In June 2004 I set off across Canada on my bicycle. Or at least I'd planned to cross Canada. It didn't work out, mostly because of the weather, but I did have a great ride.

These pages are an account of that trip, as told through travelogs I sent to friends. I hope you enjoy the ride!

    After bogging down for a week in Nelson, eating tons of piggie and walking  those  hills until my calves ached to be on Blu again, I finally got off, on Labour Day.
    Blew myself away that sunny afternoon, when I made the trip from Nelson to Castlegar in less than two and half hours! That's an average speed of about  20K an hour, which is nothing if you're not carrying a load and towing a weighted down BoB. Made me feel like a bicycle God!
    About the only real remarkable thing I saw, other that the countryside blurring at my phenomenal speed, was a small black bear who darted out of the woods about 40 meters ahead of me, then quicky hightailed it right back into the woods, when a car in the other lane sqawked its horn repeatedly.

    Once in Castlegar, where I planned to stop for internet and water, and forgot to get the water once I could find no internet, I headed north up the lakes, past the mills, and the Keenlyside Dam, to the trail head of the old Columbia Western Railway. For a couple years I've been hearing horror stories about the first eight K of this trail. People said it was rocky, bumpy, rough, horrible. Andrea, of last year's Yuric and Andrea, told me she'd almost quit the trip and gone back to Germany, to throw Yuric's stuff out the upstairs window, because of this stretch. So, feeling good about my incredible fleet footedness, I decided to tackle the thing to end my day. I reasoned, if I could get by it, and find a place to camp, then all would be well and easy the next day.
    Well guess what? It was no prob! In fact, it wasn't bad at all. It was almost good! I'm not sure why. It could be the great strength in my aging thighs. It could have been my mood that day. But it wasn't. It was, I imagined, because some railway personel had driven some big rock buster up there to do seismic on the long tunnel and had tamped down the path. It was because weeks of rain had ground any dust that was left into concrete. Yes folks, there were parts that were downright smooth! And I would later find out it was not because of seismic crews or weather, but the courtesy of a local ATV club! Once again the cursed ATVers had come to my rescue!
    That first night, as I pulled to stop about 20 K up the path, making my day's journey a good 65K, I realized I'd forgotten water. Nearly panicking, I thought things out and realized I had just enough water for dinner, and two cups of coffee in the morning. I would have to forgo my usual pot of porridge, but luckily had some soy milk and granola to replace it .
    Setting up camp in a small meadow near the path, I made a quick dinner of refried beans and veggies, with tons of cheese, then settled in for a good sleep while the sky rained all night. This was a great test. You see, I'd abandoned my tent back in Riondel and was using a tarp and mosquito net system of my own device. It worked great, better than the tent which took hours to dry whenever it rained. Using the new system, only one tarp gets wet, while everything else stays dry, and can be rolled up and put away without exposure  to the elements. Its a bit of hard won genuis, this new rig.
    The next morning, once the rain quit, I got up and made coffee, relishing in this variation on my normal breakfast. Then I made my second cup of coffee then, with all the clumsiness at my command,  promptly  poured it on the ground! So there I was, with only one cup of coffee in me, no water, and a little grumpy. Grounching like an old codger who can't find  the glasses he has on the end of  his nose, I packed up and took off, but hadn't ridden more than a couple K when the delightful sound of a rushing mountain stream filled my ears!
    Parking Blu and BoB against a pine tree, I grabbed all my water bottles, scrambled through the overgrown bramble and briar to where a small abandoned foot bridge spanned the creek.  Climbing down, I filled the bottles, hauled them back through the brush to Blu, quickly pulled out my stove and pots, and remade that second cup of  coffee. It was divine.
    Sitting there sipping my brew, I began to feel good. There were some great signs in the world. Sunshine was one of them, fresh water was another, the easiness of the trail and the strength of the dark French caffeine! I knew, sitting there, this was going to be a good grind.
    Round about 1pm I came upon the big landmark of the trip, in the form of a 900 meter, L-shaped, tunnel through the mountain. I'd been worried about it all day. I don't like tunnelsand get caustrophobia putting my head under the blankets, let alone putting my whole body through the bowels of a mountain!
    Well, like the first eight K of the route, the tunnel was no prob! In fact, I  entered it amid cloud and the smell of rain, and exitted into brilliant sunshine. Not only was it sunny and warm on the opposite end, but there, about a 100 meters ahead, was a lovely young woman with a smile almost as bright as the day.
    Carlyle, a young philosophy major from Calgary, was parked at the tunnel station setting up camp for a bunch of "tourist" cyclists who were somewhere  behind me, having started out from Castlegar just that morning. She offered me water and a comfy chair overlooking the wide deep valley under the blue  blue sky. We sat, for hours it seemed, talking philosphy and all the other important stuff in the world. I recited a few poems, told a few stories, and gazed bedazzled into her dark brown bedroom eyes.
    Then along came her crew. A group of five, fifty-something middle-classers driving high tech bikes over whose handlebars their wide girths did rest. They freaked me out. I had to go. There was no way I could stay there without saying something about their physiques. And besides, I'd gotten so wound up reciting poetry, and wallowing in the warm pools of Carlyle's eyes, that I knew I had to go. In that condition I'd have been way too much for these city slickers on their first night out.
    So off I rode, another 12 K up the path, to a little pull-out near the summit. Setting up camp as the sun disappeared, I was happy to see a red tinge to the sky. To celebrate, I cooked a big red pasta, and made enough of the sauce to last the next day. It was great even though, because of the elevation, the temperatures sank to near freezing and I could see my breath, and smell the  garlic in it!
    Beneath the Milky Way, using Peelee's light, I sat up late writing pages in my journal, all about the vision of beauty I'd had the great fortune to visit earlier. Again my new sleeping system worked great. There was a heavy dew but  the only thing really wet was the overhead tarp. I'd also  managed to get enough water from Carlyle to make the night and the regulation breakfast.
    The next morning I decided to wait for Carlyle and her crew. I wanted to give her a book of my poetry and thank her for the water and friendliness. Turned out it was a good idea, even though it took hours for them to reach me. Both Carlyle and I had bike problems, mine was a flat and hers' a hydraulic brake issue. So we managed to pass most of the day riding near or by each other over the rough, scrably downhill into Christina Lake. There we parted company, which was good because she'd felt weird trying to balance riding with me and doing her job as last rider in the tour. Near Christina she and her crew cut out to a local campsite and I carried on until I reached the Christina potholes, a lovely rock canyon where the river cuts, swirls, and has formed large stone bowls in the rock.
    There, over the sound of the water, with a storm brewing on the horizon, the wind bashing, and my tire flat again, I cooked up the remaining sauce, set camp, and ignored the flat as the sky turned a crimson shade of purple and the storm roared up the valley, then over the mountain, and around my camp. It was neat to sit there and watch all this drama in the sky then have it do a detour around me. For hours, while the stars came out and the Milky Way
shone, I could see the tails of the lightning further up the valley, from whence I'd come.
    This was the third night in a row I just picked a spot by the trail and camped out unimpeded, something I was unable to do my whole time in Alberta.
    The day dawned a little misty and much warmer than it had been on the C&W summit. I was down in the valley, about 20 K east of Grand Forks, in dry pine ranch country. Up with first light, and out of water again, one of my bottles disappeared in the rocky rumble of the trail around Christina, I made porridge, a small pot, and managed to brew and successfully drink two cups of coffee before setting out on the easy ride, through pastures and farms, along the Kettle River, until I found a grassy hillside that led down to the water.
    Pulling over, I stripped down and plunged into the warm gently flowing river, which felt good, felt great! Refreshed the hell out of me, this water I would never drink but was more than happy to flop around in. Relaxed but invigorated after my swim, I put on some lighter clothes, as the morning mists lifted and the sun warmed. Then I rode the last 10 K or so into the vibrant and lively little town of Grand Forks, where I actually found the same blonde woman from Bowser, working in the same cafe where I found her in June, 2003, when I first decided to take on the KVR.
    The good omens were continuing. Yet another blonde was there to brighten my day, that made three, counting the one in the mirror!
    So , feeling  better at 50 than I did at 49, I decided to stay the night!