I am basically a fast-twitch guy, and like many such people took up endurance sports as I entered my 40’s and my strength began to fade. In my case, the sport was cycling. Year by year, I have found myself riding more and more, until in the last couple of years I have participated in an annual Toronto-area double-century called the Hairshirt.
The term “Hairshirt” is suggestive of exaggerated suffering, and it would seem apt enough to most people, but there are those who would dispute this. A randonneur who had already completed his 1,000 km brevet, for instance, would see little point in the endeavor. Still less would a RAAM racer such as Larry Optis; unless, of course, he harbored the ambition to set an event record. That would lend interest even to trifling distance like 322 km, for though it might not seem a long way to ride a bike, it is a long way to ride hard. In fact, Larry and Peter Murk, another very strong rider, have hatched a plan to do a record-breaking ride in 2010. In the weeks before the event, I listen to these plans with detached interest, for they can hardly affect me. I am not planning to ride hard this year, and am thinking in terms of a comfortable 12-hour pace.
This pleasant prospect is shattered when my friend Ron Clark offers me a lift to the ride start. Ron will surely want to ride as fast as he can. I dither a bit, but in the end, of course I accept. After all, the Hairshirt is about suffering. I warn Ron that I will try to keep up, but can promise only best efforts; he will probably have to wait for me to finish.
Kilometer 0
Nearly 50 cyclists are gathered on an overcast early morning in the Square One parking lot, but Peter Murk is not among them. I wonder if my day will perhaps not be so hard after all. But no, at 5:55, Peter peels into the lot, and Larry is here, too. The wind is light, but what is there is behind us on the first leg. Together with the overcast sky and average temperatures, conditions are nearly ideal.
Kilometer 50
Peter is quite capable of driving the pace over 50 kph, I know, but he urges us to moderate our efforts, telling us to take shorter pulls and keeping the pace around 40 kph. Under the conditions, this is quite civilized – I approve. But not everyone is in accord with this plan, for several people hit the front and drive up the pace whenever we come to a hill, as though deliberately trying to drop weaker riders. Can this really be wise? I think we would still benefit from a larger group.
Kilometer 75
Deliberate or not, these accelerations have had their effect and our group has been winnowed to six. Although I am still quite strong and fresh, I have reason to believe that I am the weakest link. There is still a long, long way to ride.
Kilometer 100
I have been conscientiously eating and drinking, for I know from experience that it is all too easy to bonk on a long and vigorous ride. A person’s body typically has about 1,500 – 2,000 Kcal of stored sugar, but high intensity exercise draws down sugar at an alarming rate and I will run through double this amount or more today. Perversely, this virtuous behavior has led to a problem, for the wages of drink are piss, and I now find myself in some discomfort. But it appears that the aerobic powers of my riding companions are augmented by freakishly large bladders, and none seems inclined to stop. I briefly contemplate letting fly from the bike as the pros do, but as I am unpracticed at this maneuver, I decide it would be more prudent to wait for the first stop. I should just be able to hold out.
Kilometer 120, Wellandport
The first stop, and blessed relief! But I have to move quickly, for Larry grabs some bottles and shoves them down the back of his jersey, pro-style, immediately impatient to set out again. “That’s the fastest stop we’ve ever made there”, says Ron, who has ridden the Hairshirt many times.
Kilometer 140, Welland
We roll slowly up to a red light, and seeing that there is no cross traffic, continue to drift through the intersection – directly in front of a police car on the opposite side. It would be a shame to fail to set a record through being detained by the police, but this time the officer just waves at us.
Kilometer 145
The first sign of trouble: as we climb out of the East Main Street underpass, one rider accelerates sharply and I fail to bridge up. But just in time, I feel the helping hand of Peter in the small of my back: I am saved for the moment.
Kilometers 160-175, the Niagara Parkway
When we reach the falls, it is not yet 10:45. We have run off half our distance in less than 4:30, but this is not a prelude to a sub-9 hour double but rather a sign that we have set out faster than is optimal. Still, we seem sure to break the 10-hour mark. At the falls we encounter our first hint of ill fortune: the police close the road to allow a motorcade to pass, presumably something to do with the G20. But it is over in less than a minute, so perhaps we are lucky again after all.
Meanwhile, I am beginning to cramp, one muscle after another. This is an unexpected blow, for I am not often subject to cramp and have already ridden farther and faster in warmer weather this year without experiencing any. Nor am I the only person in difficulty: Larry rode a 24-hour race last weekend, and his knees are now very tender. Peter is beginning to feel nauseous.
Kilometer 213, Port Dalhousie
Our second stop; it is to be our last before the finish. This time, the stop is a little longer, for the spark has worn off us. Yet we seem certain to set a new event record.
Kilometer 227
Heading out of Jordan, we must climb back up the escarpment and I know that if there is another sharp acceleration I will cramp up and be unable to follow. But at this point, I will probably finish under ten hours even so.
Kilometer 232
We have reached Fly Road. Although we have covered nearly three quarters of our distance, in many ways the Hairshirt begins at the desolation of Fly Road. Most often there is a cross-wind, and the road is cruelly exposed, pan-flat at the top of the escarpment with no cover. By afternoon, there is too much traffic to form an echelon safely, and in a hot year Fly Road finds one at the hottest part of the day.
This year is different: there is still intermittent cloud, and the gentle breeze is a direct headwind -- perfect conditions for a wheel-sucker like me.
Kilometer 250
We pass a lone triathlete and she inserts herself in our pace-line. Bizarrely, when her turn to pull comes, one rider flies past her from the back, attacking the rest of the group. I am second in line and shrug apologetically to our guest, who asks “is it because I’m a girl?” When I try to bridge up, I am seized by cramp and quickly dropped. I am philosophical about this, for I have already done better than I expected. But after a minute or two, the group sits up to wait for me! This is generous of them because my pulls have been getting shorter and I am no longer contributing a great deal to our cause. These contributions now fall to zero as I begin to roll through the front without pulling.
Meanwhile, the triathlete has left us in disgust: one girl riding away from six guys. But in truth, our pace has slowed appreciably, for the attack has disrupted us. We only gradually recover.
Kilometer 279, Hamilton lift bridge
Larry, who rode over 720 km last weekend, is still looking quite fresh. The rest of us show signs of fatigue, even the indestructible Ron, whose fingers fumble as he searches for food in his jersey pockets. I hand him one of my gels to save him the trouble. The lift bridge, the third and last on our route, is open, as were the others. Our run of good luck continues.
Kilometer 315
Now we can actually see the twin spires of Square One in the distance. A pretty girl in a hatchback rolls up next to us while we are stopped at a light. Larry smiles and waves. She rolls down her window to ask us where we’re going. “Square One”, Larry replies, “want to follow us?” Well, why not try it on – everything else has gone right today.
Kilometer 322
We roll into the parking lot having put 9:33 on the clock. I feel like I have won a lottery. As improbable as it seems, not only have I failed to inconvenience Ron, but history will say that I was a member of the record-setting group of 2010. Sweet!
-- Philip Koop, June 28, 2010