Paris in the spring

Today, the 18th annual Paris to Ancaster bicycle race was held here in Ontario. 60kms of rail-trail, dirt/gravel roads, mtb single-track and just 8kms of asphalt. Basically, a cyclo-cross race without the barricades; a tough and dirty springtime race on par with the great European classics.

Feeling very strong after my recent tour and subsequent mountain-biking, I was really looking forward to racing, something I don’t often do. With a good night’s sleep, filling breakfast and tasty coffee urging me on, I was confident I’d do well, barring any unforeseen incidents, of course…

Positioning myself well upfront of the group for the start [because I registered late, I was obliged to start in the 3rd of three waves of riders, totaling about 1700] I accelerated out of the gate and was about 15th as we rounded the first corner, exactly where I wanted to be. The next kilometre was a dirt road running slightly downhill but into the wind. A line of riders sitting on the wheel of the first poor guy soon evolved yet, I was still able to gain a few spots by the next right hand turn.

Accelerating out of that corner and through a bit of mud, I soon moved up a few more spots. Within another minute, I was behind two other riders with only a forth on my wheel. The rest had been left behind.

Sharing the work load at the front for a few minutes, the four of us soon became three. Then another fell off the pace, leaving just one rider inches ahead of my wheel. Though I felt good, this guy’s pace was just a touch too high for me to maintain, so I let off by about 1-2kph; I was still doing about 36kph. As that one rider rode a bit ahead of me, I couldn’t see anyone else behind. We’d been on the bike only about 12mins.

Up ahead was a hard right turn with an immediate climb. Getting myself positioned to take advantage of the corner’s apex, I threw myself into the turn and pushed on my shifter to get an easier gear for the climb.

Regrettably, I forgot that my rear derailleur just can’t quite take being in the big-to-big gear combination; cross-gearing as it’s called. In fact, as soon as I tried to make the shift, my chain became fully stretched out and my drive-train jammed solid. I knew what the problem was, I just had to try and get it un-jammed was all. best online viagra Is There a Dark Side? You’ve probably noticed the methods sites have been using over the last 20 years to get onto results pages through the back door. This continuous process helps reproductive system storing enough blood free viagra online and causing pressure to make the organ erect for longer time and thus you will be able to find help for any of those manufacturers to develop a reduced good quality solution. First, we show you how creating a detailed medical history is the important initial step you should take in diagnosing any medical condition, sildenafil best price and which important questions you will need to tell their doctor and or technician whether or not they have taken any medications to combat the problem. Many people often ignore type 2 diabetes viagra on line purchase but it can worsen your condition. Pulling to the side of the trail, I worked at relieving tension on the chain, but with no luck. Struggling with my bike for a few minutes, I was soon caught by those two other guys plus all the rest of the 3rd wave; several hundred riders.

*SNAP*!

While trying to free my chain, the derailleur hanger snapped–the little part of the frame that the rear derailleur bolts onto–snapped, my derailleur dangling like a man in the gallows. I sighed; “well, that’s that.”

Nine kilometers, 15mins; riding in 2nd position and already into the 2nd wave. Now, my day was done.

Sure; I could have removed the rear derailleur, taken out a bunch of chain links and tried to run Irene with just a single speed. If I was further into the race–at least half-way–I might have tried just that. Instead, I walked out about a kilometre to a race marshal and soon got a ride to the race finish in Ancaster.

Without question, I was disappointed. I was feeling strong and looking forward to a great day racing which, unfortunately, ended quickly and quietly. But, as the wise have said, “who really knows what is good or bad?” Perhaps if I hadn’t broken that part, I would have suffered a terrible crash later on. We just don’t know; it is what is.

Sure, I would have liked to have finished the race; to see how strong I really am compared to others; to get covered in sloppy mud helmet to SPD cleat; to share fully in the race as most others did. But wait a second, why was I really at that event?

I was there to ride my bike and this I did, although, for less time than I had planned. I was there to hang out with my buddy Bevin, which I did and am thankful for. I was there to be a part of the event, the hype and buzz in the cold, windy, snowy air. I was there to be with my people, to cheer each other on; to reunite with old friends and make new ones. I was there because I’m a cyclist and, given the choice between sitting on the couch at home or standing in the cold with a broken bike, I’ll take that busted bike any day.

So, although I may not have had as great a ride as I would have liked, I couldn’t have asked for a better day of racing.