Wind wind etc. etc.

I’ve been trying to think of the best word to describe yesterday’s wind: Brutal? Ferocious? Punishing? Merciless? Soul-crushing? In the end, I think I’ll settle on “traumatizing.” As in, this is a wind that will leave a permanent, if small, impression on my psyche, haunt me in some minor way. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Traditionally, at the Dusty 100, the wind is from the west, which makes for a tough first half and a larkish homestretch. The final 25 km along the Victoria Trail is the most scenic part of the route and, usually, the quickest. But not this year. With a rare east wind, which kicked up dramatically in the early afternoon, the final stretch involved a special kind of suffering.

Even before we turned east into the stiff clip, my legs were weary. But as the wind intensified, it became clear that it was affecting my mind as well as my body. I began to experience that psychic (and cyclic) fragility that only wind can induce in a cyclist. Of course I can ride 20 more kilometres, no matter how hard, but . . . can I?  

The wind got stronger and stronger as my resolve weakened. By the time we hit the Northwest Mounted Police monument, it was blowing 40 kph, and the flags were stretched out straight. My speedometer ticked ever downward; clouds of dust swirled above the gravel. 

(It’s happened to me before, this kind of mind-melting wind. I think of that day in Montana in 2007, when touring with Penn and Cousin Larry. We still talk about that one. We limped off the bikes after a gruesome afternoon of grinding headwinds and just sat silently at that campground picnic table, staring off into space. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep–our bodies vibrating from the exertion, our minds stunned. We could have gotten tattoos to commemorate the experience.)  

Thankfully, I wasn’t alone. Most of the riders were well ahead, but Brent was with me the whole miserable way. We worked together and tried to cheer each other up. But at a certain point, the wind sucks the conversation out of you. You don’t even have the energy to talk anymore. It’s just head down, one pedal stroke after another. Click, click, click, incremental progress. We will get there eventually. Won’t we?

I’ve never been happier to get a flat tire, just so I could have an excuse to rest. As I was putting in the new tube on the side of the road, the wind almost knocked me over. Then back in the saddle, a few clicks closer to the end, I saw this dead garter snake on the road and thought, "Poor bastard. Some have it worse.” 

At one point, about 10 km from the finish, as Brent and I were pulled over at the side of the road, a farmer stopped in his truck to ask us what was going on with all these bicycles on the road and to comment, of course, on the conditions. When I told him the name of our event he laughed out loud. “Perfect,” he said. “That’s perfect.”

Viking Ribstones

I’m a big believer in having a destination on a gravel ride. It doesn’t have to be anything special--a country store, an onion-domed Orthodox church, a shaded picnic spot, a viewpoint. A plaque even. I’ll gladly ride to a random plaque and back.

On a recent foray, setting out from Kinsella, in east central Alberta, we settled on the Viking Ribstones, an historical site I’d read about online. Ribstones are big old rocks with shapes or lines (specifically lines that look kind of like an animal’s rib cage) carved into them a long time ago by Indigenous people. It’s thought that the carvings were a kind of offering to the spirit of Old Man Buffalo. Apparently nine different ribstone sites have been found in Alberta, but the one near Viking is one of the better preserved specimens.  

Gooseberry Rambles

I recently spent a couple of days exploring some of the off-pavement options in the Neutral Hills in east-central Alberta, near Consort, and I can report that even though I only rode a fraction of it, this area has lots of potential for adventurous gravel cyclists.

We camped at Gooseberry Lake Provincial Park, about 15 km north of Consort, which turns out to be a great starting point for cycling. To the south and east, it’s your typical prairie gravel roads, all fine and well, but to the north and west things get interesting. The hilly terrain reminds me of another Alberta terminal moraine, the Porcupine Hills area near Claresholm--similar topography and similar “roads,” if that’s even the right word. The hills are bestrewn with totally bikeable tracks and trails, most of them private but some of them public.

The Cost of a Gravel "Experience"

 

Credit: Cycling Tips

A few years ago, Val, Penn, and I did the Gran Fondo Whistler. It was, I thought at the time, an expensive ticket: $225 to participate in a one-day ride. But despite being a cheap bastard by nature, I was able to justify the cost on the grounds that for my cash I was getting a unique “experience:” in addition to the usual supports (aid and snack stations) a section of the highway we rode was closed to car traffic, enabling us to ride on a road that otherwise I probably would have avoided. And when we got to Whistler, there was a party waiting for us: barbeque, live music, and an atmosphere of general festivity. We had a good time. It was worth it, and I’d recommend the “experience.”

That ride is all pavement, of course, but I mention it here because, in the world of gravel riding, big ticket events promising a special “experience”--in some cases charging the same kind of fees as a premier event like the Whistler Gran Fondo--are beginning to pop up more and more in western Canada. But when I look closely at what some of these gravel events are offering in exchange for their fees, I find myself asking some questions about what exactly constitutes a rewarding gravel-event “experience.”

Dusty Lens: Manitoba Spitz

 

On The Great Trail, near Deerwood, Manitoba

Bruxelles Pussycats

                         

Nuns and Pussycats and baseball. It sounds like the elevator pitch for a bad 70s cartoon. But for me, those are the key ingredients in the story of Bruxelles, Manitoba, my new favorite place for gravel riding.

My wife grew up in Morden, Manitoba, a small town south of Winnipeg. Baseball’s big in those parts. In fact, the Manitoba Baseball Hall of Fame, such as it is, resides in the Morden recreation complex. Every small--and I mean tiny--town in that part of the world used to have a soft ball team, often several, men’s and women’s, and if you didn’t play for one, you probably knew someone who did and even watched some games on warm summer nights.

For the last 25 years, I’ve visited Morden almost every summer, and during that time I’ve gone to my fair share of Manitoba ball games, and even played the odd pick up game myself. My wife and her sisters have lots of women’s softball stories about small town rivalries between the Morden Fighting Saints, Winkler Skylarks, and Altona Thresherwomen, but my favorite ones involve the legendary Bruxelles Pussycats.

Bruxelles (pronounced Brux-els), named, not surprisingly, after the much larger Belgian city which we know as Brussells, is located about 100 miles southwest of Winnipeg. It was founded in the 1890s by Belgian immigrants, and became known for its convent and school run by Ursuline nuns from the old country.

Every time we drove from Edmonton to Morden we passed the sign for the Bruxelles turn off. And every time, my wife would tell me not about the nuns but about the Pussycats and how for such a tiny place, Bruxelles somehow always fielded an impressive women’s team. (As far as I know, there were no actual nuns on the team, but they may have arranged for some divine assistance.) I loved the name, partly for the way it channelled the popular 70s comic book Josie and the Pussycats, and partly for the juxtaposition: Bruxelles sounds Euro and cosmopolitan; Pussycats are feminine but feisty.

But until about a week ago, I had never actually been to Bruxelles. What got me to go, in the end, wasn’t the nuns or the Pussycats; rather, it was the gravel. The last couple of times I drove through that area, I noticed that the gravel roads around the Bruxelles turnoff looked particularly intriguing--surprisingly hilly with narrow roads. Turns out there’s an annual gravel race there each April, the Bruxelles Spring Classic.

And I can see why. I drove out to the Bruxelles area one morning and rode a 40-km loop, stopping in the village at the mid-way point. The vistas were stunning, the roads rising and falling constantly. It was one of those magical mornings.

                            

As for the village, I wasn’t expecting much, after having seen my share of sad little prairie towns. But Bruxelles wasn’t sad at all. It was charming. The convent is long gone (burnt down in 1954) but the church still stands and its expansive old-world Catholic grounds--cemetery, stations of the cross, tiny chapel, and grotto--are surprisingly well tended. I saw a general store, B and B, community hall, and a lovely little park (where I think the convent used to be).

                        

                                    

               

                                

                                

But what I came for was the ball field, which is located in a lower field behind the church. I don’t know what I was expecting there. Some kind of Pussycats Hall of Fame monument? Plaques commemorating ladies’ soft ball success? Of course, there was nothing Pussycat-related at all. It was just a ball field that didn’t look to be used very much anymore.

I rode my bike around the grass field for a while, and that’s when I noticed it. The church spire looming over the trees past the outfield. Something about that seemed right for Bruxelles. Those Belgian founders knew how to pick their spots. Nuns and Pussycats and baseball.           

                             

The Rustler

Although the official Gravel Experience event The Range, in Claresholm, was cancelled due to COVID, a bunch of folks rode the routes anyway on Saturday--call it an unofficial pseudo-Range event. I did the shorter Rustler route, an 85 km spin, while most of the other cyclists I met were tackling the alternate Range route of about 120 km.  

In either case, it was a swell day in Cowboy Country--perfect weather, glorious scenery, happy cyclists. I encountered about 40 gravel riders who had set out in several waves between 8 and 11 am.

The first 30 km or so from Claresholm is just a warm up act: your standard Alberta gravel roads, though with the bonus of the picturesque Porcupine Hills in the distance. The main attraction of The Rustler is the Burke Creek Ranch Road, a private access through some stunning scenery and challenging terrain on the edge of the Porcupines. 

“Road” may be a generous designation for what is really a double track trail, for the most part, that features a lot of up and down. Hills, cows, hills. At one low point, an overflowing creek crossed over the road; I was pleased with myself for being able to pedal across until I realized that I got a double-soaker anyway. On the final big climb out of the valley, the incline reaches a preposterous 15% plus, the kind of sick slant us City Slickers aren’t much accustomed to. You know it’s steep when you can barely even walk your bike up the hill.

 

 But the views in this ranch area are stellar. Hills, cows, hills forever. The Rustler is well worth doing just for this BCR stretch.

Some of the lower warm-up sections are swell too, especially where the gravel road snakes along the creek in a lovely coulee for a couple miles. The real weak link in this route, however, is the stretch along Highway 520, which is the only way to access Burke Creek Ranch from the Claresholm side. 520 is a wide gravel secondary highway, with just enough traffic to make it slightly annoying to be on. It offers some terrific views of sweeping ranch land, but I was happy to get off of it and back onto quieter, skinnier gravel roads. 

If I were to come back to this area to ride more, I don’t think I’d start in Claresholm again (though I get why The Range event needs to do this, for logistical reasons.) Instead, I’d cut off as much of 520 as I could, park somewhere closer to the Burke Creek Ranch Road, and spend my time riding the higher gravel roads.

That’s where the cool cows hang, and where the real rustling happens.

Solo Special

I miss riding with my friends. The conversation, the joking, the bullshitting--even riding silently together. I miss it all.

Alas, riding alone is how it’s going to be for a while. (I’m hopeful that the wide-openness of gravel will allow for two-person rides, but not everyone will be comfortable with that.) For the most part, my solo rides have been, well, okay. It’s something just to be out on the bike, moving through warm air again. But it’s not as much fun as riding with other humans.

My ride a few days ago, however, was an exception. I drove out to Strathcona County and explored some territory to the north and west of Elk Island Park. It was a warm, sunny day, not too breezy; the melt was on, with water coursing through the ditches and culverts, small torrents seeking out low ground. And part way through the ride something happened: I experienced some curious shift in how I saw the world from my saddle, and I actually enjoyed--for the first time in a long time--being alone out there.

Winter Sunday

High on my list of favorite winter activities is a bike ride on a quiet gravel road on a cold, sunny day. 

Here are a few pics from the loop ride Val and I did west of Leduc on Sunday, starting at old Gnadenthal Lutheran Church, on the corner of RR 261 and TR 494.

What seemed, at first glance, to be a barren and desolate landscape turned out to be full of life. The many dogs of Leduc County were excited to see us; they greeted us enthusiastically. Only one gave us an actual scare, sneaking up on us in full stealth mode, not alerting us to his presence until he was on us. But even he was in too good of a mood to actually go through with anything menacing.

More surprisingly, we encountered no less than three horseback riders clopping down the middle of these country roads. Apparently we aren’t the only ones who enjoy a winter Sunday ride. 

But in the end it’s the sun--weak-ass as it is, barely able to peek over the trees by mid-afternoon--that makes a winter ride more than just pedalling. That muted light hitting the frost in the trees and the snowy fields or the glare off ice patches on the road or a country church spire--that’s the magic of this time of year.

Central Alleyway Trail

I almost don’t want to tell you this. I’m going to share a secret, my gravel-loving friends.

I recently discovered what is quite possibly the coolest gravel road in the greater Edmonton area. And what’s crazy about it is how it’s been right under my nose all this time and I only recently found it. I’ve been riding gravel in these parts for 8 years, and I thought I had a pretty good sense of most of the roads within an hour’s drive of the city. But this one somehow slipped through the cracks.

As many of you know, Cooking Lake-Blackfoot Recreational Area east of Sherwood Park and just south of Elk Island Provincial Park is a terrific network of cross-country ski trails--home of the Canadian Birkebeiner Ski Race, in fact. In the summer, these trails--mostly rolly, grassy double-track--are used by low-key mountain bikers. I’ve ridden them a few times myself. 

But what I didn’t know until recently is that there’s a gravel road that runs a zig-zaggy east-west route right through the middle of the park, from the Waskehegan Staging Area to Range Road 192, with a couple of off-shoots, about 20 km all told. On the satellite map it looks like any other gravel township road, but on the park map it’s labelled as a ski route: Central Alleyway Trail or CAT (though in the route below the name changes a few times). 

First Contact

It finally happened. It took almost eight years, but it did finally happen.

Last Sunday, while out riding gravel northwest of Edmonton, I encountered, for the first time ever, another gravel cyclist in the wild. That is, someone not part of the same organized ride I was participating in. Val and I were heading east on Township Road 534, just west of the intersection with Highway 44. The cyclist came toward us from the paved Meadowview Road. But instead of following pavement north or south, as I assumed he would, he crossed the highway and rode onto the gravel, right past us.

The Dusty V: 100 km Gravel Challenge

"There came a wind like a bugle . . . "

                                      -- Dickinson

Announcing

The 5th Edition of the Dusty 100

 Gravel Challenge

Alberta's Bugliest Gravel Event

Sunday, June 2     Bugle call 9 am 

Metis Crossing, Alberta

Ride the historic Victoria Trail!

                  Feast on gas station cuisine!

                                 Get profoundly dusty!

No registration fee. All are welcome.

                       Route and details to follow . . . 

Misunderstanding

As I was riding down a gravel road out by Graminia School this afternoon, a passing car slowed down and stopped. The guy rolled down his window and, in a friendly voice, said, "Hey man, there's an awesome paved road up ahead. Turn west and it goes for miles. Way better than this crappy gravel."

He must have thought I was lost, had turned off the paved road by accident.

I smiled and said, "Thanks, but, actually, I like the gravel. It's what I came out here for. I prefer it."

Dude just looked at me as I pedalled away into the leaves.

Cypress Hills Haze

Photo by Val Garou

As much as I love creating my own adventure-cycling routes, sometimes the work has already been done by someone else, and all one has to do is read the internet and follow the virtual wheel tracks. I’d been thinking about doing a trip in the fabulous Cypress Hills of southeastern Alberta and southwestern Saskatchewan for years, when I came across this trip report on bikepacking.com about a 100-mile route on a combination of trails and gravel. Perfect.

The Cypress Hills area is a gem, a little bit of pseudo-mountain in the middle of the great plains. Eons ago, this small area was somehow missed by receding glaciers (dumb glaciers), leaving an island of surprisingly high ground and all the flora and fauna that comes with it. Ask anyone who lives in Saskatchewan or southern Alberta about the Cypress Hills and you’re bound to see misty eyes and hear tall tales of family excursions to these underappreciated Pyrenees of the Prairies.  

The description on bikepacking.com says the trip is “easily attainable by most people,” a mere four out of ten on their scale of difficulty. The guys who wrote the piece did the trip in four days, and the pics on the website make it seem awful leisurely—dudes taking photos of caterpillars and stopping to fish for trout in streams. So, we decided to do the trip in three days. It’s only 100 miles, right? How hard could that be?   

Athabasca and Back

In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a sucker for gravel adventures on obscure historical trails. There’s something about the combination of dust and plaques that I just can’t resist. Our discovery, a few years ago, of the Victoria Trail northeast of Edmonton has been such a hit, that it now features in the annual Dusty 100.

For a while now, I’ve been wondering about the potential of another historical trail just sitting there on my map of Alberta: the Athabasca Landing Trail (ALT). This 100-mile trail links the town of Athabasca, on the Athabasca River, with Fort Saskatchewan, on the North Saskatchewan River. It was a major overland route for fur traders from the mid-1860s until the beginning of the railroad in that area in the 1910s. 

Dusty IV Wrap

Gravel riding doesn’t get much better than what the Dusty 100 had to offer on Sunday out on the back roads of Smoky Lake county. The weather was perfect (21 degrees and sunny, with a tailwind for the home stretch), the gravel roads were in excellent shape (recent rains made for hard-packed lines on about 90% of the route), and the company was first rate (a corps of shiny, happy cyclists reveling in quiet roads and lovely scenery).

Dusty Details

For those who haven't been to the Dusty 100 before, the meeting/starting point is the small parking lot beside the monument with three flags, about one km east of the Metis Crossing campground. (Where, incidentally, there's a music festival happening this weekend.) There's plenty of parking by the flags, a picnic table, and a rustic outhouse but no water, so bring your own water. (Only water refill on the route is at 60 km.)

Bugle call is 9 am.

Dusty 100 Preview

The big day is next Sunday, June 3, at Metis Crossing. All are welcome. This year's event features . . .

MORE RIDERS!

MORE PLAQUES!

                                   

                                                             A SURPRISE BAG!

Dusty 100 Gravel Challenge 2018

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying . . . 
                                                  --Tennyson

The fourth annual Dusty 100 Gravel Challenge happens Sunday, June 3, 2018.

The start/finish is, once again, Metis Crossing, AB (1.5 hour drive northeast of Edmonton); park one km east of the campground entrance, by the monument.

9 am bugle call and roll out.

The route is a 107-km loop on quiet, picturesque GRAVEL roads that include the scenic Victoria Trail, the oldest continuously used road in Alberta, and the option to ride a rustic section of the Iron Horse Trail.

Everyone is welcome: gravel lovers, the gravel-curious, and anyone up for a dusty adventure.

See our event page on facebook.

A few things to know:

This is not a race (though times will be recorded); no real prizes will be awarded, though we tend to give out a Surprise Bag to the Dustiest Rider. 

RIDERS MUST BE COMPLETELY SELF-SUPPORTED.

Riders will be given a GPX file and cue sheet--that's all.

There is a lovely Petro Can and a restaurant in Waskatenau at the midway point. That's the only supply point.

Almost any kind of bike will work (cyclo-cross, touring, mountain, fat) but tires 33 mm or wider are strongly recommended.

WHILE NOT A RACE, THE DUSTY 100 IS HARD. THAT'S WHY WE CALL IT A CHALLENGE.

And did we mention that it's dusty?

Gravel Alberta 2018

Could 2018 be the year of gravel cycling's big breakthrough in Alberta?

The lack of a thriving gravel-cycling scene in this province—and the prairie provinces, in general—has long been a puzzler to me. South of the border, in the equivalent landscape known as the Midwest or Great Plains, cycling on the thousands of miles of gravel backroads has been a thing for years.

It’s difficult to find data on the actual number of gravel riders, but just consider, as an indicator, the number of gravel-cycling events in the midwestern and western United States: competitive races (such as the Dirty Kanza and Gravel Worlds); more recreational rides and fondos (such as the Cino Heroica and Rebecca’s Private Idaho); and any number of informal, unsanctioned, no-fee rides. Throughout Kansas, Iowa, Nebraska, and the Dakotas you’ll find some kind of gravel-grinder event happening almost every weekend in the summer months. Check out the event listings on Gravel Cyclist to get a sense of the burgeoning American scene.