I’ve wanted to complete a super randonneur series since my first brevet in 2021. It’s taken me a few seasons to work up to it - learning as I go - but I’m happy to have reached that goal! The Fraser Valley 600 put on by Gary Baker and Bob Koen seemed like a perfect candidate because the cloverleaf design made the overnight logistics seem both approachable and affordable, it stayed in an area I’m getting more familiar with, it was flat, and August timing promised good weather. I skipped work on Friday to pack and ferry-bus-skytrain-ride out to Koen’s Coquitlam Castle. Rob had just arrived and we were joined shortly by Bob Goodison, Gary, and Paul. Gary had brought a batch of pins to hand out courtesy of pin director Karen, we all admired our new shiny objects and thinking about earning another one would definitely be motivating later. We walked through a serene riverside park to a nearby pub for supper, where we were the brightest dressed people in the place having already needed to break out our raincoats. I feel the dominant cultural messages I’ve received about travel has been about “leveling up” on your travel accommodations, so I honestly found it really inspiring and downright cool that there were three of us on the floor, two upstairs, and Paul in his van out front; it gave me a vibe that everyone was really committed to what we were planning to do but it also felt fun like a teenage slumber party. I didn’t sleep well but that was mostly because I overinflated my mattress, though the drumming rain didn’t help. Unfortunately the rain didn’t stop by the time we had to start, and the forecast had gone from showers through rain to a full rainfall warning. It was enough to separate the wheat from the chaff; revealing Paul to be the smartest among us by declining to ride. I was too cowardly to back down and the remaining three of us seemed to play chicken with each other until we were all riding away. I knew from my experience on the 400 that I should put the effort in to stay on someone’s wheel or I would be in for a very long day. Goodison led us out so I decided to try his. He also had fender extenders, which I’ve read in the club rules are no longer mandatory, but are definitely an upgrade I’m planning for the sake of my riding partners as winter approaches. Rob dropped off the back pretty quickly and I felt bad, knowing how badly I didn’t want to drop off, knowing how much just last night we had all talked about how much more enjoyable it was riding with a group. It’s a metaphor for life I suppose; everyone scrambling to hold a wheel when we would all be better off if we looked to help those behind us. It’s not metaphorical that when you are thinking instead of watching the road you’ll hit something. I dunno if the shard of glass was right before or right after the roadkill skunk but either way it made for one of the most unpleasant flat fixes in my memory, luckily there’d be plenty of rain to wash that away before I darkened Koen’s door again, and and I happily turned the dead tube into a belt to help hold my rainpants up. Rob passed me by but didn’t seem to notice me because I’d crossed the highway to a pullout to get some distance from the traffic. 30 odd kilometers in and I was on my own again and on the road again. Leaving Mission I’d get another flat, using up my last tube and losing my last hope of catching Rob anytime in the next 150 kilometers. Another mechanical issue is that my rear shifter cable is gouging into my plastic bottom bracket cable guide and the added friction is messing with the shifting; on the last brevet I couldn’t downshift, and while my local bike shop still hasn’t gotten me a replacement part the problem seemed to “ride itself away” but now it was back in the opposite direction - the downshifting action felt light but the derailleur spring couldn’t pull the cable to upshift. I figured out that if I hit a pothole the added vibration would let the cable slide - luckily we were riding on roads maintained by MOTI so there were plenty of surface imperfections to aim for whenever I started coasting. The road to Hope felt good, I had just ridden it last month and was looking forward to the one fast descent I remembered, though I had somehow forgotten about the corresponding climb... As I turned around the highway exit to Hope I realized I had had a tailwind that whole time. And I got another flat. I was done. I knew there was a bike shop in Hope having detoured to it for tubes on the 400 after also having 3 flats on that same tire and I was going to go straight there and buy new tires. I found I could entirely unweight my back wheel by shifting forward on top of my stem and bars and coast one wheeled at about 20 km/hr down into Hope, but once it leveled out I couldn’t pedal without grinding the rim so I got off and walked about 1.5km to the shop, amazingly the route went right past the front door so I didn’t have to detour at all. The mechanic was busy “I could probably get it done by Wednesday...” but I offered to mount them myself if I could use his floor pump and so got some fresh rubber with nearly no delay. That shop has saved 2 brevets for me this year, should I drop off some beers next time I’m in town? I drank half a hot chocolate at the Chevron control and topped up my water bottle with the rest and then hopped on the number 1 back towards the valley, singing a tuneless song to myself whose lyrics consisted only of the phrase “oh my god I’m going to die” repeated over and over again as I got repeated road-spray showers from passing semi trucks. At the bike shop I had bought another spare tube as well and the mechanic had laughed and called me an optimist but I needed it in Chilliwack when a length of that truck tire wire went straight through the sidewall, luckily the rain had stopped by then and as I left towards Yarrow the headwinds made a good effort in drying out my gear, unfortunately it dried out my chain as well. Birchwood dairy was a delight as always and I started to put some effort into reclaiming some decimal points on my average speed as I headed towards Zero Ave. I also figured out that a shifting wire is stiff enough that I could push on it when it stuck out of my bar-end shifter and so I wouldn’t have to aim for potholes anymore to downshift. At the control point on the border I noticed a missed call from Koen – he had news of a road closure “wayyyyy ahead of you, yeah Goodison found a reroute” and also of Rob dropping out earlier in the day. That was surprising news to me; I thought I was still chasing him and had hopes of holding his wheel on day 2. I had actually ridden the back half of my very first brevet with him and was looking forward to riding with him again. I speculated it must’ve been something bad because I know from his PBP story that he is fiercely tenacious even when everything seems stacked against him. But the phone call had lengthened my pit- stop and sucked a few well earned points off my average speed so I got back to work into the dusk trying to earn them back. I was treated to a fireworks display off in the distance once I got onto the SFPR and was just crossing under the Port Mann Bridge when I started to notice my front tire felt a little soft –I decided to lean back in the saddle, take it easy on descents and sharp corners, even to stop and pump it back up if necessary but I was determined not to break out the patch kit. I made it back to the overnight control around 11:30, just under 18 hours for 330km. Goodison was asleep on the floor but had kindly left the lights on and Koen had left a plate of veggie lasagna out for me which went down a treat. I ate, showered, patched tubes, plugged in things and did a bit of repacking before passing out for about 3.5 hours.

Waking was a challenge, but there was fresh coffee and I had remembered to cold-soak my oats and before I could think too hard about what was ahead Goodison and I set out and immediately had to stop to re-apply our raingear for an un-forecasted shower. We were headed for the Reifel Bird Sanctuary via a slow maze of a Surrey greenway populated with a large number of suicidal rabbits. At first it seemed like maybe I’d recovered more overnight than Goodison but it soon became apparent that his experience counted for much more than my youth, and I was finding it hard to eat but knew I’d have to keep forcing it down if I was going to finish, let alone keep up. Much to our surprise the gate was locked, I though birders were traditionally the early rising type. My plan had been stick with Goodison for the first 50km to the first control and then see what I felt like, but as we were doing our paperwork I realized either shuffling mine overnight or fumbling to flip mine in the dark as we rode I no longer had my second page of my cue sheet directions – my next page started at 170km after the Chilliwack control. I could either jerry-rig a phone navigation solution or I could hold Bob’s wheel for the next 120km. That would prove to be a very strong motivation. Back on Zero Ave we passed a huge wave of Tour de Cure riders (actually Cascade Bicycle Club RSVP riders) coming the other direction and wore our arms out waving at them all. I love seeing a big bunch of riders out and the variety of people, bikes, and clothing. We were passing between two blueberry fields both being harvested and I wondered how Mexican migrant farm labourers in America feel about seeing our border compared with their experience with their own American border. Birchwood dairy felt like coming home, and as I dared to apply sunscreen for the first time Bob tried recruiting a club rider to try randonneuring. Out in Chilliwack I could be helpful in navigating again, and we witnessed a minor car crash at our turnaround control point. At this point I again considered dropping off the back and doing my own thing. We had only 100km to go and I had time in the bank, I could plug in my headphones, stop for a timmies iced cap, stop for the inevitable bio break I’d need after drinking a timmies iced cap, just enjoy the ride my own way back. But, I knew that if I did that I’d take 8 or 9 hours instead of the 5 Bob would take, and then I’d miss the last ferry home and have to sleep on my air mattress again. So I figured I’d try and hold on as long as I could so when I did crack I’d maybe still make the boat. Passing through Abbotsford a soccer field was being irrigated and the sprinkler mist and humidity had a momentary cooling effect and I laughed at how quick the tables had turned from hoping the sky water would go away to wishing for just a tiny bit more. I don’t remember much from Chilliwack through Abbotsford, I was very head-down, struggling to keep Bob’s wheel in sight under my hat brim. Leaving Abbotsford on the Fraser Highway I wondered if my bike remembered putting on my winter base miles commuting along this stretch. A bakery stop in Fort Langley replenished our water and our spirits and I felt a second wind coming into my legs, the finish felt within reach. We upped the pace and as we climbed the spiral ramp onto the Golden Ears bridge we climbed into a powerful headwind that was obviously pushing another storm towards us off of the North Shore mountains, with two hours of riding would we beat the storm or would we be getting soaked again? Tune in next week to find out! Nah we were fine, it was a good motivator to keep the pace up. We arrived back to the wonderful aroma of Koen cooking us a delicious risotto supper. I showered and double-checked and realized I could make an earlier ferry if I cut my socializing short; I took some risotto and a beer to go and really tested my backside with my big backpack of supplies and rode for the station. The risotto and beer and gentle rocking motion of the skytrain almost had me missing my stop but soon enough I was enjoying another beer and the twilight sitting on a park bench in Horseshoe Bay.

The second day definitely made up for the first but it wouldn’t have been possible without Bob Goodison towing me around, Bob Koen’s support with food and chain lube at the overnight control, and Gary Baker helping to organize the ride and just being a fountain of advice to me. Something I’ve really enjoyed about riding with the BC Randonneurs club is how supportive everyone is. There was definitely no jeering at Paul for deciding to take a DNS or Rob for a DNF, it doesn’t seem to be seen as a failure but just as the way it goes sometimes and I appreciate the care and consideration for each other. I definitely had a great time overall and now that I’ve achieved that goal I’ve got to set a new one; maybe the BC-12 award?

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