Mosquitoes (Day 23, Minnedosa to Portage La Prairie, Manitoba)
In terms of riding conditions, not much will surpasse the first part of our ride we undertook from Minnedosa to Portage La Prairie in Manitoba a couple of days ago.
The morning was cool, enough to warrant my riding vest over my riding singlet, but not enough to warrant detachable arms or legs. They've been hidden in my storage area for quite a few days now - ever since we left BC and the chills of the mountain air and endless rains.
Now, the days are pretty much the same in terms of weather - start off warm, and slowly crank the temperature so you're stuck out in some horrendous heat with 60km left to pedal, etc. Throw in a bit of headwind, and ridiculous terrain that never seems to go downhill (or maybe it does; it's just with the headwind you can never tell as you have to keep spinning regardless).
But today is different - then again, no two days are ever the same for any factor - this time there is some cooler air, and the sun is shielded by some hazy cloud cover, giving it an orange appearance and really bringing out the colours of the yellow and blue canola fields that have been a fairly constant feature of the past few days. The wind does not seem to be around, which is normal for a 6am departure - it won't pick up for a few hours yet. I am riding with the fast fellas, who take around 5km to warm their legs up before they form their standard single-file paceline and the concentration time must begin. For some reason, we're moving pretty quickly, pretty early for even the fast fellas. But it's not a strain on the legs. I realise that we must have a slight downhill grade, which is terrific to discover that we can actually utilize it without a wind trying to take away our joy. The boys are feeling the vibe of the morning - with little traffic around, and conditions as surreal as these, we're sitting comfortably in the high 30s without even blinking. We hit the first town of the morning feeling like hardly any time has passed through the speedometre. This town is not unlike most Prairie towns - aged in appearance, yet functional in servicing the agricultural hinterland, but the closer we edge east, we notice the period of settlement has changed - this area was settled much earlier than the towns we travelled through two days ago, evidenced by the older and more stately homes. This region's ability to sustain strong evergreen trees featured in many homes and lining the through-road, adds to the towns charm. We stop for a second breakfast before continuing on.
The wind picks up soon after, and the joy slowly turns into a slog against the headwind.
At the 120km mark, we have two options for our route: take a 10km gravel track with no traffic into Portage, or continue on the Yellowhead Highway until it meets the TransCanada (Highway 1) and take the Highway into town. The Highway here has no shoulder whatsoever, and the huge volume of trucks makes for some scary riding. We have been advised to take the gravel road for everyone's safety. They weren't thinking of Harry when they made that recommendation, and after barely surviving the ratty Saskatchewan roads, there is no way I am willing to take my bike onto a 10km stretch of gravel. I grew up on riding the freeways shared with trucks, and I love the rush of riding with the big boys of bitumen.
We make it to the TransCanada, and I am shocked to find the fast fellas have coerced a man with a pick-up to take them and their bikes through this section. They are adamant that the road is way too dangerous to ride on without a shoulder. I can't believe their attitude, and I resolve to ride it regardless of the danger. There is no way I am going to attempt to ride across a country like Canada only to have a 10km gap in the middle because of a road that has a few fast trucks on it. I say to them, 'Kamikaze all the way baby, I'll see you guys in town'. I stock up on some more food for moral and physical support, then hit the stretch.
We've made a turn east into this highway, so the wind is now coming from the south, and is more of a help than a hinderance, although a cross wind when attempting to stick on the white line is not so easy. I am cruising along at a nice speed, and every vehicle has given me heaps of room - no-one has honked or come too close, so I don't even worry about speeding through this section. It is over before I know it, and I take the exit ramp into town, feeling very jubilant and cocky regarding my achievement. It is at this point in time when my back tyre blows to the shithouse.
Suddenly, it is hot, I am tired, far from help, alone alone alone, and with a heart rate of 190 after the noise of the tyre going so unexpectedly. It's my third flat for the trip, but the other two times I had at least two fellas to help me with my ultra tight tyres and difficult rims. I have done this before on my own though, so it shouldn't be a problem. I put a boot across the rip in the tyre, which is a piece of old tyre about four inches long that you keep on you for instances such as this. It should hold the tube and tyre until I get into town. When I put the new tube in, I somehow do the unthinkable - I pinch the bloody tube. Now I've got two holed tubes, the sun is making this way too hot for an activity, and I am frustrated no end. With only 5 km to go, I adopt strategy 101 - with the wheel in one hand, and the thumb of my other raised, I stop the first pick-up that drives past and get a lift into camp. I sit in the back with Harry, answering politely the questions the passengers ask me through the back window regarding the location of my kangaroos.
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| Still relatively new on the cycling scene, my choice of tyre along with my campag rims were a terrible puncture changing combination. It became the stuff of nightmares on my cross Canada journey. |
We spend most of the after-dinner time trying to get a tube into the new tyre without pinching it. I have gone through four tubes today in the process. At one stage I take it for a test ride, only to have the new tyre blow out of the rim four blocks down the road, from the tube not sitting correctly.
It 9:30pm by the time we've successfully refitted the tube, and I am back in business. I ride out to the point of the original blow out, turn around, and rush back to camp to avoid both the dark and the swarms of mosquitoes that emerge come sun-down. They are so bad, I currently look like I have chickenpox.
Everyone is in bed by the time I return, and with the mozzies in such horrendous force, there is no point lingering around anyway. Its a full rush to get into the tent - you hone your tent diving skills pretty well when you're under attack like this. At least I can rest easy knowing that I am still in the running to cross this country's every inch.
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