on the mud of existence

and the zen of old renfrew road

Old Renfrew Road is always muddy

Zeke’s words were at the top of my mind as I bolted from bed and saw just how wet everything was outside.

I’d been warned that at least ten kilometers would be an utter slog. In reality, I had no idea just how bad it could be.

We started out through the park. The usual route over Shubi park’s familiar crusher dust covered pathways. Then we took the first climb up towards the gas line road. It was a maximum effort push starting off fifteen kilometers of punishing cobbles and large, angry gravel.

The gas line road is a great intro to the kind of riding we do. Its surface is one that hates both bikes and cyclists alike. The constant rattling of the jagged rocky ground has sliced open many a tire sidewall. On our last ride out that way, the left crank arm fell off my bike pedal and all.

And the bumps?

Well, they don’t just rattle out your fillings, they take your teeth with them. Hell, once it was so bumpy it shook both of my eyes out of my head.

It’s true.

Now a…