25 km bike ride no easy push
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Updated: September 29, 2009 5:08 PM
“You know you have to ride 25 km in the Rotary bike-a-thon,” a friend told me. And I replied, “No problem.”
I didn’t tell him that the last time I’d ridden my bicycle was a year ago in the 2008 version of the bike-a-thon.
That was the first year the Sunrise Rotary Club had decided to use the Slocan Rail Trail for its annual cycling event. Unfortunately, a year ago we were initiated by rain and miserable conditions for the ride.
Not so this year. The 2009 Rotary bike-a-thon was blessed with sunshine, and I was blessed to have my youngest son ride beside me. We had a delightful ride, though I hid a lot of my aches and pains and tiredness.
We began preparing for the bike-a-thon at least two weeks in advance. No, we didn’t do a lot of cycling to get our legs ready and tuning our bikes. What we did was talk to most of the people we knew—or slightly knew—and asked them to give us pledges for the bike-a-thon.
In the last day or two before the bike-a-thon, we checked our bikes and found them lacking. Tires had to be pumped up, gears had to be oiled, and seats had to be secured. Testing the bikes by riding around the neighbourhood, we decided the bikes were barely passable—but they’d have to do.
Arriving at the Crescent Valley Community Centre where the bike-a-thon began, we handed in our pledge sheets and money collected. Next, we took our derelict bikes to the check stand for Carl the technician to look them over. He spent a lot of time re-tooling my clunker of a bicycle, but he gave it the okay.
The Slocan Rail Trail—what used to be a rail grade and is now set up for non-motorized recreation—follows the majestic Slocan River. On the 12.5 kilometer bicycle ride going north, the Slocan River flowed south on our left in its own peaceable kingdom. Each time the trail gave us a sighting of the river, it had a soothing effect.
Coming back, the river was on our right. It gave off greenish tones and occasional flat-rock hues of pale-brown. In places, as the sun hit the river and the sky was reflected, the river turned shades of blue with silver and yellow tints.
However, partway back, I stopped thinking about the river and focused on my hands, which were getting numb from holding on tightly while taking the bumps. I also began to feel discomfort in my posterior. The chafing of the bicycle seat—albeit a gel seat for softer riding--began to get to me. Because my son was with me, I kept telling myself not to cry out in pain.
When you head out on a trip like this, going to a destination seems quite easy. We arrived at the five checkpoints quite handily, picked up our poker cards, ate slices of oranges, and drank from water bottles. We even had special refreshments at checkpoint 5 at the Upper Passmore Road.
But the return to the starting point of a trip always seems to take longer. I even managed to get lost because I rode a short distance along a paved local roadway paralleling the cycling trail.
When my son told me he could see the Crescent Valley Hall, I breathed a huge sigh on behalf of my sore backside, my tired legs, and my aching hands. But a pleasant welcome by the Rotarians who gave me a T-shirt and fed me cheered me up to no end.
It was soothing to sit on an ordinary chair and listen to the stir as prizes were handed out. I began to dream about riding again next year—maybe!
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