Bikepacking the log driver’s Waltz - Day 4
“Anything worth doing is worth overdoing.”
- Amy (J’Amy) Robitaille
It was a typical day of office banter at Active Health. I was chillin’ in our staff room talking bikes with my colleague, full time bike-fitter and former national mountain biking champion, James Van Trover.
“We rode Log Driver’s this summer.”
“Nice! How long did it take you?”
“Four days.”
“FOUR DAYS?! That’s insane.” It was pretty insane.
”Do you realize there’s likely less than one percent of people in the world that could do that at any given point in time? I’m not sure I could do it right now. That’s amazing.”
I grinned. Receiving that compliment from James, who truly understands the dedication poured into big events, was grounding. Most can’t empathize with the magnitude of what we did, and because of that, I tend to underplay the significance to even myself. Having someone I admire truly grasp the undertaking that was Log Drivers brought a renewed sense of pride to our little foursome. Self-admiration is an uncomfortable feeling, but an invigorating one. We had done a pretty insane thing! We were amazing! Honestly, everyone deserves to feel this way toward themselves. Thanks, James, for dragging it out of me!
1100 meters. Nope.
I was full of dread. It was 6 am Monday morning, our final day bikepacking The Log Driver’s Waltz. I was starring at my face in the mirror, wondering why I thought this was a good idea. I had slept terribly, which wasn't a surprise. Deep sleep required coaxing my body to surrender to stillness, a jarring 180-degree turn from the daylight hours spent redlining. At the day’s end I was left feeling burnt around the edges. Though rest could never come soon enough, sleep was a nearly impossible task. It’s part of what makes multi-day events hard. Physiologically speaking, our neurological systems read the constant strain as a sign of danger, so our brains maintain some level of alertness in case the danger returns, effectively making rejuvenating, deep sleep an elusive dream. We have evolution to thank for this. It would be a useful adaptation if you are say, stalked by a jaguar all day and then have to sleep somewhere in the wilderness, but seemingly less useful while staying in Greg and Arlette’s B and B in Sharbot Lake, Ontario. It didn’t help that I had smashed my head on the angled A-frame roof before I went to bed, triggering a throbbing headache. I really could have used that sleep. Gazing into the mirror, I barely recognized myself.
I turned to face Care Bear. Somehow, she looked even worse. “You didn’t sleep either, hey?”
“No.”
“Good Gawd. Can you even see out of your eyes?” Her entire face was swollen beyond recognition. “Do you think this is what coach L’Espy meant by too much load?”
Incase you were wondering. This is what Care Bear typically looks like, happily toting around her dog, compared to the morning of LDW Day 4. And don’t worry, she’s not carrying her dog in her purse, that’s her dog’s purse.
We exchanged few words as we packed up one last time. Full of dread, we went down to meet Anne and J’Amy for breakfast. “Jocelyne, what happened to your face?”
“I’m not sure,” Care Bear answered. “Maybe the wasp bite two days ago is making it worse?” She looked like a celebrity who’d overdone the filler.
J’Amy had an idea. “Maybe we could market it as a treatment. Nature’s Botox!” The table erupted in laughter.
They were little improvement from us. Anne’s struggles with her five bike contact points had become a real concern. Prolonged pressure had started a multi-point neuropraxia, which is painful nerve damage to her hands, feet, and saddle area. With not enough hours to recover between rides, the damage from each day was compounding, causing the neuropraxia to worsen day after day (Fun Fact: it took 7 weeks for the numbness to subside in all of her fingers and toes). She was able to somewhat manage the pain with over-the-counter pain medication, but this would only mitigate the problem, allowing her to compound the damage with more riding.
The mental fatigue was as vivid as another physical entity joining us for breakfast that morning. The coffee barely blurred its presence. We all looked pretty dismal, except for maybe Care Bear, whose face was swollen in a sort of weird perma-smile. Halfway through the meal I noticed J’Amy.
“Did you realize your helmet is on?” I asked.
“It’s informal dining” she replied. “I undid the strap.”
We again unraveled. I could barely breathe I was laughing so hard. I’m sure our hosts were glad to see us leave.
It was another day of sunshine and pleasant morning temperatures. The sticky-sock gravel was back in its best form. I was not. I was having trouble visually tracking the landscapes as we rode past. Watching trees and fence posts, or even the slightly swaying body of the rider in front of me was making me dizzy, which caused me to panic. How hard did I hit my head last night? Could I have given myself another concussion? I was spiraling. Maybe I did give myself a concussion. How bad would it be if I rode 11 hours today with a concussion? Bad. It would be bad. But could I really quit now? If I did, would I ever finish it? I didn’t want to go through all of this again. I wanted to be done. I made myself a deal. A concussion would not get better with activity; it would get worse. But maybe I just aggravated symptoms from a previous concussion (think of it like tweaking an old injury). If it got better or stayed the same, I would keep riding, evaluating every hour until we either reached Parliament or I called Will and went home. I jumped up front so the movement of another rider wouldn’t make me carsick. Care Bear was not much better, maybe worse. “I’ve lost 50% of my visual field,” she announced, adjusting her head position trying to see out of her narrow slits.
Luckily my visual symptoms started to fade, which lifted some pressure knowing that at least this would not be the limiting factor of the day. Just in time too, as we came across a surprise 14km section of technical double track. Our new shadow, fatigue, was the undertow to our reaction time, limiting our abilities to make good line choices. I sent Care Bear upfront to lead Anne, who was looking a little more comfortable riding off-road with each passing day. J’Amy had much less practice with technical terrain, so I rode directly ahead of her front tire, choosing the easiest line and calling out obstacles (a technique I had personally benefited from decades earlier as the only possible way my brother got me off Barrier Mountain in Kananaskis, Alberta on my very first mountain biking adventure). J’Amy later confirmed this technical section was her low point of the trip and was grateful for me acting as her guide dog. I was happy to pay it forward, but the hour spent analyzing line choices and relaying decisions left me mentally drained, further mentally drained. I was surprised how much extra energy it took to vocalize a process that is almost second nature for me. When we finally rode out of the woods I was spent, so I tucked in behind J’Amy and let her drag me around for a while.
No one was more excited than Anne when we turned a corner and caught a tail wind. “Whooohooo, we’re flying!” she cried out, dropping into an aero position, tearing up the pavement. It was all smiles and turning crank until it wasn’t. Dead end. The bridge was out. What? How? This is the official route, right? Care Bear took out her phone to examine a satellite overview of the area. Still drained of capacity to make a single decision, I slunk back and continued shoveling candy. Care Bear’s smile was gone. This could not be good. No one wanted to turn around and ride that headwind, possibly Anne least of all. “Maybe there’s a way to cross” Anne suggested as she climbed over the barricade and bushwhacked her way down to the water’s edge. The corners of my mouth tipped up. I could DEFINITELY find us a way to cross. I’ve spent countless backcountry adventures doing endless stupid things. There’s always a way to cross a river! We formed a human chain, handing off bikes, couriering their journey to the other side. Over the river, up the riverbank, through a raspberry bush, under the scaffolding, then over the last barricade to emerge wet, scratched, and back on route. Suck it headwind.
Not long after we arrived in Lanark, J’Amy and Care Bear set off to the gas station in search of snacks. I was still not feeling so well, so I took a nap on the questionable looking town bench silently advertising itself as a shelter for the unhoused. I disappeared into the well-worn wood, resigned to my new home. I live here now. I was about to inform Anne of my new residence, when she cut me off mid thought. “Nope. You’re not staying here. I just have to ditch this pound of sugar to those women over there and we are leaving.”
You’re carrying a pound of sugar?
Moments later, Care Bear and J’Amy returned with an arm full of snacks and a look of puzzled amusement. “Would you use a bidet toilet in a gas station?”
As we left town, Care Bear spotted a stuffed Coke-A-Cola polar bear sitting on someone’s front porch. “Our Mascot!” She exclaimed, circling back to grab a photo. “His name is Boris” a shout came from inside the house.
“Ok!” Care Bear exclaimed, happy to address the bear by its proper name, though unsure why this mattered.
Boris the Coke Bear. Turns out Boris is their dog’s name, but now it’s also the Coke Bear’s name.
Happy to be leaving the always surprising town of Lanark, we once again found ourselves in remote cottage country. Grinding our way through the forest, pitching up and down, our individual highs and lows changing almost as often as our elevation. Even J’Amy, The Climbing Queen, was caught thinking “this would be much easier if they just flattened this section out.” This is likely where we lost the last semblance of our minds, and just happens to be Care Bear’s Day 4 highlight. We entertained each other with random surges from the depths of our psyche, sang anthems from our favourite childhood Disney movies, and played a pretty disgusting game of ‘would you rather.’
These were some of the best photos we were capable of taking at the time.
We were all running pretty close to empty when J’Amy decided to bust out the jet fuel. It was time for a team Red Bull. Four blueberry flavoured cans materialized from her triangle bag. Nice! We had a team cheers and I chased my Red Bull with two TUMS tablets.
Nearly 100 years later we made it to Almonte, the official start line of the grand depart. I sent up a silent prayer ‘Please God, let there be sandwiches.’ It was late in the day for lunch spots to be open. We found a coffee shop that was out of most of their food, but managed to string together enough filler to press a few paninis, which we devoured, the conversation never deviating from how great cheese is.
We had one more obligatory stop before we left Almonte, a photo with the bronzed statue of Dr. James Naismith, the Almonte native famous for inventing the game of basketball. A few bikepackers were hanging out near the official start statue. It was cool to see the community rally in this little town, paying homage to an iconic Canadian on what is becoming an iconically Canadian bikepacking route.
Dr. James Naismith looking a little perturbed.
We still had 83km to go, but only 20 on more challenging rolling hills before a long stretch on fast-moving rail trail. One hour and it would get a little easier, though it was already after 4 o’clock. I did the math. This was definitely going to be the day we rode in the dark.
Anne’s Garmin as we left Almonte. I agree with you Mr. Garmin, because honestly, it felt like it.
Succumb to there being no possible way we beat the sun to Parliament, we relaxed a little, enjoying the passing landscapes. We were all looking skyward, watching some turkey vultures circle a field when J’Amy struck a large unbidden rock protruding from the gravel. It wasn’t two minutes later Care Bear spoke up. “J’Amy does it feel like your back tire is riding a little low?” Sure enough, she had a flat.
We pulled over to revive J’Amy’s tire. The puncture was to the sidewall and looked bad enough we would have to throw in a tube. All eight of our tires were tubeless, meaning the rubber tire is essentially glued to the rim with an internal liquid that centrifuges around the inside of the tire as it rolls, continually washing the internal tire wall in a sealant capable of plugging small punctures. This works so well that maintenance consists mostly of occasionally adding extra sealant to keep an adequate supply of sloshy glue spinning around the tire. But sometimes the puncture is too large or in a bad spot, so you have to remove the tire and install a traditional tube system until you can replace the rubber. This is generally a relatively easy and quick thing to do, albeit a bit messy because you have to spill the liquid glue that lives inside a tubeless tire. Anne donned a pair of latex gloves, prepared for the messy liquid to get everywhere. She cracked the rubber seal and, POOF! Like a magician’s grand finale, a plume of dust engulfed Anne and the tire. Care Bare nearly died with laughter. J’Amy’s sealant was so old it had shrivelled up and turned to dust. My jaw hit the ground. This was too perfect a joke. The four of us struggled to regain composure. It was just so surprising! Not a drop of liquid. “You rode this whole way with no sealant in your tires?” I laughed. “How, has this not been an issue until now!” Anne made quick work installing the tube, creatively using a 5 dollar bill to reinforce the tire side wall so the tube didn’t herniate out and cause another flat. I was impressed with this creative trick, and her speed at tire changes, some of which we might attribute to learning alongside her bike mechanic partner Marc, who, in his defence, did offer to add sealant to J’Amy’s tires before we left, which she politely declined. :)
It wasn’t long before we were back on the road and into the sweet sanctuary of pristine rail trail. Most of the work was over, it was largely flat roads and bike paths back to Parliament Hill. Our moods were transported skyward as we felt the burden of the ride lifting. A triple rainbow appeared overhead. Triple rainbow?!? I’ve never seen a triple rainbow.
Care Bear’s legs were struggling so we tucked her in, shielding her in the draft, attempting to save her some watts. (I personally find it fitting that Care Bear’s low was accompanied by a triple rainbow, as if the universe was paying her back with the warmth and encouragement she consistently gifts to others). Just as we were stumbling into something that resembled a groove, a small garter snake wiggled directly in our path. Screams erupted. Anne and J’Amy managed to narrowly avoid the squirmy snake but were moving too fast to give adequate warning for Care Bear’s unsuspecting trail. I watched in horror as her back tired rolled directly over the poor creature’s midsection. Triple rainbow gone.
Somewhere in this 30km section of rail trial, we spotted the oncoming front runners of the grand depart. With less than 25km to their finish line in Almonte, they were looking even more dirty and disheveled than us. (The winner ended up being Felix Laberge, with a finish time of 1 day 20 hours and 34 minutes, an impressive and thoroughly incomprehensible sufferfest of a ride). We received weak, tired smiles as we cheered loudly for their final push to the finish.
The general atmosphere picked up as we pulled into Kanata for our final gas station refuel. J”Amy trudged to the cash with her credit card out to pay for her armful of snacks saying “I think I’ll have to remortgage my house to pay for all this gas station food.” I laughed as I meandered around perusing the shelves. I wasn’t too interested in what I saw. We had arrived in Ottawa’s suburbia. (Whoohoo! We did another thing!!). All we had left were some familiar bike paths back to Parliament Hill. We were done. I was practically already home in bed. Did I even need more fuel? I bought a bottle of water and didn’t give the rest much thought.
Meanwhile, J’Amy was at the cash financing her snacks and looking thoroughly out of place. We were filthy, stinky, and utterly wrecked, and the gas station cashier was unimpressed. J’Amy dropped her armful of snacks on the counter and watched in anticipation, but one of the bottles that had been cradled against her filthy body wouldn’t scan. The cashier frowned, staring directly at J’Amy as he wiped away the grime clinging to the bar code, then continued scanning. Jesus, point taken judgy gas station guy.
Outside things weren’t looking much better. According to this video, possibly worse than I realized.
As we sorted through our bounty, the Big Turk found its way out of J’Amy’s triangle bag. “Hidey Ho,” he said, waving at us. Care Bear laughed. “You still have that thing?!? You have so much random food. I nearly died of starvation yesterday!” J’Amy looked sadly at the little chocolate bar and offered him over to Care Bear. My eyes shot to the bar, a look of grim stoicism on his little red, blue and white face. Oh no! Mr. Big Turk, could this be your fateful end?!? But today was different, less dire in some ways, and we were currently standing outside a fuel stop. Care Bear graciously declined the treat and the Big Turk nestled back into his home, safely tucked away in J’Amy’s triangle bag.
Anticipation rose as we mounted our bikes one last time for the final push to the finish. We were now within Ottawa city limits. My mind was electric. It felt like we were there, though this was more illusion than reality. We still had 40km to go, mostly on busy city bike paths littered with pedestrians and speed limits. If I could have done math at this point, I would have realized this meant at least 2 hours of pedaling. However, the adrenaline rush and the lure of the finish glamoured how far we actually were. But Anne’s “finish-itis” kicked into high gear, barely able to tolerate the painful contact pressure overtaking her body. We were all eager to reach Parliament and be done with this burdenous load, possibly Anne most of all, so she jumped up front and did the bulk of the heavy lifting. Honestly, even I can’t fully comprehend how bad her pain must have been, 7 weeks to full recovery is considerable nerve damage. Though I personally contribute Anne’s composure through the pain to her mental resilience. Anne has a fascinating ability to dig in for a goal. Her coach refers to her as ‘The Master of Negative Splits’ (a hard to achieve yet always desired ability to complete the second half of an event faster than the first). I’ve seen this quality emerge many times now, yet I’m still blown away by her end of ride strength. Here it was again, Anne dragging me along like a fish on a hook. I allowed my mind to succumb to the fog of disorientation. It felt like we would reach parliament in 40 mins, not 40km, so I mindlessly stopped fueling, humming along in the blissful pull of Anne’s draft.
There remained one more section of relatively tame single track. As if conjured by Murphy himself, we got another flat. Visions of the elusive finish line vanished into the ether. Bikes flipped upside down for the repair, we noticed J’Amy’s chain was threaded wrong, so we split the crew and handled both problems. The sun was winking its final farewell, encouraging us to move quickly, so we conjured the speed and focus of a F1 pit crew, when a helpful mansplainer strolled by.
“Did you guys get a flat?” Yes, how super observant of you mansplainer. We didn’t bother to answer.
“I ride a gravel bike on this path. I also use tubeless tires, it really helps with flats.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
Somehow none of us dropped the 800km ride at his feet. We thanked him for his ‘splaining and he continued on his way.
Darkness descended as we weaved our way through Ottawa’s city paths, showcasing the best of what this city has to offer, including the Experimental Farm, the Arboretum and Dow’s Lake. These are quite touristy areas, full of people to navigate. Tourists and nighttime strollers are never in a hurry, and our forward momentum slowed to a crawl. We actually came within 200 meters of Anne’s house, waving as we crept by. We trickled onto the Rideau Canal for one final push to the finish. Globe lights illuminated the canal, lining the darkness to become the beacons guiding us home. The illusion was beautiful, their reflections flickering off the water. It was a nice distraction to the agony slowly tearing us apart. I could hear Care Bear chattering with J’Amy behind me. J’Amy’s feet prisons had discovered new methods of torture and Care Bear was pulling her along both literally and figuratively with her optimistic banter. I was up front guiding us through the stream of churning bodies when I broke out in a cold sweat. I realized it had been hours since I had bothered to eat. That was a mistake. I shoveled candy into my mouth, willing the carbs a swift journey to my blood stream, while I continued dodging the mine field of pedestrians, signaling our movements while alerting others to our presence. I was physically shaking with mental and physical exhaustion. Only 10 kilometres left.
I took this photo attempting to capture the moment. It turned out to be a pretty good visual representation to my mental fatigue.
We were equal parts distressed and euphoric as we climbed up behind the National Arts Center to be awarded a visual of our destination. We rode the final few meters to the gates of Parliament Hill. J’Amy’s torturous feet prisons had reached her breaking point, nearly shattering her ability to take one more pedal stroke. Someone snapped my picture. Did someone really just take my picture?
I looked around disoriented, then spotted Chris, Care Bear’s partner and the realization hit me. We made it! We arrived at the Centennial Flame to a small chorus of cheers in what J’Amy names as her trip highlight. I fought back tears as we embraced. It was 9 pm, nearly 14 hours since we left our hosts in Sharbot Lake, finishing The Log Drivers Waltz in 3 days and 15 hours.
We were euphoric, the high almost unnervingly blissful. Nothing feels quite like it, and it caps off my “Why” statement. Why the unnecessary suffering? For the love of adventure, the power in camaraderie, the fulfilment in being part of something grand. It’s the thrill in the chase, the doubt in the unknown, the challenge in the problems, and the explosion with the victory exponentially magnified when calibrated against the lowest of lows. In the end, we all agreed with J’Amy. This was undeniably the trip highlight.
Anne had covertly organized a pizza party for our arrival (bless her thoughtful, organized soul), making the finish all the more sweet. We sat together on the edge of the Centennial Flame, laughing and telling stories to our small arrival party.
As we drifted across spacetime back into our old multiverse, and slowly, reality began to sink in. This is it? Now we just leave each other and head back to regular life? How can that be? The grandeur of completion was softly shadowed with a veil of sadness. This team, this tribe, this coven of women, the sum of which was stronger than any of the individual parts. Together, through this trip, something magical was created.
To my Coven:
J’Amy
Our stand-up comedian. It’s unique to have just met you and already cherish our shared memories with such intensity that feels like you have been part of my life for years. The only thing more valuable than your riding experience is your humour. Your quick wit was my favourite surprise of the trip, one I wish I could carry in my pocket and get a deep belly laugh every day. I cannot express my gratitude for the joy you bring. I am endlessly grateful that you and your Big Turk joined the journey.
Anne
The untouchable. I have been in endless awe of you since the day we met. You are such a bad ass. I aspire to your level of grit. But beyond your completely unfathomable physical and mental strength, this would have been a different trip without you. Your attention to detail, organizational skills, leadership qualities, and ability to rally a group made this trip what it was for all of us. Thank you for all the work you put in, we might still be out there without you.
Care Bear
The one with the endless smile. It’s hard to put into words my gratitude for you. You are my gift, the sister not born through blood. You give selflessly your entire being and ask only for another’s happiness in return. I’m in constant awe of your radiance. You make me want to be a better person. Thank you for just… everything.
Special thanks to our coaches, Andrew L’Esperance and Mike Coughlin for always getting us to the start line. And to all of our husbands for encouraging us to partake in these epic adventures. We kinda love you guys.
Until the next adventure.
Day 3 Totals:
Distance: 211 kilometres
Elevation: 2321 meters
Ride time: 10h 46m
Elapsed time: 13h 51m
My camera-shy husband '“volunteered” to partake in this project. So alongside his musical talents you get to enjoy a visual of our sleeping dogs, evidence that they aren’t always terrors.
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