Sat, Sep 9 2006 - Cambridge to Paris Bike Ride (View Original Event Details)
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Story 1: The Story of Diane (DK)
When I woke up this morning I thought: Oh no! Please dont tell me Im going to ride in the rain AGAIN on my second ever event with the TOC! (My first event was last weeks Hamilton West to Jerseyville bike ride. And if you remembered, we had the remains of hurricane Ernesto passing through our area). When I left my apartment, the day didnt look too promising as thick clouds covered the sky. As I got off St-George subway station, to meet Jim at his place, the rain has already fallen. However, as I was approaching Jims place, the sun seems to have appeared from nowhere. Then I realized it wasnt the sun. It was Jims new bright, shinny, eye catching red new bike that almost blinded my eyes!
When I met up with Jim he informed me that the third participant had dropped off the event. So, it looked like it was just going to be the two of us. So we quickly put our bikes on the bike rack (in record time, may I add, as we did not have to dismantle any bikes as we did at last weeks event) and off we went.
As we arrived at the entrance of the Cambridge-Paris trail, the sky has cleared up a bit and it looked more and more like a perfect day for cycling. The 19km long trail offered a lot of nice sceneries. We stopped at a few points, took some pictures and got back on our bike and rode a bitand a bit more (well it is 19km long, one way!). And finally, we arrived at Paris (unfortunately, as romantic as it sounds, it wasnt Paris, France. I was a bit disappointed!)
As we were doing pretty well on time, we decided to venture into the small town of Paris. Since we were both hungry we decided to look for a place to eat. Then we spotted this five star restaurant, which had a patio in the back overlooking the Grand River, on the main street of Paris and decided to go for it since we felt we deserved it after a nice long ride. However, we had quite a bit of trouble finding a pole to lock our bikes in this big city of Paris. And since this five star restaurant wouldnt accommodate our bikes, we had to settle for this one tiny table that we found in front the beautiful restaurant (please see picture, that is, if Jim can finally find a way to send these pictures out!). So, one by one we took turn to go in to order our lunch.
As we started enjoying our meal, a few drops of rain fall down on us from nowhere. And within in seconds, rain was just pouring down on us. Fortunately, it only lasted a minute or two and then sun was out again in the sky (not to be confused with Jims new shinny bike). But by that time, my bike seat had already accumulated a huge puddle of water.
After having our nice meal and refueling ourselves, we were ready to tackle our way back on this nice long trail. I have to admit this is where our adventure truly begins. Now, let me tell you Im not quite sure what Jim had ordered for lunch (although he told me he ordered the same thing I had, but Im pretty sure he lied) because Jim started seeing mushroom everywhere. Weird how he didnt spotted any mushrooms on our way to Paris. At one point on our way back, Jim stopped me and pointed out to me this humongous mushroom. As I looked down the cliff, I realized it was just a white helmet that someone had lost.
Half way through our way back we stopped to look over the Grand River, as people were kayaking/canoeing down the river. Suddenly, we heard this yelling/screaming and realized that a familys canoe flipped over. Luckily, no one got hurt. After several tries and after my offer, not sure where Jim was as he was afraid of the water (ok, I would have offered my help if I wasnt way up high on the trail), the family was able to flip the canoe back over to continue their journey and so did we.
After 40+km of ride, we finally got back to Jims car and headed our way back to TO. Since I was so tired, the moment we got into the car I fell asleep likely Jim didnt. Otherwise, we would be in big trouble since he was driving. When I woke up, we had already arrived at my place.
Later that evening, we met up again in downtown to finish off our Cambridge-Paris bike ride event. We had super at Rivoli on Queens Quay West. After super we went upstairs to play pool. Not to sound too competitive, but I did beat Jim. Maybe he was still seeing mushrooms! That could explain why he wasnt sinking the balls.
Anyways, the event was a blast.
>p>Story 2: The Story of Jim O
A week earlier, I had been the event coordinator for the Hamilton West to Jerseyville bike ride, in which six club members had survived the remnants of Hurricane Ernesto. In other words, they had gotten thoroughly soaked and very muddy. I was eager for another ride on September 9th, but as the week progressed, the forecast for Saturday appeared to promise more rain.
Still, I was not going to let the prospect of a few drops of rain discourage me, for I had finally, as a just reward for finishing my LL.M. Thesis, decided to purchase myself a new bike: a Devinci Amsterdam. It is bright red in color, to match my trusted red Ford Focus and my red bike rack, and the bright red socks that I store in my cars trunk. I just seem to end up with red things; dont ask me why.
With a shiny new red bike at my disposal, glistening for all to see, I was not going to let a few rain-drops prevent me from enjoying a beautiful ride to Parismaybe not Paris, France, but certainly Paris, Ontario. One can, after all, pretend and fantasize, albeit cautiously.
Saturday morning came, and there were again clouds in the sky. I resisted their suggestion of soggy socks and wet running shoes. I stubbornly proceeded to get my bike-rack set up even as it started to rain. And just as it started to rain, I received a telephone call on my cell from one of the two other participants, a new TOC member, Laura. Though an avid cyclist with a Devinci of her own, Laura indicated that she did not want to cycle in the rain and would not be coming along. Fair enough.
When Diane (DK), the only other registered participant, arrived at my apartment with her bike, I promptly informed her that it would be just the two of us, and that we could make it if we tried, just the two of us, you and I. (Okaytruth be told, I did not actually sing to her the words to the well-known song, but it makes for a better story to say that I did, right?) The indomitable Diane was unfazed by the thought of cycling one-on-one with yours truly. After the previous weeks soaking, she was bundled up in several layers of clothing. I could see just the tip of her cute little nose peaking out of her attire. She pointed it decisively toward the bike rack, rolling her bike towards its destiny. The diligent Diane neither flinched nor retreated. She was prepared for the challenge. While hoisting her bike up onto the bike rack, I couldnt help but notice, though, something a little strange. Perhaps I was hallucinating or something, but I thought I saw little wings, as of an angel or a bird, stitched to the backs of Dianes arms. Im positive I saw them. But when I looked up again, they were not there. I rubbed my eyes. Perhaps I hadnt had enough sleep.
Wanting to invite Diane out of her cocoon of layered clothing, I revealed to her my new piece of equipment: my shiny red Devinci Amsterdam. It glistened with newness next to my shiny red Ford Focus. It was a marriage made in heaven. that is, the marriage between the bike and the car. Dianes nose wiggled a little from within her shield of clothing, and, sure enough, her face emerged from its featherlike covering. Clearly, undoubtedly, absolutely, she was impressed with the new bike.
Anyhow, having acquired some proficiency in setting up my bike rack, and after loading both Dianes bike and my own dear Devinci onto the bike rack, with, of course, one red sock covering the peddle next to the rear of the car (those red socks do come in handymulti-purpose socks that they are), Diane and I climbed into the car and headed on our way. The 401 was busy as usual, but not too busy. There was no traffic jam. We chatted, anticipating with delight the ride to come.
As is my habit when I drive people to events, I talked a lot, and, of course, Diane likely felt compelled to listen, given the scintillating nature of my utterances, my miniature lectures. She kept saying, nodding, yes, of course, you are rightyes, I said yes I will Yes, echoing Molly Bloom. No, not quite, but the allusion is mischievous. Even as I spoke, I occasionally heard a little chirping here and there, as if a bird had surreptitiously entered the vehicle. And occasionally, a little flapping sound registered. But I thought, must be my new Tom Yorke CD, Eraser, in the background; he sometimes sounds like a bird.
Just before we arrived at the entry point to the Cambridge to Paris Rail Trail, I stopped at the GTO. I left the car running with Diane in it, thinking that this would suffice, thinking there was nothing to worry about. However, upon attempting to re-enter the car, I discovered that the doors were locked and Diane safe inside behind the controls. I peaked through the window. After a bit of begging on my part and a promise to discontinue the earlier unfinished lecture, I was allowed to re-enter the car, and we proceeded to the parking lot where our bike ride would begin.
By this point, the sun was streaking through the clouds, and it appeared we would have the trail mostly to ourselves. The ride toward Paris was ever so pleasant. We stopped here and there to grab a look at the Grand River. At the half-way point of our projected journey, the town of Glen Morris, where there is another parking lot and entry point to the trail, people were unloading canoes and kayaks for use on the Grant River, which runs parallel to the trail.
We proceeded on our way, arriving at the Paris parking lot in good time. We exited the trail and rode into the town of Paris. I assured Diane that this Paris, though not in France, was a pretty little town, very picturesque, and that we could have some lunch at a fine little caf on Grant River Street. And so we found ourselves at the Caf de Paris. How romantic, thought Jim O, who had fond memories of Paris, France.
We opted to eat outside the Caf, at a table on the sidewalk, though initially I was reluctant to do so. It was at around this time that an elderly gentleman approached Diane, quickly touched her cheek with his hand, and pulled a quarter out from behind her ear. He was obviously the local magician. As the old man trundled away, I could hear him muttering, such an angel. Diane was a little shocked by the encounter, but quickly recovered.
When Diane emerged from the Caf with a Chicken Wrap (a sandwich, not a new piece of clothing), she took over watching the precious bikes, and I went in to get myself something to eat. When I emerged, we enjoyed our lunch together. But, for a moment, the romantic ambience of that exquisite jewel known as Paris, Ontario was interrupted by a sudden downpour. We took refuge beneath the overhang of the Caf de Paris. We watched Dianes bike seat fill up with water; my bike seatthe donut-like seat on the marvelous Devinci Amsterdamcollected no water whatsoever. Diane poured the water out of her bike seat before our ride resumed.
We returned along the route that we had come, but in the reverse direction. I could see that the journey to Paris, Ontario, had affected Diane. She is, after all, in case you dont know, tri-lingual: she speaks English, French, and Cantonese. She is also taking lessons in Mandarin. You see, the town of Paris brought out the French Diane, mademoiselle Diane. She talked of how she always dreamed of flying like a bird, and how she in fact frequently did fly in her dreams. Right, thought Jim. Truth is, he thought, I am the one who is flying. Just look at me on this fast, smooth, elegant, shiny Devinci Amsterdam. I feel as though Im about to take off into a flight of ecstasy!
I was able to speed up the two hills that we encountered. Diane, in each case, despite being fond of flight in her sleep, in reality got off her bike and walked slowly up each of those hills. I could see that she was most marvelously impressed with my perfect form on the surging, soaring, nearly airborne Devinci. Fly like a bird, I want to fly like a bird, thought Jim O, ever so absorbed by his delightful new machine. Icarus, he felt perhaps he was Icarus.
On the journey back to Cambridge, Jim O and Diane did encounter a brief light rain, but nothing that required them to pull out rain-jackets. While stopping to enjoy a view of the lovely Grand River, they unexpectedly witnessed a young boy overturn his canoe, in which he had been carrying some of his mothers supplies. The boy ended up on top of the bottom of the overturned canoeHis life-jacket was un-zipped and he seemed truly terrified of the water. His mothers first concern was, of course, for the keys to her car, which had been in the boys canoe. At one point the boys father and mother both got into the water to try to set the canoe aright. They also pursued an escaped paddle, but to no avail. Diane and I watched from the cliff as the power of nature in the rushing water made itself known. Diane had to hold me back, as I was ready to rescue the family, despite the fact that I cannot swim. Diane thought that I was quite the hero, but I assured her that I was simply trying to do what was right.
Our trip back continued, and suddenly I started to see all sorts of mushrooms along the sides of the trail. At one point I saw a giant mushroom in the shape of a bike helmet. Diane, who appeared lost in an inward flight of her own, later denied the existence of the mushrooms, and pointedly told me that the one in the shape of a bike helmet was actually, you guessed it, a bike helmet! How could she not have seen what I had seen? In the world of the imagination, it was there, just as, in her dreams, she feels herself flying. The reality of the imagination is greater than, well, the reality of reality
On our ride back to Toronto from Cambridge, I lectured Diane briefly on the significance of mushrooms, alluding to the very striking symbolic significance of mushrooms in Thomas Hardys Tess of the DUrbervilles. I spoke passionately and insightfully about those mushrooms. But when I glanced over, Diane was fast asleep. Her arms were quivering every so slightly, as if they wanted to flap like wings. She was, evidently, flying in her sleep again, preferring her dreams to the reality of my mushrooming lecture.
The day did not end there. Back in Toronto, we decided to head downtown for a lovely supper and conversation at the Rivoli, followed by some pool upstairs. We had a great time together sinking the balls. But Dianes skill with a pool cue, it needs stating, requires some work. She scratched whenever she had the responsibility for breaking at the start of the game.
Anyhow, from cycling to dining to pool-playing, it was a full and pleasing day of activity. Whose version of events do you find most credible? Does it matter? Or is there a smattering of truth and fiction in them both?
Have some photos from this event that you'd like to share in our photo album? Please forward them to Erik Sonstenes at photos@torontooutdoorclub.com. Please note that we prefer to receive the photos in approximately 640x480 or 750x500 pixels - do NOT send original high-res photos. If you have a LOT of photos, please submit up to twenty of your favorites (only) for a day event, or up to forty of your favourites for a multi-day event. Thank you.