They put all that delicious candy right at the cashier, and at a child's eye level, all for a perfect reason. Either your child will see candy and demand some, or you will see it at the last moment and say, what the heck. We often make flash decisions based on a whim, and as such, it may be true of my admonition of Canada about a week ago. Coming into Canada, I hit a little bicycle tourer low after a strong stretch of awesomeness. The traffic, plus increased prices, and lack of cycling accommodations all combined to make a grumpy Bingler. Well, now that I can smell the sweet stank of the USA, what say I now?
Cycling the Icefields Parkway was truly an amazing two day event. Not only did I see glaciers on top of mountains, but one literally came down to the road, part of the Columbia Icefield. The colors, smells, sounds all made a remarkable experience that I would be hard pressed to not want others to live. Leaving Jasper National Park, I crossed the continental divide for the lucky #9th time, and entered the pacific timezone. I was also now in Mt Robson Provincial Park. Mt Robson is the highest peak in the Canadian Rockies, and even though it was cloudy when I saw it, it still dominated the skyline. I hit my most northern point before swinging south and ending a cold, rainy day in Valemount. A foggy, cold morning greeted me, but so did the start of the Thompson River Valley. This valley, at the northern part, was unlike all the other valleys I had cycled in because it wasn't huge; it was tight, hugging, squeezing me on all sides. To my left and right were towering walls of green pine trees, rocks and hidden waterfalls all there for me to discover. The day turned sunny and I cycled all day before some stealth camping at a rest stop where Western Union long ago had left wires in the hopes of creating an international wire line to Europe.
Blue skies, warm winds (head winds of course) and I was on my way, passing through the little towns of Clearwater, Little Fort and Barriere. A pleasant day of cycling as the valley started getting wider and wider as the Thompson river grew in size. The traffic was also growing in size, the logging trucks seemed to multiply at the blink of an eye. When a logging truck passes you, it sucks you in and then swoops the air all over you. When a logging truck comes the opposite way of you, it sucks you in and then bashes you in the face with a wall of wind. Wonderful either way. Another day of camping along the banks of the Thompson in Barriere.
I left the highway and put my faith in a map (mistake). The back road would cut a bunch of miles and help me stay off the highway, and it indicated a dirt part, so I knew it was coming. And come it did, and it wasn't so bad. Sure, the logging trucks were still there, but they were few and I got a quiet ride with birds and herons and hawks and secret waterfalls for my eyes only. But then...but then... The road that crossed the Trans Canadian Highway was meant to be paved the ENTIRE way. But it wasn't. Not even for 1 mile. I had a choice. Cycle 30 miles on a dirt road of varying quality, or take the god awful highway for 24 miles. I choose god awful. The shoulder was pretty good, the traffic pretty bad, but my hiccup came when my normally smooth ride started lumping, up and down. And I knew. I didn't need to look. I didn’t need to feel or to hear. I knew I had a flat. Though it should be impossible to get a flat on a Schwable marathon Plus, even they can puncture when you run over an industrial sized staple. So, stripping Eduardo of all my gear (Eduardo told me later that he felt ashamed being upside down, naked on the side of the road), I struggled for 30 minutes to patch the flat while the trucks and cars zoomed by. Finally, I was on my way and arrived in Salmon Arm to realize where I was camping, as is always the case, was at the other end of town and up many steep hills. Some days just go like that.
And some days don't. There is little else as pure, elating and life affirming than a single superb day on a bicycle. Whether traveling 100 miles on a year long bike journey, or cycling around town on a warm summer day visiting friends. The bicycle transports us physically, but emotionally as well. Riding a bicycle releases chemicals in our bodies that elate our mood, riding a bicycle brings us into communion with the winds, the terrain, the planet that lives under, around and above us. You smell the world, you hear the creeks, the hidden animals scurrying off, you know the gentle roll of the planet. And you see others on bikes and you smile, you and them are part of a community. In all my time bicycle touring, I have never seen someone walk over to someone in a car and ask them about their trip, where they are going, etc. But, every time I stop anywhere, someone will come up to me and start a conversation. It's not too often now a days for people to engage in conversations with strangers. But that’s another thing a bicycle does, it makes you vulnerable and brings out the warmth and kindness in humans. A bicycle is a bicycle, and its a bridge. It can take us to such great places, what we do when we get there is up to us.
From Salmon Arm I continued south towards the touristy towns of Vernon and Kelowna, crossing the lake into West Kelowna for a stay at a warmshower host. It was two days of, excuse my french, "circulation routière horrible et laide". With little option for other routes, I was forced to ride the often litter and rock strewn highway shoulder for many, many miles. Now, in the Okanagan Valley, the semi arid desert landscape has opened up a huge valley before me that shall lead me south to the United States border tomorrow. Once in the US, I go south a wee bit before turning west and crossing through the Cascade mountains and freewheeling it into Seattle in about a week. If you happen to have not yet sent me mail there, do so now to:
Ross Guberman
Sonadei, LLC
PO Box 99133
Seattle, WA 98139-0313
Naturally, see all the ups and downs via photographs of my two weeks in Canada at picasaweb.google.com/rossbikepics. And so, farewell to Canada, which tested me in many ways, offered up it's most splendid beauty, cost me a pretty canadian penny, and taught me to better understand the old hiker adage: The difference between an ordeal and adventure is your mindset. Till next in the USA, keep pedaling and keep smiling.
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