It's a sound you don't want to hear at any point while competing in a bike race, mountain or road.
"Pffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft!"
After riding my circa-1992 road bike for 121.5 kilometres from Vancouver to just shy of the turn onto Village Gate Boulevard on Saturday (Sept. 10) in the second edition of the GranFondo Whistler - after the cool, scenic morning going up Taylor Way, along the Upper Levels and Sea to Sky highways, the three aid-station stops and the sweltering heat of the Brohm, Cheakamus Canyon and Powerline hills -I could scarcely believe my ears.
Was it coming from a nearby car? No. From someone else's punctured front tire? No again.
It was mine, and I only contemplated stopping for a millisecond.
"(Bleep) it," I thought, almost out loud. "Just pedal, baby. If you have to buy a new rim, so be it."
And so ended my first significant marathon bike racing experience: Me and my trusty old Novara Strada, which cost all of $350 when I bought it new 19 years ago, during a previous existence in another country: Rolling across the finish line together on a floppy front tire.
I guess if you're going to hear that sound during a 122-kilometre cycling odyssey, it's best to save it until the end.
Anyone who knows me also knows that I'm a runner, with 25 full marathons, including a couple of winning ones, under my belt over the past 25 years. I'm also a lover of cross-country skiing, having done a few races - but having finished far back in the pack. I've long been fond of saying that as a skier, I'm a pretty good runner: Aerobically fit but technically challenged.
I found out on Saturday that the same holds true with me and cycling: Strong legs, decent aerobic fitness, no technique to speak of. And we won't even talk about the limitations brought about by my ancient two-wheeler.
Standing astride Ol' Betsy in the starting chute along Georgia Street, it was hard not to be intimidated. My steel-frame bike, with shifters mounted on the frame, was one of only two I saw that had the old-style toe cages instead of the clip-in shoes and pedals of newer models valued at 10 or 15 times that of my bike.
My biggest immediate worry was negotiating the first few kilometres amid the crush of 7,000 riders. I thought we'd be elbow to elbow, tire to tire, until at least Horseshoe Bay, 20 km into the race. Crashes are almost inevitable in that situation, aren't they?
My fears were quickly and pleasantly allayed. Sure, I had to wait 20 minutes to cross the start line, but once I did, I was pedaling freely right through the Stanley Park Causeway and over the Lions Gate Bridge. Following the advice of friends, I resolved to use hand and voice signals when I wanted to move left or right, and immediately found other riders doing the same - even chatting and interacting as we pedaled along like salmon spawning upstream.
On the downhill just after Horseshoe Bay, I spotted the first crash I'd seen - a pretty nasty one by all appearances; the front wheel of one bike appeared to have been double-taco-ed. Yikes. Hope the rider fared a bit better.
Seeing Howe Sound on a clear, cool summer's morning, while cruising along at 30 or 40 km/h on the seat of a bike - feeling the wind and enjoying vision of sparking, clear waters far below - without having to hug tight to the shoulder the whole way, gave me a whole new perspective on the growing popularity of road cycling here.
The support along the way was inspiring. Every intersection in 麻豆社国产include small- to medium-sized groups of cheering spectators; riders, including myself, returned their enthusiastic support with waves and expressions of thanks.
After the busy Alice Lake aid station, when the road rises gradually at first, then more steeply, my marathon experience served me well. On the Brohm and Cheakamus Canyon hills, I passed hundreds while only being passed once.
As the kilometres of warming asphalt disappeared under my tires, I did begin to feel fatigued - but clearly not to the same level as most of those around me. This is when, as a marathon runner, the self-talk becomes all-important: Keep it going, conserve energy, stay hydrated, put your head down and keep moving.
In every marathon I've run (save one), leg muscles have begun to tighten as I "hit the wall" near the end. Not so with the GranFondo. If there was a wall there, I didn't see it -not even when fate appeared to intervene and caused my front tire to deflate unexpectedly.
It's you and me together, Ol' Betsy. We did it. When can we sign up to do it again next year?
