Back in The Gats
This past weekend was spent in Ottawa visiting old friends and new family. My brother and his wife had their third son in January and this proud uncle was excited to meet Heath William. On Sunday, Ed and I enjoyed a rainy day at the Museum of Nature with the older boys, Gavin and Oscar with play-off hockey on television that night.
Saturday and Monday afternoons I took the opportunity to ride some of the smoothest roads I know; across the river in Quebec’s Gatineau Park. With the park not yet officially open, those tree-lined roads were still closed to car traffic. Yup, I had ’em to myself…except for the many other cyclists enjoying the same.
Saturday’s ride began under cloudy skies but I didn’t care, I needed to spin the legs after driving the 450kms from Toronto to Ottawa. As the first section of climbing began I could hear someone coming up behind me. Sure enough, a young rider in a tour de france yellow jersey–le maillot jaune–athletic socks and aviator sunglasses attacked, standing on the pedals, pushing himself away from me, looking over his shoulder to see if I would give chase. “Not a chance” I thought to myself, “But I’ll catch you soon enough.” Up ahead, summitting, he sat back down, his body heaving from the effort. After a couple of little rolling hills, I slowly passed him on a descent. As the road went back up, I settled in to the climb. Again, the kid in the yellow jersey tore past me, standing on the pedals, looking over his shoulder. I refused to give him the satisfaction. I pedalled my own ride, sure that we would cross tires soon enough.
After a few minutes, he was in my sights, I was gaining on him, smooth and steady. Once on his wheel, he looked back; he knew I was there, I was in his head now. I didn’t attack, I just stayed on his wheel, my presence alone causing him to ride a bit harder than he may have liked. He was struggling but he wouldn’t give up. This time he didn’t stand on the pedals and attack; he stayed seated as we ground out that climb.
Eventually we crested the hill, I just inches from his rear wheel. As we rolled down the other side I took the lead but made sure he was on my wheel. The road levelled then inclined. All of a sudden he was gone, we’d barely started to climb. Rather, he fell behind like a stone in water. Within minutes he was nowhere to be seen, a victim of his own enthusiasm. I looked forward, shifted into a higher gear and kept climbing towards the Champlain look-out. As I pedalled, I thought about how I used to be that very same over-eager young rider and how long it’s taken for me to learn patience, conservation and timing.
Up at the Champlain look-out, the Ottawa Valley laid out before me. I quickly took a few pictures but those earlier clouds were now dark and beginning to let loose their payload. I began the descent as the rain started to pour down. Moments later, I was drenched, the rain pelting myself and my fellow cyclists. The cold rain, however, served as an accelerant, pushing me to ride faster and faster. With no cars on the roads I was free to take wide corners maintaining speed without having to brake. It was glorious.
Back at the van, I quickly put away the bike, stripped off those wet clothes, changed and headed to friends for dinner. Though it was just an hour and a quarter ride, it was just what I needed.
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As I rolled into the parking lot, the skies were mostly clear. This time there was no kid in yellow, no rain, no wet turns; just rubber on asphalt. This time I enjoyed the view just a little longer; I road with my head in the clouds rather than fretting about them. Cruising through those 36kms I simply enjoy life on the bike, happy just to be back in The Gats.
