Ride Report: Fools and Sons: The inaugural ride

  Route / Event: Refined Sons Foolish 300 / 300km Brevet [ Ride Log ]

The four pre-riders: Michel, Fred, Chappy, John
Image credit: Chappy

The birth of a beer-vet

Good Friday 2023, and what a good Friday it would be -- because here I was unloading my bike in a dark parking lot; signs that another season of randonneuring is here. Today four of the Huron Chapter's finest (or most foolish) would be scouting a new route ahead of it's use in a brevet event the following day. The route was a 300km loop from the west side of London, out to Sarnia, then Chatham, and back to London. For a ride this distance to go on the record, a rider has to run the course, passing through all the checkpoints, in under twenty hours. To date I had completed only one 300km brevet in my randonneuring past and it remained my longest to date. Yet here I was kicking off a new season with a ride of this magnitude. Foolish indeed?   

Uncharted territory

I felt attached to this route however because I had designed it. Last summer, while between rides, I was exploring the clubs long routes all overlaid on a provincial map. It was here that I noticed a large gap in the area surrounding the Sarnia-Chatham. So I set about drawing a loop that would start in my hometown of London (because why not?), and head out to Sarnia, follow the Lake Huron coastline down to Chatham, and meander along the Thames river back to London. When it was all done I saw the elevation profile for this ride was only 500m. So I felt what it lacked in climb effort it needed to make up for in character. I set the lunch and dinner checkpoints to be two decent breweries, and submit the map to the club's board for consideration. You wanted a brevet...I give you a "beer-vet!"

The route was approved on the condition I scout it first to ensure it was safe, properly signed and all that. The rest of the ride season got busy and the Canadian winter was making a long awkward exit. In early March I conceded to Chappy, our chapter VP, that I had yet to drive the course, he agreed to pre-ride it with me, along with two others who knew the area. We worked through some scheduling conflicts and bad weather, and now found ourselves 24 hours before the inaugural ride, and still needing to scout the route for official enshrinement. Not ideal -- foolish perhaps? 

=-=- Komoka -=-=

I was waiting inside the Tim Horton's that would be our launch point, along with Chappy and John who had arrived right before me. Michel, our fourth and final rider, arrived last. He and his wife Natalie came in with four batches of pastries, one for each of us. I ate one on the spot, but stowed the rest in my vehicle figuring that I'd be happy knowing they were waiting for me upon return. After that, we set about getting rolling. Figuring I should take some ownership over the ride I lead the others out of the parking lot and was immediately greeted by an alert on my navigator that I was off course. We were meant to head north on Komoka Rd, but in my head I was just making a beeline westbound for Sarnia. Feeling sheepish, and sure that I'd destroyed any confidence the group had in my ability to navigate, we set about our course in the proper direction. 

RANDO RAMBLE: Unwritten social contracts in randonneuring

One thought that hung with me as the four of us plowed through the headwind on our way to Forest was that of the unwritten social contract we had of sticking together this day. At no point did Michel, John, Chappy and I discuss how each of us were going to cover the course. A typical brevet is approached allure libre -- wherein the individual themselves define their own moving pace and stop time, provided they finish the course under the allotted time. But since today's arrangement was also to scout the course it made sense to me that we'd be sticking together and discussing our observations along the way. Michel and I often ride together, so I was certain we'd be paired up for the day. But I'd never really ridden much with either John or Chappy and I liked the prospect of sharing all 300kms with them, and benefiting from their experience.  

Arkona Rock Glen

To this point the route was a straight shot north-west, but we were graced with a break from the wind and monotony with a scenic tour around the Arkona Rock Glen - a natural photo stop - before continuing on through the Forest checkpoint to Sarnia. 

=-=- Sarnia -=-=

We were 80kms into the ride before when Lake Huron finally crested the horizon. I took this to mean that our westwardly heading would finally be changing, giving us a break from the headwind we'd been eating all morning.  However, since the route followed Old Lake Rd. along the southern shore of the Great Lake, we had an unsheltered cold cross-wind beating us on the right side. But what a view! The strong wind was stirring up the sand under the water, giving the lake a champagne colour as the whitecaps crashed into the shore.  The route continued to meander along the shore of the lake, finally passing under the Bluewater bridge, where we could see a long queue of vehicles waiting to pass cross the Canada / USA border into Port Huron, Michigan.

 

Chappy led us through the streets of Sarnia and we finally arrived at the second checkpoint -- the Refined Fools Brewery. I've often enjoyed their IPA mix packs at the LCBO, with witty names like "Van Full of Weirdos" and "Bernice Flipped the Canasta Table". They have some pretty hilarious stories on their website too, that are worth a read if you're ever sadly drinking alone. Speaking of sad -- unfortunately their kitchen wasn't open until 5PM, and we'd arrived right at lunch hour. So we resolved to hit a single pint each before going to find a place for lunch. 

Michel took the first draft pull of the brewery's newest batch - Darin's Internet Search History. I had a cider because, well, I'm just boring that way. John picked up the round, thanking us for maintaining the the group ride. Back in Forest I'd noticed his voice had gone hoarse, which he attributed to cold-air induced asthma, so I think he felt like we were sand-bagging for him. As if it wasn't sealed before, this gesture cemented the fact that we would travel as four today, which I was here for. 

Fish & chips

We went to the Tin Fiddler up the street to grab a bite. Since there was nowhere to park our bikes we just lined them up in front of the building right along the downtown sidewalk and chose a seat by the window. While ordering, I noticed someone outside taking keen interest in the bikes. He was smoking a cigarette, and really examining all the gear we had loaded. "I wonder which one of our bikes he's going to steal." I said to my ride mates, joking, not joking. The man quickened the frequency of the drags off his smoke as he continued to eyeball our rides. "I think we've got until he finishes that smoke to find out." I stood up and leaned on the door, ready to intercept. The man flicked his cigarette away, and I pushed the door open. The man walked into the restaurant, and right past me, thanking me for opening the door. "Nice bikes out there guys. I'm a cyclist myself." he said with a giant grin on his face. After a brief exchange he walked down toward the bar and right into the kitchen!

=-=- Along the St. Clair River -=-=

The vast majority of the leg between Sarnia and Chatham followed a paved bicycle path along St. Clair Parkway. With a view of the sapphire St. Clair River to our right, and a tailwind at our back we had a glorious ride along this stretch. Chappy asked that we stop for some pictures overlooking Chemical Valley, as well as in front of former Lampton Generating Station. This was a coal power plant in Corunna Ontario that was shut down in 2010.

Riding along the paved cycling path provided a great break from the traffic, but that didn't mean it was obstacle free. In front of me, Michel narrowly dodged a cement pillar, but I unfortunately had no time to react. Though I tried to quickly steer right, I caught my left bar on the pole, forcing my wheel sideways and sending me to the ground. I'd hit my knee on the pavement, and my helmet made contact, but I felt fine. I got up, assuring John, Chappy and Michel that I was fine, and felt like I could ride. While I collected myself, the boys checked my bike, ensuring the wheels were true and nothing had been knocked loose. All in all it felt fine, and I was eager to just keep moving. 

It wasn't until 10km up the road that I realized something was wrong. I couldn't unclip my left foot from the pedal. The fall must have knocked my cleat loose, and now that I was clipped back in, the cleat wasn't rotating with my shoe, and therefore it wouldn't disengage from the pedal. We were only about 30 minutes from the next control, so I figured this was a problem I could solve there. 

The checkpoint control in town of Wallaceburgh was supposed to be a 24-hour Tim Horton's; something I was quite proud of locating. But given that it was Good Friday, this establishment was closed. Instead, we used a Pioneer Gas Station across the street as our stop to get our cards signed, our bottles refilled. 

While the others were "watering their horses" (as Chappy was fond of saying), I set about examining my shoe situation. I'd managed to somehow wiggle my shoe off the pedal, and when I looked at the shoe, sure enough it had no cleat. The cleat was still clipped into the pedal. I used my multitool as a shim to force the cleat to rotate and it unclasped, falling to the pavement. Unfortunately though I wasn't able to put it back on my shoe since I'd lost one of the bolts -- that must have happened during the crash. Thankfully my Shimano PD-EH505 pedals are reversible, containing one surface to clip-in, and the other to ride with flat shoes. So it appeared as though I'd close out the remaining 140kms of this route with one foot clipped in, and another one on the flats. Fun!

=-=- Chatham-=-=

The Sons of Kent brewery in Chatham was our dinner control, and indeed their kitchen was open. The guys went and got a table, and I had just finished ordering my meal when one of the patrons approached me, and asked. 

"Hey so you're a cyclist eh? Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure". I responded.

"How come you all wear these shoes like you're going out to play a soccer game?" he asked, in that inquisitive way that suggested he'd always wanted to know. 

"Hang on" I said, squatting down and unfastening my right shoe (the one that still had a cleat in it). Once my shoe was off I showed him the sole. "We clip into our pedals with these cleats. They keep us fastened to the bike, and we're much more efficient pedaling that way". 

"Why does efficiency matter so much? You're not in a race are you?", he asked. 

When I'm on a long ride, I will generally try to avoid talking to others about the exact distance we're covering. It tends to be off-putting, and it's hard to mention without sounding like I'm bragging -- and it can disrupt a perfectly normal conversation. So it wasn't until this guy asked if I was racing that I finally conceded the point. 

"Not racing, no. But we're covering some serious distance today." I said, still obscuring the details. 

"Aah cool. Putting in a century are you?" he said, impressed. 

"Actually, we're two-hundred kilometers into a three-hundred kilometer route." I finally admitted. He stared at me, silent. "We started in London this morning at sunrise. We had lunch at Refined Fools in Sarnia. We're here for dinner. And we should be back in London by about midnight." I explained, trying to make it seem as normal as possible. 

When he found his words, he said "Can I buy you all a beer or something? Man, that's incredible!"

We enjoyed a great dinner at Sons of Kent. I got to hear about the birth of the Huron chapter from Chappy himself. And John gave us the blow by blow of his recent DNF on a 200 just a week prior, where ice had frozen his wheels right to the fenders of his frame. 

Later during our dinner my new friend came to visit the table, once again congratulating us for the ride and offering, again, to buy us all a round. We'd all filled ourselves, so everyone declined, but he did take our picture. I was happy though that he broke the ice asking about our cleats, and enjoyed the interaction. 

=-=- The road to Glencoe -=-=

Sons of Kent was a brilliant dinner control. The four of us left just as the sun was setting, fully recharged and ready to take on the last leg. The stop time had the injuries I'd endured in the crash a chance to set in, and I could feel my right knee pulling in odd directions. But as long as I was pedaling, it seemed fine. Good thing that's all I intended to do. 

The first turn out of Chatham put us on a lovely windy road without a turn for another twenty-five kilometers. Chatham-Kent rd. 39 was basically a glorified cycle path -- it was paved, smooth, and twisty. And it rolled through the county with highway 2 to the north, and the 401 a few kilometers to the south, so traffic was rare. 

This lovely stretch of pavement guided us through Thamesville and eventually landed us on a fifteen kilometer straight shot to Glencoe. But by now, the sun had set, and the temperature had dropped to below freezing. We'd all stopped to add the appropriate amount of layers. Unfortunately though, our group pace was averaging just over 20kph, and it didn't seem like enough to keep my core temperature up. I compensated for this by shifting into my inner front chainring, and picking up my cadence. 

We arrived in Glencoe just after 11PM, but the Tim Horton's control had long since closed. . We deviated slightly from the route to inspect a variety store, but it too was closed, as was the SubWay across the road. The whole town seemed to be asleep. 

"I saw a pub back there." said Chappy pointing back the we we'd come. 

"Of course you did." I replied, laughing. But I was glad someone had a nose for these things. 

McKellar Hotel & Karaoke Bar opened nightly at 8:30 and stayed open until 2AM. The four of us, clad in our reflective gear, walked in like the clowns we were and took a table. 

"What can I get you gentlemen?" the waitress asked us. 

"Do you serve coffee?" Chappy asked, unabashed. 

The waitress looked us over. She put it together pretty quickly -- cyclists, early April, below freezing outside. "I'll put a pot on." she said. 

"Two pots please!" Chappy requested, as she went to the kitchen. 

"So maybe we need to modify the control for this town to be this place here" I suggested to the team, "You know, instead of the Tim Horton's which seems to close a little early for the average-paced rider."

"A karaoke bar is a fine place for a control." said Chappy. 

"Maybe a new feature on the 'Huron Entertainment Series'?" I suggested. 

=-=- Closing the loop -=-=

It was past midnight by the time we arrived back to roads I rode frequently. We were in Delaware, just outside of London and within 10 kilometers of the finish, when I turned onto Wellington St. and saw a wall of pavement in the dim light of my headlamp. 

"Oh shit, I didn't realize I put that hill on this route." I said to Michel, riding behind me. Chappy and John had yet to make the turn.  

"I was lead to believe this route was flat!" he replied. 

But I was cold, and I needed the warm-up, so I just hit the gas and attacked the climb with all I had. I would learn later the next day when I bothered to look, that I PR'd that climb, and I'd done it over a dozen times. There were two more decent climbs before we arrived at the end. Chappy commended me on the design. He said that randonneurs are going to love the hills right at the end. (Honestly it was an accident, but there is only one way to get back). 

We finished the route at 1AM or thereabouts -- well after I'd anticipated, but I was learning about the impacts of early season cold night riding. I set about getting hime because, as organizer, I needed to be up in a few hours, to come right back here to kick-off the brevet proper. On a warmer summer night I might have slept in my car, but there was nothing I wanted more than the warmth of my bed -- if only for a few hours. 

The foolish brevet riders