Roaming Rally — Explorers Edition 2019

800 miles off pavement over 3 days in remote southern Quebec looks a lot shorter and more manageable on paper.

Bob continues to put the crazy in “Crazy Bob.”  I.  Now.  Understand.

I should not have taken a 570 lb R1200 GSA on a ride like this…doable but not recommended.

The number of times Big Betty had to be lifted from her periodic naps: I counted 6 but Erik and Bob assure me it was over a dozen. They are certainly much closer to the truth. I’ll be buying Bob and Erik beer for the rest of their lives.

Erik should not navigate. Bob will navigate for life.

The mosquito is the Canadian national bird and the black fly is his wingman.

The GSA starts the day at 570 lbs. After 11 hrs. in the saddle it easily weighs 3,000 lbs.

That Erik could own loose gravel and sand on a road bike with a 17” front wheel is astounding. That Bob could achieve the speed he did on loose shifty, drifty gravel is mind boggling.

If the Inuits have 50 words to describe snow, the Québécois MUST have 600 words to describe the varieties of gravel they use to surface their roads.

This was an experience of a lifetime. I feel privileged to have completed it and to have experienced it in the company (and with the help) of Erik and Bob; outstanding human beings and riders they are.

Photography. For me to take very few pics means I was strung out, exhausted and very near my limit.

5 hand blisters from lifting and gravel wrestling Big Betty.

One license plate (Bob). One dented front rim (Bob). Copious amounts of pride (me).

Pete Fitzpatrick’s Africa Twin foot peg (cast alloy, bad design…note to self…). Donating one of my highway pegs to his cause felt good. Nice to give back and save his weekend. Amazing he then rode 2.5 days on that terrain with a makeshift, staggered/offset footpeg that didn’t allow him to use his rear brake…at least not easily.

My phone screen. Destroyed in tank bag from vibration and poor protection.

Ottawa was about a 10 hour drive. A tad slower than normal due to trailing bikes. Half hour wait at the border, the usual snooty scrutineering. Having a record of a Canadian work permit on file made entry a tad easier. Ironically, coming home was even snootier…

8 of the 10 hours was in the driving rain. Good times. We made it to the Best Western on the west side of Ottawa after sitting in over a half hour of rush hour traffic. By that point I was convinced the caribou got spooked crossing the highway, got their antlers tangled and they had to call in the Mounties to get them sorted.

We went straight to the bar. I thought beer never tasted so good. Little did I know…

Friday morning started lovely ‘cept for the fact that 8 hours of high speed immersion therapy the day before had apparently rendered my dash nearly inoperable. I seemed to be staring down the barrel of spending 3 days in the wilderness not knowing what gear I was in or (more critically) whether my traction control and ABS were turned off.

Luckily vibration and airflow dried it out by about 11 AM and I was back in business. Note to self: Saran wrap that sucker next time. I also couldn’t get the GPS to auto center and follow the GPS track…I didn’t figure that out until I got home. Noob error. It’s not intuitive, but like so many things it’s easy once you know how.

The ride out of Ottawa was a lovely parkway along the river. By mid to late morning we were rolling through nice firm dirt road tracks and then back onto gorgeous rolling paved farm road country. Stunning. Then more dirt to end a 135 mile morning at our lunch and gas stop. That’s when Betty decided to take her first nap. Erik and Bob weren’t there for that one though so, technically, it didn’t happen. Donated a highway peg here to Pete Fitzpatrick who was in danger of hobbling back to Ottawa on pavement with one foot peg. Turns out he’s a retired commercial diver from Northern Ireland. I knew there was a reason I liked him.

After another 116 miles of dirt of assorted flavors (I don’t remember much of this section…I was pretty knackered by this stretch) we arrived at the hunting lodge Fer à Cheval which translates as horseshoe…but I preferred the more literal translation to iron horse. Seemed more appropriate.

Upon arrival we were greeted by swarms of the Canadian national bird and his wingmen. In true Canadian hunting lodge fashion, trophies were on full display.

Arrival was accompanied, of course, by another Betty Nap combined with a partial donut on parking lot gravel of stones nearly the size of my fist. With 10 lbs of pride gone and a team lift assist behind us it was time for beer, shower and dinner…in that order…I think.

Food was outstanding. A FB post I found said the chef was trained in Paris and reminded us to “never trust a skinny chef.” Check on both counts. Welcome to Paris West.

Let the Games Begin.

This was going to be a 250 mile day. 100 miles longer than Day 1. All off road. We left before breakfast and the lodge owner was nice enough to give us bag lunches instead. The rally organizers gave us 2 options: an easier, loose-gravel-road-more-of-the-same-shit-from-the-day-before, or…a harder route with loose rock strewn climbs and endless sand. Of course we opted for the harder route.

We started out backtracking on some loose gravel for several miles before turning onto an ATV track that more or less followed miles of power lines. Lots of sand but it never felt that intimidating. Second gear at low rpm on the GSA is like a tractor…organic traction control. Feels really good. That combined with airing down to 27 lbs (per Jimmy Lewis’ instruction) kept traction consistent and predictable.

Until we stopped. Or had to turn around due to navigational error. This was a shit show…for me. Turning Betty around on narrow, sandy trails is just way above my pay grade. Down she went. And again, and…

The crux of this section was a rocky uphill where I dropped her again. Got some additional help from guys from Nova Scotia (both on 650s…hmmmmm…), hauled Betty back from the brink and we were on our way. The key was DON’T stop, and if you had to, stop at the TOP of the hills when in sand.

The sand gave way to absolutely stunning ATV trails in the woods and along a river for miles. Bob found a moose and had to back off to not overly stress her. This would be about the only reason Bob would ever slow down.

While there were more ATV trails after a lunch/gas stop, including a water crossing that, for reasons still unknown to all, inspired Erik to ride through the MIDDLE of it. I really wish Bob had captured video of this (I was, as usual, pulling up the rear…) but I am told Erik’s bike went into the hole OVER his handlebars. Amazing he didn’t drown the bike. Momentum was his friend.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. What I do remember was endlessly slogging down loose, shifty gravel roads at 30–40 mph. That felt safe. Erik and Bob? Well…they were faster. Every 10 or 20 miles they would stop and wait for me.

Meanwhile, I think every Québécois is issued a pickup truck, ATV and trailable boat at birth and they, apparently, all drive them down these gravel roads at the same time at 60+ mph. This creates white-out dust where you can’t see 5 ft in front of you. Good times.

This is where I began to have an almost existential realization about these roads. You develop a relationship with them. They are all different and their moods change unexpectedly, but you learn to trust them. Pick and hold your line. Trust the surface. Trust the turn radius. Trust your machine too. It’s like achieving results through others. Individually, the road, bike or rider can’t move forward. Together though…remarkable things are accomplished.

Then again, I may have just been delirious by that point.

Somewhere on one of these roads was a BIG hole. I hit it at a humane speed and the GSA’s mass and suspension travel ate it rather nicely. How Erik survived it on 17” cast wheels and what is essentially a road bike with 5” of travel is just mind boggling. Mad skills. Bob was going…er…just a tad faster and even with a 21” front wheel ended up denting it. This may also have been where Bob parted ways with his license plate.

After 11 hours in our saddles we rolled into another hunting lodge. The driveway was 15 miles long. Later Erik and Bob said they could have done another 100 miles. I am not worthy. If the driveway had been another 100 meters long I wouldn’t have made it…would have done an Ewan McGregor dismount (thanks Bob) and let Betty nap right there.

Beer NEVER tasted so good. Way better than Thursday night’s…

By our third day everything started to settle down. The morning started with about 2 hours of nice and predictable (for a change) gravel to about an hour run of pavement down Rt. 117 to Mont Laurier for lunch. The afternoon consisted of backtracking on much of Day 1’s route, which by this point felt like a cake walk. A little coaching from Bob (another former mountain bike racer) and Erik also helped my technique, comfort and overall speed. In short, I had to relearn my mountain bike racing skills…intuitive on a bicycle but intimidating on a 570 lb. beast. Digging these skills back out of the closet was huge.

One route variation was a little 10 min ferry across the Ottawa River…a welcome mid-ride moment of reflection. The final miles were highway back into the city. Measured and careful, all I wanted to do at this point was to stick the landing.

Being back in civilization was a bit odd. Ottawa is an interesting and diverse city. Erik ensured we sampled what the evenings in Ottawa had to offer. Definitely felt like creepy old men.

Bob’s contribution to Quebec’s landfill efforts via his license plate donation created a US immigration hurdle on the way back. Not sure how long it took but the uniformed gentlemen impounded his truck, trailer and Erik’s bike for some time until they could get it sorted. I rolled by them at the border but the men in blue wouldn’t let me in the lot…

In the end I think we are all very glad we did this but we all likely have different reasons. Personally, I need to periodically test myself and push myself physically and emotionally near my limit. Mission accomplished.

Would we do it again? Me: probably only on a smaller bike or accompanied by a team of sumo wrestlers. Erik and Bob: likely next weekend…