Ride Report: The Great Canada Bicycle Tour

Route / Event: The Great Canada Bicycle Tour / 600km Brevet [ Ride Log ]

Premise of the ride:

The Great Canada Bicycle Tour was the brainchild of John Cumming, a fellow randonneur from the London area in Ontario. In his blog, posted in the spring of the year prior, John noted that 2023 would mark the 140th anniversary of a bicycle ride that took place in 1883, by 40 "practiced gentlemen" on their high-wheel bikes. These men were members of a cycling club from Chicago who devised a tour through south-western Ontario to demonstrate the effectiveness of the bicycle as a form of transportation used for long-distance purposes. In the pre-car era of the late 1800s, horse-drawn carriage would have been the only mode of transport used for such endeavors. 

Using articles from the archives of The Wheelman magazine, written both before, and after the ride, John pieced together the route that these gentlemen rode, the result of which was a 600km point to point journey that could be sanctioned as an official brevet, in a year where several randonneurs could use such as a ride to qualify for Paris-Brest-Paris 1200km event in August. For me, it was simply my first attempt to ride such a distance.  

Windsor to Kingsville

"...thence across river to Walkerville and road to Essex Centre, nineteen miles; thence to Kingsville, and following the shore of Lake Erie, through Ruthven, Leamington, Mersea, Romney, Dealtown, Buckhorn to Blenheim, sixty-five miles from Detroit." -- The Canada Tour; The Wheelman, 1882. 

Michel and I arrived at the departure point at the waterfront in Windsor Ontario around 4:30AM. The wind howling off the Detroit river was there to greet us, but the parking lot was surprisingly empty. I confirmed we were standing right on the pin of the start location, and we started to get our bikes ready. A few minutes later, a cyclist clearly dressed for randonneuring coasted up to us. 

"Is this the start?" he asked, looking around. I didn't recognize the man, but with over 30 riders registered for this brevet, I was expecting to see a few new faces. 

"I think so." I replied, as I continued to mount my bags on my bike. 

"Hmm. No, I don't think it is." he replied. And off he went up the path that followed the river before I could even get his name. (I would later learn this gentleman was Sean Keesler, a randonneur from New York. Sean's account of this ride, both video and blog, are linked below). 

"Well this is off to a great start" I said to Michel. "How could we be in the wrong place?"

Across the main road Caesar's Windsor stood like a neon palace overlooking the Windsor waterfront. Michel and I agreed to head toward it knowing that Tim and Brenda had booked in there for the night. Frequent ride-mates of ours, the couple had kindly let us out-of-towners stay at their place in nearby Lasalle, and elected to get a room for themselves in this casino hotel right close to the departure point. If anyone, they would know where the ride actually started. Sure enough as we approached the entryway of the casino hotel we recognized their bikes as those being unload from an enclosed trailer. We helped them with their unloading, and followed them up the road to the actual start, where, by now, a gathering of thirty-ish brightly coloured cyclists were gathered.  

To date I had never seen more than a dozen riders at any brevet, and those would have been the shorter 200km rides. To see such a large group getting ready to depart for a 600km brevet really drove home that we were taking part of something very special. Carey Chappelle, the Chapter VP / Regional Brevet Admin, and John Cumming, the route developer, both of whom had ridden the route just a few days prior, gave us all a quick briefing before we put the river to our backs and set off -- set alight by the headlamps of several dozen bicycles. 

As we departed, Michel and I rode two abreast among the larger group and we dipped in and around the city streets in the wee hours of the morning. As we rounded a church cemetery it was really impressing on me that I'd never taken part of a group ride with such a large group. A cycling club tour group might break groups up into squads of no more than 10 - 12, but half that amount was even better. Here we were, a hyper-reflective neon army of thirty, weaving through the city of Windsor. As I was taking that all in a flywheel buzzed up beside me. 

"Hey guys! Good to see you again!" it was Darcy Haggith, a fellow randonneur from Windsor. 

"Hey Darcy", I said in reply. "I didn't see you at the start!". Darcy missed the group depart by a few minutes, and was just catching up now. He had stopped by Tim and Brenda's the night before to drop something off, and seeing that we were there, had stayed for a bit. We had a great chat about our strategy for this upcoming ride. Like most, Michel and I had a room booked at the 370km mark in Goderich. While most had chosen to stay at the Bedford Inn; notable for it's inclusion in the presence in the original tour of 1883, and the site of the actual checkpoint, the two of us had secured lodging at a more humble motel down the street. (I didn't trust that I'd be able to take my bike up to my room in the older building). Darcy, on the other hand, was planning to ride the 600+km route straight through. Someday, I resolved, I would venture to do the same -- but this weekend was not that day. We bid Darcy adieu, knowing full well it was bound to be the last we saw of him on this ride. 

Kingsville to St. Thomas: Against the wind on the Talbot Trail

"...from Kingsville to St. Thomas the oldest and finest track in Canada. It is of hard, smooth gravel, free from ruts, and is perfect wheeling for the tricycle. It runs along the bank of Lake Erie, sixty feet above the water, alternately winding through heavy woods and open fields, through which cool glimpses of the lake are obtained. Sixty miles in one day was easily performed over this road right after a ram-storm, when it was quite muddy..." -- The Canada Tour; The Wheelman, 1882. 

Control 1: Tim Horton's in Kingsville
(Sadly for me, the Taco Bell was closed)

We were just beyond the first control; a Tim Horton's in the town of Kingsville; when we found ourselves in a headwind with no escape. Now over fifty kilometers into the ride, the gaggle of thirty riders had broken up and I found myself riding with in a group of about twelve down the Talbot Trail. 

The peloton of riders was indeed a boon. In order to combat the headwind, we started running a continuously rotating paceline. The wind was coming off Lake Erie hitting us at an oblique angle to our right side. Riding two-abreast, rotating clockwise into the wind, would allow riders on the left side to surge at a faster speed while riders on the right side would take the brunt of the wind while they pedaled softly, shielding the faster riders. The primary benefit here was to allow the entire group to travel at a quicker pace working together than any one of us would be able to do if we were fighting the wind alone. The secondary benefit was that managing the formation keeps the mind busy and kills the monotony of riding several dozen kilometers. 

Halfway between Kingsville and Blenheim we had to detour around a section that was closed due to erosion. While not safe for vehicles, this section would have been perfectly safe for bikes especially since it was closed to car traffic. However, the insurance we randonneurs ride under doesn't cover us on publicly closed roads, and so we are forbidden from using them as an official part of a route. So instead we were diverted onto a gravel road that ran parallel to the Talbot Trail for five kilometers. The gravel section shattered the tight paceline as everyone adjusted to riding this alternative terrain within their own varying levels of comfort and ability. Astride my Checkpoint, an entry gravel bike equipped with 32c Specialized Roubaix tires, I had confidence enough to continue at a decent pace. Before long I found myself on the wheel of rider bearing a black Warriors jersey, with the rest of the group disappearing in the dust behind us. The Warriors are a cycling club from Toronto, and the randonneurs that were affiliated with this club I knew to be highly capable and strong riders, often finishing brevets in unbelievably fast times. My new partner turned to see we had broken away from the group, and I recognized him to be Max Reydman. Realizing it was just the two of us Max acknowledged my presence with a nod, and we proceeded to maintain our spirited pace, trading off wind blocking duties one after the other, until finally reaching the turn back onto paved road.  

Reacquiring the Talbot Trail after some gravel fun

Here we stopped, and agreed to wait for the rest of the peloton to catch up. It was still 30kms of headwind to the next control, so staying in a large group was the smart thing to do. We'd put so much of a gap between us and the rest along the gravel road that I had time to pee, re-apply sunscreen, and eat a wrap I had stowed from Tim Horton's before the rest of the group started to arrive and reassemble. A tight peloton once again, we rejoined the Talbot Trail proper. As we rounded the turn John and Carey, our ride organizers, were standing on the corner snapping pictures of us go by. 

"They're totally there making sure no one shortcuts the gravel section by taking the nicely paved closed road" I said to Michel, under my breath. 

The rotating chain gang continued on through Blenheim. As effective as it was to battle the wind, the continuous rotation made it hard to be social. This didn't stop Michael Henderson from teaching me all about wheel building however, 30 seconds at a time. He got very good at chunking our conversation up into small episodes that he would resume whenever we were side-by-side. It was quite the performance, and amused everyone in our vicinity. 

The group of twelve gradually broke up along the route to St. Thomas. One after the other riders would drop off. Some willingly, admitting that as they tired they were no longer a good fit for the group's pace. Others just seemed to silently disappear off the back without notice. By the time we got to Jumbo the Elephant monument at the St. Thomas control, there were only a half a dozen of us riding together. Michel and I made this control quick knowing we had a scheduled dinner with our wives at the London control. 

St. Thomas to London: Dinner with the Family

"From thence the route winds out of the magnificent St. Thomas valley over the gradually ascending high hills, past elegant farm-houses and estates, church-yards and schools, until abruptly reaching the summit of an easily climbed grade, London, with its towers, steeples, and elegant buildings, appears to view down in the valley below." -- The Canada Tour; The Wheelman, 1882. 

We rolled into London right at 5pm, marking 250kms in 12 hours of riding. The control was located downtown at the corner of Richmond and King St. at the location where once stood The Grigg House. Our predecessors of 1883 were welcomed here by the Forest City Cycling Club at the time of their stay. We had arranged to meet our wives and kids for dinner at the Covent Garden Market nearby, but little did we know the place would be packed with  by a Cinquo de Maio festival. 

The family -- at Covent Garden Market, London

"We could just go eat at the Info-Tech Research Group office" Michel said, pointing across the street to our workplace located kiddie-corner to the busy marketplace. 

"We can't" I reminded him. "It's not open to the public, wouldn't it violate the rules of self-support?". 

"Our hotel room at the Goderich control isn't open to the public either. What's the difference?" Michel surmised. I considered this. Securing lodging at a control was a common randonneuring practice, after all.  Even though we both knew the office was off limits, we needed to figure out why

"The option to book a room is open to everyone, which is not the case for our office." I said, after some thought. What is randonneuring if not debating the intricacies of the rules mid-brevet? 

Eldest son Morgan

In the end we found a place in the market square amid the revelry. Kim, my wife, went inside the facility to get food for our kids. I had long since inhaled my food, a big bowl of ramen from a nearby Asian place, and Kim was still nowhere to be seen, no doubt delayed by the crowds inside. Sensing my unease with not being able to dine with my family Michel said to me "Relax. We're going to be here for a little while. We've already done 250kms today and we need the rest." 

We were back on the road again just after 6 p.m.. The route dragged us through Victoria Park took where a street hockey tournament had closed the streets. As we snaked through the crowds of players and parents I was reminded of the many times i'd taken my youngest son such festivals. As we approached the northern edge of the city, we rode past the Waltzing Weasel; a pub we knew many fellow randonneurs would be stopping at for their dinner. There were no sign of bikes as we pulled in. 

"If you're looking for your friends, they just left." said a man sitting at a patio table. 

"How long ago?" I asked.

"Maybe 5 or 10 minutes ago? Not long" he replied. 

I looked at Michel. "Well, maybe we'll catch them on the way to Goderich." I said. 

"Sorry, did you said Goderich?" The man asked, surprised. "Isn't that far?"

"Exactly 120kms from here." I replied. This sort of marveled exchange happens at least once on every long ride. 

"What time are you going to get there?" he asked, interested.

"We're aiming for about midnight" I said, knowing that the idea of riding bikes at the night is off-putting for most. 

"Wow. Geez. Well, ride safe." he said. 

London to Goderich: The long dark road

"On arrival in Goderich the visitor finds himself on the ‘square,’ which will be more apt, however, to give him the impression of a circle, being octagon in shape, and having the eight principal streets radiating from it. In the centre stands the court-house, surrounded by a fine patch of green, with numerous shade-trees, giving it quite a park-like appearance. The distance round

it is one-third of a mile, making a fine course." -- The Canada Tour; The Wheelman, 1882. 

Whoooooah! We're half-way there!
Still smiling at 300kms. 

We pedaled into dusk, chasing the sun as it set behind the horizon off to our left. In the dim light of the evening we would periodically see blinking red lights far off in the distance, only to have them disappear behind a hill, or around a bend. I was sure that, when I looked, I could also see a headlight far off behind us -- a solo randonneur making their way to Goderich behind us. Periodic reminders that we were part of something larger than the two of us. 

"Why is Exeter not a control?" Michel asked, as we made our way through the town. 

"I dunno. Do you feel like stopping for anything?" I asked.

"Not really, actually". he replied. 

"Then let's be glad it isn't, and keep going." We still had fifty more kilometers to cover.

This was the first 600 kilometer brevet Michel and I had ever participated in, and the first that ever incorporated a sleep stop. I was looking forward to the rest, and really wanted to see what it would feel like to jump back on the bike after a full day of riding. 

We pulled into the Goderich courtyard just after midnight. We rode our bikes around the back of the Bedford Inn and knocked on the back door. John Cumming greeted us, and immediately hushed us as we entered the rear entrance of the dining hall. John had brilliantly arranged with the hotel to use the hall as a makeshift sleep facility. Inside it was dark, and there were bikes parked against various tables. The air was punctuated by the heavy breathing and snoring of half a dozen dozing randonneurs. I had to be careful not to step on anyone as John guided us out to the main lobby where we could pick up our drop bags. Within the lobby Mike Henderson and Nick Uloth were sitting at a table having a beer, and invited us to join them.

The Bedford Inn's makeshift dormitory

"Man I'd love to but we're not staying here." I told them, wanting nothing more than to continue our previous conversation about wheel building in an unbroken manner. But every minute I spent here was a minute I wasn't sleeping. The clock was still ticking for me. "We still need to get to our own motel down the street."

"Oh, you're not staying here?" Michael asked. 

"Nah. I booked at the Harmony Inn long before I knew John would have all this setup for us." I admitted, cursing my own proactivity. At this point I would have loved to have a room at the Bedford. But at the time I was booking, I wasn't sure I'd have a place to park my bike.   

Overhearing our exchange, a man I recognized as Brenda's brother Brian approached us. Brian had been pulling a U-Haul for Brenda and Tim along the route, meeting then at checkpoints providing a sort of personal support. 

"You want a lift to your motel? I could take you."  he offered. It was an easy decision. We threw out bikes in the back of the cab of his pickup and were at our hotel around the corner in no time. 

We checked into the Harmony Inn just before 1 a.m., having woken up the attendant in order to do so. Once settled, I let Michel shower first, and while he did so I unpacked and repacked my bike, getting it ready for the next day. By the time I was done filling all my bottles with a new set of Gruppo Ride, with Gruppo Ride the motel's night table was unmistakable from a narcotic crime scene. By the time I was done showering, Michel was fast asleep. This control cutoff was at 6am, so our plan was to be rolling by about 5am to stay ahead of the clock. I set my own alarm for 4am and as soon as my head decided which pillow it preferred, I was out cold. In my dreams, wheels turned, freewheels buzzed, and I pedaled infinitely into the ether. 

Goderich to Stratford: Dawn of a new day

"On arrival in Goderich the visitor finds himself on the ‘square,’ which will be more apt, however, to give him the impression of a circle, being octagon in shape, and having the eight principal streets radiating from it. In the centre stands the court-house, surrounded by a fine patch of green, with numerous shade-trees, giving it quite a park-like appearance. The distance round

it is one-third of a mile, making a fine course." -- The Canada Tour; The Wheelman, 1882. 

Fueling up for day 2

I woke up to the sound of my alarm and my dream fizzled out like an old CRT television screen. As the fog gave way to reality and I became aware of my surroundings I noticed Michel was fully dressed in fresh new kit and seemed to be putting the finishing touches on his bike -- he looked ready to go. I sat up. 

"You sleep okay?' I croaked. 

"Didn't really sleep at all" Michel replied. 

As I pulled myself together Michel explained that, not too long after he'd fallen asleep, his core temperature was pretty high, and he couldn't seem to regulate his body heat. This resulted in waves of sweating and shivering which kept him wide awake through the few hours that I'd slept. 

"You gonna be okay to ride?" I asked, concerned. 

"Dude, for the last few hours that's all I've wanted to do". 

With our bikes packed we rode the few blocks to the Bedford Inn to resume the route. The night before, when John Cumming was signing our brevet cards as we arrived, had told us that there would be a continental breakfast available in his room, so we stopped in to grab some food for the road. My spirits were lifted to hear that, though the two of us had arrived after many of the riders in the evening, we were one of the first to be hitting the road that morning (barring, of course, of the club's fastest riders were riding non-stop, and would soon be finishing the entire course). I grabbed a croissant and a banana, we were back on-route by 5:30 a.m. 

Before even leaving the town proper we found ourselves in the hills. Despite all the wind, the day prior was a relatively flat affair, but the elevation profile of our ride today projected a lot more climbing on the back half of this route. After a few peaks and valleys I could tell that Michel's sleep deprivation was working against him. 

"Sorry man" he panted, cresting another hill as I waited at the top. "I think I burned too many matches on that group ride yesterday. Not feeling fast today."

"We're ahead of cut-off. As long as we can keep it above 20, and keep our stops short, we'll be fine." I assured him, realizing how proper pacing would be the key to finishing the day under time. 

But as if the hills weren't enough to challenge our moving speed, by mid-morning the wind was picking up, coming out of the south-east, once again directly against our heading. Add to that the dark ominous clouds in the distance, maintaining 20kph was going to be tough. 

We rolled into Clinton, a small town in the dead-center of Huron county. As we approached a Circle K, I noticed Luke, Edwin, and Stanley had parked their bikes, having passed us on the climbs earlier that morning. The three boys from Toronto had arrived in Goderich three hours after us and had only managed an hour or so of sleep. While one of them was in the store gathering provisions, the other two were laid out in front of the corner store, power-napping. I imagined they must be feeling about the same as Michel by now. 

"Let's get some coffee into you" I said to Michel. "But we have to make this quick."

While we were getting coffee I fired a few text messages to Tim and Brenda, wondering if they were ahead but hoping they were behind us. Strong riders as they were, I was really hoping for their company to ensure that we could maintain our own pace, especially if I wound up riding with the three tired Toronto boys in a complete re-enactment of our 400km ride together just two weeks prior. One thing was for sure -- I couldn't allow myself to be encumbered by pulling four tired bodies all the way to Burlington. Tim replied, confirming they were just about to leave Goderich. I was comforted knowing they'd catch up. 

"A twenty-five mile spin in the afternoon through the picturesque villages of Carronbrooke and Mitchell brings the party to the commercial and railroad centre of the region, Stratford." - The Canada Tour; The Wheelman, 1882. 

A large thunderbolt pierced the steel-grey sky directly in front of us. "Wow!" I exclaimed. "Did you see that?" I asked Michel, who was riding in my wake. I was doing my best to shield him from the headwind while keeping our speed up above 20, keeping Luke, Edwin, and Stanley in my sights just ahead of us. 

"See what?" he asked. I turned and noticed Michel's gaze was fixed squarely on my rear tire. "Nothing -- just a redtail hawk" I replied.  

We pulled into Stratford right as the rain started. The official control for this stage was a popular breakfast diner called Features. But given it was Sunday morning at 11AM, the place was packed, lined up out the door. We rolled up to Martin Cooper who told us Features was boasting a 45 minute wait. As we looked for other options Conor Pollock also pulled up. We cycled around with Martin and Conor looking for an alternate, but so many restaurants were either closed because it was Sunday, or closed permanently. Conor doubled back to Features saying he really needed a proper meal so was going to take his chances with the line at Features, while Marty, Michel and I found a Coffee Culture further up the route. We leaned our bikes up against the diner window and went inside. 

Michel ordered our food while I made use of the restroom. I took my time washing up, drying off, and just generally taking care of myself. By the time I emerged I saw that we'd also been joined by Michael, who'd seen our bikes parked out front just as he was about to skip town without a stop. The four of us sheltered from the rain and enjoyed a warm meal for the next hour.

Stratford to Brantford: Just make me a sandwich already!

500km marker

"From Stratford down over the same road through Travistock (sic), Chesterfield, Bright, Drumbo, and Richwood to the large and thriving city of Paris, and from thence to Brantford, along the bank of the Speed river. Here we find a most enterprising bicycling centre, and roads radiating out in every direction, such as an American would consider boulevards."

The next leg was a 70 kilometer stretch from Stratford to Brantford. Along the way, whenever we were passed by a fellow randonneur I asked them if they'd seen Brenda and Tim. John Kiefer rolled up and said he'd seen them a few hours ago, putting on rain gear under a tree. Conor Pollock caught up to us, and confirmed that they were through Stratford, but that Brenda wasn't feeling well. But before long, about an hour outside of Brantford, I caught sight of them gaining on us. 

"We have company!" I said, hoping to lift Michel's spirits. Tim and Brenda ride with us for a few kilometers, Tim and I sitting on the front. "Should we push the pace a little?" Tim asked. 

"We can try. But Michel didn't sleep last night, so he's pretty cooked." I replied. "If you guys need to keep moving, I'm gonna ng to stay with him". For her part, Brenda had already completed a 600km ride the previous November, which she could use toward her qualifications for PBP. But Tim, having sat that one out, needed to finish this ride under time, so I didn't want to hold her m back. I assumed Tim respected my position. Eventually, we had to let the two of them ride through, and I was sorry to lose their company. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep up with them" Michel said, as our friends disappeared up the road. 

"It's no problem man" I assured him. "Tim needs this ride, so let him go. They have their own goals and we have ours. We're riding our own ride."

I was reassured to see a dozen rando-bikes at the control on Brantford; our final checkpoint before the push to the finish. We were only 45 minutes ahead of the cut-off time. Trying to be efficient I had called ahead to Tim and asked if he could get our food for us. So spotting them in the parking lot, we wheeled down over to see if they'd gotten the chance. Brenda was sitting in the passenger seat of the truck eating swedish berries, as I approached the driver's side door. 

"This is the only thing I can keep down" she said. I'd been so focused on myself and Michel I hadn't noticed how anyone else is feeling. 

"Did you manage to get my order in?" I asked, feeling a tad selfish. 

"You can ask Brian, but it's super busy in there, so I don't think so" she said. "Excuse me for a second". Just then, Brenda opened the passenger side door and started vomiting, pretty aggressively. Not knowing what to do I walked to the front of the vehicle where Tim was working on one of their bikes. 

"Umm. Brenda's pretty sick. Is she going to be ok?" I told him, concerned. 

"She says she'll finish. She'll be fine." Though he seemed unconcerned, I had to trust this doctor and nurse couple knew what was what. I turned my attention to getting some food. 

"Go get a table" I told Michel. "This one's on me." As I was waiting in line John Kieffer came over for a chat. 

"Is he gonna make it?" John asked, motioning with his ahead to the back corner. Michel was sitting upright, completely asleep at a table. 

"It's gonna be close" I told John. "He hasn't slept. If we can leave before cutoff, and keep us over 20, we'll make it in time."

"You might need to make a tough choice soon if you're gonna save your brevet" he in told me. I knew what he meant. He was worried that I was putting my own finish at risk by sticking this one out for my friend's sake. 

"We don't need this." I said. "Neither one of us are going to Paris this year. If we don't make this 600, we'll find another one later this year". John just patted me approvingly on the shoulder and walked off. I had lied. I didn't want to do another 600. I'd been riding in active recovery the whole day so I had a lot in reserve right now. If it was just about me I could hit the road and bash the rest of the 50 kms out in a couple hours. But we'd come too far together for that to be how we finish now. My focus was on completing this ride the way we'd planned, together. 

"Two ham sandwiches and two chocolate milks" I said to the attendant. I looked over at Michel, now asleep with his head on the table. "And one smile cookie for my dead friend over there". I added as I paid for the order. When the order came through I'd been given a sandwich and two chocolate milks. 

"Excuse me. Where's the other sandwich?" I asked the employee. He looked puzzled. 

"I ordered two sandwiches and two chocolate milks. Oh, and I'm also missing that smile cookie" The employee looked at my order. 

"Oh no. I over-charged you. That cookie made one of them a combo".

"I don't really care about that. I just need my food. We're in a race and I need to hit the road". This wasn't even a lie -- we were in a race against time at this point. 

"No, I have to reverse the order and do it again." He said. "Tap your card. I tapped my card on the refund option. The attendant came back with my sandwich, and two cookies. 

"I only need one cookie" I said.

"It's fine." He said, and then he handed me a twenty dollar bill. 

"What's this...." I stopped myself. Whatever. I pocketed the bill and carried the food over to our table. 

"Here's your sandwich, your drink, a cookie for your spirits. And I think I just made twenty bucks" I said to Michel. "Now eat" I said firmly "because we want to be gone before cutoff."

Brantford to Hamilton / Burlington: The last long leg

From Brantford, over a part plank and part gravel road, to Hamilton. This will be a short trip for the day, twenty-five miles, but may be considered by some as harder, on account of the nature of the road. This road is dependent upon the state of the weather for its utility as a bicycle-track, and, should it happen to rain hard within two days of the time we have to go over it, it might be difficult wheeling."

Jerseyville Road. Ask anyone who's been on it, whether as part of this ride, or any other, and you'll find find polarizing almost as divisive as pineapples on pizza. Personally I loved it. Twenty solid kilometers of rolling hills on a quiet country road that runs parallel to the 403 on the north side. 

"Man, you seeing these houses? They're insane!" I yelled back at Michel. 

"Nope. Sorry. Just riding" he replied. 

Our pace had fallen to about 15 kph. The rolling hills made it difficult to maintain a consistent speed. Finally turning off Jerseyville road we merged onto Wilson -- a divided highway with a baracaded bike lane for bicycles which contained a steep, straight descent for 5 kilometers. Michel passed me on the descent -- he was always much more comfortable traveling at high speeds than I was. As the two of us let ourselves glide down the escarpment at top speed, I noticed my nav was having us turn just short of completing the descent. Worried that Michel was going to blow past the turn, I went into a fully aerotuck, rolling at 50kph to get back on my companion's wheel. 

"MICHEL! TURN RIGHT IN....500....400...RIGHT AT THE LIGHT!!!" I yelled as hard as I could, pleading he could hear me.  He responded with a thumbs up, and signaled a right turn. 

That fast descent down the escarpment had won us back a bunch of time and I wanted to make sure we didn't lose it, but now we were in the hustle and bustle of downtown Hamilton. As a light ahead of us turned green we clipped into our bikes to roll through the intersection when a car coming the other way proceeded to turn left, coming right for me. I unclipped and jumped off my bike, propping it up like some kind of shield and braced myself for impact, but the vehicle stopped suddenly, inches from my bike. The driver, through the windshield was waving his arms and cursing me out. 

"What the HELL are you doing?!!" Michel yelled at the car. 

"Come on -- let's just go. We can't stop." I said. I hopped on my bike and carried on. Weird. No adrenaline. No desire to seek justice on what was obviously a lapse in judgement on that driver's part. I was so focused on finishing the ride at this point. For his part, Michel had a resurgence of energym for which I was so happy. Whether it was the quick descent, or the adrenaline from the near collision, I couldn't say. But for the remainder of our meander through Hamilton, I was happy to have a talkative companion again. 

Right at the 600 kilometer mark we were crossing the McQueston High Level bridge when we came across Luke, Edwin and STanley again. They seemed to be discussing which way to go. 

"It's this way" I said, without stopping. 

"No, down this way" Luke said. 

"You can go that way -- I'm not stopping. It's this way". I found my direct demeanor to be extremely uncharacteristic, but looking at the time, we had only about an hour to get to the end if we were going to be credited for completion. The three Toronto boys joined us. Luke mentioned that their nav computers were challenged by the many cues in the short area, causing them to have to stop and verify many of their directions through Hamilton. I didn't mind acting as a navigator and welcomed their company. 

Arrival at Alershot Station - 20 minutes before cutoff

We finally pulled into Aldershot station, the site of the ride finish, at 20:40 -- twenty minutes ahead of cut-off. The parking lot was full of people and bikes, including both Kim and Natalie. Our two wives had carpooled from London to pick us up at the finish. Carey Chapelle signed my card marking the official completion of my first 600km brevet, and we traded congratulations with several other randonneurs. 

The point to point route, while certainly not a perennial route we would do yearly, was definitely something special, and one I'll never forget. 

Other accounts of this historic event: 

• The Great Canada Bicycle Tour of 1883 Revisited - blog by John Cumming
• The Great Canada Bicycle Tour 600k - blog by Martin Cooper
• How not to to ride a brevet – A long-winded tale - blog by Michael Charland
• Great Canada Bicycle Tour 600 // Randonneurs Ontario 2023 - video blog by Conor Pollock
• A Randonneurs Ontario 600k Brevet: The Great Canada Bicycle Tour! - video blog by Sean Keesler
• The Great Canada Bicycle Tour 600k - blog by Sean Keesler