Well it’s over for another year – here is the link to the Flickr Page for 2008. If you have pictures please join and we can all see them. (Thanks Geoff)

Please pack light – 17 x 12 x 9″ – There are a lot of bags to carry as you ride. Here is the ideal list of stuff to take:

· Bathing suit for pool
· Clothes and pajamas for three nights
· Toiletries

Things to bring while cycling:
· Windbreaker jacket (water-proof preferably)
· NO JEANS (if they get wet, they weigh a ton)
· Sweat pants or wind pants
· A gel seat is highly recommended
· Helmet (mandatory)
· Tire pump
· Water bottle(s) – water will be provided
· Bike/Tire repair kit; extra tire tube recommended
· Insect repellant
· Sunscreen and Sunglasses
· Trail snacks
· Toilet paper
· Pain medication or medicinal rubs if you think you’ll need them
· Petroleum jelly
· Change of socks
· Biking gloves
· Ensure your name and address is on your gear to prevent confusion
· Camera
· Safety pins for your bib numbers (approximately 6)

No one knew Adam Mermuys’ last ride would be a short cycle from St. Peter’s to Morell on the Confederation Trail in the spring of 2006. This picture was taken just before that last ride.

But shortly after that second annual Townships Project’s cross-Island Tip to Tip for Africa fundraiser, an event he chaired that year, he was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive form of cancer.

Ten months later, he was gone.

Now, in memory of this amazing young Montague man, that special section of trail will be known as Adam’s Way. It is the first time such a Confederation Trail designation has been made.

Here is Adam’s Story written by Mary MacKay at the Guardian

Here is a link to the trail webiste and its gallery of pictures that I hope will give you a sense of what it is like to see the parts of PEI that only the Trail can offer.

Here is the map of the trail and here is a link to Vistor’s Guide Page for the Trail that has the full pdf so that you can see the map in more detail.

This is a friend of mine, Shannon Courtney, this is how she is thinking about what may unfold for her as she trains for Tip to Tip. If you have a story about this and would like to share it please let me know – Rob

“Every journey has a beginning, but we often miss the first steps of our own journey to an unknown destination.

We don’t realize that we are moving away from the familiar, towards something that will revive and redefine who we are. There are baby steps in the beginning. A thought that sneaks up from some unknown place in our subconscious or a dream that we can’t shake the next morning. Maybe a comment by a friend that strikes a nerve, or a piece of music that speaks to something deep within. We
don’t catch sight of it yet, it still hasn’t surfaced.

But if we are ready, then the synchronicities begin to emerge. It’s only chance that four people have mentioned that author’s book to me this week. Maybe I’ll check it out and see what it’s all about. Then there’s that writing workshop that’s coming up. I keep seeing notices for it everywhere, and then my old professor asked me if I was interested in going. How strange is that? Well, I have been dedicating a lot of time to my writing lately and I am looking for some guidance. I guess it couldn’t hurt to check out what a workshop is all about… We call them coincidences and flukes because it makes it easier for us to dismiss them OR accept them.

And then there’s a moment where everything shifts, where you realize that you have crossed the line between the familiar and the unfamiliar. Your heart began the journey awhile back and your head has just caught on to the fact. And when that happens, you are filled with such overwhelmingly contrasting emotions – fear and giddiness, anticipation and doubt, pride and shame. Then there’s the choice that your mind imposes – retreat or forge ahead. Ah, but if your heart has already begun the journey, there is nothing to be done but forge on. The heart will ALWAYS triumph over the logical mind in matters that involve the self’s evolution.

And so it is, that I have crossed over the line.

I have crossed the line before, most often my journeys have been leaps of faith that literally involved journeying to far off destinations. I think perhaps my first journey was when I moved to Ireland in 2003, but really that journey began a year and a half before I found the courage to get on a plane and move to another country where I knew not a single soul. That journey really began with me ending a relationship that was holding me back from my dreams of traveling the globe. Oh how the world opens up wide to embrace you when you choose to follow your dreams.

Now I am doing it again. I have set myself a challenge to bike 400 kilometers, from the Western tip of PEI to the Eastern tip of PEI. To my mind it seems a daunting challenge. I know there are athletes that would see it as a breeze, but I am not an athlete by any stretch of the imagination. And while I have been steadfastly dedicated to working out and eating well for quite a while now, this is still very much a leap for me.

Biking is not my forte. I am full of fears, mostly that I will injure myself, or my eyes will water constantly as they sometimes do at the most inopportune times. I worry that I will be last, that someone will have to keep coming to the back of the pack to make sure I’m still actually on my bike. I stress that my bike will give out on me and I’ll be stranded because my mechanical abilities have been absent since the day I was born. I worry that I won’t be able to sit or walk for days after the 4-day adventure.

But I am excited too. Almost giddy with anticipation. I LOVE a challenge. I thrive on setting a goal and reaching it. I decided, just ten days ago, that I would do the Tip to Tip for Africa, committing to not only completing the 400 kilometres, but also to raising at least $600 for the Townships Project.
This is what is driving me – if I am raising money for a worthy cause and people are so willing to support me, then I WILL complete my end of the bargain or injure myself trying (not planning on that, just trying to get a point across!).

Already, I have devised game plans for both fundraising and training, and things are happening. Call them coincidences or flukes, but I know they are synchronocities..opportunities and occassions that are presenting themselves because I AM ready for this journey.

And on that note, I will sign off. More to come re: my training and fundraising.

This a picture of my good friend J P Arsenault. It was taken back in 1987 when JP decided to ride Tip to Tip to raise money but also to change his life.

I have already described myself as a selfish person, but this time I had a motive. I think I would have tried this journey for myself, but Elva’s idea for a fund raiser added a new dimension. In fact, I have been training regularly since my 100 mile trip in July. The opportunity to raise money for a worthy cause is a bonus. Three weeks ago, I quit caffeine, leaving me with only two vices: sex and alcohol and I’ll be damned if I’ll surrender either.

To be 33 is to be too old to be young and too young to be old. People of our age are destined to raise families, pay mortgages, be good and little else. That’s not enough for me! I have a wonderful family, a good job and enough money, but I need more! I am becoming addicted to challenges and lost causes and I am beginning to understand the meaning of discipline.

Here is his account of his solo trip which he did in 9 HOURS!!!!!! Now he used the road which is very different from the trail but this is still amazing

“I did it!

I always knew my legs were good for something. Yesterday, (1987) I cycled from North Cape lighthouse to East Point lighthouse a distance, according to my bicycle odometer of 172.25 miles. I was on the bike for 9 hours 32 minutes 51 seconds for an average speed of 18.0 miles per hour. So far, we have over $2,500 in pledges for le Centre préscolaire Évangéline.

Elva and I got up at 4:30 yesterday morning and drove to North Cape, arriving at 5:50. My first task was to collect some seawater in a mason jar to carry to East Point. It was pitch dark. Next, I did a couple of muscle stretching exercises and took off, with Elva following in the van to light the way.

The air was dead calm and the temperature about 15C, with a bit of fog as I drove through Seacow Pond and Anglo. A few fishermen were already on the water, as evidenced by their lighted boats; others were about to leave from the tiny harbour at Seacow Pond. My most vivid memory of those first few miles is olfactory; the smell of foxes was overpowering! This mixed with the smell of Wilson Shea’s piggery, the odd whiff of cow manure and the occasional smell of the sea kept me awake and helped pass the time.

We drove through Tignish at about 6:25, after taking a short detour on a wrong turn. At Alma, it became light enough for me to read my speedometer. We arrived at Bloomfield R.C. Church at 7:25 and stopped for about 15 minutes. At that point, I was at 26 miles and was doing 18.4 mph. The next 24 miles to Day’s Corner were uneventful; I felt great at that point and enjoyed a smooth road for most of the way. I met Leonard MacDonald at Inverness and Herb Isherwood near Richmond.

I arrived at Day’s Corner at 8:55 after completing 50.5 miles. At this point, my average speed was 18.6 mph. Several people were there to meet me and it was very reassuring to see them: Alcide, Alvina, Théo, Claudette, Monique, Sally, Claudette Caissie, Mom, Maurice, Réjeanne, Yvonne, Aurella, Elaine, their children and others. I changed shoes and socks and ate an orange. I should have eaten more as I later learned. At this point, I felt very strong.

From Day’s Corner onward, Émile Gallant joined us, driving the Olde Barrel van containing our supplies. The wind normally picks up at 9:30, but yesterday it remained dead calm. Ulric Gallant and Léonce Arsenault (Franky) drove beside me for a bit at Central Bedeque. I arrived at Crapaud at about 10:55 and at that point was beginning to feel the fatigue building. I drank two cans of V 8 and tried to work out the pain in my neck and upper back, changed shoes and socks and was off again. Still no wind: 18.8 mph at this point.

At Victoria, Raymond Arsenault (La Voix Acadienne) caught up with us and snapped a few pictures. Next came the dreaded Bonshaw Hills. I was doing OK until I reached Cornwall and then I began to lose strength. It’s a helpless feeling; little things like rough pavement through North River made matters worse. Along North River Road, I couldn’t make more than 16 mph and ran two red lights because I didn’t have the strength to stop and start again. I arrived at the Prince Edward Home at 12:37.

At this point, I was slightly confused and disoriented. I must have been suffering from lack of sugar and/or minerals. My spirits were very low and I was very restless; no matter which way I positioned myself, I couldn’t relax. I ate two sandwiches and a cookie and had two glasses of Kool Aid. Joyce had come to meet us but I was hardly in a mood for company. My speedometer read 105 miles and average speed of 18.4 mph. I left at about 1:15.

Soon after leaving Charlottetown, the leg cramps began. Just as my body began to respond to the positive effect of the food, so my calf and upper leg muscles began to tighten. At Mount Mellick, I had to stop briefly to let Émile massage my leg (the right one was the worst). At this point, I doubted I could finish and thought about quitting. All I could think of was to take it one mile at a time.

Between Cherry Valley and Vernon River, we crossed a mile of road under construction. Surprisingly, I began to feel a bit better. We stopped at the R.C. Church for 15 minutes for a chocolate bar and leg massage, and from this point onward, things began to look up. We stopped at Poole’s Corner at about 2:55 and mile 131, with an average speed of 18.3 mph. With only 19 miles to go to mile 150 and 25 to Souris, I began to feel as if I could make it.

Before forgetting, I must relate the story of the black cat, although I am not superstitious. I came across a black cat at New Perth (just past Myers’ Machine Shop) who had run out of the woods and was about to jump out of the ditch ahead of me. I remember thinking: “I’ll be damned if I’ll let you get across ahead of me“, and I speeded up. At the sight of me, the cat turned around and disappeared once again into the ditch. It’s the little things you remember!

We headed up the Seven Mile Road at 3:10, and a light wind was blowing from the South. The leg cramps became less and less of a factor but were replaced by fatigue. At Albion Cross, we were met by Greg, Rose and family who followed us to Dingwell’s Mills. After a short stop, the obligatory massage and a second Oh Henry, I hit the road toward Souris. We were at mile 146 and 18.2 mph.

From Dingwell’s Mills to Souris, my one memory is of being very tired; by this time, my knees had begun to ache, particularly the right one, and I was looking forward to the end of my journey. At Fortune, I reached 150 miles. From there to Souris, I remember only two long hills at Rollo Bay and the beautiful view of Fortune Bay and Souris Harbour. The wind was stronger and was coming from my right. Rather than feeling pleasure at reaching Souris, I felt anxiety; the kind that comes from being hard to please. I wanted to make it to East Point.

Elva and Émile were stopped at the tourist bureau on the Souris side of the causeway and she biked to meet me as I arrived. I don’t think I’d have had the strength to climb the hill into town. We had reached 156.6 miles with an average speed of 18.2 mph. Instead of resting there before continuing, we decided to load the bike in the van and drive to East Point. I wanted to measure the distance, check out the hills and the wind direction. The twenty minute ride also gave me the opportunity to rest. We left Souris at 4:50 and arrived at East Point at 5:10.

At East Point, I crawled out of the van with my mason jar of North Cape seawater and poured it over the cliff, standing beside Elva and the dead end sign while Émile took our picture. Although I expressed doubt to them about being able to make the 16 miles back to Souris, I knew I had to try it, since never again would I come so close.

It was all I could do to mount the bike and when I did, my knees immediately started to ache. It was as if someone were sticking needles in under my kneecap. With 16 miles to go, I knew I had to take it one mile at a time. The first hill out of East Point was gentle, not too steep, and I kept to about 15 mph. After that, things got worse; there’s no level ground between East Point and Souris! I reached the top of my first hill at South Lake and wished it were the last. I had abandoned all thoughts of speed and was concentrating only on Souris and the end of the ride. Since pain and fatigue were getting worse, I was scared I wouldn’t be able to finish after coming so close.

There must be twenty hills between East Point and Souris and most are long and steep. As I remember them, the worst are at Bothwell and Black Pond. On each of these, I was in low gear and climbing at a speed of only 9 10 mph. They hurt far more than the hill from Bonshaw to Churchill. At Red Point, I knew I had it made! Just before this, at Bothwell, a man stopped and donated $6. It was to be our only donation along the way. Each time I passed the stopped van, Émile called out the distance to Souris.

The last two hills at Chepstow and Souris were relatively easy. The pain was forgotten and only the objective remained. My average speed read 18.0 mph, exactly as planned, so I enjoyed the last mile down Souris’ main street. At the tourist bureau, my speedometer read 172.25 miles and 18.0 mph. I was satisfied … relieved … happy! It was 6:17 p.m.

I have already described myself as a selfish person, but this time I had a motive. I think I would have tried this journey for myself, but Elva’s idea for a fund raiser added a new dimension. In fact, I have been training regularly since my 100 mile trip in July. The opportunity to raise money for a worthy cause is a bonus. Three weeks ago, I quit caffeine, leaving me with only two vices: sex and alcohol and I’ll be damned if I’ll surrender either.

To be 33 is to be too old to be young and too young to be old. People of our age are destined to raise families, pay mortgages, be good and little else. That’s not enough for me! I have a wonderful family, a good job and enough money, but I need more! I am becoming addicted to challenges and lost causes and I am beginning to understand the meaning of discipline.

Fate is wonderful when it favours you; otherwise, it’s known as bad luck. Today, I awoke with few aches and pains, other than my knees, and even they are noticeably better. I am thankful for calm weather, a reliable bike (Peugeot), a good pit crew (Elva & Émile) and good friends who made the effort worthwhile by contributing to a good cause. Through life’s ups and downs, this is definitely a high point!

Now I sit in my library, listening to Eddy Arsenault on the fiddle, as my children leaf through their scrapbooks. My stomach is full of good steak, Priorato de Muller and vegetables from our own garden. If a pig is happy in s___, then so am I!”

Those of us at the other end realized that we could simply have a nice day and we did coming in hours later. It was all OK. Any way any one of us wanted to ride this was ok. I did not feel like doing 102 k and so I took the soft option and did only 55. The soft option was designed into the whole design!!!

Behind all the freedom of the design was very careful consideration for what would drive the optimal environment. We were a group but the space for each of us to do exactly what they felt best was there. Now in the safety of the mood of acceptance in the entire group it was safe to be who we really were. No one was going to criticize the fit for wanting to go fast. No one would criticize the weak for going at their own pace.

Everyone could be themselves. What a feeling! To be ourselves in the context of a community that accepted that. Hey I could even have a wiz by the side of the trail and have 5 women ride by cheering me on!

Campbell says it best: “The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are” That night we all stayed up even later. We had music, we danced! We drank. We told stories around a fire (actually 3 candles). We returned to a communion that all humans had lived in for 4 million years.

The next day – Redemption.  We awoke changed even more.

Today, our last, we decided innately, with no conversation, no vote and no debate that we would like to spend this precious day together.

So, as the pictures show you, we spent the day in community.

We dawdled. We chatted. We laughed. We looked around at the beauty of our landscape and wondered. All the veneer of polite society vanished. Much of the conversation was about our poor private parts. We reached out to each other. We cried. We knew that we had been part of something special. Now the shepherds were hardly needed, we all looked out for each other. Even the most injured, got on her bike for the last few k. She had to finish this in community.

We finally arrived at East Point in triumph.

Imagine feeling like that!!

So off I went, alone but with 43 others.

We all set off alone in our fear and uncertainty. Would we be OK? Would we be able to meet the challenge?

As you can see in the pictures, the day was glowering with low cloud, rain and a 40k headwind. We had 60 k to do.

I and others went inside. At first into our fears and into our thoughts and then into our bodies. ” Fuck Fuck Fuck” was my mantra as the grade uphill turned into yet more grade. The wind was blasting in my face and the wet gravel slipped under my tires. There were times that first day when all I had left was my will. This was not fun!

But in the background were the shepherds. Every now and then one of them would whip up beside me. “How are you doing?” “Fine” I would say even though I did not feel that it was fine. Just as I thought I could not go further, I came around a bend and there was the break station. Volunteers had food, water and encouragement. Then back out again – grind grind grind. But all the time the shepherds were there. Had a puncture, they fixed it. Put your back out, they had Midol and carried your gear. Could not go on – there was the truck.

As I saw how the weak and the unlucky were being looked after, I began to realize that I was safer than I thought. Heh maybe this was not a race. Maybe the point was that we would all make it in our own way? The organizers had created a safe container in which we could be ourselves.

We were on our own. No one was pedaling for us. But we had support. All around us was a framework of support.

The shepherds, the system facilitators, were the obvious support. But so were all the breaks, the lunches and the first night at a resort hotel with entertainment put on by two of the most experienced members.

This was for many of us the most challenge that we had ever faced. It was a challenge of body and more important of spirit.

In the first two days, the ordeal was so great that each of the members could only rely on the official supporters to help us. We discovered the meaning of “the silence of his personal despair” Being in pain, and hence being inward looking, we could not help the other members much. But the design of the ride mean that there were people there who were above our pain and who could and did help.

By day three, most riders had done over 170K. Something changed inside us.

We had each overcome our fears and had discovered that we could do this. We had also spent 2 nights with each other. The first night I went to bed at 8.30 exhausted. But the second night I closed the bar with a large number of the gang. We were starting to see and know each other. We had shared something.

We had each of us carried a cross of our own. Every cross was different but all had carried one. So when we looked at another, we saw a fellow and not a stranger. We had respect and the beginnings of love for each other. For each of us had been on our own cross.

Now we could begin to help each other. Now we broke free from being alone and could be a group. How different from the false community that parades itself frequently on the net. Now the process of resurrection and redemption could begin. We felt like a band of skilled veterans at war. We were becoming a band of brothers and sisters.

Our motivation was starting to transcend our own needs and extend to the whole group. Then something really amazing started to happen to us all …. More tomorrow