For the past 14 years or so, there’s been a great race here in Ontario called “Paris to Ancaster”. A tongue-in-cheek reference to the Paris-Roubaix, it starts in the small town of Paris, Ontario (about 70 minutes west of Toronto) and moves east to Ancaster. It’s always the weekend after Paris-Robaix, and like its namesake features a variety of challenging terrain including gravel, mud, road, grass, single-track and rail bed. But without the fans, domestiques, or Europeans.
I’d say at least 75% of people were doing it on mountain bikes, with the rest on ‘cross bikes. Not owning a mountain bike, and having just enjoyed (truly a literal liberty if ever there was one) my first cross season, I ran my cross bike. The course is 60KM long, with a 35KM option that starts somewhere in the middle, finishing in Ancaster. Weather at the end of April? It’s the one thing you can count on — not being able to count on it. Some years have a had snow, some sleet or hairl, some freezing rain. This year, it was warm — high 60’s/low 70’s, and dusty. Again, just like its namesake.
I’ve been wanting to do this race for years, but something always gets in the way. I keep foolishly squandering my time on employment to supply my wife and I with food and heat. This year was the year, though. At 7am on a Sunday, I bundled my bleary-eyed wife into the car with a “you’ve always wanted to see Paris in the springtime” (a joke that apparently got stale the 17th time I used it), and we were off.
As a point-to-point race, P2A has to employ a variety of creative techniques to get people around, as it’s probably not an example of prudent race direction to force weary racers to pedal back 60KM from the finish to their parked cars. Registration was in Ancaster, you drove to Paris at the start, and then shuttle buses returned you to the start to pick up your car. Having my wife along made life easier — she simply saw me off at the start, and drove to the finish to meet me an pick me up.
The race is billed as the largest Canadian cycling race — the race was capped at 2000 people. The 60KM has 2 waves — one for elites/pro/license holders, and 15 minutes later another wave for the rest of the unwashed masses, including myself. I made the error of getting to the race pens 5 minutes before the first wave went off. Apparently, people rather enjoy standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the hot sun in spandex, and lining up began early. I was in the back 1/3 of the pen. Nevertheless, our signal was finally sounded, and we were off.
After a brief foray on the road, we immediately poured onto a rail trail. Here’s where I understood why people hit the pens early, and why my position was less-than-optimal: the first solid 30 minutes of the race was spent passing. Easy to do on the road, but on a narrowish rail trail with loose, large gravel, riders almost wheel to wheel, and lots of skittish non-racers who believe the expression of “on your left” is a political one, this meant taking my life into my hands…often. I passed on the left, on the right, up the middle, on the shoulder (particularly dicey given the fact the rail trail ran next to a river, and a plunge down the embankment meant an unplanned swim portion to the event). Lots of overhanging branches to the shoulder, face and body. It was exciting, to say the least. I did see one major crash immediately in front of me, which caused a domino effect. Fortunately was passing by way of a raccoon path at the time, so I managed to avoid the yardsale in action.
The course left the rail trail, and suddenly broke right — up a very steep hill, requiring you to carry/push your bike. I’m no cross master (I was simply happy this season if I didn’t come last in my races), but this was the first of several instances where the ability to dismount, shoulder the bike and run with it in one fluid motion came in very handy. I picked up a fair number of places simply doing that.
The road portions were a blessing, and a place I could really take advantage of the cyclocross bike. That being said, triathlon does not aid the development of single-track skills, so many of those I passed on the road would pass me back on the single-track. Despite the sunny days, there was lots of mud — one hill (“Powerline Road Mudslide”) was just that — you HAD to dismount and run/walk the bike down through the mud, as it was more of a deep-mud path with large buried stones. There were many, many ejected water bottles.
Single-track, field, gravel, grass,road, gravel, single-track, rutted road, mud…the course ensures you won’t get bored, and makes it hard to find a solid rhythm.
Just when one finds some space, the 35K race joins the course, making it a bit of a minefield — the shorter course caters to families, and the last thing I felt like doing was explaining to an irate parent why I was picking their second-grader out of my rear derailleur. More sketchiness, more dodging…always fun.
You’d think a race like this would gracefully end in Ancaster, with a nice road sprint or something. Not so much. The last km or so is straight up a rutted road/path. The last 200 meters or so, very few people are still pedaling , they’re walking or running the bikes up…except apparently that morning I had an extra-large helping of stupid, and decided to pedal up the whole damn thing, and finish in the saddle. “Waiter, I’d like a larger order of machismo, with a side of ego and just a dash of obstinance, please.” Normally I’m far more sensible than this.
I climbed harder than I ever have, even making my trip up Palomar earlier this winter look riding a chairlift. Let me put the incline in perspective: my previous max heart rate I’d seen on the bike (ever) was 181. On this climb, I registered 185. I had to confirm this after the ride, as when I looked at my HRM during the climb it was hard to read…I believe the lenses of my eyes were coated with a thick sheen of lactic acid.
And then it was done. Poof. Talk about a denouement. A volunteer whisked off my chip, and I was standing there, dusty and muddy, trying to figure out what hit me.
For the first time trying this event and for any off-road enduro type of thing, I had a great time and was pleased with my results. 24.7KMH average speed for 60KM and managed a 13 out of 111 for Clydedale, and 284 out of 1136 overall.. I ended up being a lot faster for the event than I thought I would be, and it was a great training day despite the fact I can’t move my legs now.
It’s a terrific event I’d recommend to anyone. Apparently, it’s a major draw, and I saw lots of license plates from NY, Michigan and Ohio in the parking lot. Volunteers are great, and the charity bike wash at the end is a nice touch.
