold. Time will tell.

I finished working on the bike and rushed to set up my tent, being well aware of the approaching rain-filled clouds that had been following us all afternoon. Moments after hammering the last peg into the ground, the rain began.

Tonight we were staying at the Carlton Trail Regional Park Campsite, which is perhaps five km out of the town of Spy Hill. As expected, there were no spies visible, but surprisingly neither was there any hill in sight, in any direction, right to the horizon, which in Central Saskatchewan means a very long way. We didn't mind though, as hills always imply hard work to a bicycle rider and we counted it as a bonus to not find one here.

The campsite was on the edge of a golf course and the showers were in the club house, some 300 metres away across lovely grass. Walking through the lobby of the clubhouse, then the pro-shop, in Lycra cycling shorts and jersey drew many not-too-pleased glances from the golf patrons, but it seemed the only choice we had. The showers were fine. While I was drying off, a chap entered through a back door that I hadn't noticed. So that's the way I left, thinking that a simple sign or two would prevent embarrassment and consternation on both the golfers' and campers' behalf.

With the rain still falling after supper everyone was in their tent earlier than usual. I finished the day by writing my diary inside my tent, and using my flashlight for the first time to read a bit. Daylight ended earlier than we had grown accustomed to. We were now on the very eastern edge of a time zone—in truth we were in the Central Time Zone, but Saskatchewan chooses not to switch to Daylight Saving Time in the summer. Our watches were unchanged since Golden, British Columbia. Early tomorrow we would lose an hour when we crossed the border into Manitoba.

Not One of My Better Days,

July 18 - Day 22. Very shortly after Bob, Ray and I started out my handlebars rotated again. Instantly I became terribly angry and depressed. More depressed than angry, I guess. The bars, or stem actually, was definitely going to need replacing but there were no major bike stores close by, likely none until Winnipeg. I had hoped so much that the bars would be secure. Now I had another day of tense riding ahead of me. On top of my poor mental state, physically my legs felt wobbly and had no strength in them, and riding conditions were miserable because we were bucking a strong crosswind just slightly off our tail. That day I wasn't very good company. Didn't talk much and would have been better off on my own.

We had picked up Highway 22 as we left camp and stayed on it as we headed east. This minor, narrow road had its good points: little traffic, and a smooth surface. Because its white stripe was some 18" from the edge we had ample room to ride without interfering with the infrequent farming vehicles. A big white "golf ball" became visible on the horizon. This held our curiosity for 20 - 30 minutes, until we were close enough to realize it was a radar dome above an old Air Force radar site. We reached it, then crossed the border a few miles later. Entering was less than impressive—the road surface changed colour slightly, the paved shoulder became gravel, and a tiny highway sign denoted we were now on Concession Road 478. (Map of Sask. & Man.) The pure white radar dome was the only bright-spot marking this milestone.

Riding behind Bob and Ray, I lifted my arms in a personal victory salute—unseen and inconsequential to the rest of the world.

Within ten kilometres we came to the junction of CR 478 and Highway 16, commonly known as The Yellowhead Highway, where we switched onto this major roadway. We were to follow it to its beginning near Portage La Prairie. This roadway is in the gradual process of being upgraded, but for the most part its older sections have no paved shoulder and all too often the actual traffic-lane pavement is rough under bicycle wheels. (The bicycle-friendly paved shoulders we had enjoyed since the West Coast ended here, not returning until we entered New Brunswick.)

Ray, usually good company as he talked virtually non-stop, stayed immediately behind Bob this morning, so all I had to do was listen and keep up. Today, though, they mostly talked about the advantages of going through Winnipeg. It was quickly apparent that they definitely resented Bud's disapproval of a route change. Ray was bitter about Jeff not just assuming the responsibility and simply making the switch, only telling Bud after the fact. Personally, and no doubt coloured somewhat by my back-ground of over 31 years in the Canadian Army, I believe Jeff was right. He showed proper responsibility to his boss and to the greater concern of the overall trip. (Often going his own way during this trip, Ray missed small and large segments, and hasn't shown the dedication and commitment to the ride that most of the others have. He would definitely be a problem in the Army!) In any case, I kept quiet while they made plans to ride into Winnipeg from Portage La Prairie, tomorrow's stop, looking forward to a relaxing day and night in the city. Ray would phone his wife from Minnedosa tonight and have her book two hotel rooms, and a masseur for Bob. They would also schedule an appointment for bike repairs at Ray's favourite shop. Debbie would ferry them to Kenora two days later to rejoin us there.

Like Bob, Ray also enjoys popping in to a restaurant, so meal stops today are even longer. These breaks are really beginning to bug me. One good thing—by mid-afternoon my legs are back and I feel a lot better.

Ray's bike was making a continual "ticking" noise. We looked, listened and hypothesized all day considering what the problem might be. I think it's a bearing somewhere, Ray thinks it's a bad chain link, and Bob remains silent on this one. Ray's is the preferred problem so we leave it at that until we get to the campsite. A town pin from Minnedosa was awaiting us when we arrived—this is our 3rd or 4th town pin.

At one point today 11 of us were together at the road's edge, taking a break. James was missing, lost somewhere to the rear when he stopped to phone his girlfriend in Ontario. (Bad news to leave someone alone at the rear, but no harm done this time.)

Arriving in camp after the nerve-wracking day of riding with loose handlebars I literally attacked my bike and the bars, angrily filing more metal from the tips of the stem's jaws. I then forced a third shim between the stem and the bars, desperately hoping to prevent the jaws from touching each other when clamped tight. When the jaws still meet as I cinch them tight during re-assembly I can't believe it. No doubt they will rotate early into tomorrow's ride. I now must believe that a new stem is the only solution and, with reluctance, make the inevitable decision to detour into Winnipeg and buy one. So, having made the decision, I relax and get on with other things, feeling better for having tried to fix the problem even though unsuccessful.

Ray bought a new chain from Jeff and reports it has done the trick.

It was again our team's turn to cook. Patti and Randy arrived when I was just finishing my bike repair, so I washed the lettuce and stuff for the green salad. Randy loved garlic, to the extent that he always closely monitored the salad preparation, ensuring there was always an adequate amount. If no one was watching too closely he would peel an extra clove or two and mix them in as well. Patti was trying out a new idea tonight, making a thick soup enriched with Kolbassa chunks. It turned out to be superb. The soup's rapid disappearance and requests for more made Patti proud.

Lynn seemed very lonely tonight when I called her. God I love and miss that lady!

My day-trip odometer reads 159 km, virtually a century, and the second day in a row to do 100 miles. It was a very trying and hard day, for me at least. But it hadn't rained! Only (only?) 142 km into Portage tomorrow. Our sense of distance is definitely getting warped. Now we are on Central Daylight time, having lost an hour at the border, and sleep will seem a bit shorter tonight. Please note—sleeping was never a problem to any of us. It just seemed a bit too short sometimes.

A Bridge Too Far

We had joined the Yellowhead Highway shortly after crossing into Manitoba, and as forecast there were no shoulders for long distances on this busy road. Today we would ride it exclusively, into Portage, except for the final few kilometres where the map shows us entering town the back way on a gravelled road. We set off in a dense fog, or mist, which collected on my glasses so heavily I had to remove them to see any-thing. This lasted until around 1000 hrs. From then on there was no actual precipitation but it did remain overcast and the air was humid all day. A bit of sunlight broke through about 1600 hrs, in the campsite. A headwind challenged us all day.

By this time riding groups had formed and riding companions pretty well established. Marny, a strong rider, pulled James and Paddy nearly all day, every day. Closely following a wheel made Marny uncomfortable and she would drop back out of the draft if/when someone like Bob, Ray or me tried to give her a break. Ken and Annette rode together by themselves virtually every day, usually leaving well before the rest of us and riding at their own pace, taking enjoyable, leisurely, breakfast, lunch and refreshment stops throughout the day. When they were on galley duty, though, they were diligent about their duties, ensuring the dishes were clean and the van packed up properly before departing as the day's sweep team. Randy and Patti always rode together. They were well-experienced cyclists who often joined-in with others in a paceline, or rode at a more relaxed pace by themselves. Albert and Christine felt they were the slowpokes, although in truth they were much stronger riders than they believed they were. Whenever possible, they both left as soon after breakfast as possible. Most days they accompanied others for short intervals when overtaken. Ray was a free spirit, often riding alone, sometimes with Albert at the rear, occasionally with Marny, Bob or me.

L - R Albert, James, Marny, Paddy

I started out with Bob again today, and as usual, we eventually caught others.

Today's group of seven or eight held together in a fine, working paceline for perhaps an hour because everyone was finding the going tough against the wind. Bob finally found the slower pace frustrating and dropped off the back somewhere for a pee break. When the group later stopped for a snack and I realized that he was no longer with us I rode on alone for the rest of the day. There is really no one other than Bob who rides a pace similar to mine. He is a bit faster but his long and frequent stops bug me.

Bud had given very poor directions to find the gravel-road turnoff, unusual for him but perhaps he had done so deliberately. Only Albert made the turn. The rest of us rode passed it and ended-up on the TCH about 10 km from Portage. Those few kilometres into Portage along the Trans-Canada convinced me that Bud was wise to revise his route and keep us off that highway. Narrow lanes, heavy traffic at high speeds, semi-trailers and full-trailers, and a 2" drop to the gravelled shoulder. Not fun! Vehicles were friendly, moving over to the maximum extent they could, but it was often a tight squeeze along the edge of the pavement. No horns blew at me but it wasn't really the best cycling conditions. Albert reported that the 10 kms on the gravel wasn't exactly fun either. Even with his wider hybrid tires he'd had difficulty, so in a way I was happy that I had missed the turn despite being force to ride for a few kilometres on the TCH.

Surprise! My handlebars were holding! Now I am really of two minds: do I still go in to Winnipeg and replace the stem, or trust I have solved the problem and bypass it? I must decide by the time I start out tomorrow. The fork in the road happens early.

However, knowing I'd reached Portage before most of the others and still undecided, I looked for a bicycle mechanic in town. Kindly directions steered me to Mike's Bike Shop, where he worked out of his garage. Mike was a friendly guy. He gave my gears a good run-through, saying they were shifting so smoothly he wasn't going to touch the adjustment. He had no quick answer to my handlebar problem, had no replacement parts in any case, but recommended a couple shops in Winnipeg if I did go there. I mentioned that there may be others come in to see him because we were frequently looking for a good mechanic who was close to our campsite. Ray had already been there, he mentioned. It seemed that earlier today Ray's bike had internally haemorrhaged, making a terrible racket, so he'd flagged down Jeff and been lifted in to Portage. The bearings in his rear hub had disintegrated, requiring a full overhaul of the hub. Remember Jay in Drumheller? The J-Man? Jay had really done a number on Ray's bike, incorrectly repacking the hub and installing nine bearings instead of eight. We no longer thought so highly of J. Mike only charged Ray $15.00 for the entire job, likely 1/3 what a city shop would have charged.

Following Mike's directions to the campsite, a few blocks later I was riding over a pretty little bridge leading onto an island, the home of Exhibition Park, a splendid-looking area. Flowers, pools, and fountains. Jeff had turned down the originally designated site so we waited with him for someone to offer some alternatives. The agreed-upon spot was next to a bandstand, and included a large grassy area sprinkled with picnic tables. The location was fabulous—quiet and serene, under huge old trees. Only a very occasional car touring the park disturbed us, and no other campers bothered us. (It wasn't a campground, it was a city park, and we had a one-night camping permit.)

The setup wasn't ideal but it would suffice. We had a bit of a walk to the not-really-great washrooms, perhaps 100 yards the other way for cooking-water, and there was power for the fridge and coffee machine. Then we learned that the showers were at a small swimming pool we'd ridden passed on the mainland side of the island's bridge. Well, Bob, in true American fashion, went Postal! If I never mentioned it before, Bob had become disenchanted very early-on with this tour. He found fault with a great many aspects of it, not the least of which were the camping sites. Actually, I had become accustomed to riding into our designated campground and listening to Bob's complaints about things not to his liking. So much so that I'd actually begun to look forward to trying to anticipate what exactly he would find wrong. A two-kilometre ride, to shower at a pool we had already passed, was absolutely too much for him.

He was definitely unhappy with the world and proceeded to let us know how we all deserved better. "Why not rent a motel if there is no 'proper' campground in town?" he asked. "Why do we always end up in the worst campground if there are two choices?" How can anyone eat peanut butter sandwiches day after day?" And more. In the campgrounds that initially seemed just fine, we were " ...always at the farthest point away from the washrooms." And so it went. Oh, Bob had not gone into this adventure blindly. More than once Bob had told me that he had contacted every cycle-touring company in North America looking for the best deal. When he was grumbling about the Spartan diet one night Annette replied that she and Ken had cycled and camped in Europe for years and had never eaten as well as we were. Others seconded her that the food was just fine, it was nutritious and varied and there was ample. (Meat was the biggest food item for Bob; a meal without a generous portion of meat was simply not a meal, and our diet was indeed quite sparse in that regard.)

So Bob was in a foul mood by supper time. My diary that night confirms my thoughts—if Bob quit the Tour early it wouldn't surprise me. To tell the truth, having to ride back to the showers didn't win Bud any points from me nor from most of the others, either. But by now I was believing in Bud and figured he had a good reason for choosing this location so I should just make the best of it. "Part of the experience," I said to myself. When we actually did go for a shower it was no big deal, as is so often the case, but there were no mirrors in the change room so I didn't shave today.

Bob and Ray had no doubts. They were riding to Winnipeg in the morning and would join us in Kenora two days later. I have decided to ride around Winnipeg and take the chance that my handlebar problems are over.

Bruises - Physical and Mental

Rain began during the night and was pelting down when it was time to get up, around 0600. Rain drumming on a small tent early in the morning is not the most appealing sound. It's hard to not feel depressed knowing that packing away a soaking-wet tent is just the day's beginning. A personal soaking follows for some significant part of the remainder. But it had to be. The breakfast crew (Albert, Christine and Ray) made porridge. After eating, riders were disappearing into the rain singly or in pairs. Christine, (with our breakfast-dishes agreement in place), was away before I knew it, realizing we had over a century to ride today and eager to get an early start. Albert, too, got away quickly, as soon as breakfast was over. (He didn't like porridge and planned to buy breakfast on the road.) I assured him that I would tidy up the dirty dishes. It was a real inspiration to me to see this 68-year-old get on his bike and ride off into this absolute deluge without so much as a whisper of unhappiness. Here I was, cringing at the thought of getting a soaking. Three people even-younger than I actually returned to bed, Jeff later told me, hoping to wait-out the rain. We were heading for Beausejour, using secondary Highways 26 and 67 to Lockport, then picking up Highway 44 to the camp.

Bob and Ray departed quietly, with no fanfare. We didn't expect to see them for a while. Ken and Annette had also decided earlier while we were at Nokomis a couple of days previously to visit friends in Winnipeg (perhaps their daughter and son-in-law?) and were taking their time departing. In addition to Ken and Annette, James, Paddy and Marny were still in camp when I left, seemingly in no hurry to get started.

Today turned out to be both good and bad: a good day on the bike for me physically, but a bad weather day. And for many of us it was a horrible day in a couple of other regards.

Randy and Patti were a bit late leaving that morning—their tent had leaked volumes again, and in general things weren't going too well for them. Patti had missed her breakfast due to the combination of her slightly-late arrival and Albert's haste to get the dishes done and get riding. Albert had served Randy two huge bowls of porridge, assuming one of them was for Patti. Wrong! Randy did like to eat! Thinking that he'd now fed the final two people, Albert dumped the rest of the porridge, confirmed that the breakfast dishes were in my hands, and rode off. Breakfast for Patti, therefore, did not exist. While Randy and Patti were helping tidy up, I asked if they'd mind my riding with them today. No problem. We left together about 0800 hrs. I wore my Gore-Tex rain-suit thinking that with the pace a tad slower, sweating would be kept to a minimum under the rain-proof jacket.

On the way out of town we crossed a set of railroad tracks where a crew was working on the barricade-lowering control box. The crewman waved us through. We took it cautiously, noting that the oblique crossing combined with the rain-slicked rails made for an extremely treacherous bicycle crossing. Once clear of the city I took the front and pulled Randy and Patti for most of the day.

For two hours we rode into a headwind and steady rain, which varied from a downpour to a drizzle. The road was quiet. There were few cars but neither did it have a shoulder. Time dragged. An occasional grain elevator was our only scenery.

Eventually, maybe 1030 hrs, we reached a small cafe, the first eatery we'd seen. Looking and feeling like drowned rats, we entered to find Christine just finishing a hot drink and a muffin. While we were there, Albert, whom we had passed a few klicks back, joined us. The warmth of the cafe, some hot liquid inside us, and the chance to complain to each other about the lousy weather gave us the lift we needed to get started again. (Prior to reaching the cafe, my right calf had been cramping a bit as we rode. Sort of sporadic spasms that I couldn't seem to stretch out or relieve. Patti had given me an Advil pill and within minutes the cramping had ended. I again blamed the very damp air and cool weather.)

Setting off from there we rode without incident to Lockport, had a snack, then rode on into Beausejour. The 20-or-so kilometres from Lockport to Beausejour were one of the two most unfriendly, anti-bicycle stretches of highway that we encountered in Canada. We three had two pickup-truck drivers yell at us and give us the finger, as well as angry horn blasts from different vehicles. Other groups reported similar occurrences. Just a piece of Redneck country I guess. Randy and Patti stopped for a few minutes in Beausejour; I rode on through the town to the campsite.

It was 1450 hrs as I turned into Brokenhead River Park, making this the latest I'd yet reached our day's destination. Jeff was just leaving the campsite in the yellow Ryder truck, about to retrace our route thinking that something must have gone wrong since nobody had arrived yet. (Driving Ken and Annette into Winnipeg had taken Jeff on a different route to Beausejour than we cyclists had travelled, so Jeff hadn't seen any of us during the day.) Once convinced it was just a long day into strong winds he and I proceeded to set up our tents and relax. The morning rain stopped and about 1500 hrs the sky cleared to a beautiful cloudless blue. Our soaked tents dried quickly in the strong wind, now blowing out of the west.

Randy and Patti soon pedalled in, but Christine and Albert, thought to be close behind, seemed to be taking a bit too long arriving and we wondered if they had made a wrong turn. But no, they soon showed up OK. When we mentioned to Jeff that we hadn't seen Marny, James or Paddy all day we learned that they had napped after breakfast, not starting out until 9 o'clock. About 1800 hrs with still no sign of Marny's group, Jeff went back to look for them. He dropped Randy and Patti off in town to do some laundry as he drove through. Mine included.

Marny et al. were found a few kilometres outside Beausejour, tired but fine. They told Jeff they were planning to stop in Beausejour and have a pizza for their supper. It was only on Jeff's return that we learned it was they who had volunteered to take Ken and Annette's supper-cooking duty for the day. After some discussion we agreed to go along with the pizza idea so that no cooking would be necessary when they did arrive. Jeff departed with our pizza order. The discussion regarding supper had me voicing my displeasure at having to buy a meal, and Albert also was a bit put-out with the idea. Perhaps Albert said it best when he said "I have already bought my own breakfast and dinner today. I thought Bud was paying for all the meals on this trip, and I fully expected Bud would be buying me supper tonight." Shortly afterwards Marny, Paddy and James arrived, obviously angry and upset. They uncharacteristically threw down their bicycles, refused all offers of help, and set about making supper, saying testily "We will do our job and nobody will be able to say we didn't!"

What exactly Jeff said to them when he went back I will never know, but Marny was angry at me for a day or two and Paddy refused to talk to me for a week. In harsh reality, she never spoke to me again unless forced to by necessity, for the entire trip. Paddy didn't talk to Jeff, either, for several days; I believe that they, too, never truly conversed again. A pity. Some misunderstanding had occurred, but rebuffs and rejection confronted any efforts to clarify occurrences.

We later learned that their bad mood was in part due to a bad day for them also. At the beginning of their day's ride they had stopped at Mike's Bike Shop for a small repair to James' bike where Mike had remarked that James' rear tire seemed low. So Mike pumped it up, not using a gage just "eyeballing" it, claiming his great experience enabled him to judge tire pressure merely by feel. Before they made the outskirts of town the tire exploded right off the rim. Marny rode back to Mike's and he came out in person with a replacement tube and a red face, installing the new tube post-haste. Now they were even later, and upset.

Ken and Annette arrived by car while supper preparation was still underway, surprised that we hadn't eaten long ago. Annette just pushed in and assisted as best she could. It was from them that we learned of the day's other tale of misery.

Rain was pouring down when Ray and Bob left Portage, bound for Winnipeg. At the railroad crossing where the signals were faulty, Bob failed to negotiate the wet, slippery tracks cleanly and his rear wheel slipped out from under him. He crashed very heavily onto his hip. "OK? Any injuries?" Ray asked as Bob regained his feet. Bob "just stood there looking down, not saying anything," Ray recalled. Then Bob jumped on his bike and madly took off for Winnipeg, riding so fast that it took Ray several miles to catch him. (Ray, too, had trouble with the tracks. He didn't fall, but bent his rear rim slightly. By loosening the brake pads he was able to continue riding.) Forty kilometres later on the Trans-Canada Highway and only 20 kms out of Winnipeg, Bob suddenly stopped, got off, and said he could ride no further. At this point Jeff and the van came along, (with Ken and Annette aboard en route to Winnipeg), stopped and learned of the accident on the tracks. They waited until Bob and Ray had a lift into the city, the van unable to hold more passengers. (Annette said that at that time they were unaware of the extent of Bob's injuries, just that he was banged-up a bit.) A truck stopped and provided a lift to the city. X-rays at a clinic showed no fractures, but severe bruising was evident from Bob's hip to close to his knee. (When I saw the bruising several days later it was still a very ugly mess, bright purple and very extensive. Bob could barely walk for several days and was to sit-out almost the entire distance around Lake Superior.)

Of course, all that the rest of us knew for the moment was that Bob had fallen heavily but was OK. We knew also that, for one reason or another, today had been a disaster for almost everyone. Personally, it had been a long and tiring day. The good news was that my handlebars had again stayed tight.

I was actually in a pretty good mood when I went to bed.

Of Racers and Runners

Breakfast was a bit tense. Everyone was deep in their thoughts regarding last night's bad supper experience, concern for Bob, and today's challenging long ride of 173 kms to Kenora. To cheer us up, though, the sky was clear and the forecast was for a hot day ahead. I was looking forward to the ride through Whiteshell Provincial Park, with its rolling hills and many lakes. Excitement and pleasure about finally coming home to Ontario filled Marny, James and the other Ontario-ites.

Ken and Annette made breakfast and I assisted in its cleanup. Leaving camp with them, we pedalled together for about 50 klicks. We rode a nice steady paceline, and any thoughts I might have had about them being "weak" cyclists vanished that morning. Annette set a fast pace, Ken held it, then I took my turn. This rotation repeated continuously for a couple of hours, 'till we reached a cafe where they decided to stop for a snack. It was a really stimulating and fun morning ride.

Ken and Annette

I rode on alone, stopping for a brief chat with the duty-clerk at the Park's gate, then continued on into Whiteshell Provincial Park. Nestled on the eastern border of Manitoba, this park is perhaps half the size of Algonquin in Ontario. It lies in heavily forested Canadian Shield country, with many exposed rocks and countless small lakes. Very atypical for Manitoba, consequently it is a big tourist region for the Winnipeg holiday set.

Shortly after entering the park I noticed movement in my rear-view mirror. Fast cyclist was my first impression. A very short time later a woman in classic road-cyclist garb swept passed me. My first impulse was to go with her, then I realized her pace was too quick for me to sustain with such a long day still ahead. But curiosity got the better of me and I sprinted up to her for a chat. She was a university student working in the park for the summer and a very fit tri-athlete out for her daily training ride, about 80 kms total distance. Her pace held steady at 34-35 kph—up-hills included. I was right down in the hooks to stay with her. When we overtook the pack of Marny, James, Paddy, Christine and Albert I dropped back with them and watched her disappear into the distance. Presently we overtook a chap running in our direction down the opposite edge of the road. He was shirtless, dripping with sweat and carrying a water bottle on his belt-pack. Having once been a jogger I empathized with him running on such a hot day (25C plus, and sunny) so I dropped off the back, slowing to chat with him. Occasionally I carried three water-bottles on my bike, when it seemed that the distance between towns would be greater than 60 km, and today was one of those days. All three were full. Ruben, I learned, was desperate for a drink. When I offered him a bottle he was extremely grateful. I assured him he could drink all he wanted. Turns out he'd way underestimated his water requirements and was completely out of water. With over 10 kilometres still to run before his re-supply point, had I not come along I suspect he would have been in serious trouble. I stayed with him and we had a good chat for several miles. When he observed that his destination was now only two klicks up the road I bade him adieu and set off to catch the others.

Joining Highway 17 at Falcon Lake, we were back on the Trans-Canada Highway. Within a few miles we came to the provincial border where James reports Marny let out a big yell of delight. Many pictures were taken in front of the big "WELCOME TO ONTARIO" sign.

The highway in Ontario immediately made a good impression on me—wide, with excellent asphalt and awesome, big paved shoulders. This is a beautiful stretch of highway. It passes many lakes, has many big hills and from Keewatin to Kenora the scenery is especially fantastic, in particular when crossing a long bridge and passing beside a huge bay on Kenora's western outskirts.

Alone since Falcon Lake, I was riding hard to keep ahead of huge black clouds building behind me and just made it to the campsite ahead of the rain. While waiting in the van for it to stop, hoping to pitch my tent in the dry, Marny and I forget who else arrived. They had all been caught in heavy rain. Some had sought shelter under trees, others in a restaurant. By supper time, though, the sky had nearly cleared, giving way to intense, brief thunder and lightning storms throughout the evening.

Kenora was our second "mail-drop" of the trip, the first being Drumheller. (I had received in-person delivery there, of course.) Jeff had the mail all sorted and waiting for us when we arrived, including 13 personal Beiseker photos. Highlighting it all was the big yellow envelope from Lynn, stuffed with newspaper clippings of Olympic events, Edmonton sports highlights, and a beautiful card full of love and best wishes for me. I sure looked forward to each mail drop!

It was Bob, Ray and Christine's turn to cook that night, but a surprise awaited us. Bob, Ray and Debbie had driven in from Winnipeg early enough so that by 1700 hrs Debbie had a huge pot of meatballs ready to eat, served over rice. She had also brought a scrumptious home-made chocolate cake, an incredible treat as sweet desserts were uncommon to us. Supper was delicious.

Bob was walking around, very stiffly but in excellent spirits. It was everyone's first chance to hear the full story but he was very quiet about it, downplaying the fall and the situation. When he might ride again was still an unknown, but he knew it would be several more days, at least, before he was up to it. Again I wondered if he would consider withdrawing early from the tour.

I believe that the effort of riding a hundred miles a day for the previous four-out-of-five days had everyone worn down and edgy and had contributed to the short tempers and hard feelings. Only today did I fully realized that Paddy was absolutely not talking to me, and I was still thinking she would get over it in a short while.

Tomorrow, July 22, was a rest-day, and we all needed it. We were finally in a decent-sized town on a day-off. It was scenic, and the shopping area was within walking distance. Kenora even had bike shops! We felt good about ourselves as we had now made it to our fifth province with only five more to go. Forgoing a beer downtown that night with Ray and Jeff, instead I had a couple by the van with Ken and Annette, and retired around 2200 hrs.