Becel Ride For Heart 2008

Renovations have kept me from updating regularly but I thought it was important to squeeze some time in for the Becel Ride For Heart 2008, since the 12,000 riders, including myself, helped raise $3 million for Heart & Stroke research.

For the second year in a row I rode on the Gardiner and the DVP, amongst the largest group of squeaking, creaking, neglected bikes I've ever seen. Within seconds I knew there was something special about 2008, as an erratically weaving child skillfully wiped out 3 other riders including an adult who was paying attention to the whole disaster unfolding before him - but, like a nightmare, could do nothing to avoid it.

It wasn't long after that incident that two arrogant participants on road bikes nearly caused another such wipeout as they came within an inch of knocking me down attempting to slip between myself and another rider.

My exclamation, "Be Careful!" went ignored and I continued pedalling into the cold June wind, occassionally pulling up beside groups of riders and listening in on their conversations about life, spam and excrement. Which is really all the same thing.

I was starting to feel a little sad riding by myself, but soon something cheered me up. As I approached a tunnel before the half-way point, I heard a rider ding their bell. A few seconds later a higher pitched bell dinged. I didn't realize what was happening until I was inside the tunnel, suddenly enveloped with the melodious sound of 20 different bells reverberating off the tunnel walls. We exited the other side, and as abruptly as it started, everything was quiet and the only sound heard was the rhythmic roar of tires on asphalt.

Due to a strong headwind on the way back, and the fact that I didn't train this year, the ride took me half an hour longer than it did last year. I rode a total of 34 miles, or 54 kilometres. I kept my eyes open, but I never did see the dude with the bright orange Trek.

Becel Ride For Heart 2007

Becel Ride For Heart 2007

I survived the Becel Ride for Heart yesterday and hopefully the $2.7 million raised will help others survive their strokes and heart attacks. I raised $130.19 (Thank you, T-Mash, for the 19 cents), which accounts for 0.005% of the total.

Big help I was.

What WAS big was the crowd of riders squeezing onto the Gardiner Expressway early Sunday morning. If it wasn't for the folks at Becel hosing us down with margarine, I don't know how all twelve thousand of us would have fit.

After a few minutes Ry, Dave and I began to sweat and the greasy margarine dripped away. It was totally wild riding through the middle of Toronto, past the Rogers Centre, with towering buildings overhead. It wasn't long before we reached an on-ramp for the DVP – the first of a few downhill sections.

We didn't really stop until we hit the big rest station at the half-way point, 25 kms. We drank free bottled water, ate free oranges, then washed our hands with more free bottled water.

Towards the end the hazy sky became thicker, blocking the sun as our trio headed back towards downtown T.O. and the CN Tower. It started to rain a bit so we poured on what juice we had left and crossed the finish line after 2 hours of riding.

When all was said and done I rode a total of 51 kms (32 miles) and, during a big downhill section, hit 56 kph (35 mph). At the finish line there was a concert, news crews and huge crowds. Everybody was giving away free food, too. We ate cottage cheese, heart-shaped cookies and bagels with a whole bunch of chemicals on them. Oh wait, that was Becel.

No Bones For My Rocky

I am riding my bike in the Becel Ride For Heart on the DVP this summer, but I am not quite sure how I'll be transporting my bicyclette there. I do not have a bike carrier. And I absolutely do not have the Saris Bones bike carrier.

I bought the Saris Bones bike carrier from the bike shop where I used to work. Then, I returned the Saris Bones bike carrier to the bike shop where I used to work.

I forked over $150 smackers for the moulded bits of plastic and aluminum, a carrier so universal it's supposed to fit everything from Toyota Tercels to Chev Corvettes to Dodge Caravans. I mean this thing fits everything. It probably even fits the Bugatti Veyron, although the intense engine heat might melt the Bones' substantial rubber feet.

But it was not meant to be, and my $150 smackers were forked back to me. The factory spoiler on my not-so-factory Talon was too thick for the bike carrier's hooks. The curve of the hook suffered an intense amount of crushage and my paint nearly suffered an equal amount of chippage when I tried to close the hatch.

Chippage and crushage, like chips and Orange Crush, are not on Canada's Food Guide For Healthy Living, so I had to return the bike carrier. I suppose I will have to chuck my bike in the back, with the seats folded down, and hope I don't pop my L7 trying to lift it out on June 3rd.

Wicked Ass Training

Last night I rode 7.3 miles, (nearly 12 kms) – in my bedroom. I'm training for the Becel Ride For Heart on Toronto's Don Valley Parkway for June 3rd.

Since I can't walk anywhere anymore due to my stupid-ass "disease" I’ve started to get seriously out of shape. To rectify that problem I patronized a local bicycle emporium and puchased a Tacx Ecotrack Roller. It's a pretty sweet trainer with its tiny PVC rollers which put it close to the floor, allowing for ladderless bike mounting.

Given the progression of the stupidity in my feet, I figured this might be my last chance to do something like this.

Anyway, after 12 kms my buttcheeks gave out. My hard-as-concrete Vetta Lite seat with its patented "sheet of paper" padding just plain sucks. Granted, it's as light as an empty juice box, but the pain in the derriere isn't worth the weight savings.

The ride I am doing is 50 kms. My stick legs are capable of making the trek, but it's my ass I'm worried about. I can't even ride half the distance now, and the Becel Ride For Heart is only 18 days away.

I've come to the conclusion that the training I'm doing isn't for my legs, my heart, or stamina. It's conditioning for my ass.