Thorn Cycles Forum
Community => Cycle Tours => Topic started by: John Saxby on June 11, 2016, 12:01:02 am
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...less than a week from today, I take the VIA train from Ottawa to Toronto, the first leg of my Tour des montagnes. From June 16, I'll be offline and out of sight until the third week of July. Here's why:
With Osibisa, my Raven, in the baggage car, I'm due to reach Hinton, Alberta, around midday on June 21st. This is the starting point of my tour of the western mountains. From Hinton, I ride west towards the Rockies, and the northern terminus of the Icefields Parkway, Jasper. From Jasper, I head south towards Banff, Canmore, Crowsnest Pass, and the US border. From there, I continue south to Glacier National Park, and then westwards via the Road to the Sun across the Continental Divide towards Idaho, Washington State, and the Pacific Coast. In this westward leg, there's a zig north to visit friends in Nelson, BC, and a zag back south to Kettle Falls, WA. From there, due west through Cascadia to Whidbey Island.
Here are two tiny urls to google maps which show the route, mileage, and altitude profile:
Hinton to Bonner’s Ferry, Idaho (about 1160 kms): http://tinyurl.com/hcz3ytj (http://tinyurl.com/hcz3ytj)
Bonner’s Ferry to Whidbey Island, WA (about 1003 kms):http://tinyurl.com/je6eleb (http://tinyurl.com/je6eleb)
From Whidbey, I'll catch the ferry to Everett, WA, and from there, take the Amtrak back east, to Seattle, Chicago, and finally Utica, in upstate NY. Utica is about 3 - 4 hours' drive S of Ottawa, and Marcia, bless her, will drive down to collect Osi 'n' me.
I'm taking the Amtrak back east because the price is about 40% of the fare charged by VIA, but also as my homage to this man, and his fine tribute to railways in the States:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXGFKpWUOW0 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXGFKpWUOW0) (I'm heading east, not south, but it's in the same spirit.)
This trip has been a while in the making: Back in the early '70's, on my first road trip across Canada, much of it on the newly-opened Trans-Canada Highway, I passed some cyclists going east up Rogers Pass, and thought, "Hey, I gotta do some of that one day." (Not sure I'd cycle the TCH on Rogers Pass these days, the truck traffic being what it is, but those were early and more innocent days.) In later years, I've travelled the Icefields Parkway between Banff and Jasper, on two wheels and four, and the same impulse returns, to make the journey on my bike. It's taken a while to get things organized, what with work and family commitments, and now there's a wee bit of urgency, too, as I've learned that Canada's mountains are eroding rather less slowly than my reserves of strength and endurance. More soberly, as I approach 70 next year, I've seen too many friends pass before their time, and others struggling with debilitating diseases. So, while I still have the privilege of good health, there's no reason to delay.
This will be demanding, I'm sure, but manageable too, I hope. I have planned about 23 cycling days for the 2100+ kms, about 95 kms a day, or about 6 hours in the saddle each day at 16 kms/hr. (The variables, of course, are weather and terrain, and any unforeseen reasons to change the route.) There's space for some shorter days as well, and for a break in Nelson. I'm early enough in the season that I should be able to avoid very hot days; the flip side is that with my luck, I'll get cloud-mist-rain-cold weather on the northern part of the Icefields Parkway, from Jasper to the Columbia Glacier at the summit. (I was trying to negotiate with Rual to borrow his camera so I'd get brilliant sunshine, but he wasn't biting.) I'll camp when I can, but I have a Hostel Int'l membership in case the weather gets really crappy on the Parkway; and in the states, there are inexpensive motels if I need to dry out.
I do expect that I'll see some splendid scenery nevertheless, and you'll see some photos too. I'll keep a journal, but I won't start to assemble it until I've finished my tour on Whidbey, and on the train back home. With luck and a bit of discipline, I'm hoping to post that here and on crazyguy in late July or (more likely) late August.
Enjoy your summer rides, may they all be safe and adventurous (but devoid of adversity) and we'll be in touch ... eventually :-)
Tailwinds, all -- John
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Best wishes.
I'm sure everyone here will look forward to hearing about your tour.
Tailwinds and cold beers to you.
Matt
😉
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I have been on the Glacier Waterton loop including Crows Nest Pass (rather flat, if you did not see the sign you would not realize you are going over the continental divide), Waterton Park, and Going to the Sun Road. You are going to have an outstanding time.
Your day between Waterton and the East side of Glacier will be a tough day, there are several very steep very tall hills.
When I got to Logan Pass, there were a bunch of roadies with their ultra light bikes, I suspect they were part of a supported tour group. When I went riding past them with my Sherpa loaded down with four panniers, the Ortlieb 31 liter duffle on top and handlebar bag, the roadies just stared in amazement that someone could ride a loaded touring bike up the hill. I tried to make them feel like wimps, but I don't think I succeeded. The uphill section of Going to the Sun Road going from east to west is not too steep, I think it was roughly 5.5 to 6 percent grade if I recall correctly, it was much less steep than the prior day.
Going down the west side of Going to the Sun Road, I stopped twice to check my rim temperature, first time it was not too bad and I got right back on the road. Second time I decided to wait for about 5 to 10 minutes for my rims to cool off. I do not know if that prevented a blow out but it gave me time for a few more photos.
There is a cycling restriction on the west end of Glacier Park, cycles are banned on part of the road between Sprauge and Apgar campgrounds for most of the day, I do not recall what time the ban ends but it might be about 4 pm. Both Sprauge and Apgar have hiker biker campsites. Those campsites are designated for people without motorized vehicles, they charge per person instead of per site, the price is quite reasonable. Sprauge is a nice smaller campground whereas Apgar is much larger. But Apgar is near a small store and restaurant, whereas Sprauge has no amenities of any significance.
Whitefish has a good bike shop, Glacier Cyclery, they sell Going to the Sun Road jerseys if you are looking for a souvenir. I planned to buy one when I finished my trip in Whitefish, but forgot to. But last year a neighbor went out there on a supported tour, she bought one for me.
http://www.glaciercyclery.com/shop/mens-going-to-the-sun-jersey/
I have not been west of Whitefish where you are going, can't comment on that.
Amtrak, I prefer window seats on the train over aisle seats. And I prefer the shady side of the train, not the sunny side. A bit cooler in mid day if the sun is not shining on you and the sun is not shining in your eyes. I think the scenery looks better that way too.
The Amtrak Empire Builder train goes through a lot of scenic country, but also through a lot of rather dull area. I spent a lot of time in the lounge car, it was a bit less cramped and more scenic. I assume you will have a coach seat, not one of their small rooms. More than two days on that train can get a bit old and it can get a bit pricey if you are buying all your food on the train. I suggest getting on the train with a lot of picnic supplies such as bread, cheese, crackers, summer sausage, and maybe some snack foods. I however always ate the cheapest breakfast in the dining car that they had, it came with coffee for a reasonable price. Some reading materials can help cut the boredom. I had a 7 inch Android tablet with a bunch of files I wanted to read. The seats have 110 AC outlets for charging, etc. If you have not ridden Amtrak before, their luggage policies are much better than airlines. But they are firm on the weight limit for checked bags. If you have not used an Amtrak bike box before, they are huge. You keep both wheels on the bike, pull off the pedals and do something with the handlebars. My Sherpa is a tall size, I need to remove the handlebars to make it fit in the box.
You will have a great time.
I attached the limit for photos. My campsite in Sprague, Crows Nest, the Border, the place I stopped to let my rims cool off. Do not take photos of the border from the USA side, the US border guards will think you are a terroist, but the Canadians did not mind at all.
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Thanks, George, that's very helpful, especially the heads-up on the stretch between Waterton and the border. Your info on the actual grade of the Going to the Sun is valuable, too. To get an early start on the climb, I may stop the night at St Mary or perhaps the first campground in the park from the East, depending on where & when I stop near Crowsnest/Pincher and beyond -- I've thought of camping at Belly River, just before the border, a short day to the eastern side of the park.
I was aware of the restriction on the Going-to-the-Sun road, from both journals on crazyguy and the Glacier NP website, and had sorta set my dials for camping at either Sprague or Apgar. About 8 years ago, we did a family holiday in the area and spent a few days in cabins at Apgar -- lovely spot.
Whitefish SP has apparently set aside a biker camping area as well, so I might stop there as I go through Whitefish. Thanks too for the reference to Glacier Cyclery. I rang them to ask their advice on a back-country NFD road between the 93 and the 37 (beside the Koocanusa R) and they confirmed that it's quite doable on a touring bike.
Your reminder on keeping the rims cool is very welcome, too. I replaced my pads with new Koolstop salmon pads, but have a spare set if necessary.
Hoping now that the current cool-wet weather on the norther part of the Parkway eases in the next ten days -- happily, any forecast of more than about 3 days in most parts of Canada is pretty much guesswork.
Cheers,
John
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Thanks, Matt, and safe travels in sunny Sri Lanka.
John
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Thanks John. Kind of you to remember.
Sometimes I think I enjoy the prep for my tours as much as actually doing them!
This one will be my first solo abroad. No one else to blame when things go wrong and just me to take the credit when it goes well.😉
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There is a huge campground in Waterton Villiage, we stayed there our last night in Canada before going down to St Mary.
I do not know if the salmon pads wear faster than the normal pads. Two years ago after I finished my Astoria OR to San Fransisco CA (892 miles or roughly 1300 km) Pacific Coast trip, my brake pads were almost gone. I suspect in the rockies you will wear out pads just as fast, but if the Salmon pads wear faster, ... ... keep an eye on them.
Attachments, photo of my brake pads from my Pacific Coast trip, the elevation profile for the day before Going to the Sun road (15 July 2012) with the steep hills, and the elevation profile from Going to the Sun road (16 July 2012) and map for my day of Going to the Sun Road. The day we did Going to the Sun Road, we went to Apgar and ate restaurant food there, it was not cheap but the tour group had it in the budget. The start of that day was at a private campground at St Mary, I do not recall the name of the Campground. The profiles and map are from my GPS data and the Garmin Mapsource software, screen shots converted to photo format.
I went out there to be part of a tour group but I hated to go that far without spending some time there so I went early and spent several days at Glacier park before I joined the tour group. That was fun, I spent a couple days using their free shuttle bus that runs on Going to the Sun Road.
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Tailwinds, John. That will be an inspiring ride, and you seem to have planned it in extensive detail. I especially like the "modesty" of "only" 95 kilometers per day within so ambitious a plan. I look forward to your report.
Coming up for 70 is just the right age to be young at heart — with proper planning!
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So excited you're on the cusp of your Big Tour, John. May it be all you hope and filled with just the "right" kinds of Adventure!
All the best,
Dan.
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Happy trails, John.
If you pass through Burlington at the end of your voyage on a weekend, PM me. It's a nice day ride from my front door (100 km) and I would enjoy the opportunity to meet up.
Ron
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That's an awesome ride you have planned, John! And you'll again be in my neighborhood, plus or minus a thousand miles or so! Your route includes bit of US-89 which runs right through Ogden, UT. One of my big fantasies these days is just to ride that road up to Glacier. Enjoy your adventure!
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Thanks for your good wishes and well-chosen advice, guys.
Tracking the forecasts for the Jasper end of the parkway, the weather sounds good for a change: high teens, sunny and cool. BUT. Ah, jeez, there' always a "but": there's a chance that the admin staff of VIA Rail will be on strike in the next day or two. Their contract expired in December 2015. One would think, one would think, given the high-profile fuss about climate change and all, that the new gvt would give a nudge to VIA management to Do the Right Thing and keep the trains running. I'm hoping that this will be a last-minute-to-midnight agreement. We'll find out in a few hours' time.
Will keep you posted. Meantime, I've worked through packing my gear and some food--there's always the tension between weight, the terrain and weather of the mountains, and enough carrying capacity--and I'll do a last ride on my Raven, loaded this time, up into the hills across the river tomorrow. It'll be a bit slower than my training rides...
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Looking forward to hearing about how your shakedown cruise goes, John; please keep us apprised on that and the possible rail strike. What rotten luck and timing if it happens! Fingers crossed for your good luck.
All the best,
Dan.
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You are going to have a great time if they can avoid the strike.
I can't say anything about VIA, but Amtrak is quite reasonable for luggage for cyclists. The photo shows the gear for two people. My duffle with red ends and black sides, it was my carry on to have on the train. The size of it would have qualified as a full size piece of luggage to check on an airline, but Amtrak allowed it as a carry on. The duffle with blue ends and black sides was also mine, it was my checked gear, this would have been oversize if on an airline. And, one of the bike boxes was mine. But, they were firm about the weight limit of 50 pounds for each checked item. I do not recall the cost for the bike box and shipping that box as one of my allowed two pieces of free checked items, but it was quite inexpensive to buy the box and pay the bike fee compared to airlines.
The duffels have mesh sides and thin nylon ends, quite light and they sat in the bottoms of my rear panniers during my ride. If my notes are correct, the duffels were 340 and 410 grams empty, thus carrying them on my tour was not a concern at all, I almost forgot I was carrying them.
The photo is at Portland Amtrak station in May 2014 shortly before I got onto a shuttle bus.
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Thanks, George.
Just learned that VIA and the union reached a tentative agreement just before midnight yesterday, as I'd hoped. Nothing like an assured drop in summer-holidays revenue to concentrate the mind :-)
I'll do my short shakedown cruise this aft in the hills, a chance to remind myself what 8 - 9% hills feel like with a loaded bike. The weather today is similar to what the forecast says for the Parkway, for what that's worth: sunny, cool (mid-high teens), with a 25 km/h NW wind. Better than rain, and manageable.
I do have a spare set of new brake pads in my kit -- learned from my experience on the Gaspé a few years ago that less-than-new pads can wear out quickly on extreme descents. (Though I'm not expecting any 17%ers on this trip, I will pause on the long descents.)
Yes, Amtrak has been very helpful so far. They say I can get a box at Everett WA, and that they'll charge me $15 for three legs. Thanks for the heads-up about the weight. I checked my Raven's weight with racks, seat bag (with some tools), Tangle frame bag (with rain gear & Click-stand), and tent, and it comes in at 40 lbs. So, I'll start with that, which should be OK for the 50-lb limit.
I can place two panniers ( strapped together as one piece) in the baggage car, and take two on board with me, along with my handlebar bag, so that should work OK as well.
Thanks too for your suggestion of a seat on the north side of the train. Reminds me of the old POSH advice for the well-heeled taking passage from Foggie Olde to Injah, back in the day: Port Out, Starboard Home.
Cheers,
John
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I can place two panniers ( strapped together as one piece) in the baggage car, and take two on board with me, along with my handlebar bag, so that should work OK as well.
Thanks too for your suggestion of a seat on the north side of the train. Reminds me of the old POSH advice for the well-heeled taking passage from Foggie Olde to Injah, back in the day: Port Out, Starboard Home.
Cheers,
John
Different Amtrak people will tell you different things about strapping two panniers together. My first Amtrak trip, I had heard that so that is what I did, went to the station, it is a small station with only a single employee with title of station manager. He said no on the straps, his quote was "I can charge you for an extra piece of luggage if they are separate, you can't strap them together, they straps will come loose and one will get lost" and then he picked it up and shook it, and shook it, and shook it, and it never came undone which is what he was trying to do. But he stuck to that story and said that I could not strap them together. Fortunately, I had a big dry bag in my truck that I could use, but unfortunately that meant for that trip I had to lug around a big heavy dry back strapped to my rack.
On a different trip, that same employee made up two rules that did not exist, so maybe it was only him, but I hope you got the name of the person that said it would be ok in case someone else tells you differently.
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Situational ethics, eh? In Nigeria (for example--there are others) one could say, "Surely we can negotiate this?" I don't think I have the name of the various people I've spoken with, but no-one suggested that panniers would be a problem.
If push came to shove, I could take both "pieces" on board with me -- they're not very big, after all.
Maybe I'll just shower them with compliments, explain why I'm not using VIA to get me home, and shame them into accepting my Made-in-Canada-not-China-for-a-change bags.
Cheers,
J.
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Situational ethics, eh? In Nigeria (for example--there are others) one could say, "Surely we can negotiate this?" I don't think I have the name of the various people I've spoken with, but no-one suggested that panniers would be a problem.
If push came to shove, I could take both "pieces" on board with me -- they're not very big, after all.
Maybe I'll just shower them with compliments, explain why I'm not using VIA to get me home, and shame them into accepting my Made-in-Canada-not-China-for-a-change bags.
Cheers,
J.
That is probably a good plan. The larger stations with more staff I think are more in tune with current practice, but the station nearest my home has that one station manager who has his own little fiefdom where he is the final authority. So, maybe it is not anything to worry about. Worse case scenario is that you might have to pay another fee.
And, that station manager that works at the station near me said that strapping two together is not allowed in regards to checked luggage, that topic was not raised for carryon luggage. Strapping them together to carry on could be a way around that too.
The Empire builder (west coast to Chicago) uses cars that are two levels, an upper and lower. When you first get on the train, there is a small luggage rack that you walk past that you can put some of your carry on luggage on, then carry the rest with you to put on the rack over your seat. I assume you have a seat up the stairs on the second level.
Some Amtrak trains use the two level cars, some one level, so I am not sure what you might encounter later in your trip.
I get on an airplane later today with my Nomad (mine is in an S&S case), so I won't be around to advise any further. But I suspect you have all the information you need from me.
First photo shows what the tall two level train cars look like, the second photo is my carry on luggage before I got on the San Fransisco to Chicago train, you can see that the luggage does not have to be "official" luggage, one of my carry bags was only a shopping bag.
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???
your Nomad is in that blue bag?
;)
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???
your Nomad is in that blue bag?
;)
No, it is in these attached photos.
Not all of it is in the case, rear rack would not fit. Saddle, pedals, crankarms, chainrings, water bottle cages are not in the case either. The case as packed tips the scale at 22.1 kg or 48.4 pounds, and my airline limit is 50 pounds. Since my scale might not match the airline scale, I want to have at least a pound of weight of contingency in my packing. Thus, those other parts like crank arms and pedals are packed separately.
When I get home after my trip I might post better photos of how I packed the bike. I took a series of photos, but was not really happy with the photos. It is the 590M Nomad frame, S&S. When I bought the frame, Thorn said that the fork would not fit in the case with the bike. But I did get the fork in the case. The fork had to be removed from the front half of the frame. Both crank arms had to be removed to make it fit, I was hoping only one crank had to come off but I could not quite get it to fit that way. Fenders are staying home.
Things like empty water bottles weigh very little, so I shoved them into the case. There is a home made center support made from wood to try to prevent the airline staff from squeezing things together - I did not buy the S&S supports. I put a piece of plastic tubing (135mm long) in the rear dropouts held in with the skewer also as a precaution, but if the airlines tried to crush it that much my rims would probably not survive. Still the dropout spacer made sense as a precaution.
And, yes I knew you were joking with your question.
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???
your Nomad is in that blue bag?
;)
Special Nomad made by a secret prototype division at St John Street and given to George to test for the ripple frequency of American roads. You'll see it whole when Thorn launches the 16in Backpack Tourist Trophy or 16BPTT next winter, if the folding handlebars don't delay the launch. You heard it here first.
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...picking up the thread after more than a decent interval, here's Part I of my tour story. For the sake of continuity, this repeats a couple of para's from the earliest posts.
I must go out ‘mongst the lanes again,
Near the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I want is my touring bike,
And a star to steer us by.
(With thanks to Mr Masefield, sir, for the inspiration, and apologies for messin’ with yer verse.)
Part I
Beginnings…
The seeds of this journey lodged themselves in my mind decades ago. In the early 1970’s, on my first road trip across Canada, I was easing down Rogers Pass towards Revelstoke on Highway 1 in British Columbia—the Trans-Canada Highway had been formally opened just a couple of years earlier—when I passed three touring cyclists spinning upwards and eastwards. “Wow!” I said to myself, “That’s something I’d like to do…” Life intervened, as Life does—marriage and family, work, and the usual competing demands on one’s time—but I never quite forgot that day in the western mountains.
…and a Plan takes shape
And thus it came to pass that in the winter of 2015/16, I decided to organize my own petit tour des montages de l’ouest, following the spirit if not the tire tracks of those unknown cyclists I’d seen all those years ago. I’d visited the same terrain a few times in the intervening years, on four wheels and two (the latter, part of a transcontinental motorcycle trip in 2013, done partly to suss out the options and hazards of different cycling routes.) The mountains are as magical in my memory as when I first saw them, and I’ve learned from a decade of cycle-touring in Canada, Europe, and Southern Africa that on a bike you see, feel, smell and hear the landscape in a way that’s impossible in a motorized bubble. I’m privileged to have a very capable touring bike in Osi, my Raven-mit-Rohloff, the necessary camping gear, time and health and budget, and most of all, an understanding spouse. This year, pushing 70, I decided that the mountains would never be as easy as they are now—so why wait?
I booked The Canadian, VIA’s flagship, to the West, stopping to see old friends in Saskatoon; and then Amtrak back east from the Washington coast to upstate New York, via Chicago. I had never taken a long train journey in the States, and choosing this one was partly a matter of money—Amtrak charged me about 40% of the VIA fare—but partly too, my own modest nod of homage to this man and his song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXGFKpWUOW0 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXGFKpWUOW0)
Working with what I knew and with helpful information on the U.S. Pacific Northwest from the Adventure Cycling Association, I mapped out a route that would let ride me towards the Rockies in Jasper National Park, head south via the Icefields Parkway to Lake Louise-Banff-Canmore and Kananaskis Country; continue south to Crownest Pass and Waterton Lakes NP in Alberta, and then to its cross-border section, Glacier NP in Montana. From there, I would continue west through Montana, Idaho and Washington to the Pacific Coast, this last section including a zig-zag north to visit longtime friends in Nelson, BC.
My route, beginning in Hinton, AB, and ending in Everett, WA, is shown in the links below. (The maps include altitude profiles.) The roads are almost all tarmac, both parkways and secondary highways, with a few tertiary roads.
From Hinton, AB, to St Mary, MT (the gateway to Glacier NP): http://tinyurl.com/jgyx4pq (http://tinyurl.com/jgyx4pq)
From St Mary, MT, via Whitefish and Troy, MT, to Creston, BC: http://tinyurl.com/hrzm8rk (http://tinyurl.com/hrzm8rk)
From Creston via Nelson, BC, and Kettle Falls, WA, to Whidbey Island and Everett, WA: http://tinyurl.com/jjzu3a8 (http://tinyurl.com/jjzu3a8)
The entire route worked out at just over 2300 kms. I started at Hinton early in the afternoon on June 21, mid-summer’s day, and completed my journey at the train station in Everett, WA, mid-morning on July 17: in all, 27 days on the calendar. I rode on 26 of those, taking a rest day in Nelson. A “typical” day was around 100 kms—a few days were longer or shorter, for one reason or another.
Problems on the ride? Just to spare you the suspense: None. No problems with the bike, with my gear, nor with my body (no collywobbles, headaches, sunburn, aching joints, and the like.) In these domains, Uneventful is Good.
First swathe of Part II to come shortly -- Pt II being the photos. We interrupt this broadcast to attend to the little ones from the neighbourhood at the front door, this being Hallowe'en.
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Resuming now with the first section of Part II, mountain landscapes from Jasper National Park south to Kananaskis Country, just south of Banff and Canmore. The photos are accessible (I hope!) by tinyurl links to my Dropbox cache. Eh bien -
Part II
The journey was always about the mountain landscapes …
Section II.1 – Hinton, AB, to Waterton Lakes National Park
Why start my ride in Hinton, you might ask? Simple enough: I’d been advised to begin east of Jasper so that I could ride towards the mountains, letting them gradually fill my horizon. Yes, but…after several days of bright sunshine anointing my train carriage, from Ottawa to Toronto, and across Ontario’s lakes and rocks and trees, from Winnipeg through the Qu’appelle Valley to Saskatoon and then Edmonton, I finally reached Hinton. Once there, could I see the horizon? Uh, not so much.
Cometh the train, cometh the rain: http://tinyurl.com/zuo667x (http://tinyurl.com/zuo667x) (This is the first of many links to photos on Dropbox)
No matter – the rain cleared in the 25 minutes I needed to unpack my bike from its box, reattach handlebars and pedals, and set up my panniers. I set off westwards for the campground at Snaring River, about 15 kms east of Jasper, an easy ride of 3 or 4 hours.
The lowering sky and the threat of cold mountain rain in no way lessened the grandeur of the scene: http://tinyurl.com/hacpenm (http://tinyurl.com/hacpenm)
The mountains loom above you like the prows of great ships. You feel very small in these landscapes, and you begin to understand why mountain people see these peaks as great spirits. http://tinyurl.com/zb5gra4 (http://tinyurl.com/zb5gra4)
In “The Northwest Passage”, Stan Rogers, driving west across the Prairies, thinks “upon Mackenzie, David Thompson, and the rest/Who breached the mountain ramparts/And did show a path for me/To race the roaring Fraser to the sea…” There are ramparts a-plenty here:
http://tinyurl.com/j7wk4ds (http://tinyurl.com/j7wk4ds)
http://tinyurl.com/hz9r9vc (http://tinyurl.com/hz9r9vc)
The ramparts deny you a direct view of the setting sun—even if you’re still awake at 10:45 PM after a day in the saddle—but in the evening, the peaks to the east have their own understated beauty:
http://tinyurl.com/jtx8dz4 (http://tinyurl.com/jtx8dz4)
All this is prelude. Jasper is the northern terminus of the Icefields Parkway. This is a tiny sample of what a cyclist sees in several hours’ riding south of Jasper:
http://tinyurl.com/gpc8pfm (http://tinyurl.com/gpc8pfm)
http://tinyurl.com/z3kgha7 (http://tinyurl.com/z3kgha7)
http://tinyurl.com/zwk6a5x (http://tinyurl.com/zwk6a5x)
The hard climb up Sunwapta Pass to the Columbia glacier field—in the last few kms, 8-9-and even-10%—awaits on the second day:
http://tinyurl.com/h8y2dlt (http://tinyurl.com/h8y2dlt)
With the beauty, there is altitude; and with that, what my mum called Scottish weather (she was a Burns, and I'm certain was unacquainted with Rual's magic camera):
http://tinyurl.com/zqcrmb7 (http://tinyurl.com/zqcrmb7)
The photo doesn't show the cold clammy sweat-soaked feeling you get after 10 kms of a 9% grade into a headwind. Still, a bowl of hot soup in a Visitor Centre chock-a-block with tourists from buses, cars and RVs, plus a warm dry jersey to replace a cold soggy one, can help a rider’s disposition:
http://tinyurl.com/jr8x9sx (http://tinyurl.com/jr8x9sx)
Enough to let you press on, and to ease down the steep prolonged descent on the south side of Sunwapta Pass. (Of which there are no photos, because on the day I rode the 11 kms down from the summit, the heaviest rain of my entire ride poured down—and stopped abruptly when I reached the bottom!) Early blooms, no doubt helped by the rains, bring a welcome splash of colour to the roadside:
http://tinyurl.com/joo2xmw (http://tinyurl.com/joo2xmw)
And the larger landscape brightens as on the following morning you approach Saskatchewan Crossing, the midway point of the Parkway:
http://tinyurl.com/j6mzh72 (http://tinyurl.com/j6mzh72)
Bow Summit, the second great climb on the Parkway, is tough, with similar grades to Sunwapta. Eventually, the descent begins, and you remember that hills, unlike headwinds, give back:
http://tinyurl.com/hhf8a4k (http://tinyurl.com/hhf8a4k)
With the descent come lakes. This one comes complete with Num-ti-Jah Lodge, its chili a filling lunch after your slog up to Bow Summit:
http://tinyurl.com/gmwocnq (http://tinyurl.com/gmwocnq)
On the ride east from Banff to Canmore, I enjoyed my first serious tailwind of the trip, covering the 27 kms in about an hour, while the sun and clouds played tricks around the peaks south of the bikepath:
http://tinyurl.com/zewzhrt (http://tinyurl.com/zewzhrt)
South of Canmore, the Kananaskis Country begins. I remembered the splendour of the mountain landscapes, but I had forgotten the extraordinary skyscapes. The peaks are some way west of the road…
http://tinyurl.com/zuz9yvg (http://tinyurl.com/zuz9yvg)
http://tinyurl.com/jatjqyj (http://tinyurl.com/jatjqyj)
http://tinyurl.com/z54gu6c (http://tinyurl.com/z54gu6c)
http://tinyurl.com/hk2zr8v (http://tinyurl.com/hk2zr8v)
… but the elevation of the passes only increases. From my campsite the night before, the climb to Highwood Pass was about 25 kms. The grade was manageable, about 5 – 6 % most of the way, with only the last few kms requiring my lowest gear. Looking back (northwards) from the highest summit of my tour:
http://tinyurl.com/gnaf5ly (http://tinyurl.com/gnaf5ly)
After Highwood Pass, the road heads east to Alberta’s benchlands. The seven days’ ride from Jasper to Longview was to my eyes the longest stretch of natural beauty in my 2300 kms on the road. After the grandeur of the mountains, some creative whimsy at the side of the road makes for a nice change of pace.
In Longview, they beat their ploughshares into Harleys:
http://tinyurl.com/zeqybky (http://tinyurl.com/zeqybky)
And in those parts, as everyone knows, the cowboys really are larger than life:
http://tinyurl.com/h2rqvtn (http://tinyurl.com/h2rqvtn)
All for the mo', folks. More of Part II to come in the next few days -- the photos are ready, but I have to assemble some connecting tissue to link them together as we go down to Waterton Lakes, across Glacier NP's Road to the Sun, take a zig-zag back to Nelson, BC, and thence to Kettle Falls, WA, and eventually to the coast. To be continued...
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Stunning photos John no wonder your skinny (i can say that because i'm fat) going over all those mountain passes . 8)
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Anto! Good to hear from you, lad, and thanks for your kind words. As I put that youTube link into Part I, I thought you might enjoy it.
There's some more photos to come, just working through those; and then a collection of stories about meetings with kindly strangers along the way.
Best, John
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fantastic i'll pop over to utube now. ;)
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What a shame Steve died so young ,great sound track to have on your ipod on your tours across a great land woody guthrie arlo Steve sure a fella would ride a 100 mile a day listening to those guys.
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The story and photos resume:
Section II.1 – Hinton, AB, to Waterton Lakes National Park (cont'd)
Hwy 22 south from Longview runs through the rolling pastures of the benchlands towards Crowsnest Pass and the mountains of Waterton Lakes. It offers classic Western vistas—impossibly clear air showing impossibly distant mountains reached by roads obviously first laid down by Roman legionaries:
http://tinyurl.com/jsfepg6 (http://tinyurl.com/jsfepg6) http://tinyurl.com/jyvp8of (http://tinyurl.com/jyvp8of)
There are no commercial services on this road, and the traffic is very light, although there are a couple of provincial parks beside rivers and lakes. If you get a cooperative wind, you can sail along: I covered 130-plus kms in just over six hours of riding, the first half of the day across big rollers with pasturelands split by woodland, the second on gently undulating open and enormous fields, both pasture and feed crops. A couple of examples of the latter:
http://tinyurl.com/zawscrs (http://tinyurl.com/zawscrs) http://tinyurl.com/hn547w3 (http://tinyurl.com/hn547w3)
The dramatic front of Waterton Lakes hints at the climbs to come. The two photos below go West to East. My route took me to the left (SE) of the second photo:
http://tinyurl.com/za49zq6 (http://tinyurl.com/za49zq6) http://tinyurl.com/hes89wf (http://tinyurl.com/hes89wf)
My route skirts the edge of Waterton Lakes Park, heading SE towards the US border. There is a long stiff climb up onto a ridge, where the peaks to the South look for all the world like the high country of Southern Africa. Chief Mountain and its neighbours could be the massif of Mt Mulanje, in Malawi:
http://tinyurl.com/gl7jg93 (http://tinyurl.com/gl7jg93)
Here’s the comparison, a photo taken on the Mt Mulanje massif in May 2006. This is Nyakodzwe, the second-highest of Mulanje’s 23 peaks, a little shy of 3,000 metres:
http://tinyurl.com/jusa3an (http://tinyurl.com/jusa3an)
And Chief Mountain, by itself, looks like Isandlwana to me:
http://tinyurl.com/hskk7q5 (http://tinyurl.com/hskk7q5)
Section II.2: St Mary, MT, to Nelson, BC
Past Chief Mountain and some miles after the border crossing into Montana, US 89 runs due south to St Mary. This small village is the eastern gateway to Glacier NP's Road to the Sun, which crosses the Continental Divide at Logan Pass. I came down a long steep descent to 89, and was looking forward to an easy 15 miles along the valley floor to St Mary. I met instead a fierce headwind, a sign of some things to come. Two cyclists on a West-to-East loop who were camped near me, warned me that a stiff westerly had pushed them up and followed them down the pass earlier that day. But the next day, when I began the 17-mile climb to Logan Pass, the morning beside Lake St Mary was quiet, soft, and beautiful:
http://tinyurl.com/js62lwf (http://tinyurl.com/js62lwf) http://tinyurl.com/hjyhwqb (http://tinyurl.com/hjyhwqb)
I had started early, just after 6:30 AM, so the climb was mercifully free of traffic near the top:
http://tinyurl.com/jhstcxz (http://tinyurl.com/jhstcxz)
The Visitor Centre at the summit was awash with tourist buses, which must have come from the western side. I managed to take the customary photo of the sign during in a break in the crowd:
http://tinyurl.com/zx4bz7y (http://tinyurl.com/zx4bz7y)
Just a sign, really, if an elevated one, with no hint of what would follow: The long and twisty descent from Logan Pass, snaking some 20 miles to the canyon floor was spectacularly beautiful. If the Icefields Parkway south of Jasper was the longest stretch of sustained beauty in the landscapes I rode through, the western side of Logan Pass was the most concentrated. The brilliant sunshine surely had something to do with my reaction :) Still, I feel that my photos don’t really convey the intensity of the colours and the magnificent sweep and depth of the gorges:
http://tinyurl.com/juysg6n (http://tinyurl.com/juysg6n) http://tinyurl.com/jzgpnyl (http://tinyurl.com/jzgpnyl)
http://tinyurl.com/h6edw45 (http://tinyurl.com/h6edw45) http://tinyurl.com/gqw9422 (http://tinyurl.com/gqw9422)
West of the mountains, we enter ranching country, with pastures now and then broken with fields of grain:
http://tinyurl.com/hcnhvnx (http://tinyurl.com/hcnhvnx)
Leaving behind the old railway town of Whitefish, MT, with its splendid faux-Bavarian station…
http://tinyurl.com/hjfj6gv (http://tinyurl.com/hjfj6gv)
…the route enters the valley of the Kootenai River, and I would follow this for several days. The Kootenai (-ay in Canada) flows south into Montana from the western slope of the Canadian Rockies. The Libby Dam creates a substantial narrow lake with the lumpy name of Koocanusa:
http://tinyurl.com/j3ktb9x (http://tinyurl.com/j3ktb9x)
The lake is calm enough here, deceptively so. Upstream on the previous afternoon, I cycled south from the small town of Eureka for three hours into the strongest headwind I’ve ever faced on a bicycle. High above the lake on its eastern shore, the road gave me a gradual descent for some twenty miles, but this was no easy doddle beside the water: the headwinds were so tough that I found myself in 8th gear, pedalling downhill, and working to keep the Rohloff in its upper range! On flat ground, the most I could manage was 3rd or 4th – the same gears I’d used on the climb up Logan Pass. Go figure…
A treat awaited me in the small town of Libby. “Henry’s” family restaurant was a pretty good place for lunch, but the surprise was parked outside:
http://tinyurl.com/j6ajaz9 (http://tinyurl.com/j6ajaz9) http://tinyurl.com/jfqjcwx (http://tinyurl.com/jfqjcwx)
This is an original, in the family from new in 1955. Last year, it was restored, a birthday present from the family to mark its 60th. And here I didn't even know that Studebaker had made trucks, let alone charming red-and-ivory ones. This came complete with floor starter button, robust enough to be mashed by work boots, and a three-on-the-tree tranny. I complimented the lady who owned the truck--a diner in Henry's, she was well into her 70s--on its continued existence and terrific paint job. She smiled, and said that her dad had taught her to drive in that truck, and that she just couldn't bear to let it deteriorate.
We're about to head West and North from Libby to Troy, MT, and thence to a corner of Idaho, crossing and recrossing the Kootenai as we go. (To be continued...)
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A well documented grand tour and stunning scenery captured beautifully with your camera John..
Ps looking forward to next installment
Regards Alfie
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my grandson loves the red and white truck ;)
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Thanks, Alfie!
Jags, your grandson has excellent taste ;-)
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i told him his daddy just bought it he was delighted. ;D
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Resuming the narrative, after that splendid '55 Stude -
Section II.2: St Mary, MT, to Nelson, BC (cont'd)
From Libby, my route angled northwest to and beyond the neighbouring village of Troy, across and beside the Kootenai (sometimes Kutenai) River. I left Montana, climbing up and out of the Yaak River Valley (site of a fine US Forestry Service campground) and the Kootenai watershed, and across the state line into Idaho. I saw only the northeastern corner of a state I’d never visited, except vicariously: years back, I had read Donald Maclean’s A River Runs Through It, and I had been intrigued and captivated by his descriptions of its rugged beauty. (Redford stars in the movie of the same name, which was made in Montana—but who’s to know?—and its scenery is well worth a look.)
Not rugged beauty, but the combination of pasture and mountains made for attractive countryside:
http://tinyurl.com/z4kuorw (http://tinyurl.com/z4kuorw)
On the other hand, there must be a Very Weird Undercurrent to life in Idaho: http://tinyurl.com/htk3tcd (http://tinyurl.com/htk3tcd)
A sign like this is deeply bizarre, but it’s not inexplicable. When you see a sign like this, you know that someone has tried to do it at least once. Is this why the state seems under-populated—there’s a queue of Darwin Award wannabe’s? It’s best not to dwell on such things, nor to look too closely under the corner of the carpet…
Since we’re now into Roadside Distractions, we may as well add another one or two.
http://tinyurl.com/jtdnmpo (http://tinyurl.com/jtdnmpo)
There are all too many such crosses beside Montana’s highways. Sometimes they are single, sometimes in 2’s and 3’s, testaments less to devotion than to the costs of motor traffic.
This helpful tip for motorists appears beside State Road 20 further west in Washington, on the lower slopes of Washington Pass: http://tinyurl.com/helb86e (http://tinyurl.com/helb86e)
It shows no sign of irony, yet in a way it's surely a microcosm of the global problem: By switching on the aircon you make yourself more comfortable, but in doing so, you’re adding another log to the fire. If only the bigger problem were just a matter of flipping a switch :(
Still in Washington State, this time in the Okanogan district, some whimsical and striking steel-plate sculpture adorns the roadside. Here, a mustang makes a dramatic counterpoint to that cowboy 'way up north near Longview, Alberta:
http://tinyurl.com/jkzk7qd (http://tinyurl.com/jkzk7qd)
Back to the thread, lest it unravel completely, and then where would we be? - I spent no more than a morning crossing the NE corner of Idaho, stopping for lunch at the Canadian border post just south of Creston, BC. I had planned to camp on the eastern shore of East Kootenay Lake—the Kootenay River, turning north, changes spelling and bulges into lake status when it reaches BC. I checked with the Tourism Office in Creston, and the helpful young lady there assured me that Lockhart Lake Provincial Park was no more than about 40 km up the lake, and the road, moreover, was quite flat.
So, in mid-afternoon I headed north from Creston for what I thought would be a fairly easy two hours’ ride. It was anything but, the road a series of stiff short climbs and rapid descents. Rain clouds were massing on the far shore, and a brisk westerly began to raise a chop on the lake. I pushed on—surely the campground was not far off—as the mist blew in and rain began to slant down. I was getting tired, nearing the end of a long hilly day, 120-plus kms, having already climbed out of the Yaak River valley and the Kutenai watershed in Montana and Idaho. The campground which the kind lady in the tourist office had assured me was easily reachable was assuredly not.
Then I wheeled around a downhill right-hander, and–lo!—there was the Holbrook Falls Motel, complete with gazebo and greenhouse, a stream splashing down from the hills behind it. Equal parts delighted and surprised--it had appeared on none of my maps--I rode in towards what seemed to be the adjoining house and office. An older gent came out to meet me. I took off my wet gloves, and my helmet–-by now, the rain had stopped-–and asked if Lockhart PP was nearby. He stroked his chin and said, “Well, no, I wouldn’t say so—maybe another 15 or 20 kms.” So I asked if he had a room. “Why yes,” he said “We do.” “And how much would it be?” I asked. “Well, how much do you think it should be?” he replied. Slightly baffled, I said, “I have no idea – your call, really.” He said, “How does $50 sound?” What could I say but, trying to sound measured and offhand although I was knackered and slightly desperate, “Sounds wonderful. I’ll take it.” And wonderful it was. He showed me a large room with a kitchen, plus a bathroom and a spacious screened-in deck out back for my bike—some kind of deal for a damp and tired rider.
The owners are Pat and Ramona. After I’d washed, rested, and eaten, they asked me to join them for a glass of wine with some visiting friends. A congenial and occasionally raucous evening ensued, with more than just a glass or two of wine and brandy. He is an Anglo from the Eastern Townships of Québec, and a few years older than me; she is about my age, an Algonkian from Maniwaki, just north of Ottawa, near le parc de la Vérendrye where I’ve paddled so many times. The motel was their retirement project, and after twenty-some years, they are scaling back the size of their operation. They were full of curiosity about my trek, and generous in their praise; I thanked them for choosing their motel two decades ago, and for their quality wine and brandy. We shared stories about the Ottawa Valley and West Québec, and of course the great teams of les Canadiens. Such a small world.
Freed of the enveloping mist and rain of the day before, East Kootenay Lake made for a beautiful ride on a sunny morning: http://tinyurl.com/hnlrx4v (http://tinyurl.com/hnlrx4v)
The view northward from the ferry to the West Arm of the lake, later that morning, was if anything more dramatic still: http://tinyurl.com/jxzd8zf (http://tinyurl.com/jxzd8zf)
Oblivious to the surrounding grandeur, Osi the Raven leaned against the rail and caught forty winks in the sunshine: http://tinyurl.com/j3eusn6 (http://tinyurl.com/j3eusn6)
On the run-in to Nelson, a once-upon-a-time grande dame watches over a passing cyclist. In the early part of the 20th century, the sternwheeler SS Nasookin was the queen of the lake fleet of the Canadian Pacific Railway. Launched in 2013, its beauty has been recognized and preserved, although its splendid form is now divorced from its original function: http://tinyurl.com/jks2bwb (http://tinyurl.com/jks2bwb)
The local newspaper ran a nice story on its centenary: http://www.nelsonstar.com/news/205152921.html
(http://www.nelsonstar.com/news/205152921.html)
Nelson is a small town of 10,000, beautifully situated among hills and mountains on the far southwestern corner of the Western Arm of Kootenay Lake. A cyclist entering from the east, across the BOB (as the residents call the Big Orange Bridge, despite or because it’s clearly pink) sees a town hugging the shore, its urban trees a blanket of green: http://tinyurl.com/hdrc8rj (http://tinyurl.com/hdrc8rj)
I stayed with longtime friends for a couple of nights, resting and eating and catching up. They live on the southern edge of town, well over a kilometre back from the lakeshore – and their street rises in a series of steps, each with a grade of 15-17%. I made it up the hill, just, and only by pausing before each sharp rise. It could have been worse—they have neighbours whose street has a 23% grade.
Nelson was founded in the resource booms of the late 19th century, and its downtown is studded with splendid old stone buildings built a century-plus ago. By happy accident, these were not torn down in the widespread modernizing fervour of the 1960s and 70s, and the town’s architectural heritage is now recognized and admired. Sited as it is on a small strip of (sorta) flat land between lake and mountains, it’s been spared the excesses of big-box stores and strip malls which blight so many North American towns and cities. It’s a centre for mountain-biking, skiing, and hiking, and has a thriving artistic life—on my second night there, my friends took me to the final night of the city’s annual literary festival. The main meeting room in the old city hall was jammed full of people, all of whom seemed to know each other, and several of whom knew that I was “the guy riding his bike from Jasper to the Washington coast.”
Just above my friends’ house, one of the town’s old rail beds has been converted to a path for cycling, walking and trail running, and cross-country skiing. Not hard to understand why they moved there in the mid-70s (they just got so tired of the rain in Vancouver), not to understand why they haven’t left, except for a few years working as foresters in Mozambique in the early 1980s, which is where we met.
Make no mistake, though – Nelson’s steep grades do present a challenge to walkers and cyclists, even without a load. My friends minimize the use of their car, partly by using Pedego electric bikes. They still have their conventional bikes, but say that the e-bikes really do make a difference – they now use these when they go to evening meetings downtown, instead of succumbing to the temptations of the internal combustion engine. I had a chance to try out one of the Pedegos, and my little test run included the near-vertical (well, 23%) street in the neighbourhood. It took a little getting used to, but now I understand why e-bike riders seem so unfussed by long steep climbs—just dial in a little more pedal assist, or even use the throttle. Pretty slick when you’re starting on a such a steep hill.
Stay tuned -- soon to resume as: Section II.3, Nelson, BC, to the Washington Coast
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Section II.3 Nelson, BC, to the Washington coast
Well-fed and rested, I left Nelson and headed south towards the US border via a long uphill on a humid drizzly morning in early July. (It was strange weather, my friends told me – in April, they’d had the heat of August, and in the first week of July, the rains of June.) My route took me to Salmo, a small town on Hwy 3, a road I had last seen a couple of weeks earlier much further east near Crowsnest Pass.
Salmo shows a visitor its fine old wooden hotel:http://tinyurl.com/hysqnry (http://tinyurl.com/hysqnry) And a few doors south of that, the Dragonfly Café serves an A-grade lunch at reasonable prices.
The route angles SW through pastoral countryside… http://tinyurl.com/zcu9wmw (http://tinyurl.com/zcu9wmw)
…and connects with the Columbia River near Montrose, a few miles north of the US border: http://tinyurl.com/j7weax9 (http://tinyurl.com/j7weax9)
My route into Washington State took me south along the east bank of the Columbia to its confluence with the Kettle River, just north of the town of Kettle Falls. (The Falls are now submerged beneath the waters of FDR Lake, created by the Grand Coulee Dam some 70 miles further south and west.) In Kettle Falls, I picked up Washington State Road 20, and rode west across the bridge over FDR Lake. I would remain on SR 20 until I reached the coast—it continued all the way west to Anacortes, and turned south to Whidbey Island, north and slightly west of Seattle, which was the end point of my ride.
The ACA route map shows four major passes in the first 230-plus miles west of Kettle Falls: Sherman (5,575 ft), Wauconda (4,310), Loup Loup (4,020), and Washington (5,477). Rainy Pass is a hiccup on the descent from Washington Pass, at 4,855 ft. They are manageable at 5-6% for the most part, though long enough at 25-plus miles.
The map provides a suitably exaggerated image of the grades of the different passes: http://tinyurl.com/pqg3dv9 (http://tinyurl.com/pqg3dv9)
I wasn’t sure about how well I would handle the sequence of the passes, so camped overnight on the eastern flanks of Sherman, in order to get an early start. As it turned out, I managed two passes, Sherman and Wauconda, on my first day of re-immersion in the high country. The heights aside (Ontario’s highest point is about 2200 feet above sea level – the hills back home are still recovering from being squashed by a mile and more of ice in the last Ice Age), the landscapes of the first two passes lacked the spectacular beauty and grandeur of my climbs in the Rockies. Sherman Pass was a sweaty climb, about three hours-plus, without much of a view from the summit at just less than 6,000 feet: http://tinyurl.com/jdbt2hx (http://tinyurl.com/jdbt2hx)
On the 20-mile downhill into the small town of Republic, though, I had my first and only moment of real anxiety on my journey. Soaked with perspiration from my long climb, I had a mid-morning snack at the summit, put on my rain jacket as protection against the rush of wind I knew I would face, and set off to enjoy the descent. Within a mile, I started to feel chilled; a mile further, I was yawning. I realized then what was happening—the first signs of hypothermia—so immediately wheeled into a convenient parking lot, an educational site for a huge fire that had raced through the watershed a decade ago. I changed into a dry undershirt and cycling jersey, and put on every thread of clothing—my rain pants and booties to go with my jacket, my overgloves, my sweater and both my muffs, one as a scarf ‘round my neck and one as a skullcap under my helmet. Then I put my rain cover on my helmet. It worked. To my relief, the chills left me, and I reached the bottom less than an hour later, warmed by the sun and shielded from the wind by my rain gear. On the outskirts of town, there was a family restaurant. I ducked into it and refuelled with a big chilli burger.
The road to Wauconda Pass was a series of rollers through cultivated forest. It helps if you like trees, which I usually do, but truth be told, this was pretty boring: http://tinyurl.com/gtzbovq (http://tinyurl.com/gtzbovq)
Beyond Wauconda Pass, the landscape changes dramatically. Conifers give way to sagebrush as a rider enters the Okanogan River valley, which lies in the rain shadow of the Cascades, more than a day's ride further west. The long downhill from Wauconda Pass to Tonasket has some beautiful vistas, full of soft colors: http://tinyurl.com/pw2jqf4 (http://tinyurl.com/pw2jqf4) http://tinyurl.com/p8rzoab (http://tinyurl.com/p8rzoab) http://tinyurl.com/o23agnd (http://tinyurl.com/o23agnd) http://tinyurl.com/ouwqh3n (http://tinyurl.com/ouwqh3n) http://tinyurl.com/odjvt6y (http://tinyurl.com/odjvt6y)
South of Tonasket, nearing the riverside village of, well, Riverside, one sees huge whalebacks of granite, weathered dark and looking as if they'd just been transplanted from the spine of Africa:
http://tinyurl.com/obfeuhc (http://tinyurl.com/obfeuhc)
A few miles further south and west, beyond the small towns of Omak and Okanogan, the road begins the ascent to Loup Loup Pass. At just over 4,000 feet, it’s the lowest of the group of four on this route, although the summit is a full 3000 feet from the valley floor. Its lower reaches proved to be as tough a climb as any on my ride. I had stopped for a mid-afternoon snack and a couple of handfuls of fresh fruit at the exemplary café-winery-farm stand operated by Smallwood Farms. On the advice of the staff there, I had taken on a couple of litres of extra water – the unsupervised campground at Leader Lake, where I was headed, had no potable water. It was the hottest day of my four weeks on the road, probably 30-plus degrees, and a stiff hot southwesterly was boring into my face, shoulders and chest as I began. I was down to my lower gears, 3 and 4, almost immediately. I reached a brief plateau full of fruit orchards—I might have been in the Okanagan Valley further north in BC—watered by a rushing stream in a deep roadside ditch. The climb resumed, and I had to go down to my lowest gear. I was soaked with sweat, and that damn’ stream just rushed and gurgled, and had the ditch not been so rocky, steep and deep, I might have scrambled down to cool off.
After an hour or so of this serious-but-not-dangerous discomfort, I reached the campground, and a peaceful place it was, too: http://tinyurl.com/njs8y84 (http://tinyurl.com/njs8y84)
Beautiful, to be sure, but the camping area was the trashiest I had ever seen, and the lake—the source of that gurgling inviting stream that had tormented me—was dirty and malodorous. I forsook my standard practice of swimming in lakes beside campsites. Yer not on the Canajan Shield anymore, John, so curb yer enthusiasms.
The westward descent from the Loup Loup summit leads towards the small town of Twisp in the Methow River Valley, the peaks of the Cascades clear in the middle distance: http://tinyurl.com/pyqt4oe (http://tinyurl.com/pyqt4oe)
The Methow Valley has a “Hidden Valley” quality, its peaceful well-watered landscapes dotted with a handful of settlements near the river: http://tinyurl.com/pwk65ob (http://tinyurl.com/pwk65ob) http://tinyurl.com/q56wdjm (http://tinyurl.com/q56wdjm)
Washington Pass itself was a long and sometimes strenuous climb, some 3500 feet in a little less than four hours, snack breaks included. The scenery surrounding the summit was worth the effort, however:
http://tinyurl.com/hzt8ay8 (http://tinyurl.com/hzt8ay8) http://tinyurl.com/zf96p2g (http://tinyurl.com/zf96p2g) http://tinyurl.com/gt6mbx7 (http://tinyurl.com/gt6mbx7)
The summit itself was certainly more grand than the three before it. Not a patch on Highwood Pass, Alberta, though: http://tinyurl.com/z7xalap (http://tinyurl.com/z7xalap)
The long descent to the lowlands was a superb ride, and I was glad to be riding west (without a headwind, for a change) so that I could enjoy the landscapes. It was all helped no end by warm sunshine and a brilliant blue sky. I rode through a magical combination of rushing streams, dark wet cliffs, deep green conifers, and occasional flashes of snowfields, all set against a July sky the colour of cobalt:
http://tinyurl.com/h2gmgf3 (http://tinyurl.com/h2gmgf3) http://tinyurl.com/zm3prp3 (http://tinyurl.com/zm3prp3) http://tinyurl.com/jenbfds (http://tinyurl.com/jenbfds)
The streams conspire to create the Skagit River, which eventually empties into Puget Sound. Leaving the Cascades, it runs through a deep gorge, and before that, a cyclist can lunch at a picturesque diner in the hamlet of Marblemount: http://tinyurl.com/z8kwd2u (http://tinyurl.com/z8kwd2u)
I reached tidewater (still at arm’s-length in this photo) at Padilla Bay between Sedro-Woolley and Anacortes:
http://tinyurl.com/h82lckb (http://tinyurl.com/h82lckb)
Further south, the bridge at Deception Pass links the mainland to Whidbey Island: http://tinyurl.com/gorfzbc (http://tinyurl.com/gorfzbc)
I found a couple of enjoyable campsites south of Deception Pass on Whidbey island, and a ferry to take me to the train station at Everett, but this view of the bridge serves as a suitable bookend for my visual tour of the grand landscapes in my trip. There’s another side to my journey, however, one which makes it a larger story.
Pt III will tell the tale.
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Part III
Even though the landscapes were as beautiful and majestic as I had remembered them, my journey through the mountains gradually became much more—a tale of chance encounters and engaging conversations, and of the kindness and generosity of strangers, their offers of water, beer, food and lodging gratefully accepted. There were many examples, almost daily it seemed. Here are just a few —
The first hint of another story was immediate, improbable, and utterly unexpected. Some 30 kms west of Hinton on my first afternoon, I stopped at the kiosk marking the eastern boundary of Jasper National Park. The young guy at the wicket asked me for $30 for the three nights I planned to stay in the in the park. I rummaged in my handlebar bag to fish out my wallet. “Hey!” someone shouted behind me. I turned around and a burly fortyish fellow in a ¾-ton pickup said to the young guy in the kiosk, “I’ll pay his registration.” He eased his truck forward and handed over a couple of 20’s for his ticket and mine. I walked over and thanked him for his generosity, so surprised that I was fumbling for words. “Don’t mention it,” he said. “It’s the least I can do. Guys like you riding the Parkway on bicycles – I could never do that!” And with that, he wished me good luck, waved, and headed off to his stop in Kimberley in BC, 500 kms to the southwest.
Later that same day, I had pitched camp at the Snaring River campground just east of Jasper. Heading to the self-registration site, I fell into step with a couple in their early thirties. We charred, and they offered me a handful of cherries from the small basket they were carrying. I gratefully accepted, and said, “Where did you get these? Not around here, surely?” “No,” they said. “They’re from our back yard.” “And where’s that?” I asked. “We’re from Kelowna, [BC],” she said. “We come here regularly to camp and hike—there’s nothing like this at home.” “Nothing like this where I live, either,” I said, understating the obvious. Turned out that they are both massage therapists, she an Anglo from Kelowna, he a Franco-Ontarian from Cornwall, a little over an hour southeast of Ottawa on the St Lawrence. They had met at college in Toronto, and had set up their practice in Kelowna, its rapidly growing population of retirees assuring a market for their skills. They kindly gave me the remainder of their home-grown cherries, and I wished them well on their hiking holiday.
A few days later, I left the splendid hill country of Kananaskis and headed south on Hwy 22 through the rolling benchland pastures to Crowsnest Pass. I covered 135 kms in six-plus hours of riding, pushed along by a friendly tailwind. At the pretty sundrenched campground of Lundbreck Falls, I set up camp and wandered over to the old hand pump atop the well to refill my bottles and get ready for supper. But the pump was completely kaput—not only was there no potable water, there was no water, period. I walked over to a nearby RV and asked two folks relaxing in the shade if they knew what options there were for water, and what advice they might have. They confirmed that the pump was broken and that there was no water on site. The only nearby source of potable water was in town, a few miles east; the river was OK for bathing, but the cattle pastures upstream made drinking it inadvisable unless it was treated. But there’s no problem, they said: “We’re leaving tomorrow, and we have several gallons we can give you. In fact, why don’t you join us for supper, as we’re cooking up the last of our food. Take whatever water you need, and come back in half an hour, and we’ll have some cold beer.” That wonky old hand pump, nostalgic and useless as it was, led me to spend a delightful three hours in the company of Bob and Norma, and Max, their cat, all from Red Deer, a few hours to the north. We had a well seasoned and filling supper of mac and cheese, BBQ’d sausages and salad, and several cold beers. I thanked them profusely, and complimented them on the simplicity and good taste of their meal.
Our conversation covered the waterfront. They were nearing retirement, and told me of Bob’s decades of work in transporting oil-rig equipment throughout the province, and of Norma’s in admin, both in firefighting and health care. They were thoughtful and candid in their assessment of the way we had built our economy and our cities—our current patterns and practices, they said, were simply unsustainable.
Later, and much further west, I was nearing the base of the climb to Washington Pass, the final pass before my descent to the Pacific Coast. It was early afternoon, and I was about 40 kms from my likely campground. There were rain clouds and squalls in the mountains to the west across the valley, so I started to wonder when and where the curves of time and distance would cross, and how much shelter there would be when they did. Two cyclists pulled abreast of me, one on a touring bike, the other on a road bike. They were unladen, and kindly slowed a bit to chat. They were headed to Winthrop, the next town along, and asked where I was. “To a campground on the lower slopes of Washington Pass,” I said, “so that I can get an early start on the climb tomorrow.” “I know a much better place to stay than that,” said the older of the two, the rider of the road bike. “Oh?” said I. “Where would that be?” “My place,” said Kurt. “It’s just a few miles up the road. Come and join us.” With the heavy grey clouds now beginning to roll down into the valley, I said, “I’d be delighted to. Thank you so much.”
A hurried half-hour or so later, just as the first huge raindrops were hitting our helmets, I rolled into Kurt and Susan’s front yard a mile west of Winthrop in the Methow River valley. They opened their spacious wooden house to give me a warm dry shelter, and a well-made shed-cum-bike-garage ensured the same for my Raven and gear.
Kurt is a retired physicist from Seattle, and Susan, a retired self-employed weaver. Their house is full of brilliant art and artisanal creations—the latter not only her own rugs and blankets, beautiful to look at and to touch, but also pottery, sculpture, and photography. Awed, I asked if everything was their own creation. “Oh no,” said Susan, modestly. “At the end of any craft show, there’s a lot of bartering done.” Some of the pottery held a superb meal of grilled chicken, pasta, pesto, and salad; some of it, local craft beer. We ate and drank and watched and listened as the rain poured down. Serendipity can do marvellous things, sometimes.
After supper, we shared a comprehensive round-the-houses talk about our lives and the world: cycling and cross-country skiing, both for the love of it and also to stay young(-ish); life in the Methow Valley after decades on the coast; grandchildren, sometimes far away; dysfunctional politics in too many places, and oddly, hopeful signs of political life in Canada; climate change; and the healthcare question.
Kurt gave me good advice on my climb over Washington Pass, especially on water sources along the way. He and Susan sent me on my way with several pieces of fresh fruit from their trees and nearby orchards.
I was touched by numerous smaller acts of courtesy. In the first week or ten days of my ride, still getting my micro-routines embedded, I often forgot to keep a firm hand on my map atop my handlebar bag whenever I stopped at cafés and supermarkets. I must have dropped it 3 or 4 times at least, and every time, a customer or the proprietor graciously said, “Sir, I think you’ve dropped this.” My forgetfulness extended more than once to water bottles left on café tables. Neither maps nor water bottles were irreplaceable, but I was still grateful to friendly strangers for paying attention, if slightly embarrassed that I wasn’t.
My bike attracted lots of attention –
At an early-morning stoplight near the eastern edge of Canmore, en route to Kananaskis, a young guy in his 20’s passed by in front of me on his mountain bike. He gave me a thumbs-up and a “Sweet rig, man!” I gave him a thumbs-up in return, and a “Thanks!”
And from a thirty-something mum from Park City, Utah, who was about to duck into the Dragonfly Café in Salmo, BC with her hubby and their 8-year-old daughter, the same “Sweet rig!” I thanked her, and we chatted about bikes and their hometown, which our family used to visit years ago. They asked about the Dragonfly, and I told them they’d made a first-rate choice for lunch.
In the parking lot of the Visitor Centre atop Logan Pass, about 9:20 on a bright sunny Canada Day morning, I stopped beside a clutch of a dozen or so cyclists, all on West-to-East routes, some to mid-western destinations in Minnesota, others heading for the Atlantic Coast.
“Wow! Love those fenders! Where’dja get ‘em? And the Arkel waterproofs!”
“Oooh—is that a Rohloff hub? Never even seen one of those. What’s it like?”
There were more W-to-E cyclists at a lunchtime break at Glacier Cyclery in Whitefish, Montana. One older fellow, seventy-ish, was well informed and curious about the Rohloff, particularly wanting to know whether I had thought about a Gates belt-drive system.
At the Smallwood Farms café-winery-and-fruit-stand extraordinaire, at the foot of Loup Loup Pass, I met John, from a small town some miles further west. He and his wife are touring cyclists, having done both a W-to-E crossing of the US and a N-to-S tour to Central America. On this day, though, he was riding his BMW F-series 800cc twin, and we chatted about motorcycle touring as well. I mentioned my transcontinental ride a few summers ago on my old-but-still-sound 800cc airhead, and nodding, he said they really were wonderful machines. We share an appreciation of the quality of German engineering—not surprisingly, he knew about and was intrigued by the Rohloff.
-- and once, happily, none at all
There was one moment where the bike and I met with supreme indifference. For that, I was grateful: Near Elbow Pass on the long ascent to Highwood Pass in Kanasaksis, an oncoming pickup slowed, and the driver waved to me. I stopped, and he said, “Just wanted to tell you that there’s a bear a few kilometres up the road.” “Thanks,” I said. “What colour?” “Brown,” he replied. “Thanks for the heads-up,” I said, and we parted with a wave.
Ten minutes along I saw a short line of vehicles stopped in my lane, maybe 600 metres ahead. In front of them, a young adult grizzly ambled across the road from right to left. He was big, but lanky, not yet mature. He disappeared into the bush, and the cars moved on. I continued, and in a couple of minutes reached the area, keeping a close eye on the brush and saplings to my left. About 75 metres in front of me, Bear re-emerged from the bush, and ambled deliberately back across the road, from my left to my right. I eased up on my pedals, slowing a bit to let him move completely across the road. He was young, to be sure, but at closer range, also a big rangy fellow, his “amble” more like a slow fluid lope. He was a very handsome guy, his coat a luxurious light brown. I was acutely aware that I could not possibly outrun him, but I felt no fear, perhaps because I hadn’t been surprised by his appearance. (Mind you, I didn’t take the time to stop and fish out my camera.)
As he melted into the brush just ahead of me and to my right—with never so much as a sideways glance, or a sniff of the air—I veered left into the oncoming lane, which was empty. I got on my bell as I did so, just to let him know, “OK Mr. Bear, I know you’re there and you know I’m here, and we both have an escape route—you do, anyway—so it’s all cool, eh?” (A hiking guide in Yukon, sixteen years ago, had told me that bears often had problems with cyclists, because they move quickly and with little noise, and thus often surprise the bears.) I was happy to be ignored, or—who knows?—maybe even treated with disdain.
The matter of bears and bikes had cropped earlier in my trip, in a less dramatic way. Just south of Jasper, I met up with Andrew, a Kiwi from Auckland. He was riding to Winnipeg, the end point of a tour from Vancouver. This trek was the first half of a ride across Canada, which he hoped to complete in 2017. We rode together to Kananaskis, at which point he turned east and I went south.
After a few big downhills on the Icefields Parkway, which I coasted down in my highest gear, he said, “John, I can hear your bike before I see you.” I said, “You’re right, Andrew. There’s a reason for that – my freewheel makes a serious racket in 14th. Tell me, though – have you seen any bears on these downhills?” “No,” he said. “There’s a reason for that, too,” I said, “and both reasons are connected.” He raised his eyebrows. “It’s like this,” I said. “Bears are smart creatures. When they hear that buzzy-ratchety-clackety freewheel in 14th, they naturally want to find out what’s going on. The conversation probably goes something like this –
Younger bear to older bear: ‘Yo, bro! What’s that buzzy-ratchety-clackety noise from over yonder hill?’
Older bear cocks an ear, strokes chin and says, ‘Young fella, I’ll ignore your familiarity just this once, and tell you. Listen up, if you can. It could be one of two things. First, it could be one of those trick German hubs on the silvery wheely things, the ones often ridden by the old farts. These are harmless, but you don’t want to try eating them, because they’re made of quality steel that will wreck your teeth, and they’re yucky-oily.’
‘But, there’s another possibility too. This may sound weird, but something deep in my ABM (FYI, that’s Atavistic Bear Memory, and you have one, even if you don’t know it yet, and if you want to live a long and berry-full life, you’ll heed it) tells me that it could also be a very large and very angry swarm of African bees, closing fast. If that sound is indeed a swarm of bees, it is not harmless—in fact, if you get caught up in it, you’ll remember it for the rest of your life, if you’re lucky enough to have a rest of your life.’
‘For me, a 50-50 risk isn’t a risk worth taking, if one of those two chances is a swarm of African bees. So, I’m outta here!’
“And that, Andrew, is the reason why you haven’t seen any bears when you’re near me and my Raven-mit-Rohloff on the downhills. The uphills are another matter, of course…”
Admiration and inspiration
At a couple of points along the way, I was the privileged recipient of touching compliments:
At a lay-by on the Road to the Sun, perhaps halfway up the climb to Logan Pass, I paused for a granola bar, and chatted with a driver who had stopped. He was a visiting Scot, and we spoke about the beauty and the quiet of high country in the early morning. He asked about my ride and said, “I have the greatest admiration for you.” I thanked him for his generous words.
A week later, I stopped in Kettle Falls, WA, and found that a portion of The Old Apple Warehouse now housed a café and a food store with a lot of fresh local produce. Mike, from Vermont, was selling his maple syrup. We chatted about cycling, maple syrup, cheddar cheese, the western landscapes, strange and not-so-wonderful politics, and the maverick campaign for governor of Vermont by Bill “Spaceman” Lee, the Expos’ lefty and free spirit from the late ‘70s and early ‘80s (though we acknowledged that he probably wouldn’t win against Peter Galbraith, John Kenneth’s son.) As I was leaving, Mike bade me safe journey and said, “We are all so envious of you.” Once again I thanked a stranger for his kind words, saying that I felt blessed to have the health, opportunity and budget to make such a trip.
On the Kootenay ferry, I had an opportunity to exchange compliments. A couple of hikers had boarded the ferry when I did, on my way to Nelson. I wandered over to say hello, and ask about their trek; they in turn were interested in my journey. They were German, and experienced hikers, wearing quality footwear (Lowa, as you would expect), carrying and well-organized and compact packs. I mentioned my route from Jasper, through Banff, Kananaskis, and Glacier, and they told me that they knew some of that terrain – they were hiking from Banff to Vancouver via the Trans-Canada Trail. They had begun a month ago in early June, and would complete their 1500-km trek in early September. I asked them about their journey so far, and they said they loved Canada—“The landscape is magnificent! The campsites are wonderful, so is the food, so are the people!” I could only thank them, feeling a little self-conscious with their effusive praise (this is Canada, remember), but also tickled by their evident delight. The fellow I was talking with—he spoke fluent English, his mate rather less—was not a big man, maybe 5’6” or so, and perhaps 140 or 150 lbs. (His friend was taller, a bit less than 6’, but also slender.) I asked him about the weight of their packs. “Twenty kilos or so,“ he said. “Could I ask how old you are?” I said. Said he, “I’m 73, my friend is a bit older.” He was very matter-of-fact, but I was astonished, and full of praise for them both. I said to them that my trip was demanding, for sure, but it was pretty mild compared to what they were doing–and that I’d be very happy just to think about something like that in five years’ time.
Nearing the end of my journey, I met a family beginning an extraordinary journey. Emerging from the Skagit River Gorge into the lowlands of Washington, some 50 kms from tidewater, I found a quiet walk-in campsite in the small Rasar State Park beside the river, and pitched my tent amidst the green splendour of ferns and big cedars. Here’s the photo: http://tinyurl.com/hl73wcv (http://tinyurl.com/hl73wcv)
I had made my late-afternoon tea, and was sitting at the picnic table scribbling notes on the day’s ride, when a couple of cyclists pushed their bikes into the adjacent campsite. After a while, and hearing Australian accents, I wandered over to say hello and offer some tea, and I listened to some of the remarkable story of Travis and Fiona, from Adelaide, and their seven-year-old son, Patrick, who bounced into camp from beyond the surrounding trees. This was the end of their first day in a ride across the country to Washington, DC, which they expected to complete in mid-October. Fiona was riding a Bike Friday, and Travis a long-wheelbase Häse cargo bike, with a seat up front for Patrick. Here are the bikes carrying them across the U.S.: http://tinyurl.com/j2pzamr (http://tinyurl.com/j2pzamr)
I said to Fiona and Travis that they had set out on an ambitious and challenging undertaking. They agreed, and said that they had both done some touring before, in Australia and in South Asia, but that this was the first time they had toured together as a family. They wanted to do this ride with Patrick and to make it part of his education and growth—he is autistic. They spoke in a quiet and measured way about their journey together. I felt profoundly humbled and inspired—my trek was a pretty straightforward affair by comparison. I said that I admired them all, and as a parent, Mum and Dad especially. We chatted about the route ahead, and I offered some suggestions on the climbs, and on places to camp and buy food in the coming few days. Travis mentioned that he was making a video documentary of their journey, and on my return to Ottawa, I looked it up. You can read about the family here: https://schooloftheroad.com/ (https://schooloftheroad.com/) “School of the Road” indeed—Patrick’s education has broadened mine.
With moments like this, and the mountains, what more could you ask for?
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PS: Later, I'll post some notes on technical matters -- the bike and my gear.
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John,
Just finished reading this, what a great journey, the places and the interesting people you met on route, an absolutely brilliant read . A good few years ago we visited my wifes retired uncle Fred and aunt Peggy in Westbank, Kelowna, a beautiful place, we also travelled to Burnbank Vancouver to visit their old neighbourhood and friends, a wonderful country which left us with a lot of great memories.
Regards Alfie
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Thanks, Alfie, for your kind words -- glad you enjoyed the story. It's grand country, for sure, and I saw parts of it that were new to me. The landscapes, I kinda knew what to expect, but the generosity of so many people was a bit different: from past journeys, you know beforehand that you'll meet interesting people, but it was the repeated acts of kindness that touched me.
Cheers, John
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John that was a fantastic write up i enjoyed it all.
it's great when people are nice and appreciate the trip your taking makes for great memories ,i can't imagine how i would react if i seen a grizzly on the road :o .
anyway John great read super tour.
anto.
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An altogether enjoyable, well-written and interesting account John; well done!
All the best,
Dan.
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Thanks, Dan and Anto, glad you enjoyed the tale. I feel privileged to be able to do this sort of thing and write about it -- you're right, it's extraordinary to see a grizzly amble across the road, 50-60 metres away. I had the benefit of advice from my guide in Yukon, 15+ years ago, who explained that grizzlies are pretty sure of themselves--you can see why--and get fussed only if they feel that their cubs are threatened (mum) or that their exit routes are blocked.
Things can work out differently: a few days after seeing the bear near Highwood Pass, I reached the summit of Logan Pass, in Montana. There, I heard that a ranger (or perhaps it was an off-duty Highway Patrol trooper?) had been killed by a grizzly in Glacier NP. Seems that the fellow had been mountain-biking with a mate on a trail, high in the mountains, came around a corner fast, and ran into a grizzly on the trail. The impact threw the rider off his bike, the grizzly took exception to being both surprised and T-boned, and you can imagine the consequences.
My guide in Yukon, all those years ago, emphasized the importance of letting the bear know you're there -- no surprises, eh?
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My guide in Yukon, all those years ago, emphasized the importance of letting the bear know you're there -- no surprises, eh?
<nods> Exactly why I use a "bear bell" in bear country. Mine are black or brown and not grizzly, but I'd rather not surprise one. :o Oddly enough, I seem to encounter them not on trails it in the middle of gravel logging roads when I come barreling 'round the corner and *don't* have the bell ringing.
Hmm. I'm guessing a bear would choose Thorn's Rigida/Ryde Grizzly rim option? :D
All the best,
Dan.
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Keep those bells a-ringing, Dan! I use a nice Velo Orange brass item with a prolonged temple bell effect. It induces a soporific effect in the bears, I
'm told hope...
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better with an AK47 strapped to the top tube. ;)
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A final note on my tour of the Western Mountains, this past June/July. I've posted a more complete story on crazyguy, here: http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/16986 (http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/16986)
The story's the same, of course, but this account has some more photos. These are shown within the text, so are easier to see. There's also a bit more detail on the ride, and some additional notes on the bike, on gear, and so on. In the next few days I'll add some more notes on food, trains, and road conditions.
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My god john what a country fantastic scenery great photos you got a great eye for a photo.
love your camping set up ;)
anto.
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Thanks, Anto, for your kind words. 'Twas grand, for sure, all of it. "God's country", many would call it.
The camping worked out fine -- helped by good weather most of the time. You never quite know what will happen in the mountains, but I avoided rain and cold, and I had only one very hot day (in Washington state).
Cheers, John
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Hi John --
Thanks for writing it up and posting the pictures! I'm looking forward to reading it over the holidays, especially since your tour covered territory that is relatively close to home for me.
- DaveS
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Thanks, Dave. I wasn't able to get to Van this time round -- my original plan took me from Washington up to Van, but VIA's fares persuaded me to stay S of the border. I did meet cyclists doing the Selkirk Loop when I passed through NE Idaho, and my route to Nelson covers part of that as well.
Hope your recent snow disappears and that you can do some cycling over the holidays. X-country skiing more likely here, as the temps tonight will be -25 sans windchill.
Cheers, John
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-25 can't get head round that :o
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Best not to think about the windchill, estimated to be around -35.
Stay indoors, and if you're out-of-doors, avoid exposing much skin -- full-coverage balaclavas are useful, esp if you want to cultivate a badass look.
Interesting fact: When the temp drops to about -25, it's very hard to skate. This is 'cos a skate blade glides on a thin film of water generated by the heat from the pressure of the narrow blade on the ice. Mind you, when it's -25, it's hard to tie your skate laces, because fingers don't work very well then either. Nor is it much fun skating into a headwind at anything below -15... (-15 with a wind is usually my cutoff point for X-country skiing as well.)
As above, brew some hot chocolate & stay indoors, maybe adding a dollop of sherry or brandy to the hot chocolate.
As a PS, Anto: The good thing is that the days are usually sunny when it's as cold as this. Today, we have a blanket of snow, a bright blue sky, and bright sunshine. I'll go for a walk this afternoon, scarf across face, wearing my -35 boots and mittens (these items come with an estimated temp rating, useful when you buy them.)
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John we would never get anything like that minus 4or5 tops if there is heavy snow the country comes to a halt everyone goes mental building snowmen and snowballs ;D ;D
wrap up well john did u take a camera on your walk by any chance ;)
anto.
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Didn't take my camera today, Anto--it would have been too cold to work the buttons with my bare hands :(
Have attached some photos, though. These are typical:
First two are from the hills across the river, mid-February a year or two ago, on a skiing/cycling trail (winter & summer). LL
Last two are from Monday this week, in the morning BC (=Before Coffee). Not much colour :(
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wow that's a lotta weather John.
look's like you live in a better part of town mean that in a nice way ::)
anto
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Ahh those shots bring warm fuzzy memories of snow and snow shoveling, and snow shoveling, and MORE snow shoveling. Oh how I miss that. Not at all. 8)