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6/2 What a day! On the road at last, a day behind schedule, but as prepared as one could be. Due to last minute preparations taking longer than first thought, I finally had the bike packed and was riding at 2pm. This wasn't your normal touring cyclist, my carrier was stacked up so high, that from behind, I could not be seen by fellow road users - just a random pile of bags, packs, sleeping bags, tents, bed rolls, boots and lights. The ride to see Les and his friend Tony, who were accompanying me for the first leg of the journey, was a very slow one, with any slight variation in balance, totally throwing the bike into disarray. The excessive weight on the tyre was playing funny tricks with the riding path over uneven surfaces and around corners. To make things worse, the bags were covering the back half of my seat, so I was riding on the skinny front part. I had some bad thoughts about a bowel disfunction after riding 6,500-odd kms like that.
After taking a light fall and not being able to start again on a small suburban hill, I decided to take the advice from Tony's girlfriend, Roshene, and invest in a trailor. So after further delays at the bike store attaching the new addition to the great, blue bike, the bags were reloaded, and at 4pm, we set off again.
Although there was still a lot of weight to be pulled, it was much better dispersed than before and I was more comfortable, enjoying the full seat. I still had no control when speeds of 30km/h were passed, but it was better than before. I could make it up small hills, although they were very hard. I wait with anticipation for the Rockies.
It was surprising how many people actually notice the traveling, 3-wheeled contraption, and they are generally pretty friendly, although it was just after leaving Vancouver city limits, riding 3-abreast, yet well over to the side, down a quiet residential street, when an angry, overweight, rough and dirty looking redneck in a beat up wagon, drove past us, abusing us, honking wildly and yelling obscenities at us, for about the next 50 metres after passing us.
We continued on, seemingly unfazed by this outburst of abuse, and then from the back of a deralict 2nd floor apartment above an old shop, our friend popped his ugly head out, and started hurling more abuse, "f-this, f-that, learn to ride, more f's". We were rather humoured by the extremely loud yelling, but a couple of short toots from my airhorn fired him up even more, and sure enough, when we rode past his residence, he made his way to the front of the building and started yelling some more. Obviously his medication had run-out, but it certainly reassured me that there are some nutters out there, who may have had a bad week and may not be to happy about sharing the road with a touring cyclist.
We journeyed on, through Vancouver's outlying city of Burnaby, finally stopping for McDonalds, for some greasy burgers. I couldn't believe how exhausted I was after my first day. The accountant who I worked with at Net Nanny, John Dumfries, who lives nearby, was kind enough to let me stay at his house, and use his computer. Better prepared for the next big day of riding, I had a good night's rest and was ready to go.
7/2 Off to a much earlier start today. Pedaling happily by 8am just in time for the morning commuters, slowly making their way from the suburbs to the city. The night earlier had been strange when I finally put my head to pillow and closed my eyes, after having tried to balance my bike all day with any minor lapse of concentration throwing me off, I was still 'swaying' as I lay down to a rest.
Using my compass and the mountains as a reference point, I made my way back through suburbia, headed back to where I was yesterday, and then on the Louheed Highway, heading east.
I found riding much easier than yesterday, now I was getting used to lugging so much weight, yet it was still quite a hard trek. Road works along the way kept things interesting.
I finally left the built up areas and had my first taste of rural Canada with the mist covered, forest green coastal mountains in the distance (which I will riding over later), contrasting with the brown hay fields. My selected route took me along side the Fraser River, which provided a nice backdrop.
After only 2 days on the road, and 1 by myself, I think that I am already going crazy, because I have been riding along, singing loudly to myself. After realizing what a freak I was, I decided it could be time for some real tunes and selected Canadian rock legends, Tragically Hip, to start my ride off. At the end of the tape, I listened to a Vancouver radio station until I was out of frequency range, and then back onto the Hip for another revolution. The music was great!
Although I always said to myself that I wouldn't be seen dead in a pair of lycra pants, I can't believe how much I dig this slinky fabric, infact I wouldn't mind being buried in them.
I reached my destination, Mission, a small town bordering the Fraser River, where I was staying the night with Les's ex-girlfriend's parents, high up in the mountains. I was in KFC just before a downpour, ate, and then set off in the heavy rain to my accomodation. Trish and Graham, a very friendly and hospitable couple. Very interesting people with a big hovercraft-type thing on the front lawn. I was fortunate enough to time my stay with one of their socialist meetings, which was interesting for me as it is something that I have never really discussed before.
8/2 A day of rain, from dawn to dusk. After a hearty breakfast, I set off on my way, and with directions from an initially shocked old lady who I asked for instructions, I found myself back on the highway heading east.
Once riding, the rain wasn't too bad. The only problem was it was hard to be discrete in a bright yellow rain jacket when trying to relieve oneself on the side of the road.
The scenery was spectacular. The weather made the coastal mountains misty and mysterious. I played my first 'educational tunes' - some old fart comparing the Chinese culture to the American culture. I got through 2 sides, but I think the walkman and/or the tape got wet, so I couldn't get any more sound out of the contraption, and my education came to an abrupt end.
I met some interesting characters along the way, but probably the most memorable was a strange old dude walking around in the rain, who I saw at the foot of a hill. He looked at me and my monsterous load, looked at the hill and shook his head yelling out in a worried tone, "you've got a big haul ahead of you".
The hill wasn't too bad, and the reward at the top was a refill of my now empty drink bottles at the natural spring at the top, hearing the usual "you're crazy this time of the year" from a couple of others also replenishing their water supply. I put more air in more already fairly hard tyres, so they could handle the weight of my luggage and my hefty frame.
It was getting dark, so I stopped for dinner at a diner in Agassiz, a small red-neck town with some really nice old character buildings. I was in the middle of a conversation with the owner about riding her motorbike through Russia, when a friendly-looking, middle aged guy, John, came waltzing into the restaurant and asked me if it was my bike outside, as I probably had that 'I've been riding in the rain for hours' look all over me.
It turned out that John owned the Sasquatch Springs Holiday Camp in Harrison Hotsprings, about 7 clicks in the other direction, which was closed for winter. He offered me a free place to stay in his rec room where I could dry out my gear, "anyone riding their bike through BC in February deserves a free place to stay".
I made my way back through the dark wet night, quickly changed out of my wet clothes, and went with John, who shouted me to his weekly night Rotary dinner meeting, where he informed me I was a guest speaker. I gave a quick talk about my travels and preparations and ended up getting a few places along the way from other Rotarians.
I was during Bob's PowerPoint presentation about the Chilliwack leg of Rotary's project to build a herin santuary, when outside, lightning struck, with thunder very close behind, and then the rain came bucketing down. I was a very happy man that I was staying indoors that night.
9/2 After last night's torrential downpour, I was very happy to wake up and see dry, overcast weather outside.
After seeing no sign of John, I set off for Hope, looking forward to reaching the town for 4 reasons:
1) Before I really knew what riding a bike full of gear, I had planned to be there 2 days ago;
2) It was a psychological breakthrough as I was leaving the lower mainland;
3) It was at the foot of my first big hill and I was curious to see to see how I would cope; and
4) It was my scheduled lunch break.
I arrived in Hope, the chainsaw carving capital, just after midday. Before the entrance to the town, there was a large digital display above the road warning road users to look out for falling rocks and ice - I was eager to see what the road ahead had install for me.
After Dairy Queen for lunch and a half hour chat with a couple of ladies on their way to a spa-weekend-thing, I set off for my first uphill challenge up the almighty Hope-Princeton Highway. With snow now framing the side of the road, I was starting to see what I could expect for the next month or two.
The sweet scent of burning brake-pads gave me a good idea of what I was in for. I rode solidly for about 3 hours up the great incline, cruising between 5-7km/h, just enjoying the spectacular scenery around me.
I was surprised how well the climb went, raising 700m in altitude, although I was releived when I reached the top, where a friendly truckie took some snaps and then gave me the rundown on the road conditions ahead - mucky but fairly dry.
I set up camp just down from a service station, on one of very few flat areas of accessible snow that I saw on the roadside. I pitched my tent and had some delicious tinned chilli for dinner. My toes were pretty cold and numb from my snowboots which hadn't dried from yesterday's rain. Worried about frostbite, I put on two pairs of socks and wiggled my toes for almost an hour until I finally got feeling back in them.
10/2 I was warm and snug all night, and didn't sleep too bad considering I had pitched my tent just down from a truck rest area, whose roaring engines hummed bedtime lullabies all night.
It was an absolutely beautiful day, clear blue sky, with not a cloud in sight. The sub-zero temperatures didn't faze me, but unfortunately my bike didn't cope so well. Something that would be obvious to someone who had lived in Canada all of their life, but my drink bottles had frozen, as had my bike lock. I had a backup water supply in my water pack, and used a candle to thaw out the lock. The rear-derailer was frozen, so I was stuck in the easiest gear, which didn't really matter as the day's ride consisted almost entirely of uphill climbing.
The scenery was even more spectacular than the day before - Staligtites covering the roadside rocks with breathtaking snow-covered pine trees and mountains contrasting with the deep saphire-blue sky.
After 30kms of solid uphill climbing, the terrain finally took its tool. I started stopping more regularly, and by the time I nearly reached the top of the hill, I think I became slightly dillarious, thinking that a much flatter gradient uphill was actually downhill. I think it was because I was so used to the steep climb earlier. I couldn't figure out why I couldn't roll down without pedalling. I felt a similar sensation to what I had felt in the last 10kms of my marathon.
A couple of minutes later, and not a minute too soon, I reached the top of Allison Pass, at 1342m. After that, it was a cold downhill coast to the Manning Park Lodge, where I spent the night, dried my wet clothes and had the most incredible dinner and chocolate explosion cheesecake. I had worked up quite an appetite.
11/2 The thing I love about this is even when you absolutely stink of sweat and have frozen snot sticking to your face, everyone still talks to you. I spent my entire childhood trying to get passing truck drivers to honk their horns, with very little success, but now it is very regular. It is quite warming.
I left the lodge just after 8am, for my earliest start yet, fully kitted for the 15km downhill ride ahead of me. After that, it was up and down all day, on the part-mucky, and part-dusty roads. It was quite exhilirating after a long uphill, to ride down a fast windy downhill, around each bend revealing a panoramic view of the mountains.
Having more control of the bike, I was comfortably cruising at 40km/h down a lot of the hills through the fresh mountain air. I reached the Sunday Summit (1282m), just before midday, which was followed by a 3km, 8% decline, quite testing on the brakes.
My knees were giving me a bit of grief climbing up some of the hills, but other than that there were no problems today. My water was sensational - slightly frozen, tasting like a slurpy. As the mouthpiece was frozen, I had to open the nozzle to drink it.
I arrived in Princeton, a very friendly little town, and found a nice little diner with a salad bar and free refills of coke, which I took full advantage of. I ended up staying with a very nice couple, Neil and Sharron, who I met in the Internet Cafe, who had also riden across Canada, through New Zealand, to Aires rock in Australia from the coast, 20 countries in Europe, the US and just about everywhere - these people were pretty keen cyclists. That night we went to a fundraiser for the local figure skating team where I met some of the locals including the bike shop owner and his wife and Neil's dad who was a snow plow driver, who was a hoot.
12/2 Being cyclists themselves, Neil and Sharron knew how nice it was to have a good breakfast before a day of pedaling, so a good breakfast was what they gave me! A sensational real Canadian breakfast consisting of berry pancakes, peaches, blueberries, raspberries, apple sauce, all locally grown, bananas, maple syrup, pecan and whipped cream, an absolute feast. I stuffed as much as I could in before getting dropped off back in town by Neil, where my bike was being stored at the Internet cafe. I signed the log at the bike shop, the first for the year, and then set off on a side route that Neil had recommended, The Old Hedley Highway.
I followed the peaceful road along the path of the river, with mountains to my left and right. Since leaving Vancouver, me and my 3-wheeled contraption had been a prime target for every single neighbourhood dog to bark at, with only tall fences keeping them from chasing me to St. Johns, but here it was different. The lack of cars to share the road with on this rural route was counteracted with the frequency of loose dogs running around. I had my first experience when I had just reached the top of a rise, fairly tired from my small hill, I thought I would sit back and coast down the hill, when two full-grown, ferocious German Shepherds, came running at me, barking wildly. Fortunately as I was on a downhill I could ride relatively fast, and I pedalled as fast as my little legs could carry me to escape the angry canines. I was just catching my breath when a couple more littler dogs came yapping my way, so not wanting to have a mauling on my hands, I picked up the pace yet again and outran the savage muts. I went back to enjoying the prestine mountain scenery, fresh country air, when about 10 minutes later, a fairly large black mungruel came from nowhere, and started running along beside me, showing its full mouth of teeth and barking wildly, getting uncomfortably close to me ankles. Being a paperboy for years, I knew that dogs could sense fear, so I acted the opposite and putting on the meanest face I had, verbally abused the brutal animal with a few filthy words I had picked up in the playgrounds, and after running by my side for a bit, it retreated back to its home.
After that, there was no more, the odd bark or two, but all from behind secure fences.
I made my way to Hedley, a cute little mining town, with visible mines carved into the side of the mountain. I stopped for dinner at the Hitchin Post, a restaurant that Neil had recommended me because of its sizeable portions. The place lived up to its name and I was dished up a large pile of beef, which I enjoyed in the neat little restuarant cluttered with many tacky mining memorabilia, placed around it in a surprisingly tasteful way.
The meal seemed to give me a second wind, so I rode, well past sundown, I was in no mood to stop. The dusk air had an incredible ambience about it. I was in a spectactular valley, and the clear night air was exceptionally quiet except for the roar of my tires and the odd car passing ever couple of minutes.
I finally found a nice little spot on the side of the road where I pitched my tent and went straight to sleep.
13/2 I had an early rise, packed my things and set off down the road. It was less than 10kms down the road when I reached my first town for the day Keremees, or more appropriately, Fruitsville, BC. The sides of the highway were lined with Orchards and fruit stalls, which were unfortunately all closed for winter, so my desire for crisp apples was left unsatisfied.
I made my way past the next town, Cawston, and then along the breathtaking valley past more orchards, vineyards, cows and horse ranches.
A light flurry of snow fell, dropping from the sky weightlessly like fairies. I powered up the hill through Canada's only desert, and just over the summit, got a magnificent view of Osoyoos and the surrounding lake. It was downhill from there for more than 10kms, where I reached my top speed for the trip of 58.5km/h, in full control.
In Osoyoos, I was staying with Scott, a friend of my old roommate, Karen, who we had visited on the way to Nelson last summer. Scott showed me his photographs he took from his year in Africa, and then took me to the local Osoyoos Community dark room where he taught me the ins and outs of developing photographs. After the all-you-can-eat pasta special and a couple of the locally brewed ales at the local pub with him and his boarder, Dale, we returned home again, where I was ready for an early night.
Fahey and Les had driven all the way up to Osoyoos to surprise me, and saw me just before the last downhill into town, but when they tried to sneak up on me on their bicycles which they had carted all of the way up in the back of their truck, Fahey's front tyre blew out, and I, unknowingly, slipped off, never to be seen again. They drove around Osoyoos for hours looking for me, following a number of dud leeds, and unfortunately, their detective work was inadequate and we did not connect.
14/2 Today was the big day, it was the day of the Anarchist Mountain, which everyone had been warning me about since leaving Vancouver. I was pysched up for the occassion. Playing my most racey tunes, Tragically Hip, I reached the foot of the grand mountain, where I could see the early part of the road etching itself into the side of the great mountain. Without further delay, I started the almighty incline.
I set myself an easy pace and just rode casually up, enjoying the music and the view of the lake below, getting smaller and smaller as I rode to the heavens. I was little more than 2kms up, when a very friendly couple drove paste in their white wagon, with the camera out, ready to take a photo of me. Although I wasn't in my best photo-state, sweat covered, and probably looking a little exhausted, I posed for the photo. To my delight, the couple, still driving next to me, pulled out a bag containing a some nice looking cookies, of which looked too good to refuse, so I accepted the offer and attempted to grab them from the moving car. It took me 2 attempts, but I got hold of the nutricious snacks, although the excitement of the cookies caused me to loose balance, and I fell to the gravel road below for my first crash of the trip.
I think the couple felt pretty bad, so they immediately pulled over to help me up. I felt bad for making them feel bad, and as I was only going little more than 5km an hour, I didn't hurt myself at all. It turned out the the man in the relationship had done some cycling. In a nutshell, the couple were very nice and offered me a place to stay if I made it to Calgary.
I pulled myself together, and started the ride, saying goodbye to the friendly pair and soldiered on up the hill. Things started to chill and the light snow fall turned into a a denser fall, with little visibility at times. The road quickly became white, covered with a coating of snow. Each time I looked back, I could see my tracks in the snow, and I was surprised how much I was all over the road, the wobbly path I created gave a sign of my random route. It looked quite impressive, and sounded even better, as the noise my bike usually made was completely muted by the snow, as were passing vehicles including trucks. It created a peaceful presence.
The road became fairly slippery, but if I didn't do anything too sudden, I was seemingly unaffected by the conditions. I finally reached the top, after almost 4 solid hours of pedalling, at 1233m, almost 1000m up from Osoyoos way below.
I was looking for the town Rock Creek, which I had understood was close to the summit, so I rode on without putting anymore warm layers on. It turned out Rock Creek was at the foot of the Anarchist mountain on the other side, so by the time I reached it I was pretty cold, with a numb face, toes and fingers. I had slowed down the travels of 2 snow plows (probably the same plow, but 2 separate occasions) and numerous other vehicles. I did not take it too fast down the hill as my brakes were fairly unresponsive and it was pretty slippery in the conditions.
I reached the pub at Rock Creek, a nice wee establishment playing good music, where I lay everything out to dry, and had a burger and a beer, while all of my body parts thawed out.
Feeling a little warmer, with circulation now streaming freely around my body, I befriended the pub's owner and played a few games of pool. He didn't turn out to be a bad guy, and as the place seemed to have a warm and friendly atmosphere, I decided to maek it my bed for the night.
After putting my bike in a storage room in the pub, negotiating it and its trailor awkwardly through two skinny doorways, I returned to pub where I ended up spending the evening with a couple of brothers, Art and Doug. They referred to themselves as "the last of the Mohegans", as they were the last Indians in Rock Creek. I had a few beers with the guys, played a bit of pool, sparked up a few songs on the duke box, sung a little and altogether had an excellent night with my newfound friends. Not the traditional way to see in Valentines Day, but an experience.
15/2 I woke up in the hotel room. The big cheesy Japanese fan was still on the wall above the bed and the china ducks still flew south on the wall opposite, the hotel room fresh from the sixties wasn't some psychadelic dream, I was sleeping in a true peice of history. It turned out the pub/hotel, the Prospector Pub, was the longest continually operating pub in British Columbia. It still had all of its original charm including the decor, which may not have been bracing its walls since its erection in 1894, but certainly had been for a long time.
After breakfast I ventured outside, overjoyed that yesterday's storm had passed, and it was a clear blue day outside. The town of Rock Creek was pretty cute, it was an old mining town at the foot of the mountain, with turn of the century buildings dotting the two streets that made up the junction town.
I rode on in the sunshine, stopping for lunch at the railway museum (closed for winter), in Midway, for lunch. It was a nice break, I sat out and basked in the sun and the unseasonably warm conditions, where for the first time in a while, I could feel the sun cooking my bones. I savoured the delicious cookies that had so kindly been given to me the day before.
The next town, Greenwood, was neat as well. It was another historic mining town, probably the most grand of the towns I had been past, with a large brick water tower, and many character cottages randomly dotted on the hillside, their roofs covered with a thick layer of snow. The main street still had all of its original buildings, of course including a nice pub. I lay down on the ground to get the camera ready for a timer shot, when someone saw me, did a big turn in the middle of the highway and drove up next to me with a worried look on the passenger's face. They had seen me lying on the pavement, and had thought I was dead or dying. It was fairly entertaining.
There were no more towns until Grand Forks, but a few run down, wooden barns that looked like they were going to collapse under the weight of the snow that blanketed the roof lines of the rickety structures. The familiar aroma of horse and cow dung helped add to the atmosphere of the countryside.
It was downhill for about the last 20km into Grand Forks, a nice gradient, which was fast enough to compell me down the hill at a good pace, but not so ridiculously steep that I had to hold the brakes. I was much better clothed that yesterday, so I was much warmer.
I stopped at the Donut shop, where I met up with Carl, an lifelong friend of Dave, a friend of my old roommate Fahey. He was an absolutely great guy. It turned out he used to play a bit of rugby and spent a year down in Havelock North, New Zealand, picking apples.
Carl took me to his and his wife Isabels' home, for some incredible hospitality. The best meal I had consumed in a long time, a huge steak, mashed potatoes, salad, corn and chocolate cake and strawberries for dessert. It was a feast the I would have riden through the snow for a month for.
16/2 Up for an early breakfast of pancakes with Carl and his friend Ross, who was coming for us for a day in the snow, snowboarding at the local mountain, Red Mountain, about a one hour drive away.
I borrowed Ross's board and bindings, and another of Carl's friends, Rivot's, boots. As Carl was a certified snowboard instructor, he gave me a lesson and then left me on my own accord to get down the hill, back up again and so on. It was a glorious day, and the view from the top of the mountain of the mountain ranges all around was sensational.
The atmosphere on the mountain was pretty good, a lot of the people seemed to be local and it wasn't as commercialized as some of the other fields in British Columbia. There was a disproportionate number of New Zealanders sliding down the slopes, including one I sat next to on the lift from Te Puke, a small town of 3,000 people where my Grandpa used to live and we used to visit just about every Christmas.
I met Carl and Ross for lunch - a big plate of nachos and fries, and skied for a little more before making our way back to Grand Forks, indulging in Carl's homemade wine on the journey.
Carl went off to soccer practice and I had dinner with Isabel, before greasing my chain. Carl came home from soccer with one of his team mates, his wife and 7 week old baby. We all had chocolate cake before making our way outside to the hot tub, when we consumed more of Carl's wine.
The night got later and Carl's soccer mate had to go home, so we went to the local saloon with Ross and his two cousins visiting from Australia, for a few beers and a bit of pool.
It was awesome to have a day off and give the joints and muscles a bit of time to recover from the constant pounding that they had taken over the past week or so.
17/2 After saying my goodbyes to my unfaultable host Carl, I set off under crisp, clear blue skies. The chain greasing from yesterday was well worth while and the bike was running like a dream.
I made it to Christina Lake for lunch. Chistina Lake was in all her glory as she glistened in the sunlight, her glassy waters providing a near perfect reflection of the mountains that surrounded her.
The road around Christina lake was the last piece of flat highway that I was to see that day, as I left the low elevation to climb to the Paulson summit, the road which we had driven up on the way to skiing yesterday, so I already knew of the big climb ahead of me.
I slogged away up the mountain riding up some long straights where the corner at the end did not seem to be getting any closer. I chased the sun up the hill, stopping for a rest whenever it cast a ray of light through one of the valleys.
I stopped at a small clearing about 1km shy of the 1535m summit that Carl had suggested yesterday. It was about 300m from the highway and provided a nice setting, surrounded with pine trees, to pitch my tent.
I parked my bike and went for a walk to catch the last of the daylight before the sun set to behind the mountains. I waded through some snow up small hill which gave a surreal view of the magnificient mountains around me, elegantly rising above the forests below. The setting sun tinted the mountains with a pastel pink colour. The full moon now shone proudly above.
I returned to camp, where I pitched my tent and then cooked dinner, a tin of ravaloli, under the clear night sky.
The sky now a rich indigo, was lit up with the full moon, which projected a rich stream of light to land below. The clean, white snow all around glowed, with its contours now very obvious. The tall, thin pine trees provided spectacular silhouettes against the night sky, with the snow resting on its branches like blankets, glowing in the moonlight. Apart from the odd car or truck on the highway every few minutes, it was absolutely silent and still.
It was now a crisp -14° C and getting colder, so after dinner and cleaning my teeth with my frosen-bristelled toothbrush, I took refuge in my snug, down sleeping bag.
18/2 My breakfast which consisted of a tin of chilli, took about 30 minutes to cook, as it had frozen in its can and needed to be thawed on the element before I could spoon it out into the pot. It did taste very good and was well worth the considerable preparation.
I left, two tins lighter and rode the short distance to the summit, before a long downhill glide to the town of Castlegar for lunch.
Shortly after lunch the sun burnt away the high cloud, and I happily rode along the attractive Kootney river, past an old suspention bridge and then numerous dams, generating power for the province.
I made it to Nelson with about an hour left of sunlight, so casually rode around the cute small city, taking in its charming, well maintained, character buildings that lined the streets, which were buzzing with activity, in its impressive amphitheatre between the mountains.
Pulling into the busy hostel, I was immediately bombarded with interest from the other guests. After quite an impressive entry, I was dissappointed to discover that it was a long weekend in the United States and a bunch of them had come up and fulled the place. I called Bryn and Fahey in Vancouver hoping they could give me some names, and ended up staying the night with Bryn's friend Greg, better known as droopy. He lived right at the top of a steep street overlooking Nelson. His house was like a railway station, people coming and going all evening, popping in for a few drinks. I ended up sleeping the night in the lounge with two others sprawled out on the couches.
19/2 Today was longest day on the saddle and in kilometres, breaking the 100km in a day barrier for the first time since leaving Vancouver almost 2 weeks ago.
After a traditionally Nelson breakfast of scrambled tofu and tortilla, I left mid-morning. Through town and over the bright orange bridge, I headed east, enjoying the the local radio station BKR FM. I was about 10km past the bridge when a couple in a big pickup truck came driving past me yelling something out, of which I didn't hear a word of as booming in my ears was a George Michael rendition of Police's Roxanne. The truck stopped and the driver signalled for me to stop. I turned off my tunes and pulled over to hear what the man had to say. It turned out that he had seen the bright yellow flag that used to fly high from the side of my saddle bag on the side of the road back by the orange bridge. I was a very happy that he had stopped to tell me this, but at the same time, I was gutted that I would have to ride back to get it. But as yet another example of Canadian kindness, the man offered to drive back and get it, urging me to ride on and he would catch up to me.
I saw the couple about 20 minutes later with my flag, and thanking the couple profusely, I rode on. The sun was streaming down, and my ride along the side of Kootenay Lake was awe-inspiring. To one side of me the lake glistened, with golden sandy beaches, dotted with canoes, kayaks and mini catamarans, looking very summery, while on the other side of me was snow lining the side of the road, at the foot of tall, snow-capped mountains.
I arrived at the Kootenay Bay ferry, and had lunch in a pleasant snack bar, while I waited for the ferry to arrive. The ferry is the longest free ferry in North America, and I was given special treatment by the very friendly ferry staff. I was allowed on first, and then was taken up to wheel room, to enjoy the 40 minute ferry ride with the great guys working on it, with panoramic views of the Kootney Lake. Although the ride up to now had been through incredible scenery, today was the most spectacular day I had had. The locals described the area as mini Switzerland.
On the other side of the lake, the road winded around the coast, with grand snow covered mountains dropping into lake below, casting a silver tinting over the water.
There were a few cute little towns I passed through including the 'Metric Free' Gray Creek, a town that seemed to be proud of being backward by still using the imperial system. A pair of deer on the side of the road hopped away when they saw me.
The sun set and night came, the large moon lighting up the the mountains, whose reflection was even more clear and defined than that I had seen on Christina Lake just two days ago.
After about two hours of riding in the darkness, it started to take its toll. It took a lot of concentration to focus on the unlit highway, and my dim headlight did little to remedy the situation. Every couple of minutes when a car came by, with its headlights blinding me, it took a couple of seconds to readjust to the darkness.
I don't know if it was the long distance I had pedalled, the twilight riding, or a combination of them both, but I was pretty exhausted, so when I saw Bryn's father, Bob, in his truck about 5km outside of Wynndel, I was a pretty happy man. Bob took me to his and Margo's beautiful house on a strawberry farm, where I was spoilt with some fine hospitality.
20/2 It was hard to leave the Wyka's of Wynndel, because although I had only been there one night I was getting very used to the lovely residence, the impressive mountain views and Margo's baking which almost always consisted of a large portion of the finest Belgium chocolate.
After a delicious breakfast of bacon and eggs, I spent the morning on the Internet updating the site and catching up on email. It conveniently took all morning and by chance, I happened to be there for lunch, tasty hot dogs with some weird, meaty, European sausage and more Belgium chocolate cookies. Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I finally left just before 4pm, packing a stack of cookies.
The day was yet again blue skies. I road down a quiet and scenic road that Bob had suggested all the way to Creston, up the hill, and past the famous Kokanee Brewery.
I wasn't too far out of town, and even though I was in a new time zone and had an extra hour of sunlight, it started getting dark and I was getting tired of the deceiving road that looked flat but was a gradual uphill, so I pulled over to a nice spot on the side of the road, and made camp for the night.
21/2 I awoke an hour later than usual as I was still adjusting to the new time zone. After repacking everything onto the bike, I set off up along the fairly gentle road, zig zagging back and fowards across the Moyie River.
I was only a couple of hours into my ride when I thought I heard a faint, yet familiar noise, far into the distance. I heard it again, this time louder, as I was closer to the source of the soothing tune. It was the solo baa from a woolly sheep, something I had not heard for a while, except for a few cheap imitations from people trying to hassle me because of my heritage. I looked down off the road where there was a small flock of my woolly friends, with a shaggy sheep dog proudly standing guard on a post above them. Another cry from a sheep, and then they all started, singing like a hamonic quior, with the shaggy dog adding to the symphony with a throaty bark. I don't know if they were acknowledging my sheepskin seat cover or just the vehicle I was pedalling, but whatever it was, it was a very special moment, and probably the highlight of today's ride.
I rode past Yahk and then onto Moyie, a neat little down on a lake, which had frozen over and was covered in snow. A character, wooden church stood elegantly above the town, with the rest of the structures dotting the landscape down to the lake. I stopped for lunch at what seemed to be the only food spot in town, a gas station/grocery store, where I savoured a couple of microwaved cheeseburgers and a banana.
After the leaving the scenic lake, the ride wasn't much longer to Cranbrook, where I was staying in a lovely little house with Cam and Sandy, and their three kids who had all just returned from Australia after a 1-year teaching exchange. After a great pasta dinner, carbo-loading for tomorrow and a play put on by the three young guys, Emma, Wynter and Madison, I finished up on the Internet and went to bed for a rest.
22/2 I was up with the kids early this morning for waffles and maple syrup and then onto the school Cam teaches at, Baker High School, for a presentation about cycling across Canada to a class of Grade 11 (Form 6) Social Studies students.
I returned back to Cam and Sandy Trueman's residence where I unloaded all of my gear except a warm sweater and rode free like I never had before. It was quite a different experience riding with no weight again, but it felt good to feel so light.
I rode out to the Three Bars Ranch, owned by some friends of the Trueman's. A magnificient property just outside of Cranbrook. When I finally arrived at cattle-grated entrance the estate, I realised that I still had a 3-km trek up the driveway to the main lodge.
The lodge itself was a grand oversized log cabin with a large shist chimney and a fine view of the Rockies, which were partially showing themselves through the clouds in the distance. I met the owner's son, Tyler, one of Cam's former students, who showed me the equally impressive interior to the main lodge, decorated with a large buffalo hyde and a large stag's head mounted above the pool table.
We played a round of pool, before Tyler's girlfriend, Jill, took me for a tour of the ranch including the old, character stables of which they had some authentic horse-stuff from a while ago. I knew that I wasn't that knowledgable about stallions and maires, but I was even more ignorant than I thought, having to ask questions after about everything that Jill had to say.
The next leg of the tour took us into the new stables - heated, very clean and new, nicer than the average suburban house, of which the horses bathed in the comforts of horse-med. The setup also consisted of a large indoor arena, where the horses were trained to do equestrian, in addition to many other little log-cabin styled buildings that were mostly accomodation for the predominantly East-Coast Americans that frequent the establishment.
I got a ride back into town with Tyler, where I went to the local computer store on 11th and 1st and scanned in the trip photos, and then returned to Trueman's house for yet another lovely dinner and very entertaining evening with my hosts and their friends Rod and Colleen and their two kids Jordan and Jasmine. Rod had ridden across Canada in May '76 on a thin-tyred ten speed with $400, from the East to the West, and gave an interesting perspective on things.
23/2 An early start to the day, on the road before 9am - I think the effects of the time change had warn off. I left Cranbrook and my very hospitable hosts and headed towards my first destination of Fort Steel.
Fort Steel was a blast from the past, an old town, seemingly unchanged from the boom years of the 1890s when the town thrived with gold miners. It looked like the scene from a western movie. I walked around the historic streets enjoying the old wooden buildings that had been lovingly restored, when an old guy in a pickup truck came driving up to me and offered me a coffee. I don't normally go with strangers, but he looked nice and I was keen to get out of the rain.
I joined the friendly old guy and all of the other people who were doing maintenance on the town for a warm cuppa in the Wasa hotel, the focal point of the town. They had some interesting stories about Fort Steel.
I left Fort Steel and my new friends and rode down the Bull River Highway. It was a very pretty road, running along at the foot of the Canadian Rockies, whose peaks were covered with the clouds that were raining on me as I rode. The highway proved to be very peaceful with only three cars overtaking me in the first hour of the road, with traffic becoming a bit more frequent as I got closer to Bull River.
Back on the main highway, the rain had passed, with the mountain peaks finding their way through the fluffy clouds. I had just riden through the town of Elko when a sign on the side of the road caught my eye. It was a sign with last year's road-kill count, with small posted number beside each animal, that reminded of a scores posted on the scoreboard at a cricket match. The sign read:
Road Kills
Wildlife killed by vehicles on Highway 3 between Elko and the Alberta border (about 80km away)
1999
Bear 8
Bighorn Sheep 3
Elk 41
Deer 62
Moose 6
While I felt sorry for the animals, and the people who hit the moose, at the same time I knew that this was a sign of a lot of animals near the road that I was riding on. It was literally around the next corner when I saw a trio of bighorn sheep clambering up the side of the steep cliff, munching on clumps of grass. One of them heard me coming and scrambled for safety, sending a few rocks down the hill, starting a mini rock slide, some of which managed to make their way to the highway below.
I kept my eye out for more animals as I pedalled on, hoping to see a moose, but there were no signs of them.
The Rockies were awesome. More grand and rugged than any of the mountains that I had seen in the rest of British Columbia. Everywhere I looked could have quite easily been a postcard.
I was surrounded with mountains, a little worried about having to actually ride over one to reach Fernie, but the road kept winding its way through gulleys between the mountains and the road remained relatively flat.
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