Tuesday 23 August 2011

Day 96: Chester Grant to Lorax Woodlands (The Last Gasp)

Despite all the reflection the night before, we awoke just like any other morning. It's amazing how you can get into a routine and despite the fact that we all knew it was going to end that afternoon, it didn't really feel any different. Packing up the tents and sleeping bags one last time was just the same as on day 54 (though they need to be aired out a little more urgently now!) and without much fuss, we were on the road again.

Despite having driven this road many, many times, on the bike the were still some surprises. In some ways it almost seemed shorter than I expected, wand though there were certainly hills, it wasn't as steep as I'd feared. An hour of easy riding brought us in to New Ross.

In an enormous universe filled with so many random events, things are bound to happen, but still, what happened next seems like a bit more than just chance. I've seen a lot of country on this trip, been to a lot of places - some great, some not - but this finally proved that New Ross just doesn't like me. I don't know what I ever did to it, but I certainly will never forget what it's done to me.

For the first 16 years of my life we got along fine, mostly ignoring each other. Then one fateful night, driving home with my father from a party in Bridgewater, a guy blew through the stop sign in New Ross and with a tremendous crash our cars crumpled together, front corner to front corner. The cars were totaled, but luckily we were all OK (though going from asleep in the front seat to Screech-BANG! to sitting trembling in a crumpled car was quite a shock). My legs wouldn't hold me for at least 30min, and to this day I always watch that intersection carefully, so my association with New Ross hasn't been so pleasant.

I tried to look on the bright side, told myself that I'd had my one big accident and so I shouldn't ever have to deal with it again, but I was only partly right. As I pedaled up the steep hill to the fateful intersection, flashing light visible just as it was all those years ago, I downshifted, heard a bang, my bike suddenly stopped and then I gracelessly tipped over in the middle of the hill. I'd evidently gotten somewhat used to falling while clipped in because I landed quite well with only a minor scrape, but when I looked around to figure out what had happened, I quickly saw that my bike, my trusty steed who'd carried me 5600km hadn't fared so well.

Rear derailleurs are supposed to hang below the gears, not be tangled in the spokes above them...


By the time the rest of the team caught up, I'd extracted the broken derailleur and determined that there wasn't any other damage (thankfully the wheel/spokes survived, unlike Spencer's experience back around White River, ON when his derailleur got sucked into his rear wheel while doing 50km/hr down a hill, breaking half the spokes and he ended up skidding it out done the mountain!) However, the fact remained that my bike wasn't going to be pedaled anywhere until it had a good session at a bike shop.

We'd been doing so well - 95 days and a combined 36,000km pedaled (almost equivalent to riding around the planet - 40,000km) without any dire bike problems, without ever having to stick out our thumb or call for help, but there we were, stuck 45km from the final destination. Te only good side to it was that unlike most of the rest of the country, back here in NS, our home turf, we had lots of support we could use.

So within a few minutes, a rescue mission was organized. Justin would drive out from Lorax with his bike, and take mine back, letting me finish the journey on his. Although the ending of the trip was turning out to be pretty anti-climatic, it would have been rather disappointing to not be able to have us all ride in to Lorax together, so big huge thanks to Justin! And Carla wasn't about to pass up the chance to see/rescue her sister after so long, so she came along too, but also brought her bike and escorted us back. And like everything else on our trip, a pretty big problem was quickly sorted out and in the end it was even better than before.


However, Justin is a little smaller than me and his bike has drop bars, so it took a little getting used to before I felt comfortable riding it. And he also hadn't gotten around to fitting a granny-gear on the bike. Any other day I wouldn't have thought much of it, I rarely use my granny even fully loaded, but not today, not with "Murder Hill" (Deep Hollow Rd where it climbs up the South Mountain - as named by the first Otesha tour to climb it) on our path. So I dumped all my gear in the car with my bike, and crossed my fingers I'd make it up in middle gear.


Two hours after the breakdown (including a second breakfast at Vittles Cafe - judged a strong contender in the quest for the best fried potatoes/hash browns), we were back on the bikes, riding home. After 7600km, 40 didn't seem so big anymore and the time flew by. Familiar landmarks came and went with increasing frequency, but in many ways it didn't seem any different, we were all together riding our bikes, just like any other day.

And then before we knew it, we were there, poised at the White Rock intersection with only a short gentle glide between us and Murder Hill. Our hill climbing muscles were out of practice with all the flat terrain since Ottawa, but we'd all ridden (and beaten) this beast before so we knew we could make it up. So on came the tunes and with a big whoop we tore off and started the ascent. I started to feel the burn in my legs rounding the curve (maybe 15% of the way up) but with adrenaline and determination I kept on pushing. Slowly but surely we climbed, rotation by rotation, breath by breath. It wasn't easy - even in this shape, but neither was it the eternity of struggle we had feared. And eventually, one by one, we each gave a victory cry and rolled to a stop at the top, legs trembling, muscles burning, lungs gasping, and faces grinning. I'd say it was the hardest hill I climbed on the trip (with an honorable mention to the devil just before Denbigh, ON) but it hadn't been so bad, and it was done.


Once we'd caught our breath we pushed on, slowly chugging towards our final destination. Trying to figure out what it was going to be like to stop. We put on some tunes to carry us home, theme songs for the trip in a way, and so rolled up to the driveway with everyone singing gently along to "The Bike Song" and "Long Way Home". It was so incredibly calm and peaceful, not what I had expected, but it felt right. It had been a long, long trip, but we were now home.

And the welcome wagon was there to greet us! With homemade signs cheering us on down the last stretch and a checkered race flag hanging on the Lorax sign, all our friends at Lorax rushed out to greet us. It was pretty surreal - we'd just ridden across the continent but it was done, we'd all be shortly heading off on our own ways and the life we'd shared was closed - tomorrow would not be just another day on the bikes, and we were going to have to start interacting with the wider world in a serious way again. It's not bad, we all have exciting plans/adventures to continue with and we were (at least at times) starting to feel ready to something else, but it's one thing to think it, and another to actually make the change.


And so before we could really process it, the greetings had been exchanged, some stories hinted at and plans hatched, and we split off into our groups and went to settle into our three respective houses. On to the next world...

The photos and videos will be wonderful to go back through, triggering thoughts and stories that will last a lifetime, but even now I realize that this experience can't be replicated, can't be relived or fully shared with others. There's something magical about a bike and open roads, it's not a series of events or a goal to accomplish, it is a process.

Although the odometer won't click on any further, the experience doesn't end here, and for you, our loyal followers, neither does this story. Over the next week or two we are all going to find some time to reflect and write, and at least parts of these reflections should make their way here. So keep checking back, but also try to ween yourself from this tale - it's not going to last forever and we are certainly in the last stages.

Most importantly though, thank you for your energy, your enthusiasm and support. Writing all this is a good exercise for ourselves, but it has so much more meaningful and seems so much more worth while when we know that the are other people out there following along too.

We are back, let the transition begin...

Distance: 71.44 km
Time on bikes: 3:49:41
Average speed: 18.6 km/h
Distance from Vancouver: 7641 km
Start: 8:00 am
End: 4:45 pm
Wind: south (medium-head)
Condition: cloudy
Distance from home: 0 km


Cheers
- The Warpotay Team

Location:Black River, Nova Scotia

3 comments:

  1. Hurray! What a feat! Congratulations to you all!!! And thanks for taking us along on your journey. You are great storytellers and an inspiring family!

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  2. Congrats Team Warpotay on your amazing accomplishment! You are my heros...maybe someday I will follow in your tire tracks :) Best of luck re-acclimatizing to life on two feet...

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  3. Thanks for the stories, I have enjoyed every one. I will miss them but look forward to the post script. Nice to have you home and for Alan and Ginny and Shane your adventures continue around the world. We will miss you till you return in the spring.

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