Canadian Odyssey, Dave Garber [best value ebook reader TXT] 📗

As I stood on the foredeck of the MV Pelee, I swayed to the rhythm of the ship, as she ploughed through the heaving swells of Lake Erie. And as I imagined sails snapping in the stiffening breeze, I closed my eyes and became Christopher Columbus, sailing the high seas, in search of a new world – which, in my case, was the vast and mysterious land of Canada, which lay just beyond the horizon.

-----------------------

After several months of following the black line up and down the pool, listening to the whir of chain and wheels, and chasing my shadow over hill ‘n dale, I was ready for the Loaring Triathlon. This event was to take place at the lakeside estate of James Loring, some fifteen miles down the coast from Leamington, Ontario.

And thus prepared, I set out for Sandusky, Ohio, where I would take the ferry across Lake Erie to Leamington.

Along the four hundred miles of interstate to Sandusky, I stopped often for brief jog-abouts and to observe my fellow travelers. Every manner of person presented themselves for my perusal – from the weary man in a wheelchair, whose sullen face was etched with years of pain and suffering, to the lovely lady from India, whose smoldering beauty and languid grace reflected an exotic blend of genetics and fortuity, and everyone else in between.

Upon reaching Sandusky, I checked into a rather shabby motel, which redeemed itself by having a surprisingly nice outdoor pool. The next morning I got my laps in, went for an easy run, and then spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon reading a Monk novel, while waiting for the 3:30 ferry.

After a one hour wait in a stiflingly hot and shadeless parking lot (we were required to be there one hour before departure), we set sail for Pelee Island, in the middle of the lake. Upon arriving at the island, which belongs to Canada, we were required to show our Passports and to provide a reason for our visit. I told the guard I was going on to Leamington for a triathlon. He immediately became suspicious, since the Leamington Triathlon had taken place two weeks earlier.

Although I hastened to add that my event was just down the road from Leamington, and known as the Loaring Triathlon, he was already on full alert, believing he was at least in the presence of a liar, if not worse. A series of probing questions followed, plus a car search, until he finally determined I was harmless and waved me through.

The Arrival: After a three hour layover on Pelee Island, I boarded another ferry to Leamington, arriving at my hotel room a little after 10:00 pm. I was a little buzzed; I don’t know why, so I read until midnight and then turned in for a good nights sleep.

Friday was a very pleasant down day, which I spent reading and napping. In the late afternoon, I ventured out for dinner, took a long walk, and then drove back down to the ferry, where I analyzed the wind tossed lake, in anticipation of what lay ahead. Butterflies, the good feeling ones, were beginning to stir.

Race Day: I slept late, read for a while, had a light snack, and arrived at the race site around 1:00 pm, for a 2:00 pm start. An afternoon start can be challenging, from a heat standpoint, but it’s also a nice change from an early morning start, which can be even more challenging, as I don’t like to get up early.

The temperature stood at 90, there was not a cloud in the sky, and a strong, wind blew from the south. I usually don’t care for high heat, a blazing sun, and wind, but on this day I did, for the sun and the wind combined to create an extraordinarily beautiful lake. Since the beach faced the sun, the water was all sparkly and pretty, as the sun glinted off the white caps, swells, and breakers.

From a physical perspective, the course was the most attractive one I’ve ever encountered, what with the beauty of the lake, the lovely grounds of the Loaring estate, and the rolling, verdant countryside. It was quite a magical setting, indeed.

The Swim: Mr. Loaring was undecided, as to whether or not he was going to cancel the swim, due to the waves, but in the end he decided to allow us have a go at it.

We lined up, the gun sounded, and we were off. I started to the outside rear and worked my way toward the first buoy. I always start here, especially in rough water situations, since I don’t care to fight both the waves and the other swimmers. This means I’m usually close to last out of the water, but I least I’ve never had a broken nose or a busted lip.

The course was three sides of a rectangle, with the first section heading into the waves. The waves weren’t as bad as they looked and I quickly found a decent stroke and settled in for the ride. I always enjoy the feeling of such water, for there are times when I almost feel weightless, as the waves rise and fall beneath me. The second section was more of a challenge, as the waves were breaking over my breathing side. But I made it through without too much ado, as they were breaking in a consistent manner and it was fairly easy to time them. The third section was the most interesting, as the waves were behind me. So I simply allowed them to carry me to shore. I almost felt like a bit of flotsam, being swept along by the current.

All in all, it was an exhilarating experience and I exited the water without undue exertion and ready for the bike.

The Bike: Since I was last out of the water, I was also last out of T1 and was thus faced with an long and lonely run to the mounting line. But the crowd certainly did seem to love an underdog and everyone did their best to inspire me. Still, inspiration doesn’t come easily, when there’s not another bike to be seen.

Since the course was quite windy, I didn’t want to fight the wind too hard and blow up, so I hunkered down, found an easy cadence, and waited for the times when the course turned away from the wind. And so it went, in alternating cycles: 12-15 mph into the wind, with moderate effort, and 22-24 mph with the wind, with little effort.

I eventually passed an acceptable number of riders, 10 in all, catching the last one a few meters from the dismount line. With quads burning, I realized that energy would have been better spent on the run, but 10 just seemed a better number than 9.

Plus, it’s a Pavlovian thing: Dog sees rabbit – gotta’ chase it!

The Run: I knew the run was going to hurt; it usually does, especially when it’s hot. No single part of the race had been overly tough, but each factor had extracted its share of energy, and now I was faced with a run which seemed to wind forever through a blast furnace.

But I held an easy pace and didn’t try to be a hero. Even still, I did manage to pass a few slower brethren and even had enough left to sprint to the finish line -- the crowd, the cowbells, and the photographer supplying just the right amount of motivation.

The Conclusion: The following day, I packed my bags, loaded the car, and drove down to the ferry, where I noticed the lake was now in an easy state of calm. This Great Lady had truly outdone herself, in giving us a wonderful swim experience, and now she was taking her ease.

Publication Date: 02-11-2011

All Rights Reserved