A scenic backway

So FJR texts me up on Wed am:

"You around? Want to go for a little ride this afternoon? Say 2 till 7?"

"Little? Define little." I text back.

There's what seems to be a significant pause in the rhythm of the texts, so I text: "Was it something i said?"

Then "Bathgate for a beer? That's short. Or Vang, nd just past Walhalla?" he says.

So "Yup. Meet here or at the Gretna water station?" I say.

"I can swing by," he says.

"So 2?" I say.

"Yeah, I think so. I may be a tad early."

"No prob. Let me know. Do you have american cash?"

"Yep, I can bring cash for 2."

"T'anks."

"Be there in a jiffy."

Then he emails me this link with the subject "scenic backway".

Of course at first I'm flattered. I've been complimented on certain assets before, but when I open the link I see he has something else in mind. A multi-surface road adventure in the colonies.

There are a few good reasons to ride in the States:

One, the pavement - I can't sort out why the pavement just 5 miles south of my place can be so abundant and remain in such awesome condition when I'm quite certain the winters in North Dakota look and feel a lot like ours.

Two, the drivers - North Dakotan drivers respect cyclists. They slow down when they pass, they give you a lot of room, they wave - if you've stopped, they'll stop to see if they can help. (I wonder if it's something about their perception of reality, which is that they live in the hinterland - right on the edge of things (not Alaska you know, but close) in northern North Dakota it's the equivalent of living in northern Canada - say Thompson or Flin Flon or Churchill - and people who live in places that are perceived by the mainstream to be "extreme" or "peripheral" are just plain more friendly - 'cause folks in northern Canada are pretty friendly and considerate and helpful too. Which doesn't quite explain why drivers on highways in southern Manitoba seem to have more of a "get out of my way you annoying pest you're cramping my style" attitude - except maybe that because we live in the south of Canada we think we're somehow closer to being the Americans that we mock and revile - not realizing that Americans aren't nearly all like that? I don't know. It's a puzzler though.)

Three, the bars - Every burg with a house and a church has one.

Four, the signs - Even the most god-forsaken back roads that no one on a bicycle should ride for fun are marked - albeit the "scenic backway" title elevates the route a little more than necessary (this, my friends, is foreshadowing ...).

Faith, faith is the victory (faith, faith is the victory) ... Are you singing it with me? In your heart? You have to have the courage of your convictions, and my friend FJR is such a one as that. We set out to ride from N-town, cross at Neche, ride to Walhalla to pick-up the Scenic Backway, follow it through the Pembina Gorge, double-back to Walhalla, follow the rest of the Backway to Cavalier, and ride as straight as possible for home. Along the way we would stop at a few establishments to refresh. By FJ's calculations that round trip would be 170ish kms - a solid century plus. We left all but one light at home (a mistake) and rode off from N-town at 2:10 pm. As I said before, faith.

The route

The road to Leroy

 

"Chizzy's" in Leroy - beer stop 1

Banked corner on the road to Walhalla

Above the Gorge and on the way in 

The church in Vang

The b&e

Jesus

Jesus

Jesus?

Even the basements of churches look like bars

Walhalla Country Club - beer stop 2

Drafting a sprayer

Above Walhalla, heading east

The auto-fryer in Jackson's in Walhalla - Americans know
what is the what with greasy bar food

Jackson's in Walhalla - beers 3 & 4

The dusty trail hell of the scenic backway south of Walhalla

Soft soft soft

So soft that the long grass won us over

Finally some gravel, heading to Cavalier

Sammy's in Walhalla - beer 5

The highway headin' north from Cavalier to Neche - there's
less light in the day than the camera would have you believe

Homefires and beer 6 after 9:30

Our guardian long-nose gnome

We prevailed. Belief and perseverance are their own reward - what deluded fellows we are prating about on this goodly earth. So much so that I suspect we'll reprise this journey. It'll be easier knowing what's ahead. We'll invite a few more folks to join us next time. Interested?

CX 2013 Race #6 - You had to be there!

Back in the day we high school boys would, each of us on one occasion or another, try to tell each other these stories about the super-duper incidents and events we'd experienced or witnessed but couldn't quite communicate using words, and then end this failed storytelling with "You had to be there." I feel that way all the time when trying to explain to people at work, who have never seen a cross race, much less ridden in one, why I had a good race, or a not-so-good one, or why I think it's completely okay to keep on racing with (virtually) no hope of winning a race - in fact, that I feel that placing eleventh is a win for me. It's exactly like "you have to be there" in order to get it. You have to be at a race, to get some sense of it. But to really get it, you have to be in a race.

Southern Cross was awesome! You had to be there! What else can you say to explain it all? That's what I'm thinking as I'm standing in the doorway of a colleague's office and trying to answer his question, "How was your race this weekend?" (He's just bought a cross bike. He likes it. He wanted to try a race this year, but he couldn't this weekend because of family matters. I believe him, I really do.) So, since he's asked, I start to explain about the twelve times riding up the hill, or describe the six times you had to get past the sand - was it faster to ride it? or run it? and that you split the difference and rode it three times, and then decided it was faster to run it for the last three - or explain the race wisdom of always dropping into the faster gear when your "go harder even when you can't" cx soul demands it, rather than giving in to the "take it easy" betrayal suggested by your mind and body's screams asking you to shift up for a break. Even as you're saying all this, you see that he's looking back at you like a nineteenth century portrait, you just know there's no way to do this right. He's just holding position. He wasn't there. He has no idea. He can't, because he's never been there. 

I believe that if Martin Heidegger would have ridden a few cx races, he may have had an easier time explaining and illustrating his version of being in, or dasein. When you ride a cross race you are existentially compelled into the fullness of yourself in the world. You are involved in a moment. You participate fully in it, and then the next one, and so on, one moment after another. You are driven into the breathing in, the solitary gasping, pumping and running and pushing and heaving of yourself into and against the world. On your own on your bike during a cx race you are completely present. You are your own existence and you are lost in it within the world. You can hardly tell the difference between you and the hills you climb or the wind you flout or the barriers you hurdle. You can only be involved in it all then. You can only be aware of yourself there. It's absolutely hellish in its beauty. 

But there you are. And when you stop there are others who are there too. They are with you, and they have their being too, and you have yours, and you are being there together. And it's eye-cryingly marvellous. Stick-in-the-eye-cryingly marvellous. For once you've been there alone, you can be there with the others who have been there too and you can all say bullshit to a bunch of this empathy crapola. You can heckle the hell out of me if you've been there. 

What could be more appropriate than the damned cheering on the damned as they navigate the winding road into their own hellish haven of self-discovery? So bang a gong! 

Hand up a pierogi.

Hand up a beer. 

Give me a hand up when I fall.

You have to be there. 

Absolutely. 

To Walhalla, and back again

I rode 122 kms on the road today. This was the route (I did it as an out and back, though there is a way to make it at least a partial loop (see explanation below)):

The wind was ESE 24 km/h, which wasn't ideal, but not terrible either. I managed it in just over 4 hours. I love this route, although normally it would be about 10 kms shorter because there's a great road between the location "H" and the road from "C" to "D". This road intersects at the hamlet of Leroy, which is so fantastically American it makes me tear up: a bar (Chizzy's, serving Grainbelt beer - awesome!) and just a few lots down a Lutheran church with a steeple, and next to that the community hall. And there are about 10 yards in total. That's the America that's dying, and that's the America that's worth mourning. Other than this gem, there are two decent hills, and Walhalla of course - which is also a classic American small town. The whole farming area is more treed and green than in Canada, and the roads are dead straight. It's quite something what a difference that makes mentally. The ride is long enough, but it doesn't feel that way.