I didn’t want to call him.
Big Ring was expecting it; I know he was. He didn’t say he was, but the implication was there. “This is the way you need to go,” he said, his eyes boring into mine. “These are the roads you want to be on,” he emphasized, sloooowly. “Do you know where you’re going? Do you know where you’re going to turn around? Do you know your landmarks,” he asked, the volume of his voice increasing with every new question. And finally, “I’ll be around for an hour or so if you need me,” he called out as I was shutting the door behind me.
Big Ring isn’t usually this over-protective. I have a history of getting lost; no matter how detailed the directions, 98 per cent of the time, I somehow get completely twisted around on the road, and in the mind. I’ve done it countless times both driving and running, so much so it’s a given I’ll be calling him to help unlose me. But this time I wasn’t driving or walking, I was cycling. It was to be my first solo ride to the city, and I don’t know why I wanted to go against my nature, but I was determined to not get lost, to not need outside assistance, to not call on Big Ring.
Holly GoQuickly: It’s just you and me baby!
Years ago, when I first started riding again, I was riding solo all the time, but that was when I was still living in the valley, where I grew up; if I got lost there, it didn’t take much brainpower to figure out how to reroute myself back to an area I was familiar with.
City cycling is a whole other can of worms.
In the city, I’ve only ever ridden with Big Ring and a friend of ours, never alone. And I’ve only ridden to the city a handful of times; the other times, I’d drive and meet up with Big Ring on the bike before starting. It never once crossed my mind to go it alone. I ran alone in the city all the time, but cycling, that was a Big Ring and I thing to do.
But then we had Little Ring…
Riding together was becoming harder to achieve.
And then I couldn’t run….
I needed to learn to go it my own.
And so, I waved a worrying Big Ring goodbye and set out on my solo adventure. And at first, it was going well. I was following the B.C. Parkway, which essentially no one (except for maybe me) can get lost on as it follows the Skytrain the entire way into the city. As long as I could see the Skytrain tracks above me or to the right, I was good.
Central Park: Wahoo! Made it to Burnaby without getting lost!!!
I veered off at Central Park, away from the Skytrain line, and was to follow the Ridgeway path into the city; as long as I saw the green signs that said Ridgeway, I was good. There was one, mini hiccup where the sign was posted just past the street I was to turn on, so I kept going straight thinking I was to turn on the next street, only to realize seconds later I should have already turned, and then when I turned around, I turned left, which I quickly realized I should have turned right. Oops. No biggie.
I was only planning on a two-hour ride as we were heading out of town the next day and I had some packing to do. I thought 20 km out would be a good place to turn around, but when I saw a turnaround road that Big Ring had mentioned, I was only at 18 km, so I kept going figuring I could hook up with the next turnaround road at Heather.
At this point, I was feeling pretty proud of myself.
Minutes in to the turn, something didn’t feel right. Big Ring and I had ridden on Heather coming out of the city the other day, but we were going the opposite way that I was currently going. Hmm… I kept going, I kept following the little green signs, because surely the green signs would guide me in the right direction. Nope. A few more turns and a couple more kilometres and I knew something was most definitely not right.
Don’t call him. Don’t call him. Don’t call him.
A commuter cyclist headed towards me. Pointing directly in front of me, I asked him if this was the way to the city. There was a look of laughter in his eyes, or was it pity? Nope, that’s the way to Richmond, he said, and then pointed behind me saying that was the way to the city. Neither of which were the direction I needed to go.
Soooo, which way to New Westminster? Which way to home?
Home is to the mountains, he said. North, he said. Go north. Go to the mountains.
Phew, no phone call to Big Ring!!!
I got back on the route I came in on figuring I best not be too adventurous in trying new routes given my two hours had already passed and I needed to get my sorely padded butt home. Things somewhat fell off the rails when my blood sugars went drastically low. I try to test every hour on the bike, but getting lost distracted me; wanting to get home lickety split distracted me; and the diabetes was forgotten. Had I kept to that testing regime, I likely would have caught the low before it dipped below 3.0. Argh..
Waited out the low, found the B.C. Parkway, and off I went.
I came to a crossroad. The little green sign told me to go straight, but the path off to my left looked exactly like the path we’d ridden a few rides earlier, and given the so-called trusty green sign had already gotten me into an earlier pickle, I went with my memory.
Oh bloody fricken hell, why do I not follow signs. Yes, it was the same path we’d ridden, and good on me for recognizing it, but I failed to recognize the turn I was to take to get back home, and suddenly here I was about to merge on to a crazy assed busy street. What the freaking hell? I had nothing left in me. My butt was sore. My head felt like a volcano had erupted. I was hungry. I was tired. I just wanted to be home.
And the phone came out. His number was punched in. Big Ring was called.
After all, it wouldn’t be a proper PoP adventure without getting lost at least once, right!
Not even the chicken scratch directions on my arm helped.
8:20 a.m. BG pre-fuel: 6.9 – PB&J sandwich (39g)
9 a.m. BG pre-ride: 7.8
Temp. basal: -70%
Distance: 44.86 km
Average speed: 15.5 km/h 🙁
Ride BG: @60 min. 4.1 (applesauce + temp. basal -100%) @130 min. 3.1 (dried apricots) @200 min. 8.9
2:30 p.m. BG post-ride: 10.4
Temp. basal: +70% 2 hours