Clara sipping a coconut during a bike tour in Baja California, Mexico
First, there was the bicycle….
From bike racing to bike touring; from mountain climbing to distance hiking- this is the real story of Clara’s development as an athlete, and her transformation into an athlete/traveler!
I have to admit I did not know cycling was a sport until I was recruited into it by the provincial coach back in 1990. I was a speed skater, had been for a year and a half at that point. Since I am being honest here I must also admit I didn’t know speed skating was a sport until seeing the Calgary 1988 Olympics on television. To think that I would go on to represent Canada in both sports, on both podiums, at the Olympics, is rather bizarre.
I grew up playing a variety of sports: from ringette, hockey, volleyball, soccer, softball, track and field…basically whatever my friends were doing and what was available in the community for my Mother to keep me out of trouble. The world of Olympic sport eluded my psyche until that day I happened upon Gaetan Boucher skating in his last Olympics.
Cycling, in a similar, yet more direct way, came to me. When asked if I wanted to join the Provincial Team in the Black Hills of South Dakota for a training camp, I jumped at the chance. I had a bike my Grandmother had purchased for me from Olympia Cycle and Ski, it was a white and blue Cannondale, aluminum, and as far as I knew it was the greatest bike in the world. A pair of shoes came with the kit, a leather pair of Lotto’s. Cycling was a common training mode at summer skating camps. We didn’t know what we were doing and spent most of our time trying not to crash each other out. 70kms seemed like an endless torture session.
At that first ‘cycling’ camp, our first ride left the parking lot of the cabins we resided in for the duration of the week. I pulled up ready to go. I came screeching to a halt in front of the guys with my brand new clip-less pedals. Unable to release either of my feet, I toppled over. I was so embarrassed. Not a good first impression! But, I did okay. In fact, I was the only girl to hang on with the guys for more than ten kilometers.
Each day I lasted a little longer, and by the time the camp was over Coach Mirek (Mazur) had managed to convince me to quit skating and focus on the bike. He lured me with visions of success, believing in my potential more than I knew existed. I remember him saying ‘You’ll be World Champion one day,’ and I remember thinking what is a world champion? Everyone was talking about the Tour de France and I had no clue what the yellow jersey was. I still thought people riding around Winnipeg in 7-11 jerseys were professionals. I didn’t know one could perchance any pro team kit in one’s local bike shop! Oh how my world opened up after that first glimpse into the world of cycling!
Looking back to who I was then, now, I can’t help but shake my head. I am so lucky I did not hurt myself, badly, as I knew no pain. For years! I felt bulletproof, and the fact that I struggled with injuries for six years, through all the success I enjoyed, does not surprise me. That I was able to do both speed skating and cycling for two years after the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics does surprise me.
With so many years traveling the globe as a racing cyclist, it seems fitting that many of my travel tales of late are on the bike as well. Only this time, it’s a touring bike!
My husband Peter and I have enjoyed some of our richest experiences on these loaded machines, grinding our way up some dirt road in some foreign land. Sometimes we’ve been gifted enough to share these experiences with friends. If there is one thing that cycling gave me in my life, it is the great endurance to truly thrive for hours on end and really enjoy the experience.
Luckily, my husband is a creature of endurance as well, and also a man of great patience. He has allowed helped me to relax and enjoy travel for the experience it is, and to have the patience to allow these experiences to unfold.
I hope you enjoy reading about our trips as much as we have loved each pedal stroke, or each step with that heavy backpack, of the way!
