I’ve always loved the view from the top of the Malahat — fir trees cradling the Finlayson Arm and a misty haze making it look like a Bob Ross painting.
It all looked even more magical on Sunday when me and the Tour de Rock riders rolled up on bikes, panting but resilient after a 45 minute climb.
We were even humbled by a family of tourists who welcomed us to the top with a round of applause. Naturally the first thing we did (upon my suggestion...then insistence... then shameless begging) was take a triumphant group picture around the totem pole, then under the Malahat
Summit sign, then a selfie, then — “c’mon Katie, enough with the Instagram, we’re heading back down!”
I was reluctant to leave. I was still soaking in the ride up.
That morning, head trainer Rob MacDonald told us we’d be heading up the Malahat, riding up the Trans-Canada Highway for most of the way.
Now I’ll be honest with you, the morbid thoughts of imminent death that race through my mind while riding along side the highway would make the Final Destination movies look tame. My instinct is to close my eyes and ride onward with the grace of God and a bit of luck but that’s not the strategy my fellow riders have adopted.
No, they’re chatting away about last night’s barbecue and the kids’ soccer practice and I’m nodding, pretending to listen and “Oh my God, didn’t that tractor trailer just fly by close enough to brush my ear?!”
And then, just as we pull out of Goldstream Park after a quick break before the Malahat, I’m introduced to a whole new terror: Rumble strips.
Those deeply indented strips of concrete on the shoulder that are supposed to wake up a drowsy driver gave me the sensation of riding a jack hammer as I rolled over them at 35 km/hr.
I couldn’t help but let out a pitiful cry of surprise when I accidentally drifted from the smooth safety of the shoulder onto those merciless concrete teeth. But I kept my hands steady and tried to calmly navigate away from the rumble zone.
So along the highway, in addition to yelling out “debris”, whenever we spotted any manner of hazard that threatened to toss us from our bikes — from blown out tires, to jagged pieces of wood to a Rubbermaid lid — we also called out “rrruuummbbleee” in a way that would make legendary boxing ring announcer Michael Buffer jealous.
And then there was the task at hand, the climb.
The team was cautious of staying close together with a steady-as-she-goes ascent. But the riders at the back learned that even a minor slow-down from the front translated into a slam-on-the-brakes-to-avoid-collision reaction toward the rear.
There was one moment of panic where I had to suddenly slow down to avoid bumping into Jason Bland which caused Jen Young to clip my back tire and tumble out half into the slow lane of traffic. Thankfully she caught her footing and there were no cars coming but I’m sure she saw her life flash before her eyes.
So that drilled in the importance of the other warning call: “slowing.”
When we finally saw the Malahat Summit sign, it was like a collective sigh of relief, our tense shoulders dropped and we breathed in the crisp air.
A mention was made about how the ride up the Malahat from north to south, the way we’ll travel during the Tour de Rock, is even harder, but that’s a worry for another day.
We were too busy taking in the view, which indeed is much sweeter on two wheels.
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Katie DeRosa is one of the media riders for this year’s Cops for Cancer Tour de Rock, a 13-day bike ride from Port Alice to Victoria. Follow DeRosa's blog for details about the ongoing training, leading up to full coverage of the ride Sept. 20 to Oct. 3. To donate to her fundraising campaign, click here.
