Ride to Conquer Cancer June 20 & 21

For some reason I haven’t been able to find the time yet to write about my Ride to Conquer Cancer experience. It’s tough to catch up with life when you’re gone for a whole weekend.

The event was all they said it would be: inspirational, challenging, motivational, humbling, exhilarating…

Right from the drive to Guildford Mall at 5:30 a.m. straight through to the bus ride home from Seattle on Sunday evening it was an amazing experience, so much so that I’ve already signed up for 2010.

I purposely didn’t ride the following week to give my body a rest, but even so, the day I rode the 17 km home from the office I still felt it in my backside. The only thing I would change for next year is to increase the amount of saddle time before the trip. My legs were up to the task but I hadn’t built up the endurance to be able to sit on that saddle for 7 hours a day.

The trip began with a Tour de France moment (for me anyway) at the base of the first steep hill before 72nd Avenue in Surrey when the whole pack I was riding with all geared down at once. The mechanical whirring of a hundred or so derailleurs snapping to larger sprockets simultaneously, combined with the chill and silence of an early morning really set the stage for the day.

The whole section through Surrey and White Rock was exhilarating, I suppose partly because I grew up in White Rock and the route we rode was very familiar, just like old times. We passed one block away from where my Aunt Sandy had lived when I was a kid (Green Timbers neighbourhood). We rode up the King George Highway hill just South of 64th Avenue. And of course, we rode down the other side, which was the fun part.

I must say, however, that I learned something about packing a bike while speeding down that long sweeping hill on the South side of the ridge. Repeat after me: must maintain symmetry. Must maintain symmetry (of panniers, that is).

My speedometer wasn’t working at the time. Turns out I nudged the sensor on the front fork while removing the bike from the car rack. I don’t know exactly how fast I was descending that hill (probably close to 60 km/h) when I felt a very slight wobble in my bike.

What came next was what I think is probably the driving force behind “extreme” sports. You know, it’s that feeling at the pit of your stomach that something has gone wrong and its eventual outcome will be dictated by the actions you perform in the next three 100ths of a second. I think it’s generally known as fear.

I gently squeezed both brake levers to scrub off some speed and managed to regain stability. I had only taken one pannier with me in order to stow rain gear, so the balance of my bike was off. In the end there was really no reason to panic, but I’m grateful for my decades of two-wheeled experience (both bicycling and motorcycling) that gave me the sub-conscious reflexes to avert disaster.