Finally, seven years after I was first introduced to the DV100 I completed the 100km race.
I was first introduced to the event as a planner when I worked for the Drayton Valley Community Foundation. This was followed by a series of years volunteering and a ride in the 40 km race. This year, a day before the event, I checked-in with my enthusiastic gal pal. She had just finished hiking three days in the mountains and I hoped she was too tired to ride. I asked if I should peel my behind off the couch and register.
“So are we still doing this?”
“Yeah!,” she said. Damn her enthusiasm.
Come Saturday morning the sky was grey, the wind was bated, and the weather was pleasant in a fall kind of way. In short, it was a perfect day for a bike ride. We made our way to the start line and the energy was palatable. With a blast of the horn we were off.
My “riding partner” rode with me for about 2 kilometres, before she took off. After the divide at Km 11- RR85, I found myself riding my own race with nothing but my thoughts. Riding with nothing but your thoughts can be a dangerous thing. Over time you start to notice things, like an aching butt, a sore neck, or a numb toe. So the trick is to find things to think about that are not aches and pains related. So began my personal reflections on the DV100 route.
I haven’t ridden many bike races, but I can say that riding a route where you have an intimate connection makes the experience feel deeper by comparison.
KM 12 – My thoughts began on RR85, heading south there is an “S” bend. Truth be told this “S” bend is the only interesting part on the whole range road and one sought after by motorcyclists. I know this was a fun little jog for me when I had a bike. Recently though, this “S” bend proved to be dangerous, and was the site of a fatal accident. The man who passed away was kind, he was a friend of my brothers and so I knew him by that association. Now when I pass this bend I think of life, death and Don.
KM 20 – At the end of RR85 I saw a familiar farm, this is the home of Mr. and Mrs. Whitelock, grandparents to one of my oldest friends Cassie. Meeting Cliff was probably my first foray into the excitement of politics. Cliff is a person who taught me that debating is healthy and that speaking up matters. I thought about them as I turned the corner to head to Lodgepole.
KM 25 – On the way to Lodgepole, the ditches are lined with fireweed that has gone to seed, and a new forest is growing up where an old forest burnt down. This was the site of the Lodgepole fire. You never wish a fire on any community but, seeing an old firesite like this makes me think about the people that call this area home and how they come together in a crisis.
Of course, I was disappointed not to stop to pick up some five-cent candies from the Lodgepole store, but this was a race after all.
KM 36 – Heading out of Lodgepole, I came upon the Pembina River and a sign that said, “Bridge to Easyford Park, two days canoe,” and I thought about the times my mom and I spent kayaking and camping on that very river. While I was between the age of 16 and 20 my mom and I would often do an overnighter on the river. It was the best times we spent together, and the fondest memories I hold on to. It’s something I would like to do with my own daughter some day.
KM 46 – Thirty minutes later, after I crested the hill coming out of Lodgepole I looked to the west. On a clear day you can see the mountains. “Out west,” was a phrase I heard a lot growing up when someone asked my dad where he worked, “out west” was always the answer. This phrase continued after I got married. My husband took a job, “out west,” now it is, “up north”. But needless to say, every other week my dad then my husband would head out west to work in the gas plants and the oil fields around the area. Out west was never a place I really went to until the past few years, because there is such a network of lease roads that quite frankly if you go without a tour guide you will get lost. I have come to like “out west,” with its hidden lakes, enchanted springs, tall forest, rivers and wildlife sightings.
KM 57 – Arrive Cynthia. The Cynthia turn around was uplifting because after riding alone for the last 24 kilometres you begin to start thinking that you are in last place. Then you see everyone who, is technically in front of you, but not by much.
The Cynthia highway (Hwy 621), like Lodgepole, is a gateway to the west country. Now, I don’t remember very much from when I was little, but we lived on RR85 near Easyford and come summer time my mom would put me on the baby seat on the back of her bike and ride with me to Cynthia. Safety guidelines were very different, there were no helmets, and I remember the seat did not have a seat belt. There was always a moment as my mom got on the bike just before she started to ride when I was terrified of falling out and in fact, I don’t remember this, but I was told I did fall out once.
KM 75 – As I approached RR85, I was looking forward to seeing my cheering squad (aka my dad) at the end of the road. As I crested the hill up from the Pembina River I surprised myself. As my dad’s truck came into view, I started to cry. Then quickly got my poop in a group, after all I didn’t want him to see me crying he might have thought something was up. At this point I was at about km 75, getting tired but also excited to be on the home stretch. I am not sure if it was endorphins, aches or what but out of all the familiar faces on the course, it was sure nice to see his.
Now in very familiar territory as I have biked this stretch a number of times. I was getting more and more excited, for that fast down hill into Rocky Rapids. As I cornered at the store I considered a full stop to say “Hi” to Glen and Catherine but no, I must persevere, this was a race after all and lord knows if I wasn’t last I wasn’t far off so my pride was on the line.
The stretch into town, and up the tenth hill of the race was amazing. It is great when people are cheering you on but when it is people you know and recognize and they cheer you by name man that is something very special. Then enter a dose of reality.
KM 97 – “Come on Brandy you better hurry up someone is right behind you,” was that Graham? Our newspaper editor? Yep it was.
The last time I rode the DV100 was the 40km route and Graham was an unofficial riding partner, that was a better match for me than my current riding partner who was probably having a beer in the beer gardens by this point. Graham and I jostled, and jockeyed finishing within seconds of each other. He was just the person I needed to see to get the lead out for the final two km push.
With a finish at the omniplex I collected my “DV100 finisher” pint glass, began weeping and walked my aching arse to the car. It cannot express the emotion that one goes through when pushing your body to its limits but I know that even if I do it again “this” experience will hold a special one in my heart.
The joys of winter camping
Last winter some gals and I embarked on a trial cross country skiing/winter camping adventure on the Pembina River. The experience was amazing and left me wishing that winter was not coming to such an abrupt end.
The back 40
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Ten winter experiences close to home
Become a Free Press e-edition subscriber Brandy Fredrickson, Free Press Here are 10 budget friendly
Spaaah Experience
This prompted me to wonder what other hidden gems we had in Drayton Valley that could be used to make an at home spa day.
Rural Watering Hole Tour
Before there were clubs, and ultra lounges there was the rural bar. The rural bar was a place people would go to have a drink, eat some food, get a bit of news and maybe even get a haircut. The rural bar was usually built alongside or attached to the lone hotel in the community.
Rural rodeos you don’t want to miss
Rodeos have been a big part of the Brazeau and Beyond region since the Buck Lake Stampede first ran in 1929. The rural rodeo experience is not the circus you see in the larger locales. You’re closer to the action and it’s much more intimate.
