Today was… less good than yesterday. First of all, I have to say that Dixie Road at 11 am on a Saturday is much more fun than Dixie Road at 11 am on a Friday (fewer big rigs, for one thing). Both are heaps more fun than Bloor St on a Saturday afternoon, but that’s my fault for leaving three hours late.
The first 30 km today were terrific. I’m barrelling along, climbing hills with a fair amount of ease (and anyone who says that Toronto has no hills, please remember that while that is true, downtown is actually down from everywhere else. Plus, we have a lot of ravines and highways, which are like rivers and must have overpasses (which involve going up and over) or underpasses (which like the ravines involve going down, then up—much more fun unless the idiot city planners decide to put a stop light halfway up the hill to screw up the momentum)). True, my legs are a little tired after yesterday, but they seem to get in motion again and I’m feeling pretty good about this whole venture. There are far fewer cars on the road, so I don’t have to worry quite as much about being swept off the road by someone in a desperate rush to make it onto the 401 on-ramp. It’s a bit quieter. Not totally quiet, because my front fender is skewed (or the front wheel is skewed) and consequently the edge of the fender rubs against the front wheel making a very annoying grating sound. Also, the curb lanes (on Burnhamthorpe especially) have more cracks and pot-holes and crappy repair jobs than should be allowed, and every time I go crashing over them the lock and water bottle in my front basket bounce around like dice in a Pop-O-Matic.
However. I sail along. I have time to admire the country-side, or what passes for country-side in Brampton. I reach Dixie and Queen St. E in Brampton, my turning point, in 1 h 15 min of cycling time, and I hardly feel it. Gmaps pedometer has told me that I’ve climbed about 100 m in elevation, and I feel more comfortable about getting over the Escarpment. I pull over to the side of the road, where there’s a little grassy area and a low stone wall, have a banana and a really nasty power bar, replenish my water bottle, stretch my legs and marvel at how grimy they are, and feel quite good about myself. I’m queen of the road!
Then I get ready to head back home, and I discover why the outward trip was such a, shall we say, breeze.
I don’t know when the wind kicked in. I’ll swear there wasn’t one before I got to Dixie, but obviously it’s been pushing me along for some time. Now it’s pushing against me, and it’s what you might call a good light wind for sailing. Suddenly my calves are aching, my feet are numb from sitting on a hard plastic seat (despite the padding provided by my cute cycling skirt, the shorts part of which doesn’t entirely cover the fleshy part of my thigh which is now rubbing against the hard plastic seat), my lower back is aching, and the entire time I feel like I’m climbing a hill on my tank of a bike. On top of everything else, my gear-shifter has started squeaking ominously.
Then I hit Bloor St on a Saturday afternoon. Saturday afternoons, for some reason, everyone in Toronto decides they need to drive somewhere, despite the fact that they know everyone else will be driving somewhere and they’ll be stuck in traffic for hours. Bloor Street, for those of you who have never enjoyed riding up and down it, has two lanes in each direction. The curb lane on both sides is pretty much reserved for parked cars. Between Royal York and Prince Edward in Etobicoke, the street has been widened so that two actual lanes of traffic can flow past the parked cars, but east of Jane there is only the illusion that you can fit your just-ever-so-slightly-too-wide-for-most-Toronto-streets SUV into the curb lane with the parked cars and pass the not-moving other lane of traffic. You can’t. You only end up crawling along, pissing off the people in Smart Cars and the cyclists who now have to crawl along behind you until they find a space to pass you. To add insult to serious injury, cars decide to pull this manouevre on each of the two hills near High Park. Don’t even get me started on the cop who didn’t signal his right turn. Grrrrr.
The homeward journey takes 1 h 45 min.
Tomorrow is a day of rest. Monday will be the litmus test. 80 km, then I’m in or out.
