Today Was the Day I Didn’t Die
I've been racing bikes for a long time, and a lot has changed over the years. Back in the day, old-school cyclists took pride in how little they could eat when racing. It sounds absurd now, but this was the norm. Imagine starting your day with steak or burgers for breakfast and only eating on the bike when hunger struck. Recovery food? Rice cakes. Sports drink? Flat Coke. It's a miracle we ever finished races, let alone conquered 100-mile mountain bike hammer fests.
This experiment might be a game-changer, adding a little extra oomph to my rides. So, like most summer weekends, the day kicked off with a big breakfast before a long ride. This combo has become my new good habit. I’m not saying I didn’t do long rides or eat before riding (some people don’t), but now, it's an essential part of my routine.
As I write this post, summer has passed, the SUP season has come to an end, and winter has settled in. With the start of the cycling season, I've been training consistently and feeling good about both the effort and the results. On this ride, I was determined to tackle a 100 km gravel fat bike ride, knowing it would require a colossal number of calories. However, doubt started to creep in, undermining my confidence and energy. Poor nutrition can be the final nail in the coffin when motivation wanes, so it's crucial to fuel up before, during, and after every ride, no matter your fitness, abilities, or ambitions.
To add to the challenge, the weather has been anything but inspiring. We've had epic rainfall over the past few days, and the first major winter storms barely grazed the city. There's still no snow, but if you're a 'fatty,' you're anxiously waiting for the inevitable white plunge into winter, signaling the unofficial start to fat biking.
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| Fat Bike |
What is fat biking you ask? Fat biking is what happens when you cross a bike with a monster truck, slap on some winter gear, and decide that riding in subzero temperatures sounds like a fantastic way to spend a weekend. The tires on a fat bike are so wide they need their own area code. At 4.9 inches wide, my tires can tackle the softest snow, mud, and loose gravel. Even if the bike looks slightly bonkers it can be exhilarating and is a perfect excuse to do even more riding.
Despite my lack of enthusiasm, I
did my best to fuel up and prepare for the day. It was -10°C to start with only
a mild wind. Although I felt tired and a bit anxious about riding 100 km in
this temperature, I was eager to see how my new dandy helmet and boots would
fare. If you’re a winter sports enthusiast, you already know the crucial role
of clothing. What you wear is essential for warmth, safety, and comfort in
freezing and often harsh winter conditions.
The obvious considerations are
insulation, moisture management, and wind protection, but you also need to
factor in water resistance, mobility, safety, and comfort. Most winter cyclists
struggle to keep their hands, feet, or both warm. Usually, fitness and
nutrition determine how long or how far you can ride in summer events, but in
winter racing, staying warm and dry is paramount.
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| Actif Epica Finisher's Medal |
With the Actif Epica in mind, I've been rigorously testing boots, pogies (a.k.a. bar mitts), mitts, helmets, and, of course, my fat bike. Staying warm and well-equipped isn't just about comfort; it's about survival and peak performance in extreme conditions. Winter rides may be daunting, but with the right gear, they transform into exhilarating adventures.
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| Fat Bike Boots |
I've recently come to the conclusion that winter is for bikes, and summer is for water sports. Given that where I live, we have more winter than just about anywhere else, it only makes sense to embrace our greatest natural resource—snow! But I can't take credit for the idea.
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| Cycling is a winter sport! |
A few years before the Covid pandemic, I met another racer while doing loops on the Grand Beach mountain bike trails, as one often does. We spent some time catching up, and he shared that he had been participating in local winter fat bike events and had decided that winter was for racing bikes, while summer was reserved for other activities. I was just starting to explore paddling, and his perspective resonated with my new lifestyle and interests. When you have such a short summer, every day on the water feels like a blessing. Trying to excel in both sports is a difficult balancing act—each ride means one less paddle. So, moving to a winter and summer training schedule just makes sense.
Fast forward 10 years, and I was
finally starting to explore winter ultra-distance bike racing. Despite having
over 20 years of experience in riding, training, racing, and coaching, I was
anxious about this 100 km effort in the winter. After all, just because you can
ride a bike doesn't mean you won't worry about turning into a human popsicle
mid-ride!
On this training ride, I had an early start, hoping for good weather and clear skies. Eventually, after 2 hours and 30 minutes of pedaling my fat bike through the frigid landscape, I arrived at the Floodway Trail. This was my usual spot for a flat-out 30 km standing time trial. Despite not feeling my best, I resolved to ride out of the saddle for the entire distance.
It’s a funny thing. There are days when you swing your leg over your saddle, feeling sluggish, tired, and downright unmotivated. No amount of carbs or caffeine will put the zip back in your legs (although I can't imagine starting a 100 km winter ride without a serious injection of java!). That’s how I felt when I started today's ride. I call it the ‘blahs.’ We all feel this way from time to time. It might be that you’re under-recovered, lacking sleep, or just the sheer monotony of doing the same training day in and day out has squashed any enthusiasm you might have had.
However, today, despite the
initial dread, I pushed through these crappy feelings and trained anyway. More
often than not, I can turn a seemingly awful session into a great one. By the
time I reached the Floodway Trail, my heavy legs felt lighter, and my foggy
mind had cleared. It’s amazing how a bit of perseverance and a dash of
stubbornness can transform a ride from ‘blah’ to brilliant.
I felt renewed from the first 50
km and was ready to take on the next challenge, and I knew that the key to a
successful ride was pacing. As any hardened endurance athlete knows, pacing is
everything. It allows you to finish the race in the shortest possible time and,
hopefully, clinch the win. Go too hard, too soon, and you’ll falter before
crossing the line. Don’t push hard enough, and you sacrifice speed for comfort,
possibly missing out on victory. A good pacing strategy considers physiology,
psychology, and the environment. Ultimately, it's your attitude, training, and
commitment to your plan that will see you through. Stay disciplined, stay
focused, and the rewards will follow.
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| Shut Up Legs! |
After a quick refuel at the floodway trailhead, I hit the lap button and told my legs to "shut up." It usually takes 10-15 minutes to start feeling 'good' and find that dark place where you can suffer while smiling. Once I'm truly in the zone, I focus on pacing myself and avoid burning all my matches in the first 30 minutes.
As I embarked on my floodway fat bike time trial, the gravel was rock-hard and dotted with frozen puddles like mini skating rinks, which were easy enough to skirt even at 30 km/hour. Getting a fat bike up to speed and maintaining it is no small feat. You're gear-limited, dealing with the ridiculous weight of the bike, and constantly battling the huge drag of 4.9-inch fat tires.
My knee, which had been paining
lately, was feeling pretty good, and 15 minutes into the effort my legs were
starting to scream just the way I like it. I know I wasn’t going to break an
hour with ultra low tire pressure, but it was a decent effort, and I was vibing
and enjoying digging into that hole.
From a cyclist's perspective, I was reveling in the thrill of pushing deeper into the pain. Now, let me be clear: you don’t need to suffer to be a cyclist or have fun on a bike. However, suffering and hammering at the pointy end of a race go hand in hand like peas in a pod. One simply can’t exist without the other. There are countless reasons why cyclists (and runners) enjoy entering the 'pain cave.' The challenge, increased pain tolerance, spiritual experience, evolutionary drive, and the sense of control are all plausible explanations. What I know for sure is that I find immense joy and accomplishment in pushing my physical limits.
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| Floodway Trail |
There I was, zooming along,
completely zoned in, alone, and hammering on the Floodway Trail. If you haven’t
experienced it, the Duff Roblin Parkway Trail follows the Red River Floodway
for 45 km in Manitoba, Canada. This picturesque route connects Saint Norbert to
Lockport, just north and south of Winnipeg. The trail features crushed gravel
paths, picturesque train bridges, and is exclusively for non-motorized users. I
often encounter folks walking their dogs, riding bikes, or occasionally
cross-country skiing or snowshoeing.
The trail is almost totally flat, and at times, the terrain can feel monotonous and mentally draining. Without the challenges of hills, curves, or varied landscapes, the journey can seem endless and uninspiring. Tackling long distances can often seem overwhelming, especially when you first start ultra distance cycling.
There are several cognitive
strategies you can use, and its best to experiment, and find what works for
you. I like breaking the ride into smaller, more manageable parts. I find this
can transform even the most daunting journey into a positive and achievable
goal. Imagine a massive bridge stretching across a vast expanse; instead of
fixating on the distant end, focus on each segment you cross. By setting
mini-goals and celebrating small victories, you maintain motivation and
momentum throughout the journey. Each step forward becomes an accomplishment in
itself, boosting your confidence and determination. This approach not only
makes the distance seem less intimidating but also infuses the journey with a
sense of progress and achievement, ultimately leading you to your destination
with a sense of pride and satisfaction.
Conveniently, the floodway trail is interspersed with many bridges. When I first started my standing time trials, I struggled to reach the first bridge, which was only 6 km from the start. But I persevered, and by summer's end, I was pushing hard the entire 30 km. I didn't need any secret formula or special training to overcome those initial struggles—I simply showed up week after week and put in the work.
As I
powered along the crushed gravel, the solitude of the trail amplified the joy
of the ride. Each bridge brought a new wave of exhilaration, making every pedal
stroke worth the effort. It's moments like these that remind me why I embrace
the cold, the challenge, and the journey.
But then, as if to remind me of nature's unpredictable beauty, the weather took an unexpected turn. Snow started to fall... hard. Really hard! Within minutes, the bare frozen gravel trail was completely obscured by a centimeter of fresh snow.
There’s something magical about falling snow. It transforms the world as each snowflake drifts silently to the ground, blanketing everything in a soft, white layer. The once familiar surroundings take on a new, enchanting quality, making everything look fresh and new. It was beautiful, and I felt like I was living my best life, zooming along, pushing my limits, and feeling invincible. Does it get better than this?!
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| Enjoy the ride! |
At that moment, in less than a
heartbeat, it all came to a dramatic stop!
The thing about fresh snow and ice is that they form a deadly combination. Separately, they are both rideable with caution, but when you mix them, you create one of the most unrideable surfaces imaginable.
I had been riding out of the saddle and was approaching the trail's end, where I planned to briefly stop to rest and refuel. Even after continually dodging iced puddles for nearly an hour, it never occurred to me what might happen if I missed. The snow had covered the trail, and I never even saw the hidden ice. I only remember the sickening sound when my head hit the ground at 30 km/hour and thinking... “I wonder if my MIPS worked?”
When I regained consciousness, I
was cold. Very, very cold. I was also disoriented, worried, in some pain, and
bleeding from all my impact points. We've all been there—a crash is a crash. My
hand hurt, along with my shoulder, hip, knee, and neck. I’ve broken each
before, but it wasn’t that kind of pain. I stood up and immediately felt
embarrassed. I know it’s a stupid reaction, but it’s also a normal feeling. I
looked around to see if anyone was watching and immediately fell on my ass.
Then I had a blinding headache for about 3 minutes, after which (thankfully) it
evaporated.
I’ve taken some emergency rescue
training, and I know that if you find yourself injured in the wilderness during
winter, your primary goal should be to stay warm, alert, and signal for help. I
always tell the juniors, “Don’t just jump back on your bike! Assess your
injuries to determine the severity and what immediate actions are needed.” If
possible, move to a sheltered location away from the wind and elements.
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| Windbreak |
I was very unsteady on my feet for the first few minutes, but once I could move, I hid behind a giant hay bale to shelter from the biting wind. I remembered that you should insulate yourself with whatever materials you have—extra clothing, a space blanket, or even giant hay bales. I've learned from experience to always ride in the winter with emergency clothes. Being cold makes everything a struggle, but I managed to put on a jacket, eat some food, and take stock of the situation. Above all, try to remain calm. Panic will only worsen your predicament. Focus on staying warm and alert, and use every resource at your disposal to ensure your safety until help arrives.
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| Shit happens |
I was shaking, feeling nauseated, and had some growing concern about my ability to finish the ride. Should I call for a pickup? I was thinking “I will still have to ride or walk to the trailhead anyway.” I figured the best way to warm up is to move, so I decided to ride to the nearest parking lot and then determine if I needed help.
If I’m honest, I wasn’t feeling
all that brave, the adrenaline was gone, and I was cold and a bit scared. I’ve
been badly hurt before, and I know how it goes. I just decided to
ignore those feelings. In a situation like this there is only one thing you
really need to do… don’t give up.
I won't go into all the details of my injuries because we've all had our share of accidents. They're just part of living your life. Life is a kaleidoscope of twists and turns, constantly surprising us with its unpredictability. Just when we think we have everything under control, the universe sends us down an unforeseen path, reminding us that nothing is set in stone.
Today was the day I didn't die, and it served as a reminder that the unexpected can manifest in joyous serendipity, like discovering a hidden trail, or in daunting challenges, like a life-altering injury. These moments, both thrilling and challenging, shape who we are. They teach us resilience, adaptability, and the art of embracing uncertainty. Life's unpredictability keeps us on our toes, ensuring we never take a single moment for granted and always remain open to the endless possibilities each new day brings.
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