That was a bit scary: a near-miss on the road

First road ride of the season. It's always a day when I forget that I've just spent several months off the bike, and end up doing something silly. Fortunately yesterday's ride was supported by the past few weeks of hiking, and as I write this sitting on my padded chair, I'm not in too much discomfort...

The plan was to ride out to Cochrane and have lunch at Guy's Cafe (Come have lunch and more with our insane staff!), which I discovered last year en route to climbing in the Rockies on an April day that started off snowy grey and ended up bluebird. It's been a couple of years since I rode out of the city via Tuscany, and so of course I took a wrong turning, and ended up in a cul de sac, within shouting distance of the highway, but unable to reach it. Calgary's city planners should be forced to visit Telford in the UK annually, as a reminder of the logical conclusion of an obsession with "artisan" community design. 

Predictably annoyed, I regained the route and rolled along the top of the ridge to the top of Cochrane Hill, where you can Ride Really Fast, which is great until your 90 km/h momentum has to dissipate through four tiny brake pads, while the idiot who overtook you at 130 km/h a few seconds ago slams on their brakes to avoid a speed trap at the transition to 50 at the base of the hill. 

Been there, done that, and with no desire to make pancakes on the highway today, I took the scenic route down via the golf course. Perhaps three cars passed me throughout the descent. It is so much nicer to approach town this way! At the bottom of the hill I discovered a (new?) cycle path that leads you into the eastern suburbs without rejoining highway 1A. That's a great improvement - and unlike Tuscany, the roads in Cochrane take you from A to B in a predictable fashion. Did I mention how much I dislike the layout of Tuscany? It's like Evergreen, with hills.

Route map

After a bit of faffing about in the Big Box district, I located Guy's Cafe, just where we left it last April, and doing well, judging by the number of staff behind the counter. There was, however, a marked lack of craziness in the house; Guy was absent, so the staff were merely polite, friendly, and efficient. The food was great, too.

Indecision can be expensive at Guy's cafe!

After my Aussie pie, and an excellent cup of tea (the server seemed shocked when I checked that they were not going to serve Red Rose "tea" under the guise of English Breakfast), it was time to leave, for what was meant to be a slightly hilly, but not too taxing loop, to the north of town. As I headed west on 1A towards Horse Creek Rd, I followed a trio of cyclists; a guy and girl on road bikes, and a guy on a recumbent. It was interesting to see how they exchanged places depending on the gradient. They were moving faster than me, and it was probably this that proved my undoing. I stopped watching the roads, and just followed the pack.

The plan for the afternoon was to head north from 1A then take a paved road east after a few km, connecting with the Big Hill Springs road. The turning (note to self: it's called Weedon Road. Don't miss it next time!) flashed past me way too early though, and for the second time in six years I found myself much further north on this road than I wanted to be, fighting a blustery headwind, and swearing a great deal. The other cyclists turned around soon after with a parting wave, but by then I was mentally committed to riding the extra distance, partly as punishment for my lapse in attention. Reaching my eastbound leg I was not entirely surprised when the wind reversed, and pushed me back towards the mountains. I swore a lot more here, very much aloud. Sorry, horses.

The gusty headwind and cursing continued all the way back down Highway 22 to the far end of Weedon Rd. This section of Highway 22 is not pleasant for cycling. It has a shoulder, but until a short distance north of the Weedon junction, it's narrow, and this put me within range of those extra-wide mirrors that the fifth-wheel brigade attach to their monster trucks, presumably to ensure that they can hit cyclists even when they have not left their steps down. I was glad to reach the improved section where the shoulder attains full width, although the wind continued to pummel me until I headed east on Big Hill Springs Rd (highway 567). 

For a few kilometres this was the nicest riding of the day. The wind was finally with me, and I flew like an arrow along the 567, relieved to be back on course. Then I had my worst road-biking moment in years.

The approach to the Big Hill Springs park entrance is a classic foothills roller-coaster; a long, straight downhill leads to a creek crossing and an equally long uphill. It's just made for hugging the bars, and conserving momentum for the far side of the valley. By the time I reached the turnoff near the bridge, I was travelling at around 80 km/h, boxed into a shoulder just wide enough to hold a single rider's line, and unable to shoulder-check for fear of wobbling and hitting the verge. By the time I saw the gravel, it was far too late to brake.

We've not had heavy rain yet, and last winter's road-grit  has gathered in banks and strands at every junction. I hit the elongated spread of tiny marbles at full speed, hands locked onto my drop-bars in a full terror-grip, willing the bike to keep her line and stay upright. For three interminable seconds, those bars informed me that I was no longer in contact with the road; it was like trying to make a tennis serve, and finding that the head of your racquet has flown off during the backswing, but you're already committed to throwing yourself forwards. There was absolutely no resistance in my wheels, and the slightest change in my position would bring instant disaster. I clung on, waiting for that solitary larger pebble that would knock my front wheel a few millimetres off course, and cause an instant sideways flip and brutal impact with the highway.

My front wheel kissed the asphalt beyond the gravel strand, and suddenly normal balance was restored. Well, that was a bit scary, I shouted to the roadside cows. I may possibly have sworn a few times again, too. That one was just way too close for comfort. I still feel a bit sick thinking about it now.

After that incident, the ride just played out as planned, although I opted out of the extra climbing around Burma Rd, and rejoined Highway 1A early. I felt pretty good returning to town. There was one near-miss with a motorcycle caused by a confusing diversion in Tuscany (where else?) but soon I was home, sore-bottomed, and drinking beer on the sofa. My newly-downloaded - and now deleted - Cycle Meter app had failed at 28 km, but according to a couple of mapping sites, this ride was somewhere between 100 and 106 km, with 1070 m of ascent. Pretty good for the first day out of 2016! Perhaps I'll retire to my mountain bike now - it's way easier, and less frightening. I might wait for a couple of big storms to pass through and sluice the roads clean before I head out that way again, at least.