Worst Ride Ever

Yesterday was a tough day. I pushed out toward Lake Chabot along the East Bay Ridge. Just as I started circling the lake I bonked hard. I was gassed. I had nothing left and was thirty miles or so from home, nothing to do but push through the pain and ride home from there. I eventually made it after crawling up some climbs. But that isn't the worst ride ever.

Over the past few weeks I've been on a few group rides and I've chatted with people about those rides where they almost died. That time they got caught out in 100 degree heat with no water, or the time they puked about 3/4 of the way into the ride. This had me reminiscing about my absolute worst ride.

It's summer 2010. I was living on the West side of Buffalo near the Niagara River (actually a strait, but whatever) and with the day off I decided to ride hard and fair. The Welland Canal had been a destination I wanted to check for a while. This connecting canal between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario is not far from Buffalo, but far enough. So off I pushed on my dad's old steel Iron Horse.

Things were going alright as I veered around the lake toward the mouth of the canal. Getting to Welland was actually not a big deal. I sat and watched the mid-sized cargo ships pass by on their way from the Mid-west through toward the St. Lawrence Seaway to their final port of call, wherever that may be. Feeling ambitious I rolled along north along the canal, figuring I could loop around to Niagara Falls or maybe even finish the whole canal to St. Catherines.

The paths along the canal were great for biking. Speedy bike paths with little foot traffic I was feeling the pedals pretty well. But the heat was getting to me, as there was no cover whatsover on this path. I figured the less I stopped the sooner I could get back to Niagara Falls for a cool drink. It was on this path that another cyclist saw me rolling by. "Where you coming from?" "Buffalo" he was impressed. Me now would have been impressed too, but back then I took it in stride. Rides seem to just flow together you forget, oh shit I am actually sixty miles from home. I asked him for directions, he agreed to guide me part of the way. The path required some hucking of the bike over a rail bridge to head back toward Niagara Falls. He rode with me for a bit before he headed back north toward his car.

Now it was just me and searing heat of a Southern Ontario summer. The farmland and tarmac were pushing the heat back into my face and the summer tourist traffic was in full swing behind me. The trucks whizzed by as I got dizzy in the heat. I was really feeling it. I did make it to the city of Niagara Falls when my legs began to feel like jelly. This was especially a bad time to be falling apart as the single country road was now a two lane suburban highway on it's way into the city. It was about here that my bag fell off the rear of my rack. I was falling apart. I ate some of the snacks I had left and chugged my remaining water. It wasn't much further til I was back in the good ole' U S of A, but I knew it was going to be a long hard fought couple of miles.

I finally rallied up and got back on my bike. It was comforting to see the mist of the falls. I was nearly there. The plan was to cross the border and just catch a bus back to Buffalo. My body was telling me that it wouldn't push me home. The bridge traffic was long and the sun was now burning right through my thin layer of sun block. My calves were bright red. One of the young border patrol guards made a comment as he walked through traffic. My head had no time, I feigned a smile, but secretly let out a series of vulgar epithets at that man in my mind. I finally made it through the stressful border crossing (it was always easier to get into Canada then out, stupid).

The ride was over. I packed up some calories at the 7-11 and waited for the bus. It felt good to see the end was here. The bus would drop me off less than a mile from my house. I waited for about a half hour in the shade on a cool patch of green grass. I was stoked to finally see the big white NFTA bus pull up. Except, there was no bike rack. "Can I bring my bike on if there's no rack?" I asked in desperation.
"Nope."
"So what are my options?"
"Well, you can wait for the next one."
"Will that have a rack?"
"Don't know."
Well that was helpful. The buses ran on the hour, was it really worth sitting for another hour and waiting for that bus that might strand me again? No. I picked up the bike once more and had to face the facts. I had to ride the next 13 miles back to the West Side of Buffalo.

The little bit of rest helped somewhat. Crossing Grand Island was a breeze. The bridges were not much fun, but the flats between them were quick and I felt as if I was going to make it. I crossed back to the mainland when I really began to fall apart. My legs were all cut up, my stomach was in knots, and my head felt as if it were underwater, I had to stop every now and then to get it together. I was stranded though, I had to get home. I stopped along the bike path several times, a few times laying out, to let my stomach get straight again.

Then there it was Auburn St. My cross street. I was almost there. One of my neighbors made a comment as I was walking-by assuming I had a flat tire. I told him straight up, it wasn't a flat, I was exhausted. He made some non-sequitor comment about his birthday. It was strange, was I hallucinating at that point? I walked the final block and a half with my legs on fire. I finally pushed the key into my front door and I was home. I hauled the bike up to the top landing and finally being inside of my home, vomited all over the front hallway. Well, at least I was home I guessed.

People who don't ride on a regular basis are impressed by fifty mile rides or climbing Diablo, but I always make the point that it's possible to get there, but days like that day in Niagara are days that are somewhat required to make it there. I have never pushed myself so hard for any sport before, except for in cycling which I do on a regular basis. It's hard to describe how overcoming your body like that can make you ready for the next one day after day. But that rough ride, where I clocked over 60 miles for the first time is a ride I will never forget and will always remember as a watershed moment, where my riding improved immensely from then on out.

What is the worst/toughest ride you have ever been on?

Prologue: Niagara Falls

Before I came to Buffalo, I had planned a handful of rides I wanted to revisit, like ride up to Niagara Falls, or head down to the Boston Hills, or maybe even ride to South Buffalo and drink a pint in one of the Irish pubs. Then once here I became too busy to ride all over the place (I also wasted my first day in town thanks to a bone chilling rain). With only one day left in Buffalo, I forced myself to squeeze in one of these rides, so I ventured forth through the chilly weather up to Niagara Falls.

The highway and the creek.

I'm sure this matches some weird modern house somewhere.

That old industrial space was once a failed attempt at hip found space living.

The sun was way more apparent looking in this direction

I started off from the Wegman's on Amherst St. in Black Rock, to get a quick light lunch before taking off. Behind Black Rock along the Scajaquada Creek is a bike path connecting Delaware Park to the Riverwalk along the creek. Underneath the Scajaquad highway, which the city nonsensically built (I doubt it saves anyone any time really while destroying the natural streetscape and also impeding on Buffalo's treasured Delaware Park, leaving no Olmsted Park untouched by a highway now), there a bike path along the heavily polluted Scajaquada Creek (unfortunate but true) next to some old industrial brownspace, left from when the International Railroad Bridge used to bring a heavy transport industry to this part of town (now lost to the over-trafficked Peace Bridge). The path has a very unique character, that I find fits Buffalo very well. A quaint creek hidden underneath a highway surrounded by decrepit industry, any fan of urban exploring or intrigued by the oddly magnificent views of urban decay should not pass up this little path.

Riverwalk bridges.

Grand Island bridges.

The view from the bridge.

After the Scaj Path, I returned to the Riverwalk (which you can read about more in my earlier post) towards the Grand Island Bridge. The Grand Island Bridges are still terrifying to ride across (which I guess is why they suggest you walk over the bridge), but the apex gives a stunning view of the Niagara River (strait!) at it's widest point, which makes it almost worth crossing. Dropping over into Grand Island I got that strange sense of what this place could have been, a feeling I get every time I am here. Grand Island is a strange sort of development, where everything is built about a mile apart, leaving large vacant lots between buildings. Some of these lots are raised for "shovel-ready" sites while others remain wooded. It's these wooded lots that make me wonder what Grand Island could have been. I imagine that no one ever built a home here, that the 190 bridges were never built and this island was one huge preserve only accessible by ferry. Unfortunately this isn't the case, so I just kept my head down and rode passed the big ugly strip mall lined road occupied by high speed traffic. Right before the north bridge, leaving the river island, there is a huge swath of protected swamp land (my favorite thing America does, by protecting land that cannot be built on as a preserve, but I digress) which is absolutely beautiful and makes me sad for this vision of what Grand Island could have been.

Where does this go?
A path I found nearpl the north bridge of Grand Island.

Niagara Falls peering through the bridge.

Playing with the timer on my camera.

The bike at the swamps.

Heading towards Niagara Falls (after getting lost a little, they really need to sign these bike paths better) I became disillusioned again by Western NY's failure at protecting something beautiful. A few miles out from one of the natural wonders of the world are some of the ugliest chemical factories in this country has to offer. Looking across at the quaint Niagara Parkway on the Canadian side I listened to a chemical plant unleash steam at such high pressure it sounded like a jet plane, only amplified by the sound of the US Interstate traffic whizzing by. This path has some nice qualities, especially as the sun was reflecting off the river, but this places feels like it could have been saved but was lost to more failed policy. I never understood why a place with such a beautiful natural attraction needed chemical plants to supplement their job base (I am aware that the cheap power had part to do with this, which oddly enough now that hydro power is sent to New York City, another silly thing about this place).

The Northern Grand Island bridges.

I actually bought the blue Cross-Check to match these bridges.

As much as I hate all this development in Niagara Falls, it's the lack of development near the actual Niagara Falls that makes the American side nicer than the Canadian side. I rode along the paths, devoid of the usual tourists, to Goat Island, the island between the Horseshoe Falls and Bridal Veil Falls. Here on Goat Island there is a small gift shop, a restaurant, and a parking lot, but other than that, there is a good amount of green space that allows getting right next to the river as it heads over the escarpment to drop 160' down to the bottom. Compared to the Canadian side, which I also visited and was also empty of tourists (I don't think I've ever seen Niagara Falls this empty, even in the winter), which is bricked over next to the falls and has a much bigger visitor center with kitchey gifts and knick-knacks. The American side feels more akin to what this should be, a natural experience for a natural wonder.

The Niagara River.

This reminds me of a story a co-worker once told me of an acquaintance losing his engine and anchor around this point and deciding to polish off the rest of his 30 rack before help arrived.

After seeing Niagara Falls again (which was more wonderful after not seeing it for a while), I rode down the Niagara Parkway back to Fort Erie towards the Peace Bridge. To continue the country comparison, Niagara, ON is doing much better at preserving their water front along the river. Niagara Parkway is a residential neighborhood with beautiful homes (a lot for sale) and a peaceful winding bike path. I've always preferred this way to or from Niagara Falls than either the Grand Island or Riverwalk ways on the American side. The sun was beginning it's descent down so I didn't take as many pictures going back, as I wanted to beat the sunset, but the creeks that let out to the river are idyllic spots that are just screaming to be put into watercolors and the undeveloped grass fields have a similar pastoral quality to them. I wish I wasn't in such a hurry to get back so I could take some pictures of these nice little spots.

Niagara Parkway grasslands, this is actually the site of the Chippewa Creek Battle of the War of 1812. It's strange to think how deadly this boundary was 200 years ago.

By the time I reached Fort Erie, my feet were frozen and the sun was down. Crossing the Peace Bridge I was hoping for a beautiful view of the Buffalo skyline, but was given none (the view from the park just below the Peace Bridge in Canada gives a good view for those looking for one, but mostly because the artistic City Hall is the foreground and the HSBC Tower is far enough to not look ugly), instead I could just make out some of the taller buildings lights, but nothing coherent. The bridge on the other hand lit up in green and red for the holidays was quite nice, it amazes me how much better this bridge looks lit up than in the daylight hours.

With my last day over in Buffalo, I was prepped for tour, leaving for Rochester the following morning.