Sabrina Jade Doyle and her brother before their obstacle-ridden bike trip to New York (Photo Provided)
I was getting death threats for about three hours. Each promise of excruciating torture hit the back of my head and I let it slide off my back with an amused chuckle. My brother, the verbal assailant, was not so jovial.
We were biking up a massive hill in the heart of the Adirondack Mountains in New York state, and he held me responsible for the numbing pain in his legs.
After a summer of balancing three jobs and living alone in my apartment with my cat Earl, I felt the need to have some sort of adventure before school to blow off some steam and to jump-start myself back into shape.
My wanderlust set itself on a multi-day bike trip down to Saranac Lake in New York.
My 16-year-old brother Colin is pretty fit, so I figured he could handle the 250-kilometer one-way trip. Two years previously, I convinced him to go on another bike trip to Wolfe Island, right off the shore of Kingston.
The trip was a blast, but Colin insisted we take the train on the way back. I assured him that this time we were going to make it the whole way. It was destination or die.
So with 14 kilograms of camping gear, clothes, and trail mix packed into our saddlebags, we set off from my parentís house in Balderson, Ont. We were giving ourselves four days to get there.
As far as training goes, the extent of mine was biking to work every couple days. Colin tried once, a week before departure, to bike 10 km to a friendsí house and almost expired. I seriously considered lashing a stick to Colinís helmet, with a carrot dangling before his eyes Looney Tunes-style.
I shelved the plan for a worst-case scenario and hoped that sibling love and mental tenacity would persevere.
The weather was kind to us for most of the trip and we covered all but 30 km by the last day.
On flat terrain, it should have taken us a few hours. As it was, the unrelenting hills set off an emotional rollercoaster, where downhill was a thrill ride to see how fast we could go, and uphill meant I had to hear about how Colin didnít love me anymore.
It was lightly raining when we got to the ìWelcome to Saranac Lakeî sign and stopped for a rare photo-op.
Our trip picture album is pitifully scarce, since whenever we passed something interesting en route, weíd acknowledge that we should take a picture of it, and then realize that neither of us cared enough to actually break the circular motion that our legs had begrudgingly accepted as default.
We pedaled into the parking lot where my mother was waiting for us in the sweet haven of the warm van. The drizzle was now a torrential downpour.
ìNever. Again,î Colin said between wheezes. Bowlegged, we staggered off our bikes, and I laughed until tears blended with the rain on my cheeks.
In retrospect, I think itís safe to assume that Colin prefers a bit less of alternative-style exercise and a bit more classic iron pumping at the gym; I doubt Iíll be able to get him out again anytime soon.
While Iím a devout believer that people should get physical activity in whatever way works for them, I find itís always fun to stray from the treadmill once in a while.