Steve Bright

Closing thoughts

I’m writing from seat 18C on the flight home after this journey. I’m alone for the first time in two weeks. It’s an odd feeling. No one saying I have to be rolling in 10 minutes. No jokes from the crew about various body parts and sounds. No Team 2. But countless memories. We came into Halifax yesterday on a misty day and full police escort. The latter was led by a big Harley-riding Sergeant with a walrus moustache and huge belly laugh. This man has seen it all in what I imagine has been a long career with the police. We got to know him more than other police escorts because he spoke after Jeff’s dedication yesterday morning. The officer offered his own thoughts on cancer and what it means to police in Halifax. He cried three separate times in what was a 6 or 7 minute talk. This big burly man, on a big burly police bike, had a tough time talking about what cancer had done to his immediate family and those in the 700+ Halifax police family. He then led the charge for a great ride through one of my favourite cities in Canada. Always has been. The police have been incredible from one coast to the next. They protected us on empty roads and busy highways. They stopped to talk when at a break, and often shared their own stories. Same with the firemen we met, and going into Redvers we had an ambulance provide the escort. These men and women put it on the line everyday for citizens. We should all be very thankful that they do. It’s much more than a job, as I came to know from those doing our escorts and those on my team. Last night at dinner all the teams presented their experiences on the road. Some great stories. Many common themes, with varying details. The addition of a free bar opened things up even more, though this is not a shy crowd. The laughs outweighed the tears last night, but we were all aware of the underlying cause as we gathered for one last time. Cancer kills many children and damages many more. It tears some families apart at the seams. It brings some closer. It creates lifelong friends while also robbing many kids of a childhood. It’s devastating. Pure and simple. And we are doing something about it. I’m very proud of what we are doing as a group, with the support of thousands of people across the country. And I’m proud of myself. I did it. I took on this challenge months ago and am now, in seat 18C, reflecting on what all this means for me, my family, friends and people I will never meet but may have helped as a result of this ride. I learned a lot about fear and what it can do to your mind and body. Those who take on cancer with a positive frame of mind - who are not afraid - seem to come out stronger. I’m sure there is a correlation. If Sharon and I were told that one of the girls had cancer, it would of course be horrible news. But I know for sure that coming out of this cross-Canada experience, I would be stronger going into that cancer journey than I was only a few weeks ago. To handle fear is to work off a steady platform. I want to close with some thanks. Naming family and friends specifically would take too long and I would inevitably forget someone. But a special thanks to Sharon for what she has done for me and the girls over the last several months. Jeff, Steven, Louisa, Mike, Lori, Kristin, Larry, Jenn and all the others at the Foundation are amazing people. They create experiences that foster wellness and volunteerism, all in the name of a cause that needed help. They give it, for countless hours, with a smile. A thank you as well to all those reading my blog. This was my first experience in doing this and I greatly enjoyed it. I look forward to seeing your comments when I’m next in front of a computer. Lastly, to Team 2. You gave me friendship, support, advice, space and the occasional kick in the pants. I’m a better cyclist, father and person for what we did together. Thank you. Steve

Water water everywhere

Bring out your Wellies as it was a rainy one today. Good lord it was pounding down in the mid-morning stint. Fortunately, not overly cold, but hard enough to form rivulets on the highway we were on. Pace slowed, faces cringed and feet soaked.

Many of us wear booties on our shoes, but in rain like this it doesn’t matter. You rapidly get soggy socks, which adds weight to every pedal rotation. Overall, you’re wet to the core within minutes, with your core temp rising to balance the impact of the cold. Some love riding in the rain, and I don’t mind it when training at home.

The real nasty stuff came after a stop in Nackawic, New Brunswick, home of the world’s largest axe. Take that, Toronto, with your fancy CN Tower. This axe would take down that tower in a few blows, hypothetically speaking of course.

We ate in the local hockey arena and were led in grace by the local fire chief, who also serves as a town councilor and chaplain. Then Connor, a local ambassador child, spoke briefly. These are touching moments for many reasons. In this case, Connor spoke for only a few seconds, but enough to immediately connect with all of us gathered. [We were joined this morning by members of a great Fredericton-based cycling club, Old Scarred Bikers. Very knowledgeable of local roads and excellent cyclists. Thanks guys …!] Connor’s mom was in tears after he spoke, and we all instinctively knew to hold our applause for longer than normal. It was as though we wanted her to remember that clapping should Connor revert to some tough days fighting cancer.

We were shuttled ahead a fair bit today to make up for some lost time. And well worth it. Another ambassador, 13 year-old Stuart, joined us on the road a few kms outside Salisbury, about 50 outside Moncton. Stuart was the inspiration for Monique to do this national ride.

We all arrived, with Stuart and his dad leading the pack, into a local parking lot. As has happened so many other times in small towns, the local mayor came out to say hello. We had a great hot dinner, ice cream and pie, and showed some local people the inside of our bunk truck. Then we all showered at a local truck stop and hit the road for Lower Sackville. Our last ride is about 25km into Halifax, including a stop at IWK Grace Hospital.

The journey is almost done, with more blogging tomorrow. Funny thing is that after holding the handle bars for so long, I’m losing grip strength in my right hand. Specifically, my last two fingers are numb. A common long-distance cycling condition, but makes typing on the Blackberry a tad tough. Same with zippers and tooth brushing. Who knew? So time to rest.

Thanks for reading.

Steve

The Eyes Have It

Of the possible injuries I thought I would get on this ride, my IT bands were at the top of the list. While training I would roll out my IT bands religiously, along with ice, RMT sessions and chiro treatments. Alas, I needn’t have worried. My IT bands have not been an issue at all. Remarkably they are in top form, despite a lack of stretching and rolling. It’s my eyes that are causing the problems. Yesterday’s ride left countless things in my eye. Nothing big. Just that yucky stuff that gets kicked up into your face. Not surprisingly, my eyes were crusty this morning and were tearing up within minutes of being on the bike. I knew I was in for a rough ride. I was told at one point this morning that my eyes looked glassy and sore. Nailed it. They were. I couldn’t wear my contacts today on the advice of our paramedic. They had to clear out from yesterday. That means I can’t wear sunglasses and my regular eyeglasses offer very little wind protection. So the combination of squinting in the morning sun, high headwinds and road grit took another toll on my peepers. I could hardly see at some points so I stayed at the very back of the group while being hammered with wind. And this wind is far and away the worst we’ve seen so far. It was mostly a vicious crosswind. Tall weeds on the roadside were almost flat. Perhaps we’ll get a tailwind into Halifax. Hope springs eternal. It came to a point after about 80kms that I had to pull off due to my eyes. I apologize to my supporters for not being able to complete the stage today. Quitting is not an attractive option given what kids with cancer go through. But getting off was the best decision, all things considered. Last thing I want to do is hurt someone by being too slow to avoid a pothole. Or myself for that matter. I crewed for the balance of the day along a gorgeous piece of Canada, the north shore road of the St. Lawrence. I had always heard but now I’ve seen. We pulled into Quebec City ‘s Place Laurier for an end-of-day event at the local Sears. As we’ve seen before, they had young local singers and speeches. Taylor Swift’s song “Love Story” is a favourite among these singers. My eldest daughter Charlotte loves that song, so I really connect with what these young singers are doing for us. It adds to the emotion. The highlight was a speech by a young girl fighting leukemia. She read in French while our colleague Monique translated. We all had our photo taken with her and have long-lasting memories of our time in Quebec City. We’re on the road to Woodstock, NB as I write this. It’s our last long-distance night ride. Tomorrow we have a 200km day, then a 3 hour drive into Lower Sackville. The last ride is very short - about 30kms into Halifax - with all the riders. I’ll be in no rush. Emotions are running high as the ride nears its end. It is a very long way to go as an individual and as a team. Bonds are made and tested. That’s natural. Our goal now is to finish strong and wheel dip in the Atlantic together. Bye for now. Steve

Sensory overload

We started off in the parking lot of the Sears at Pickering Town Centre. We slept there in the bunk truck after a great team meal at a local restaurant. We all tucked in and the gentle snoring began. And with the exception of a clearly intoxicated visitor in the middle of the night - “Woo hoo, let’s party, man” - we slept well. We had a rare 09:00 start, so enough time to hit Starbucks. Then, locked and loaded as they say here, we set out for Belleville some 165km away. We had many Ride Along cyclists with us today, many of whom joined us in Woodstock yesterday. I knew a few from home and knew them to be very strong. A great addition. And fresh legs. We came into several communities today along that stretch. Without exception the local hosts were enthusiastic and the stops plentiful. And many offered the dads in the crowd a Happy Father’s Day. A lovely gesture. And Happy Father’s Day to my dad, who was of course there last evening at SickKids. Thanks Dad …! The ride itself started well for me. Perhaps it was the Grande Bold coffee to kickstart me. More importantly, my legs and back are holding up surprisingly well given the circumstances. And my emotional tank was full to the brim after seeing Sharon and the girls yesterday. But after about 4 hours in the saddle I started to tire, both physically and emotionally. This came on faster than I expected. But as I pedalled along, being passed by many of those fresh legs, I realized that this shouldln’t surprise me. We are indeed running on relatively little sleep while cycling for hours in what is often very sunny conditions. More to it, every day away is longer from loved ones and simple routines at home. And while seeing the girls was fabulous, leaving them again reinforced my distance away from them. So tiring quickly should not surprise me, or anyone else for that matter. It’s part of the experience, handled better by some than others. In my case, part of the tiring stems from sensory overload from being on the road day after day. Horns honking. Cycling weaving. Road grit flying. Tires pounding. It’s a little like my first experience in New York City with Sharon. The first full day was fantastic, but by the end of it we were searching out a quiet drink away from the surging energy found on NYC streets. So when you throw in all this, compounded by natural fatigue and some anxiety of having so many new cyclists around me, it’s little wonder that I was starting to shut down. I decided to pull off at the penultimate stop, 40km from the end, to save myself from getting so tired that I hurt myself or others. Then the pollen hit. These white, air-borne fluffy things were all over the road. They hit me in the face for a few hours. Shortly after I decided I would pull over, my right contact lens fogged up like a shower door. Another sense under assault. That my right hand is numb, along with reduced grip strength, from hours on the handle bars exacerbated my overall condition. Thankfully that stop came on quickly. I pulled out my contacts on the spot and Jamie helped flush my eyes with water. I went into the truck while this was happening as the others had taken off. But I rejoined them with 10km to go as we rolled into the Sears Distribution Centre for another splendid Sears event. And yes I was wearing my glasses, lest anyone who knows me - and my eyes - think I was riding blind. We’re now off to east of Montreal for the night, then a long stage ride on very bumpy roads. Ahh. La Belle Province. Great lifestyle. Lousy infrastructure. We’ll see how all that goes. Regardless, I know that if my emotional and/or physical tanks start to drain over the next few days, my memory bank has been filled. I won’t remember the red eyes or numb fingers in four years, but I will remember the people I’m meeting. That kind of sensory overload is one I can handle. Thanks for reading. Steve

Driving rain and running tears

We started in Woodstock in pouring rain. But a big crowd which was very nice. It proceeded to rain for about 7 hours as we moved along country then city roads to Brantford first, then Burlington, Oakville and Sherway Gardens, then SickKids. It was really nice to see Richard and Diane at Mapleview Mall for lunch. And thanks for the apple juice, Rick …! About 10km out from SickKids, Keith (our ride captain) did something I will never forget. I was at the very front when Keith came past with his arm on someone’s back. She was on a mountain bike and was clearly not a cyclist. I wondered what this was all about. Then I understood. She has a sign on her back saying she was riding for her son Adam. Adam, 13 or so, is back at SickKids having relapsed with what may be fatal cancer. He is well known to many of the ride organizers as he played a concert two years ago at Tour for Kids. He is an amazing guitar player, and he’s the boy I wrote about in an e-mail to my donors at that Tour for Kids. The gesture was simple, as most of the best ones are. Keith was pushing Adam’s mother to see her son in his hospital bed, with 200+ cyclists right behind her. Think of that image next time you or hear of a child with cancer. There are many, many people to help you along that very difficult journey. I was right behind them the whole time Keith was pushing her. Riding past Ontario Place I was sobbing uncontrollably. So while the rain had stopped, the tears were flowing fast. And in the back of my mind, while crossing multiple street car tracks and weeping like a baby, I kept saying to myself “don’t crash, don’t crash.” I didn’t. I held it together until pulling into the driveway at SickKids. Then I burst into tears again as I rolled up. It was to the point that I couldn’t rack my own bike - a volunteer did that for me. I put my head in my hands in a moment of being totally overwhelmed. I then saw my friends, family and work colleagues. I was still in tears, as was Charlotte who wondered why I was upset. She is very sensitive to situations like that as we’ve come to find out. It was great to hold them, hug and kiss Sharon and reconnect with my non-ride life. But here’s the thing. My life was been immeasurably expanded through this whole experience. As I said in my brief speech during the Oakville stop, this ride helps communities, is inspired by communities and creates communities. I’m very honored to be part of this ride and the cancer community. I will do what I can to help kids fighting cancer across Canada. I’ll push the next Adam’s mom. Thanks for reading. Steve

Transitions (Friday)

We move all the time, be it in an RV or on a bike. The only time we stop is while sleeping on the bunk truck. But given the battle royale I had last night with mosquitos in my sleeping bag, I’m not sure if you call it sleeping. And it was only a few hours in any event. Four hours of sleep is about all we get a night, though tonight may be different.

Being on the move so much means we have to transition all the time. Constantly altering speeds while riding within a foot of other riders for hours. Shaving in a Tim Horton’s bathroom. Eating a sandwich on the fly. Having 30 mins to wake up from little sleep to being fully dressed and ready to roll. Moving from one time zone to the next but not knowing what day of the week it is.

These are some of the transitions we make every day. And those are just the physical transitions. Mentally we are switching gears all the time as well.

You can go from lead rider to tail rider in 10 seconds, and the riding experience at the back is much different. And when you’re in an RV for days and hours with others you have no personal time whatsoever. So you have to decide when to be part of the conversation 18 inches from you and when to engage. I do both, as do most.

Same with team dynamics. Some people are used to being bosses at home, but are taking orders on the road all the time here. So we have a rule - try not to react quickly and emotionally to what’s being said on the road. Just go with it. Grumble in the saddle if you have to, but leave it there.

A transition I didn’t expect was to my body. The second day was very tough, physically and emotionally. Add on little sleep and I expected things to get worse over the coming days. But it didn’t. I’m getting stronger and the lack of sleep does not obviously affect me day to day. I’m adjusting. I’m improving technically and in overall strength. I’m impressing myself, I have to say. And yes, I’m getting better going downhill.

Part of that stems from the constant movement I mentioned off the top. My legs are moving for hours a day, getting stronger and stronger. Then they get some rest, and back at it again. Same with my cardio, though we don’t ever max out on cardio out here. It’s all about controlled endurance.

I’m never out of breath, save for a recovery after a long, steep incline.

I know things will change once I hit Halifax. I’ll start to wind down physically and mentally. It will lilkely take several days to fully recover, even though as I write this it doesn’t feel like there’s anything to recover from. That said, I cannot wait for a bath and a gin and tonic.

Or two.

The ride from Tobermory to Owen Sound was about 112km, making 168km for the day. Lots of headwind coming down the penninsula. We’ve not had a tailwind of any note since we started.

And at this point, we don’t expect one.

We had an OPP escort from about 40km outside Owen Sound all the way in. We flew through Wiarton’s very small downtown with siren blaring and people cheering. Some time later we stopped briefly at Kathy’s house. She’s an insurance broker here and a great person. We often ride together and I’ve helped her up some hills. She helps me with downhills, though she probably doesn’t realize that.

Coming into town Keith put Kathy at the front to be the first to wave and meet people, including her husband, kids and media. It is Kathy’s day and we could not be happier.

At the dinner stop we chatted with those gathered and handed out dogtags to kids. They love these tags, and I love handing them out.

I saw two young girls on the ferry from Manatoulin to Tobermory who reminded me of Charlotte and Sophie. And I forgot how small toddlers are. I’ve seen some grade school kids along the way, but very few toddlers. I can’t wait to hold mine in my arms.

After eating we cleaned up at a gym owned by Bobby, one of the local riders who joined us today down from Tobermory. It reminded me a little of Conker Fitness where I work out with Matt. Then we headed out for Woodstock a few hours away. Should be a good sleep tonight. And I plan to win that battle royale should it happen again.

Thanks for reading, and I’ll see many people tomorrow.

Steve

To Marathon & Beyond (June 18, 2009)

First off, a shout out to friends at NATIONAL Public Relations, where I work, for sending me e-mails of encouragement. Much appreciated. As well, lack of a network up here means I couldn’t connect for the last few days in Northern Ontario. So a bit backlogged on blogging.

We started today in Terrace Bay after a very long night’s drive with little sleep. The highlight was stopping at the Terry Fox monument in Thunder Bay. We arrived at about 01:30. Quite surreal at that time. We dodged sprinklers while taking shots. We arrived at the Terrace Bay Community Centre parking lot at 04:00 and had a few more hours of sleep. You get used to it.

To give you a sense of our sleeping accommodations, think of two things. First is an RV that holds 7 of us - 5 sleeping, one driving and the other talking with the driver during the night to be safe. For the second, just think of a regular-sized trailer on a truck. Inside ours we have 20 or so bunk beds along the left side, with bikes hung on the right and luggage under the bottom bunks. I have a top bunk, so I sleep with my back touching the wall the whole time. Helps me from falling off. That would put a damper on riding.

The morning was very foggy, typical I gather for up here. We started with a dedication to a young man from Wawa who died of cancer two days ago. We went to Gary’s visitation this evening dressed in our riding gear. It’s the second year in a row where a young Wawa person has died of cancer within days of the ride coming through. People gathered were very glad to see us. Many gave us money from their wallets inside this very small funeral home, thanking us for what we are doing.

It’s devastating. If you’re wondering what happens to your donations, it’s in part to help Gary’s family and community. They need it. Gary was first diagnosed with leukemia at age 6 months. He and his family had to fly down regularly to SickKids in Toronto and Cheddoke in Hamilton throughout his 18 short years. Imagine how expensive that was for a family from a very small, remote town. Not to mention how costly in terms of emotions and family life.

One other note about Wawa.

At a brief dinner meeting the mayor came out to talk with us. He spoke of the impact our coming here has on townsfolk. As did the local Sears rep who hosted the dinner. He also presented us with a hand-carved sculpture representing a rabbit and goose. Then a young, shy boy, Spencer, was about to leave when we found out why he was there. He had saved up pocket change for months in anticipation of our arrival. Spencer, probably 9 or 10, gave us $20, a huge donation from a young boy with a big heart. In return we gave him a water bottle, a dog tag and handshakes. We all took a lot out of that short interaction.

Back to the morning…

We were silent after the morning dedication, then gave our team cheer - Together for Change - which we say every morning before setting out. The morning riding was hilly and foggy. Lots of great climbing. Burn baby burn. We went 80km to Marathon for a fabulous pasta, fruit and veggie lunch. Off came the arm and leg warmers, the rain glasses - $10 shop glasses from Rona - and on came the sun glasses and sun screen.

To paraphrase a Robert Munsch favourite, the ride out of Marathon was up, up, up then down, down, down. And it’s the latter that gets me.

I don’t like descending. I’d rather climb up than come down. Most riders are the opposite. So I hang off the back of the peleton as others fly down. I do some yogic breathing on the way down to “relax”, as much as one can in the circumstances.

I’ve had about three “babies” while coming down these rather large, long hills. I say that because I thought of Sharon’s breathing patterns while delivering Charlotte then Sophie. Not that I’m comparing descending with birthing, in case you were wondering. But you know what I mean. One helps deal with pain, the other with fear.

Everyone here knows I don’t like going downhill, and seem OK with my new role in that regard. But it means I create a big gap at the back, which means I have to ride like mad to catch up without benefit of a draft. I actually like doing that, although it takes extra energy.

My fear here stems from a bad bike crash several years ago while I was working in Banff. I was going so fast downhill that I was passing cars. Then I tried to break, had a speed wobble and hit the deck at about 60km/hour. I was on fresh tarmac, slightly wet from recent rain so the oil came up. Fortunately that same oil meant I slid on that and not gravel as I skidded a long way. Injuries were rather slight all things considered. But the psychological effects linger. It’s hard to shake, though I’m making some progress, especially among my friends and riding mentors on Team Two.

Once I see the hill flattening out then I’m OK. Guess I’ll never get that call to join the Tour de France. Darn those Alps. After some good hills under baking sun I called it a day. I was overheating and slowing down while the peleton kept a great pace. I didn’t want to slow down the team so I pulled off. A total of 115km today. Very happy with that, and supported the team for the balance of the ride.

Bye for now. Safe riding, however you define that in life. And please remember Gary’s family up here and those across Canada going through the same pain. Living with those psychological effects are the real marathon.

Steve

Measuring Success (June 17, 2009)

You have many hours to think on the bike when we’re going 200km plus. And today I was thinking about measuring things. Speed. Cadence. Heart rate. Elevation. Grade of ascent. Time. These are important to riders. Many are obsessive about these numbers, especially in training.

The battery on my new Garmin 705 Edge on-bike computer, which tracks all of this and more, is out of juice so I can’t track this stuff. [I’ll be charging it again, but that’s another story.]

At first I was upset. But then realized it didn’t matter. We just ride. And take care of each other. And watch deer jump across the road as happened outside of Kenora where we started today.

And don’t forget the mother and bear cub off to the side, and the moose. Lots of animals. No people.

Sure we like to know how much farther we have to go so we can gauge our timing. We have many stops and have to be on schedule. But the peleton - the name of a group of riders - really don’t care about stats along the way very much. We laugh. We tell ribald jokes. We occasionally cry silently while pedaling. We tell stories. And, quite often, many of us will stay mostly quiet with our own thoughts, all the while making sure we’re riding safely as a group.

But there is one measurement that means a lot to me today. We did 245km, which for me is my personal best. The farthest I had gone before was 225km And I finished very strong today. It’s a great feeling. A few others did personal bests today as well. Lots of milestones to measure, mostly in the heart.

A few other random thoughts from the road… The hospitality from strangers has been fantastic. Take the lady at the truck stop in Swift Current. They put on a huge spread for us, including beef stew. I can’t eat beef, so said I’d go for the pasta salad. Within 3 mins I had a fabulous, fresh turkey sandwich brought to me.

For dinner this evening in Fort Frances we stopped at the local Sears warehouse. Incredibly fresh fish, fruit and the works.

Something else about perspective in closing. Riding at about 30km per hour seems to be about the pace of many bugs up here. So you actually see them for a while and can study their trajectory. Yes, I did this a few times. I also heard many birds in trees, simply calling out. The best noise was hearing a moose running through the brush off to the ditch as we climbed. You never notice this in a car. There’s a time and place to speed up and to slow down in life.

A great day today. Thanks for reading.

Steve

Kids give us a huge lift

First off a quick note to say that I can’t read my own blog, those of others or the site in general due to connectivity issues while on the road. I send Sharon my blog updates and she posts them. So sorry if I don’t respond to any specific responses - I simply can’t see them. But I’ll read all of them once this is done. We all had a great sleep last night and were ready to rock today. But we also noticed that we hadn’t connected with the cause or kids because of the schedule for the last few days. But that all changed this morning in Redvers, Saskatchewan. As we pulled up we could see a feww hundred people on the roadside waving with signs. We pulled in to huge applause, with at least one hundred school kids. So we hopped off bikes and handed out dog tags to all the kids. It was great to see and hear kids. And just putting a hand on their shoulders gave me a huge boost. These are beautiful, healthy kids who came out to see us. They asked for autographs on their forearms and foreheads. On baseball hats and pencil cases. On shirts and playing cards. The warm reception was simply amazing. A community of rural Canadians came out in full force. What’s more, they presented us with three different amounts of money. Two young girls handed over a bag of pocket change they collected over the last year - $315. The second was a cheque from a local business - $250. The last was a cheque from the local French school who collected casual Friday morning and donations from a bikeathon - $2,600. This incredible generosity, and the turnout of kids, gave us a huge lift at just the right time. Then it was off for several hours of tough, windy riding to Brandon. It was after the hail that I hit the deck. The group slowed to take off their rain jackets, I was at the back and Kathy and I fell because we couldn’t react fast enough. She hit the tarmac and I rode over her bike to avoid her. A fairly low speed crash, and our crew was there to help immediately. Kathy went into the RV right away and I pedalled on. Then about one hour later my lower back was cramping badly. So I came in. I wanted to finish the stage, but I made the right choice. Both knees are banged up but I’m OK. We drive into Ontario this evening and are getting ever-closer to the Corridor Ride from Woodstock to Toronto. Can’t wait to see my family and friends. Last note today is for about and for my team. We’re blessed with strong riders and big hearts. I can’t stress how tough some of the riding has been, and a few of them have gone every kilometer. It is amazing to see and I want people to know just how good these men and women are at riding. More on pelaton riding dynamics later. Bye from Brandon.

Hot rides and great hosts

It was a very long RV last night - 8 hours from Rogers Pass to Mediciine Hat, and we arrived at 05:00. I actually slept some, which is a huge relief. Sleep deprivation is nasty and rampant, especially among office-based softies like me and a few others. The cops and fireman among us are used to no sleep and shift work, though it’s still tough. We then grabbed 90 mins sleep in the bunk truck before getting up again for the morning routine.

Sears Medicine Hat was gracious in hosting and sending us off in style. It was then out for 112km. But good lord is was hot. Sun was blazing in God’s Country. Flat fields, big cows and fabulous riding.

We were headed to Piapot, population 35km for lunch. Check it out on Google, if it’s there.

Reason we stopped there is because last year the riders were in desperate need of food at 02:00. They rode in shifts over 24/7, so this was night riding and they were hungry. The Piapot Saloon was just cleaning up from a big night with the local ranchers. Riders knocked on the door, the owners responded, and a good time was had by all.

This year the owners asked us to come back. It’s a young couple who moved out from Calgary to get away. Well, they’re certainly away. The Rural Municipality of Piapot has 250 ranchers, and apparently the Saloon attracts quite a good crowd.

The owners - didn’t get their names - put on a huge spread for us. Fantastic hosts. We cleaned them out of Piapot Saloon t-shirts and other periphanalia. We also decided, as a team, to call it quits.

We otherwise had 120km more to go. But it was too hot. We were wilting. So Keith called it a day, we had some beer, and rejoiced in a great morning ride and the opportunity for a good night sleep. We drove ahead to Swift Current for showers, then will pulled out in trucks to our next stop. I’m writing this as we deive.

This means we can have a full night in a non-moving vehicle, the bunk truck. Pure luxury. Then we’ll get up and so it again tomorrow.

Team is really solid now and I’m learning a lot of good technical skills. We remain in good hands with the best road crew you can imagine. The crew is exhausted but never without a joke.

I’ll finish today’s entry with a good line from a long-time homicide cop. He said he wants a bumper sticker saying “Our day starts when yours ends.” These guys are amazing.

Until tomorrow …

Steve