Sufferfest (the photo essay)

Disclaimer: I am much better at riding bikes than I am at taking pictures. And I’m not very good at riding bicycles. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. For background, read this:
Day 1: Vancouver to Whistler begins, as all great Bike Rides should, in the traditional Italian Style- Caffeinated. Note Italian-built Steel bike, Canadian-built Steel Bike, and Italian-built Plastic Bike. We are all about diversity.
The pouring rain of Saturday AM was tempered a bit by a social stop at Porteau Cove campground to enjoy some friendly fire
Flat #1 arrived on the edge of Squamish, where it had (momentarily and mercifully) stopped raining, so as far as these things go, that’s success. Squamish people like their roadside dirt curiously angular. 
Brackendale was time for Coffee #2, courtesy of former co-workers. And it was dry there, which was nice for a day where it almost, but never completely, stopped raining. 
AA demonstrated the appropriate technique for acquiring the 5,000 calories a day we will burn. This apparently included adding chocolate to everything, be it milk or pretzels. 
End of Day 1, with a glass raised and shout-out to Red Van Dan who
could not join us this weekend.
Day 2 saw the addition of various Sufferfest hangers-on of note. Today we ride the Ironman Canada Route.
First stop is the end of the road in the Callaghan Valley. Yes, that tattooed calf belongs to an Ironman Finisher. He put some hurt into us before the day was done. 
Then we had to go a little past the end of the road to see the sights. 
Then it was distressingly downhill to here, where we stopped for lunch. Distressing, of course, because  we knew those hills have an “up” as well. 
The Freight Train really began to roll down the Pemberton Meadow Road. Nothing like 4 guys in formation  pulling 40 km/h for 25km…
…until you run out of pavement, and have to turn that freight train around to face the wind that has been flattering you for 25km. 
Flats #2 and #3 both occurred in one of the most beautiful gas station parking lots in the world. 
Less said about the climb back to Whistler from Pemberton, the better. We dug deep into our panniers of courage, and came back wanting. This is me, unraveled in the bus after, on our way from out lodging to the village and an inevitable one-beer drunk.
Day 3: Back at it. I just realized I was frighteningly close to a bike-matching kit here. With me is the human hummingbird: although a misnomer, as he eats more often, has a shorter attention span, and weighs less than a hummingbird, and has all the aerodynamic qualities of a discarded WalMart grocery bag. Dropped us like bad news on the hills, he did. 
Cheesecake: it isn’t just for breakfast anymore. 
Feeling the pain, here Hummingbird poses in properly menacing from with AA, who was acting all Jens on us – putting the hurt on in the rollers and the flats, churning the air in front of us and forcing hangers-on to contemplate their place in life, until he used the sprint to dash illusions. All the time apparently smuggling cantaloupes in his calf-warmers.  
Although we were well over 400km, the Duffy was not available to us, so we need to put a cap on this thing with a quick spin to the top of the Cypress Mountain Road, where AA entertained with his mad donut skills.
The toll for the weekend: about 470km, 6000m of climbing, three tubes, 15,000 calories each. Untold suffering.   

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