One man, one bike, one day

By
Mike Donohue
Posted October 1st, 2002

Mike Donohue
Ride around Lake Champlain
Adventures and Misadventures

In the summer of 2000, I rode around Lake Champlain—360 miles in four days. It was my first and only bike tour. Not long after, I had the idea to try a similar ride around the Lake, but in two days instead of four. Friends convinced me that I wouldn’t want to get in the saddle the second day, having done a double century on the first, so the logical solution, to me, anyway, was to do the ride straight through. I couldn’t find a single person who thought my plan sounded as logical as I did, so I went solo and unsupported.
To “train,” I commuted 16 miles to work once or twice a week and did four or five longer rides. I probably had 400 miles under my belt when I set out. I augmented this mileage with a 14-mile hike the day before my ride.
In the dark, the night before my ride, I decided I should tune up my bike, so it actually shifted into the large chainring. The day of my departure, my mechanic told me my bottom bracket needed to be rebuilt, and that he could have it repaired by 3 p.m.
While my bike was getting fixed, I packed. I wanted to travel as light as possible. My bike holds two water-bottles, a pump, and has a small saddlebag with tools and a tube. We were having a heat wave, so there was no need for extra clothing. I packed a hydration bag with a headlamp, half a gallon of water, 30 Clif shots and sunscreen.
At 6 p.m. July 1st, I left from Charlotte and rode north. My first break was in North Hero at 43 miles. I changed my glasses from tinted to clear and put on my headlamp. My back was a bit sore, my neck stiff and my legs a little tired from the previous day’s hike. I realized this was going to be a long ride.
I wondered if crossing into Canada on a bike at night would be a problem, but it wasn’t. The border guard waved me through without even checking my passport. I accurately remembered the Canadian roads to be the worst on the ride. I was pedaling in the dark, on rutted roads, and my ass was hurting much earlier in the ride than I’d anticipated.
In Saint Jean Sur Richeliu, I got lost. There was a huge street festival going on and kids shooting off fireworks on every corner. My directions took me on backroads, dirt roads, a carriage path and across a bridge over Lake Champlain. My total inability to communicate in French made asking for directions pointless. With intuition, a bit of backtracking and luck, I found my way. Back on route and in the groove, I finished my first century just north of Rouse’s Point in six hours. It was midnight.
Soon, the night and the dark were beginning to wear on me. My head hung heavy and the spinning was hypnotic. At 3 a.m., in Chazy, New York, I stumbled off my bike and sprawled on the front lawn of a ranch house. I hoped I wouldn’t wake up in mid-day sunlight with a perplexed homeowner standing over me and any chance of finishing my ride in 24 hours, shot. Thankfully, I woke an hour later, cool and stiff, mosquitoes buzzing in my ears and fresh lawn clippings stuck to the thick gel sunscreen on all my exposed flesh.
I creaked out of town, got back into the grove of spinning, and reached 150 miles before I knew it. Dawn broke and I felt re-energized, as did the clouds of gnats that got stuck in my ears, eyes, and sucked down my throat.
I stashed my pack in Essex, across the lake from my starting point, more than halfway around the lake. Through the night all I had carried were two waterbottles, Clif shots and tools, but it was relief to be biking without a pack.
Because my ride began in the evening, I was just now experiencing the heat of the day. My first gallon of water lasted twelve hours, now I was drinking one gallon every two hours. From Ticonderoga to Whitehall the road is a series of rolling hills with truck lanes on the way up, and long, gradual downhills. For the next 10 miles I ground away in my lowest gear, baking in the 90-degree heat on the uphills, and on the downhills I pedaled hard into the steamy headwind.
In Whitehall, I finally headed north and had the wind at my back, which made the uphills cooler and the downhills coastable. Addison was my last water break. I wobbled around the general store on rubbery legs. Each mile was taking longer, but I knew I’d finish the route well ahead of my 24-hour goal. I completed the 298-mile circle at 3 p.m., after 17 hours in the saddle and 21 hours on the road.
When I got back to Charlotte, I wasn’t quite ready to call it a day, so I got a drink and some watermelon at the Old Brick Store and went to work at Bingham Brook Farm for a few hours. The heat was wilting, but I was conditioned to it.
I suppose I would do this ride again, but there are so many other adventures to be had. Like riding the length of Vermont on dirt roads. Or riding from here to Alaska…