August 06, 2004

The following is a transcript of notes made on July 29, the 15th day of my bike ride:

Water looks splendid in the morning. The pleasant ride along the lakeshore took me from Hamilton to Burlington, beguiling me into thinking that I could bike the entire 170 km route to Collingwood in a single day (I originally set aside two days for this leg of the journey). I thought the entire ride would be as pleasant at the morning run.

But I quickly changed my mind while pedaling out of Burlington towards the escarpment. There, the slopes are sinister; the higher I went, the more agonizing the weight on my back became until I could barely breathe and my shirt was drenched in sweat. Six hundred meters into the air I feared a heart attack and stopped to look back at a city covered in smog.

Biking along the escarpment is madness. I knew before I left that it was impossible to bike on the Bruce Trail (it’s strictly a hiking trail that crosses many cliffs and farmer’s fields), but I didn’t expect the ride alongside the trail to be as draining.

After endless hills I made it to Kilbride where the purple monster started falling to pieces again. The front derailleur became warped out of shape and my gear cassette started making panting noises. I ignored its pain and my own.

The roads only became enjoyable 70 km later once I passed Alton: half-naked boys waved at me from trampolines; I ate sweet cherries on quaint village streets; and trucks swerved into oncoming traffic to avoid killing me.

The hills never went away but they became manageable. The downhills were pure ecstasy. After climbing for 10 minutes, I would hold on tight and rush down the slopes in a brief moment of absolute freedom.

But the terrain eventually got to me. 30 km away from Collingwood, as the sun was setting over the hills, sharp spasms sliced my leg muscles. I didn’t want darkness to catch me on the road, so after taking ibuprofen and a short break, I biked another agonizing 10 km.

In Singhampton, a sharp twist of the road took me to the top of the world. I found myself looking down on the escarpment starring in the face of God. At once, the purple monster rushed down the hills at maddening speed and below me I saw endless hills and fields of green covered by a delicate mist. I rode through the 10 km descent, overwhelmed by beauty, until my eyes became moist and I wanted to die.

In the mountains, there you feel free

For those winding 10 km I was a kid on a rollercoaster and I never wanted the ride to end; more than once I nearly flung myself and my bike off a cliff.

“Magic is in the air. God is alive,” I screamed. “Orgasms for everyone while rushing downhill at breakneck speeds!”

All the pain of my 12 hour ride up sadistic hills was justified by a prolonged rush of beauty.