Biking

I’m wondering why I didn’t put these in the usual tri- order: swim, bike, run. 

The triathlon is done in that order because they want to start with the sport most likely to result in you dying and get that out of the way. So: swim first. Then bike, where you could crash and break your neck, and running comes last because probably the worst that will happen is you walk. Or fall down on your face. That’s my theory anyway.

Biking is yet another interest in my too long list of hobbies. Only as I’m writing these things down is it finally becoming clear to me that perhaps I’m scattered, lack focus, really should commit myself to a singular pursuit. That helps explain my singular lack of success in life, maybe?

Bicycle racing isn’t something I’ve ever done or considered — usually by the 50 k mark I’ve become too sore to continue. There’s one little muscle somewhat medial and proximal to the knee that starts to tell me I’ve underprepared for this.

Riding a bicycle seems to be one of the things that are like, well, riding a bicycle, once learned, never forgotten.  Also, it’s the second segment of the iron man, the triathlon, or even the short course that I favour.  

An Iron Man consists of a 2 1/2 or thereabouts mile swim followed by 100 and some mile bike ride, capped off by 26 mile run (a marathon).  Nope, nope, nope.  Zero for three, for me.  I’m impressed that anyone can do the course!!  

Back to biking: it’s not my favourite part of a triathlon, but actually, I appreciate / endure each part reasonably equally.  I do like to bike and as I believe I’ve noted elsewhere in this account, I’ve got plans for a ride on Monday, July 31. Mountain bike trail. With my son.  Wish me luck!

For the moment, I’m at Oshkosh, Wisconsin, at the EAA air show  possibly I’ll write about this some other time.  I’ve got lots of photos. 

Swimming

 Swimming is harder than I remembered. At least, “distance” swimming, which is user-defined.

In anticipation of consideration of a triathlon — the XTerra in Thunder Bay — I went for a swim this morning. 

I managed to run a few days ago and that wasn’t bad at all. Overall there’s not been a lot of running this spring and summer, partly because it hurts my leg every time I try and partly due to “other commitments” but I’ll run a few more times in the upcoming weeks to make up. 

Ha ha

Biking, I’ve somewhat maintained, including some mild trail riding which the biking portion of my triathlon under consideration will likely be, at least  I’m hopeful. I have an appointment to ride the trail on the course next week with my son, so check back next week for a final verdict. So expect no news to confirm that adventure until then.

As I write this, an hour after my morning swim, I’m far from sure I’m up for the planned event! I’m dizzy and tired and don’t think I could be mountain biking at this moment. But I do know that I am capable of swimming a Kilometer in half an hour, if the conditions are right.

Triathlons are ideal for the person who is reasonably fit but doesn’t have any other spectacular skill set. I can’t run very fast or very far, I can’t keep up with most of my friends on bicycles, and I’m not really a swimmer like a few people I know. (I also don’t ski that well, or, well, really, anything). 

My wife easily outpaces me in the water, and running, I can’t keep up in either. It’s good. What I do well is enjoy doing things, and not overly obsess about perceptions of others.

Many fit people who run and ride well would describe themselves as “hopeless” when it comes to swimming. So, as a person who likes to swim, I manage in triathlons to leave the water usually in a good position, only to be passed by many people on the biking portion or the run. Again, like skiing or whatever else I compete in, my finish is generally someplace in the middle.

Swimming transports me into a meditative state, and when I’m trained up (unlike now) I could put my head down and go a couple Kilometers in under an hour. And feel good afterwards. 

Around fifteen years ago, when our children were at an age where swimming lessons were due, I’d take them to the pool and while they were with their instructor I would swim laps. I recall the first time, trying to go one length nonstop front crawl, I thought I was never going to finish. I think I completed about six laps that time: a solid 150 meters, of which perhaps three were crawl and the rest breaststroke. However, a few months of weekly laps got me to the ability to swim nonstop crawl for as long as I wanted to, and a Kilometer or two became no problem for me.

My introduction to swimming happened when I was about 8 years old. I had gone camping with my father and saw all these children swimming and demanded from my mother once I got back home, why couldn’t I swim? She arranged lessons for me along with my sister one summer in Detroit at a neighborhood pool and was very happy to be able to jump into the water, or dive, and surprised myself that this life skill, too, could be learned. 

Swimming in a triathlon is interesting: you go out in a mass start (or in waves, depending on your category) and the water becomes a big churning mess of people kicking and splashing. It looks like a bunch of Piranhas are having a feeding frenzy. I was in one a few years ago where the weather was chilly, it was windy tge water was cold and wavy and some of the participants bailed in the first ten minutes.  

Anyway, I think I’m ready for the swim portion of my tri. 

😀

Running

 I haven’t run much at all over the past 2 years - since my nasty lower leg fracture, incurred while skiing: together the Ortho and I counted seven distinct fractures  repaired with a stainless steel plate and titanium screws:

I spent some time in Spring 2021 sitting in front of the fireplace, recovering.

I told the Ortho I’d run five kilometers before the end of summer. 

I tried a 5 K in September of 2021 (the break occurred on March 20, 2021) but that run was mostly walking. In my memory, I used to routinely run around 28-29 minutes 5 K but it was more like 45 minutes or quite possibly an hour that first run and lots of discomfort and some swelling after that. 

I did resume skiing in the winter of 2021-2022, cross country only and I switched from skate skiing to classic XC which I hated less than I feared I might. In fact, with skating being quite technique-dependent, I could ski nearly as fast and with a lot less effort in the “old” style! For the first time XC skiing I could keep up with my wife. Then last winter I got back into skate skiing and I do enjoy the sense of flying that comes with that motion despite the extra effort required. 

In March I participated in the Sleeping Giant Loppet, a cross country ski tour with distances of 8, 20, 35, or 50 K.  I’ve done that “race” at least ten times over the past few decades, always 20 K and always skating. I never competed above the middle of the pack. That used to be around 90 minutes for 20 K, depending a bit on conditions.  

This year I was happy to finish with a solid 2 hrs! I somehow thought that I’d place higher as I got older, due to the numbers in each age group diminishing, but I ought to have foreseen that the people stopping aren’t the fastest ones. So although I’m placing a bit higher due to fewer competitors at my age, I’m falling behind relative to my age group. Oh well. I’m still getting out. And it doesn’t really matter: I really enjoy the event, and will keep at it as long as I’m able.

I always enjoyed running, within limits. No marathon is on my horizon, future or past. I don’t have patience to train for long distance endurance sports but I’ve completed a number of 5 and 10 K runs and have done the 10 mile road race in Thunder Bay a few times, always finishing in the second half of my age group, as I anticipate.

I’m considering trying another triathlon: the short course that is 800 meters swimming (took me about 25 minutes the last one I did) followed by 20 K biking (45 minutes) and 5 K run (half an hour).  It’s been a few years, however!  I figure if I can do it in two hours, I’ll be pleased  but first I need to know I can run, even just a bit!  So went today and managed 5 K in just over 40 minutes - - - I can live with that.  I want to try a half-hour swim and see how far I can get.  I have not swum much, lately and hope I remember how.  Aparently it’s a “rugged” 15 K mountain bike for the Xterra that I’m looking at, for Aug. 12. 

We’ll need to see if I have the capacity.

Lake Superior *does* give up the living (the dead, not so much)

A sailing journal entry from the morning of July 13 (Thursday): . . . Sad to be approaching the end of this trip . . . I have a long day of sailing ahead to get from my current location at Loon Harbour East, off Borden Island and just East of the Black Bay Peninsula to Tee Harbour on the tip of the Sleeping Giant Peninsula. I’m looking forward to it, hoping for big wind.

Navionics advises 28 nautical miles directly, but sailing is never that direct. It will be an all day sail. Winds are predicted to be “variable” so we will do our best.

It’s just after 8 AM in this anchorage and entirely calm and quiet save for the birds in the surrounding forest. 

As I’m finishing my camping breakfast (of oatmeal and dried fruit) I hear movement from one of the other boats. My morning coffee is welcome as I’m still a bit groggy from last night which might have included just a bit of whiskey. 

Whew, made it back to my boat safely!

The boat is quite comfortable to sail and I’ve mostly maintained her to be able to make a trip like this one.

Sitting in the cockpit, under way

Room to seat six in reasonable comfort; four is better while under sail, however

The cabin with table set out with nautical chart

This is where I sleep although there’s a big bed in the front (the V-berth). Sleeping quarters are for four people (maybe five, in a pinch)

We can seat six comfortably down in the cabin: four at the table and two on my bed / the couch

In the evenings we play cards or other games, either on my boat or Will’s.  It was a convivial group, everyone happy to de-stress from their usual daily existences, and be temporarily unplugged from the world of information. I’m the only one who is retired, and I’m the oldest of the group, and I am the only one sailing solo. If I go again next year, I’ll probably find a crew mate, but I have no regrets sailing on my own this year. 

There are many tasks while sailing: attend to the boat and the sails and lines and tiller even with Otto von Helm, the autopilot, helping to keep me going. There are areas of “magnetic anomalies” around Black Bay which throw Otto for a loop as his only guide is an internal  compass. 

After being struck by lightning a few years ago, everything electronic on my boat gave up the ghost. Even my radio no longer works. I really should repair the depth finder.  Twice I hit bottom, once hard rocks as I was coming slowly into a mooring and I got stuck there (not a good feeling) but was able to reverse out and with no major damage that I could tell. The second time I touched bottom I was going faster and hit a shifting sand bar.  That’s a more gentle impact and again I was able to motor off it with no fuss. I was constantly reviewing the charts (electronic and paper) to try to avoid these and other navigational hazards. 

Still, I  had lots of time for reflection and this maybe gave me more mental free space than the truncated motorcycle trip did, in that respect. Some days I sat in the cockpit while sailing and read a book. Other days I watched the world sail past, or looked at the horizon, or listened to the wind, or watched the birds.  One day I saw five pelicans flying in perfect formation. I did not see any whales however, nor was I looking for any, even a white one.  Also, had I seen an albatross, I would not have harmed a feather on it. No sirens tempted me and I didn’t need to be tied to my mast or stop my ears. 

Nights I slept snugly in a warm sleeping bag: it was quite cold even in the protected bays, as predicted, 6 or 7 degrees C! and with no heater. . .

Many days I ended up having five meals: my breakfast around 7:30 or so, then about 10:00 Minnow produced breakfast eggy cheesy sandwich or the first few days was fresh cake that (other) Michael’s wife made and lasted three days! Then my own hunger kicks in and I make a sandwich for lunch while under sail and later in the afternoon it’s fish shore lunch time, again thanks to The Minnow.

Finally there’s the group dinners I previously described and the guys are gourmets compared to my more ordinary cooking. Roasted Fennel salads or charcoal grilled steaks, potatoes and onions in foil, fresh salsa. Every dinner was delicious. After my earlier chicken fajita meal I had prepared a second meal for the group and kept it in the cooler: Polenta with Italian sausages and tomato sauce and cheese, made in advance. I heated it up on the BBQ on Fire ‘n Water, it was still frozen when I took it out on Thursday, a week after setting out! Cool wather helped preserve the blocks of ice I’m sure. The polenta dish is a rewarding meal: tasty and seems like more work than it actually is. 

One of the meals was pizza from a wood fired pizza oven on The Minnow. All worked together on that. Fantastic, including the dough from scratch. 

Yesterday’s sail was shorter and there was very little wind but what there was was favourable and I managed to catch a decent sized Lake Trout trolling while under sail. Landing it was an interesting challenge. That one I’m taking home with me. 

On the topic of exciting things to do sailing solo, I managed to fly the spinnaker one afternoon. The other sailors were impressed, but not half as much as I was!

It was a bit challenging to take a selfie while controlling the boat, adjusting the spinnaker sheet, ensuring proper tension on the guy (that’s the line that goes from the back of the boat to the spinnaker pole end), and not to neglect the mainsail.  Couldn’t have done it in a really big wind.  

Sailing with the Spinnaker (also known as “flying the ‘chute“) usually takes at least three sailors.  It’s complicated and things can go wrong quickly. But with the right wind, minimal waves, and some possibly misplaced optimism, I was looking for something challenging to add to my list of accomplishments.

Gybing (turning from one downwind tack to the other) can be a difficult coordinated move, and hoisting the sail with proper guy and sheet tension and not getting a wrap around the head stay or ending up with an hourglass for a sail is also a bit of fun, but bringing in the sail is really tricky to accomplish, alone! But once it’s up, it has to come down eventually.

Dowsing the sail, everything needs to be planned out, timed, and go cleanly or you’re in a big mess. It’s not good for a halyard to get stuck and the sail to be flying out to the side halfway down and uncontrolled. Dropping the sail into the water is also a bad idea. Accidentally letting go of the sail and having it flopping and flying around in front of the boat is embarrassing. I’ve previously experienced all of these nautical disasters. Lines getting jammed in a clutch or a block (pully) is a constant risk.

 To take in the ‘Chute

1: flake the halyard so the sail comes down quickly and cleanly. 

2:  get the sheet end ready to go into the cabin as you need to pull the sail in. 

3: prepare to release the guy so the sail isn’t tied to the boat at either bottom corner when you want to pull it in, it needs no wind pressure. 

4: trim the main sail for the expected tack 

5: you could unfurl the headsail to provide more cover for the big sail but that can tangle with the other lines so be cautious!  

6: in quick order, ideally simultaneously, turn upwind, release the guy, release the halyard, and pull the sheet into the cabin along with the entire ‘chute..

And good luck. 

Did it!

Then repack it in preparation for its next use. 

We went up Otter Cove and explored the waterfall and a hike up to a lake above the falls where we got to swim in and enjoy warm water.

Final night at Tee: Manhattans at sunset.

On Friday, we bid each other farewell and I went to pick up Janice from Silver Islet where she had been brought by her father to accompany me on the final sail home. 22 nautical miles, around Thunder Cape and across the bay, around Caribou Island, and back snug at the mooring. 

Over the course of eight days, I sailed mostly alone 133 nautical miles (well, a fair bit more really, of course taking detours and tacks and gybes into account. 

Thursday boat overnighted at a mooring in Thunder Bay

Friday: Pringle

Saturday: Shaganash

Sunday: Loon

Monday: Marcil

Tuesday: Spar

Wednesday: other Loon (Eastern)

Thursday: Tee Harbour 

It was a wonderful trip. 

Where to next, I wonder.

Journal Entry from July 10 - with more photos!!

 

Sailing Journal Entry:

 

It’s Monday, July 10, 2023 and I wake up on a sailboat on the rugged north shore of Lake Superior in a well protected harbour on the east side of the Black Bay Peninsula. We all arrived at Marcil Bay after a shore lunch at BEMB, where we would have stayed but for the wind which from the exposed south was making it too wavy to stay the night comfortably. 

We've been fortunate to have calm anchorages for the past three nights and I have slept like a baby being rocked in a cradle! But that comes in part from the experience of my fellow sailors whose read of the wind directions have helped with choice of where to stay.

Getting here has been an adventure. I've sailed 70 nautical miles since last Thursday or actually more, since I was tacking and gybing to take advantage of wind, so probably around 100 nautical miles on the water!!

 

To recap: I left my house last Thursday, July 6, to sail Fire ‘n Water the 18 nautical miles to Thunder Bay and to be ready for crossing of the big bay southeast and around the toes of the sleeping giant, and then into Lake Superior proper. 

My crew for that trip to TBay was my brother in law, as I wrote about in my last entry. We had big winds and awesome seas but they were even bigger and awesomer for my solo sojourn on Friday, July 7, and I was enthralled by the experience. It’s a big lake with waves and winds and weather and wonder to match. Except for the lack of salt, it’s a sea. Maybe it is a sea, after all!

 

Here's a short video clip from July 7 as I was approaching Thunder Cape, in case I forgot to post it with my previous post:

 

 

We are a small flotilla of three sailboats: my 26 foot Grampian, named Fire ‘n Water; Will’s C&C 27 foot, Killian’s Red; and Kevin and (other) Michael’s MacGregor 21, The Minnow. 

I worried greatly that the Minnow was no boat suited for Lake Superior, with a fairly short outboard engine, and very low freeboard, and a small cockpit, and a retractable keel. However, the Minnow is  also a very light boat, and floats on the water like a cork and only in the biggest winds will she not sail, making motoring mandatory. In really big wind and waves, even I resorted to running the engine if heading directly upwind.

The crew of the minnow seem fearless and still made good headway under power with contrary winds and somehow managed even the the biggest waves. Some were 5-6 feet from trough to crest and with a tight frequency these big choppy waves can make handling a boat challenging, especially with following seas. 

I’ve been sailing mostly without running the engine each stretch on this trip so far, but because I am on my own in my boat, I do take some extra precautions and use the engine in tricky areas where my ability to manage the sails might not match the shifting winds and rocky shoals. Without my tireless crew mate Otto von Helm, I could not do this. The autopilot keeps the boat pointed the the direction I set, allowing me to reef or shake out sails, furl the headsail, prepare the anchor for stopping me, go down below and make a sandwich, have a nap, read a book. . . .

I've never made a trip like this and although I've single-handed (sailed solo) a few times around the bay where I live, and have more experience as crew racing the Wednesday night bouys, and have done a few offshore races (as crew) including the Trans Superior some 20 years ago, this is by far the biggest sailing challenge I have faced. And without two other boats making this trek, knowing that if I needed help I could call them, I would not have attempted it.

 

On Friday night, after a 30 Nautical mile voyage, we all anchored in Pringle Bay on Edward Island, in Black Bay.  I had volunteered to cook the first group dinner which consisted of chicken fajitas with onions and peppers and salsa and cheese and sour cream: my first meal ever prepared and served to guests aboard Fire ‘n Water.  (Actually that might have been the second night that I made the fajitas; it might have been steaks that first night) .My wife had made little mini cheesecakes with fresh strawberries and almond crust that I brought out for dessert and to celebrate turning 58 years old!

Meal for six hungry guys.  We started with cocktails: I made Fire ‘n Water’s signature cocktail: a Manhattan made with Crown Royal Rye, Dolin’s Red Vermouth, dried maraschino cherries and an orange slice, the rind rubbed along the rim to infuse extra orange flavour (it’s also supposed to include orange bitters (that I forgot)). (The Manhattans were good even without the bitters, so I was told.)

Dinner was enjoyed on deck and beer and wine and I think a salad? that maybe the Minnow provided, and a charcuterie board as almost every evening for appetizers. 

Minnow was tied up alongside Killian’s Red and they all came over on their inflatable tenders that each boat towed. 

Saturday after breakfast and jumping into the lake to wake up and clear cobwebs, we sailed on: a very nice and sunny day on the lake.  Minnow was meant to be fishing but had engine troubles so needed a tow. The Minnow is well set up for fishing when all goes well: the retractable keel allows them to get into the shallows and inlets (photos of lunch to follow). We anchored Saturday night off Shaganash Island after 7.5 nautical miles, sailing out into the lake and then into a lovely little archipelago of inlets, islands, peninsulas and all around. 

We received a delivery of fresh ice on Sunday morning by airplane. My father in law was itching for an excuse to go for a flight, and I could update our location by satellite tracking. There’s no cellphone service once you round Thunder Cape, except occasional brief snippets where a signal manages to sneak between the high rocky cliffs protecting the shoreline of the sleeping giant.

 

 

I’m sure the ice delivery trip was exciting for the two pilots in its own way. It is impossible not to be overcome by the intensity of this nature that is around us. 

 

Sailed out into a breeze that looked to build so I kept the reef in the main from the previous afternoon. Minnow's engine began working intermittently after convincing show of lack of mercy and a threat of liberal use of a hammer, plus the wind became more favourable, and by Sunday night we made it another 8 nautical miles into Loon Harbour, around the point of the Black Bay Peninsula and were greeted by the haunting calls of loons who were either happy for the company and were welcoming us, or were wondering why we were disturbing their peace. 

 

 

Minnow was tied alongside me and that evening we all had a sauna on an island, going into the lake with the challenge: stay in for two whole minute, accepted! Water temp was 9 degrees C. 

 

No one developed hypothermia. 

 

Next: Otter Cove and the waterfall and a hike up to a lake above the cove.