Coach Steve wrote: “Cycle 3.5 hours easy to base pace (aerobic)”.
Another very slow morning, as we had breakfast at the b.&b., got out and on the road. The idea was to start on Wasaga Beach’s River Road. A couple of troubles ensued: I lost the way to Wasaga Beach; then we stopped on the wrong River Road. Wasaga Beach, bizarrely, has two, and we chose the wrong one! In any event, about 11:30 a.m. I swalled a Promax bar in the parking lot of Birchview Dunes Elementary School, and headed, er, east. When I reached the police detachment, I knew I had to turn soon. I got lost and ended up far east of my intended road (Tiny Beaches Road), but found my way to water finally, and for the most part did what Coach Bogie strongly recommended. At Balm Beach I missed the turn again, but I knew it quickly, and asked some folks drinking beer whither to go. When they asked where I was headed, I said Cedar Point. One of them remarked, “But that’s ten miles!”
Bogie had forgotten to tell me to turn at Concession 12. Instead I kept following Tiny Beaches Road, even riding a sandy kilometre, argh! Just north of that I bought a bottle of water from two little girls with a roadside stand. It was a dollar, but breaking my five proved a major project!
On and on I rode. I eventually decided that it couldn’t be far to Cedar Point really, and I’d ride there. I crested my only significant hill, which was quite steep, and rode the boring road into Cedar Point, to find that the convenience store was closed and for sale.
(One of the interesting things about the ride was that while Wasaga Beach and the Tiny Beaches have been fixtures in local culture since I was a child—my friends in high school routinely went to Wasaga on weekends to carouse—this was to my knowledge the first time I’d been in any of these places! But I must have been in Cedar Point once, forty years ago, because it’s the launching point of the ferry to Christian Island, and we once visited the cottage of a co-worker of my father there.)
I’d hit Cedar Point half an hour after my ostensible turn-around, not good. I had no mobile coverage either! I picked a fairly direct route, and ended up at a convenience store slamming water and Powerade (does no one sell Gatorade any more?). I asked a passerby where I was, and found out it was Lafontaine, in the heart of Franco-Ontario. Many of the signs were unilingual French, which made it seem like rural Québec.
I finally connected with Mona, and we agreed to meet near the Tiny Marsh Provincial Wildlife Area.
At this point I’ll admit I was hating life. Simcoe Road 6 was no joy. And every contact point hurt, especially the palms of my hands. I made it, finally, to Concession 2, and Mona showed up minutes later. I actually fell asleep in the car—after we’d stopped at a McDonald’s in Elmvale for a coffee and a Triple Thick Milkshake.
The ride: 51.6 miles in 3 h 34 min.
The week ended July 16 is my heaviest bike week ever: 154 miles. And in the four days from Thursday through Sunday, I rode 138 miles.
This morning (Monday) I had a reaction to yesterday’s fluid intake, extra salt, and perhaps evening pizza that reminded me of a colonoscopy prep. For a couple of hours I couldn’t leave the area of the bathroom. (Even now, 12 hours later, I don’t feel great.) But even so I look back after the last few weeks and think maybe this Ironman thing is doable!