BIKEPACKING THE LOG DRIVER’S WALTZ - Day 3

"Every obstacle is an opportunity to prove to yourself that you are stronger than you think.”

- Deena Kastor (Olympic marathoner)

“Why do you do these things?” my mother asked as we hiked through Gatineau Park in the weeks following my completion of The Log Driver’s Waltz bikepacking route. “Do you feel it makes you mentally stronger?”

I paused to think about this. What’s with the unnecessary suffering? That was a good question. Sometimes I wonder the same thing.

“Nooooo,” I answered, drawing out the response. “I don’t think it makes me stronger. I think that mental capacity already exists but isn’t typically required day-to-day. These challenges grant access to a particular depth of character, reminding me that I can do hard things. Invoking that strength draws it closer to the surface. When difficult problems do arise, I’ve recently flexed that muscle. Plus, it acts as a sort of life recalibration, so most problems don’t seem that bad. I understand it’s not for everyone, but I dig the chaos, the unpredictability of it. It doesn’t always work out, but when it all comes together, when you touch just beyond that unreachable boundary, it’s magic. The fulfillment you get, the gratitude for everyone and everything involved is electric. And in this case, on this ride, with these women, the high was like nothing I have experienced.”

Welcome to Day 3 of our adventures on The Log Driver’s Waltz.

In case you missed the earlier trials and tribulations:

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3  - Renfrew to Shartbot Lake, 192km, 2893m,

85% unpaved

1705 meters elevation. Hmm, that’s cute Ride With GPS.

It was the morning of Day 3 on the Log Driver’s Waltz. Was it only Day 3? It could have been Day 25, or Day 287. We were now far enough into this project that we were living parallel lives, like we had stepped into a different multiverse. We still had families, jobs, and whole undercurrent of responsibility, but that had largely become background noise. Crossing over to acknowledge those pressures felt as though you were altering spacetime. Our focus had changed to ourselves and each other, our immediate needs and the ones we could anticipate. Our worlds were on pause outside this Garmin-guided route, distilled down to a single task of keeping the cranks turning until our bike computers read complete. This new multiverse looked the same, but it felt different. Time moved slower. My body ached in ways that made it both impossible to move and impossible to stop. Food was an anomaly - a luxury you couldn't wait to consume, a scarcity you were required to ration, and a burden you couldn’t possibly ingest more of. We all developed techniques attempting to balance this nutritional conundrum, but none more entertaining than J’Amy, whose tendency was to squirrel away food in her triangle bag, which is actually quite a large storage area, most of which was reserved for snacks she never consumed. The most memorable being a Big Turk chocolate bar, which as the trip progressed, took on its own persona becoming more of an emotional support item than a food source. Honestly, would you eat a friend to survive? Maybe yes, if it came down to it. Like life or death, but not until the most extreme conditions. Luckily for that Big Turk, we never hit that level of despair. But on the morning of Day 3, J’Amy was finally ready to part with the extra weight of her sports drink.

“Anyone want my Gruppo sport mix?” J’Amy asked. “It really works well, I’m just tired of carrying it” she said, dumping several kilos of pre-portioned unmarked white powder on the counter. “I’ll take it,” I volunteered. Yesterday I struggled with a full day of debilitating gastro-intestinal symptoms, and I was super nervous to face another huge day in the saddle. It’s generally ill-advised to introduce something entirely new to an already distressed GI track, but at this point I was willing to try anything. Hey, how much worse can it get? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Would anyone like these Nuun tablets?” I asked. These were one of my many impulse purchases in Wakefield on Day 1, and I was also ready to start leaving things behind.

“Have you been taking those this whole time?” Anne asked. “They are known to cause diarrhea with endurance events.” J’Amy nodded in agreement. “We know several people that has happened to.” “Ugh. Why am I learning about it this way?!?” I pouted, hucking the small tube straight in the trash.

We left the Renfrew Comfort Inn before sunrise, doggedly making our way over to Tim Hortons as the only breakfast spot currently open. We sat to consume our random assortment of snacks and below average coffee around the tiny fast-food table. At one point I sidestepped our multiverse and saw what we were actually doing. “Has anyone noticed we ate this entire meal in our helmets?” It was as if our helmets had entwined their existence with our hair, permanently fusing themselves like we had grown new exoskeletons. We had spent more hours over the last two days with head gear than without, and that was true even if you included time spent sleeping. Waking hours were almost exclusively endured with head protection. It became almost awkward to see each other without helmets, like you were glimpsing a partially nude body. Though this was probably a little unorthodox to the others existing within our multiverse. Except for maybe the Canadian Centre for Occupational Health and Safety, I bet they’d approve.

**********************************

We left Renfrew with renewed enthusiasm - today we were going to cross paths with people riding the grand depart. The Log Driver’s Waltz bikepacking route was created by Jen Adams and Eric Betteridge, two people who really know which roads make good cycling in the Ottawa Valley. They created a loop that showcases some of the most awe-inspiring landscapes in the region. It truly is stunning road after stunning road. Though the Log Driver’s Waltz is more of a route than a race, if you prefer to ride in a community, or the competitiveness of race, there is an annual grand depart, which coincidentally left the previous morning in the opposite direction and we were due to cross paths with everyone today.

The sun was lifting one sleepy eyelid over the horizon when we spotted the front runner of the Log Driver’s Watz grand depart. The leader, who had ridden all night and was now approximately 320km into the race was looking pretty disheveled. Though I couldn’t blame him, that sounded terrible. This guy really could have been a log driver. Legendary in Canadian folklore, log drivers were daring, rugged, and independent, their work requiring impeccable balance, strength, and courage. We got a tiny smile of acknowledgement to our obnoxious cheers as he passed by, a few more of the front runners trickling in behind him. It was fun to recognize and cheer on our fellow route riders, lifting their spirts and ours to the joyous community created in the journey.

We were enroute to Calabogie as we rolled into Anne’s trip highlight. The road turned into beautiful rolling hills of champagne gravel. Anne was spellbound, savouring the smooth texture.

Her outward declaration of love for champagne gravel somehow became muddled and champagne gravel emerged to become known as sticky-feet gravel, a term more endearing than appealing. With the sun now confidently over the horizon and temperatures just so, sticky-feet gravel underfoot, this was one of the most notable highs of the entire trip. It was also one of the few moments I can confidently say we were all in a good mood. So we decided to pause for a team photo.

A group snack emerged from J’Amy’s triangle bag. This was a nice surprise. Novel food is a welcome change when you have been munching on the same thing for what felt like weeks.

“There’s always something surprising in that bag.” I observed. “You’re like Dora the Explorer, bikepacking edition.”

“Yes except Dora had a map.” Care Bear remarked.

This was true. When J’Amy decided to tag along on the trip, she didn’t bother to check out the route or download the maps, relying on the rest of us for backseat navigation. We found this endlessly amusing. “She also hasn’t opened her Training Peaks all summer.” Anne added. My jaw hit the ground. Training Peaks is the online coaching platform we use to receive workouts and communicate with our coaches. I will blindly follow every workout Lespy adds to Training Peaks like it’s the holy grail, relying on his abundance of experience to prepare me mentally and physically for these massive events. Without it, I would endlessly question every decision I make. I glanced at Care Bear, who seemed equally bemused. “Why?” I finally asked. “How?”

J’Amy laughed. “I don’t know, it’s summer. I don’t want to.” Well, that checked out. J’Amy is a schoolteacher and probably needs her summers to decompress. “I know. It’s stupid.” She remarked. “Like, why would I pay someone (Mike Coughlin in this case, a highly experienced and insanely knowledgeable triathlon coach) to write all these quality workouts then not bother to even look at them for months.” I blinked, totally dumbfounded. I would feel completely vulnerable just showing up and riding this beast of a route, yet that is exactly what J’Amy was doing. Totally next level.

Sticky-feet gravel.

We were making good time as we rolled into Calabogie, so I insisted we visit at least one quality food destination on this trip. Oh-el-la is an excellent local coffee shop that deserves a shout out. Not only do they consistently deliver exceptional coffee and baked goods, but their smartly-dressed staff have always been warm, pleasant, and helpful, no matter the state of mid-ride despair in which we enter their spotless establishment. To celebrate this moment of glorious non-gas station cuisine I ordered an affogato (espresso poured over vanilla ice cream) and three croissants. The sun was now enticing us to slow down, so we took advantage of Oh-el-la’s serene setting and spent some time just chatting.

Our little coffee stop had become a blissfully restorative diversion from what was up next - the most remote section of the entire trip. The pending stretch of isolation between Calabogie and our destination at Sharbot Lake had limited options for refuelling - water only in 70km and food in 90km, with a whole lot of climbing in between. We hadn’t gathered provisions back in Renfew as we left before stores were open, plus our forward-planning was not at its sharpest. Care Bear was running low on supplies but I had a surplus since I barely ate during yesterday’s ride, so I offered to share my fuel rather than spend more time biking further into town in search of supplies. Plus, J’Amy’s magical superhero powder was really working well. I was beginning to wonder what exactly she had slipped into my drink, possibly some combination of crushed speed and Imodium. I couldn’t have imagined it was possible to feel this good after yesterday.

We left behind the urban comforts of Calabogie for backwoods ATV trails of rugged climbs and epic descents, periodically interrupted by encounters with other Log Drivers. These folks favoured a touring pace over the individual time trail speeds of the front runners. (We learned later that two of the Log Driver’s we met en route were Jen and Eric themselves, the creators of the Log Driver’s Waltz, out riding the grand depart with everyone!) Now everyone was generally in less of a hurry and more eager to chat, one of them being a gentleman we met atop the biggest climb of the day. He looked at us confused. “Did you guys know you are going the wrong direction?”

“Yes, we are doing the route in reverse.”

“Oh! Are you doing The Rewind?!?” (The Rewind involves circling this route clockwise, then immediately turning around and circling it counterclockwise - a feat that has yet to be recorded by anyone at all). Sigh. “No, just a single loop.” Somehow there’s always someone that can make your extraordinary adventure feel underwhelming.

When Buzz Kill Man continued on his way, we decided it was time for a pick-me-up because we were, in fact, sitting atop the highest vertical point of the entire route. (Woohoo!! We did another thing!!!) It was the perfect time for J’Amy to try her first Red Bull. Somehow this woman managed to escape her early 20’s without a single Jagerbomb. A can of Red Bull emerged from the depths of her triangle bag.

Smooth.

We arrived at Lavant 125km into the day’s ride with every water carrying vessel in our possession completely dry. We needed this stop badly. There were no amenities here, but we had a hot tip that the local town officials would leave the window of the community centre open during the grand depart so the riders could fill bottles from its tap. As promised, the window was ajar. We moved slowly, taking the opportunity to rest on the veranda, liberating our feet from their tiny prisons. It wasn’t long before the Lavant chief community hall overseer and village narc, Bill, drove up to inquire as to why we were loitering on his town’s veranda. Sans shoes but still donning bike helmets we explained: “we’re doing the Log Driver’s Waltz and stopped to fill up our bottles.” He was unimpressed. We explained the event, and that the community had graciously volunteered to leave the window open for riders as they passed through, since there was no access to filtered water for a long distance in either direction. He was unaware of this agreement, which was clearly a local political faux pas. Even in our questionable mental state, we figured out pretty quickly what happened. A sign on the community centre door directed that in the event of an emergency, access to the Automatic External Defibrillator located within the centre could be obtained by contacting Bill, then Keith. It appeared Keith had overstepped his rank and had some ‘splainin’ to do. Bill turned out to be a very nice man, but made sure we informed the race organizers that if they want access to the community hall, they need to contact him. We thanked him for his hospitality, and he was on his way.

Before we left the apparently well patrolled community of Lavant, we headed down to the public boat launch to dunk our gross jerseys in the lake, when we ran into two cops preparing to launch their kick-ass speed boat to catch all the bad guys on Robertson Lake that sunny Sunday afternoon. J’Amy’s partner is a cop, so she couldn’t resist saying hi and requesting a selfie (in her helmet of course). Care Bear saw the cruisin’ machine and immediately visualized a cooler full of snacks.

“Do you guys have any Coke we can buy off you.”

I found this thought process endlessly amusing. I quickly followed up with "the legal kind,” before we became their first Sunday afternoon arrest. Sadly, for both us and them, there was no cooler full of snacks and no Coke to be purchased, thus we were once again climbing out of town into the remote backcountry towards Sharbot Lake.

There’s a general consensus amongst our coven that this was the most beautiful terrain of the entire route. We were clearly on the road less traveled, winding its way through a biodiverse forest sprinkled with tiny lake access points. The road was narrow and hilly, requiring us to stay alert and be more active on our bikes, adding to the enchantment.

We were lulled into a forest induced trance, when we spotted a few pieces of candy discarded on the road, trailing towards a creepy looking cottage. “How long do you think that candy’s been there?” I asked Care Bear. “Would you eat it? Maybe we should stop.” By this point we were both dangerously low on fuel and starving, regretting our logistical decision to split resources and not load up on snacks in Calabogie. The road candy was now sadly too many kilojoules behind us to justify its recovery, so we instead spun an elaborate tale of witches living in the cottage, trying to lure in log drivers with a trail of candy. An indeterminable amount of time elapsed before we passed a turkey-vulture lying dead in the middle of the road, its thick, clawed legs protruding from the giant bird carcass. Care Bear emerged from her energy-depleted forest trance “Oh no! Foghorn Leghorn!” We burst into laughter. I thought J’Amy might fall off her bike and require recitation, but we were so far from Bill’s automatic defibrillator! It took a few kilometres to regain composure.

We eventually pulled into McDonald’s Corners where there was no McDonald’s but was definitely on a corner, when out of nowhere a Chinese food restaurant materialized. Devine light illuminated the tiny restaurant. OMG Yessss! Care Bear and I were both out of fuel and starving. This was so exciting. I was going to be like Keith Richards after a blood transfusion. Plus, they definitely had legal Coke. We sat down to enjoy a plate of cultural glory and a rare moment of reprieve when I spotted a photo on my phone and shared it with the group.

“That was such a great moment J’Amy reminisced. When was that taken?”

“This morning.” I smirked.

J’Amy was floored. “That was today!?!?!” Care Bear lost all composure. But really, who could tell? We could carbon date this day back to the Mesozoic Era.

While the rest of us were wondering where we could possibly be in relation to 7am this morning, Anne was studying the maps. We still had 50kms to go before the Sharbot Lake gas station closed at 730pm. We were really hoping to replenish our candy stash and Power Aid this evening so we could get an early start. It was going to be tight. Daylight hours were collapsing in on us. We needed to get moving.

“What should we do with these spring rolls?” J’Amy asked.

“We’ll take them.” I insisted.

“But what about plum sauce?” J’Amy asked, looking sadly at the little plastic container of goodness.

“Put it in your spare bottle.” Anne suggested. Somehow J’Amy decided not follow through with this little stroke of brilliance. With my top tube bag now loaded down with spring rolls sans plum sauce, we were back in the saddle, climbing our way out of McDonald’s Corners. (Ugh, more climbing?!? But I just ate so much Chinese food). Anne, the only one of us with the good sense not to eat spring rolls at the last stop, dragged our sorry asses up and out of McDonald’s Corners into the beautiful Ontario backcountry. I cannot recommend fuelling the end of a 200km ride with Chinese buffet. However, I was easily distracted by the beauty of this remote countryside. Honestly, this route just keeps on giving. (Thanks Jen and Eric!) Though we were too tired and it was entirely too daunting of an organizational task to stop and gather everyone for photos. My capacity was maxed with turning the crank and eating spring rolls.

I later learned this final food stop was quite a low point for Anne. The distance vs. daylight problem in our state of perpetual energy depletion proved too overwhelming, and she fell into an emotional crevasse. J’Amy was thankfully present to witness the tears and offer a hug while Care Bear and I were off shoving our faces with chicken balls and fried rice. It was a good example of synergy in our little coven. Everyday, every one of us experienced highs and lows, but it really only took one person to shoulder the cumulative anguish for the group and prevent us from falling apart, until it became their turn to wallow.

Ha! I couldn’t help it. Will hates this song :)

More sticky-feet gravel.

With the sun inching toward its finish line on the horizon, J’Amy was once again ready to kick it into high gear for Care Bear’s Day 3 highlight. We had 20km left before Sharbot Lake, all on blissfully fast-rolling rail trail. Dusk veiled the forest in a warm palette while tiny sounds emerged from the passing bog. J’Amy, The Little Engine That Could, was up front racing us into Sharbot Lake to arrive just 15 minutes before the convenience store closed. At this point we were all starving. Arms full of candy provisions for tomorrow’s ride, we rushed to the checkout just in time for Bob’s till to spontaneously lose internet connection.

“This happens all the time.” Bob said, clearly resigned to fate, his little name tag pinned slightly askew. Bob’s coworker meandered over, tried something unhelpful, then sort of shrugged as they both went back to not working.

I turned to J’Amy. “How does this happen all the time and they don’t have another solution?” I could barely see her peeking out from behind our respective mountains of snacks.

“Can’t you use a calculator or something?” J’Amy asked. That clearly wasn’t going to happen. So, there we stood, feet trapped in their little prisons, arms full of calories, thinking if they don’t figure this out soon I would simply eat everything in my possession and leave. I begged the goddesses to please help this man, while J’Amy stood behind me mumbling something about ‘Bob’s Inconvenience Store.’

Thankfully the internet connection was miraculously restored and we hustled over to Subway before they also closed for the evening. Helmets in place, we walked up to the counter. You could practically see the stank lines emanating from us. I placed my order. “Add everything.” I told the Subway Sandwich Artist. “Bacon, avocado, everything.”

“Extra cheese?” asked the Sandwich Artist?

“Yes everything. If it adds extra calories I want it.”

J’Amy eyed my bacon with envy and requested that her sandwich also include the delicious high-caloric upsell. Though her Sandwich Artist used an alternative bacon application technique of which J’Amy did not approve.

“You have to put the bacon on that little tray then put it in the microwave first.” She instructed her Sandwich Artist. The guy looked at her confused. Exasperated, she explained again, this time with hand gestures. The artist shook his head. “It doesn’t need to go into the microwave, the bacon will warm up as your sub is toasted,” he explained. Then he stopped completely and just stared at her. “I do work here you know.” I almost spit my Coke all over the cashier.

After 192km, 2869m of climbing, two cops, one officious Bill, countless other Log Drivers, sticky-feet gravel, a dead Foghorn Leghorn, a top tube bag full of spring rolls, and J’Amy, the new Sharbot Lake Subway manager, we finally arrived at our B and B for the last night of our trip. The place is an authentic B and B, hosted by a couple who welcome you into their spare bedrooms and feed you a home cooked meal for breakfast, one which they were exceptionally persistent that they make for us, though notably less enthusiastic when we told them how early we intended to leave. But they conceded and assured they would serve us a hot meal so we could revel in the true B and B experience. We cleaned up and gathered in one room, eating Subway and laughing about the events of the day. It wasn’t 10 minutes before we received our first noise complaint. Apparently we weren’t being courteous to the other guests, which was in fact true. We apologized and worked a little harder to suppress our laughter, going as far as finding J’Amy a leather strap to bite down on while Care Bear performed some minor wound care to her forearm. This was the same wound that originated within the first moments on day one (remember that fall?!), but it opened up again with a subsequent tumble today. It needed some Care Bear care.

For the record, Care Bear could also have used a little care by this point. This photo was taken at Subway, and is a snapshot of what her face was starting to morph into. Consider this foreshadowing.

We toasted our success thus far with a bottle of wine provided by our now at least somewhat annoyed B and B hosts, who were likely in the process of revamping their complimentary alcohol policy. One day remained. We were elated, and delirious. It felt like we were done, tomorrow was nothing. In reality, we still had 210km and 2300 meters of climbing. We swooned excitedly about the prospect of ditching things we would no longer need for the trip - toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant. Like this was going to do anything. We were already only carrying one shared deodorant for the group, and I had cut my toothbrush handle down to a nub not be burdened with hauling the extraneous weight of half a toothbrush handle through the Ottawa Valley.

Anne managed to lasso the rest of us into focusing on a plan for our last day. 210kms, 2300meters of elevation, a net downhill and only one section of unknown hazardous road. Sounds like a piece of cake. Even Anne, our prevailing voice of reason, wasn’t worried. See, delusional.

Day 3 Totals:

Distance: 192 kilometres

Elevation: 2893 meters

Ride time: 10h 31m

Elapsed time: 14h 05m

Related: