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The
Bon Ton Roulet is touted as a ‘leisurely’ week-long
camping/cycling tour of the wine-producing region of
upper state New York, the Finger Lakes.
Accordingly, one has the opportunity to cycle from
winery to winery, stopping here and there to sample
le vin fin. In an ideal world that might
happen.
Unfortunately, it rained four of the seven days
between July 25 and 31. For many of us, guzzling
beer superseded sipping wine. It’s easier to
access, cheaper in price and infinitely superior to
quenching the thirst of those who are wet,
exhausted, hurting, cold, frustrated and parched.
Then too, there are some who say beer just tastes
better than the New York wines.
Except for the teetotalers, I expect everyone tried
at least one NY wine. Accordingly, this merits a
‘wine story.’ It comes from an incident that
occurred the third day, a horrid day of rain without
end.
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Monday night we slept inside Mynderse High School.
It’s pronounced ‘minders.’ Ha!! How then would
they pronounce the town of Honeoye? We were
supposed to camp on the schoolyard, but it poured
all day Monday from the time we left Keuka College
in Penn Yan until we arrived at the high school in
Seneca Falls, 117 km away. |
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Imagine being the caretaker. Suddenly his turf was
swarmed by 370 cold, wet cyclists maneuvering their
dripping, filthy bikes through his halls and
strewing their sodden clothes and the contents of
their soggy gear bags all about. From the gym to
the boiler room, from the principal’s office to the
teachers’ lounge, from the caretakers’ digs to the
shower rooms, on every stair railing and in any nook
where we could find a roost, we hung our gauchees,
spandex, socks, jerseys and rain gear. A hundred
pairs of cycling shoes stuffed with newspapers were
placed in front of a gigantic fan as we tried to dry
them out. A few people set their tents up indoors,
but most either slept in the gym or found a spot in
classrooms, under stairwells or in the halls. |
Throughout the night it poured. When we set out
from Mynderse High on Tuesday morning, the
schoolyard was a sea. Fearing flash flooding en
route to Ithaca, loss of contact lenses or possibly
dissolution of their very selves, about 80
participants opted to ride a bus that day and have
their bikes trucked to the next campsite. Kidding
aside, it is treacherous cycling in the rain,
particularly on the descents, especially for the
timid/inexperienced.
The
hardy/insane sloshed onward and upward. Our first
frenzied-feed stop was at a winery. Whenever we
stop to ‘re-fuel,’ we are akin to sharks circling a
fresh carcass. Eyes fixed and glazed, we strike
with stealth and precision. First hit are the
homemade baked goods, then the fresh, chilled
fruits, then the salty stuff, and fluids of course.
Then there’s an encore, and another, and another.
Finally sated, I prepared to leave. At the exit I
noticed that one cyclist was purchasing a bottle of
pinot noir for transport to the camp. I asked him
the price…$19.85. Gulp….that’s USD, folks. ‘Must
be good,’ I remarked. ‘How does it taste?’
‘Beats me,’ he replied with a grin, ‘but it’s a good
one.’
Though I did the heroic deed and abused myself over
88 km for four hours, I abandoned camp for that one
night. A tour mate and I shared a motel room.
After a torturous day of relentless hills and
incessant rain, the hot shower and comfy, dry bed
seemed like luxuries. Before dinner we quaffed a
fine St. Emilion Grand Barmail 2000…$11.85. Under
different circumstances I might have bought a case;
it was that good.
I
suppose I’ve kept you waiting long enough to learn
about the Wet Dreamers. On Wednesday, after a 90 km
cycle, partly in the rain, we arrived in Auburn, NY,
our campsite for two nights. At the Information
Stand we were given flyers announcing a Bon Ton Idol
contest to be held at our party on Friday night.
The winner would receive free admission to the Bon
Ton Roulet 2005; the cyclists would be the
adjudicators.
| No
Karaoke goddess, I recruited a motley crew--The Wet
Dreamers--to back me up: Christine, who got nipped
three times on the boob by a bee on performance
day—high soprano??; Cory, 15, |
|
Wet
Dreamers |
a younger version of our Ed Whitlock—he runs
a 16 minute 5k, has long blond hair that
flows like Ed’s, and he’s ultra-sleek; Don,
nicknamed Power Bar Man after the jersey he
wore on Day 1, masterminded the lyrics and
kept the group focused; Len, a towering 6’
6” intellectual who is in love with his new
bike, a Zinn, provided the dramatic ba-doobie-doos
with his stellar, cellar voice; Margie, cheerful
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| and gutsy,
dazzled with her smile; Dave and Joe,
recumbent riding oenophiles refused to rehearse but
took the stage anyway and ‘winged it.’ A
grizzly-bearded mystery man who no one invited,
joined us on stage, but I still have no idea who he
is. |
On
Friday, despite cycling 106 hilly km, much of it
into a strong head wind, doubling up our scoops of
ice cream energized us for the task ahead—writing
the words to the song. As the rain streamed down,
Don, Christine and I hammered out the lyrics inside
a winery late that afternoon. We patterned The
Bon Ton Ton after Da Doo Ron Ron. Young
Cory had never heard of it.
Though I was accused of or complimented for ‘working
the audience’ in the days before the contest--I’m
just friendly, eh--our victory was deserved. It’s a
great song, and we performed like pros. To quote
the Blues Brothers, we really had the joint
rocking. Even had we lost, it was a slice, an
adrenalin high piqued perhaps by the free beer. We
each won a neon yellow BTR t-shirt, and I nabbed the
free trip back for ’05.
I
have no ‘great’ cycling stats to report. It was a
tough week, and I cycled 625 km (388 mi), in 27
hours and 40 minutes over seven days. If I were
smarter, I would have taken at least one rest day.
Duh!! Rain, terrain and ever-growing muscle fatigue
kept my pace slow:
68
km (42 mi) 2:32:42
117 km(73 mi) 5:04:14 (rain)
88 km (55 mi) 4:05:49 (rain)
90 km (56 mi) 4:07 (rain)
86 km (53 mi) 4:22:12
106 km(66 mi) 4:30:22
70 km (43 mi) 2:58:24 (rain)
My fastest downhill occurred on the final day in a
deluge. Foolish perhaps, and the rain stung my
eyeballs to near blindness, but I hit 76 km/h. My
fastest ride was the first day when I joined a pace
line of young men. I was able to hang with them for
30 km, averaging 32.8 km/h.
These vignettes bear mention:
a) On Monday I
cycled without rain gear. Hey, it’s summer!! Warm
rain feels okay, eh? But the rain was cold,
and so was I. Donning a long garbage bag at the
first rest stop saved me from hypothermia. And then
at the next rest stop as I shivered and turned blue,
a guardian angel, John from Virginia,
tandem-cyclist, offered me his rain jacket. The
plastic bag served me well when I was riding, so I
didn’t take his jacket. If I had, John would have
had no cover. The funny thing is that I didn’t feel
cold after that.
b) Just as I was
leaving, a senior named Betty pulled in. Whipped,
she talked about quitting. I advised her to rest,
drink, eat, and then decide. Since I didn’t see her
again until Wednesday, I feared she had dropped out.
Finally we met up in Auburn at our camp site. She
finished on Monday, and she cycled throughout the
week.
c) A few members
of the Coastal Cruisers took part in the BTR. Earl,
from Acme Cycle in Punta Gorda, who rides with us
occasionally as a guest, served as a volunteer
mechanic. Dave, one of my Wet Dreamers, recently
built a winter home in Sarasota. He rides with the
club one week each month over the winter. At the
final rest stop on our last day one of the men had
on a Coastal Cruisers 2002 Pasta Bash t-shirt. I
didn’t ask his name, but he knows many in our club.
| Even had I not won entry to next year’s event, I
would probably have signed on again. No day is
easy, not even remotely. The Category 2 days are
particularly hard, and there are two of these; the
others are Category 1’s. The scenery, however, is
spectacular, the camaraderie wonderful—unless you
are homophobic, and the organization is solid.
Though the breakfasts are satisfactory, the dinners
need improvement. |
Lake Cayuga |
|
Usually, there is enough to eat, but they
did run out a few times. I felt sorry
for the late arrivals who had to wait while
the cooks scrounged up something more.
No one starved. |
If you want a great cardio workout with lots of
long, steep climbs and many exhilarating descents,
as well as the company of an amazing array of
cyclists—from ages 4 to 80, singles of all ages,
couples of all configurations, families and partial
families, the Bon Ton Roulet is worth doing. The
volunteers are fantastic, genuinely kind and
helpful. The food at the rest stops is varied and
abundant.
I had a wonderful week despite inclement conditions
some days. I arrived in Canandaigua with a running
injury--two sick heels (plantar fasciitis), and left
there recovered because I was too exhausted to run
even once. At Parkers in Auburn I found the best
grilled Reuben I’ve ever tasted. They use thick,
wide slices of toasted caraway rye, lean and tender
corned beef, homemade sauerkraut, Swiss ementhal and
a yummy sauce.
Mostly, though, it is the fun I had with new-found
friends that will remain in my thoughts. I suffered
a lot this week, but I laughed enough to make up for
all of it. My new friends and I will ride together
again….and I can’t wait!!
Lili welcomes comments and questions about this
story.
oraaccred@aol.com 
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Ton Roulet, I tossed my ‘eh’s’ about like a
waiter with a honking big peppermill. My American
buds seem to love the expression, so why worry,
eh? As for the ‘Wet Dreamers,’ you will have to
read further to learn about them.
