On April 1, 2005 I set off across Canada on my bicycle. Or at least I'd planned to cross Canada. These pages are an account of that trip, as told through travelogs I sent to friends. I hope you enjoy the ride!

Hey Kids,
So there I was, waiting as the squalls thrashed the valley. Thankful that no real big rain had come, but grateful for the bits, here and there, that were sure to damp down the trail.

I was glad there'd been no big rain because here, in the Okanagan Valley, it rains so little that when it does rain big, the ground does not know what to do with it. So the wet stuff puddles, and waits around for the land to finally take a big gulp and drink it down.

I'd just cooked a large tomato sauce on my too-big camp stove. The Beaver Fever of a week ago turned out to not be beaver fever at all, but food poisoning, caused when rain, dirtied by the crap on my overhead tarp, leaked into my sauce. As I cooked dinner, beneath a brand new tarp, my body screamed, over and over, "MAKE SURE NOTHING SEEPS INTO THE FOOD!"

I was very careful and the resulting sauce, with heaps of creamcheese dolloped in, was delicious. I ate and ate and then felt sleepy. It was only about 5 pm but I decided to take a nap anyway. No sooner had I laid down in my little bed on the low side of my campsite, and was totally zoning out, when I had the weird feeling water was moving beneath me. It certainly was moving above me. A cloudburst had occured seconds after I ducked into my bedroll. I lay there grateful I'm such a good camper there was no way the wet racket could make it into my bed.

Then I noticed a droplet of water running down my mosquito net. Tracing it with my finger, I was shocked to find it had already made a pool just below my pillow. So I lifted up my ground sheet to see how big the puddle was.

Kids, that was no puddle. There was a full blown lake going on right under my bed and I was separated from it only by the three mil poly tarp I use as a groundsheet.

Deftly I rolled up the tarp, with my sleeping bag encased in it, then tried pushing stones and dirt towards the flow of water hoping to damn the stream. Kids, that was no stream, that was a full blown river flowing into my bed. In seconds my hands were covered in mud and the river-lake was threatening to sweep me away. In one fell swoop I finished rolling up my bedroll and exitted from the tarp, making a mad dash for the picnic table where I was sure to find some respite from the torent beneath the previously mentioned brand new tarp.

By time I made the five meter dash across the campsite I was soaked, and so were the edges of my sleeping bag. Looking back I could see my bed tarp, still repelling the onslought, but the river-lake had washed away the ground beneath it, and there, hanging from the tarp, was my mosquiito net, soaked and caked in mud and other debris. I truly was a woesome sight to behold. Meanwhile, beneath the tiny brand new tarp there was barely room for me, my rolled-up bed, and all the other stuff I'm hauling over hill and dale.

For the next hour or so I scrambled, saving this bit of equipment, that pannier, this end of the sleeping bag, that end of the sleeping bag, this pot, that pan, from the now sheeting rain. For an hour it poured and for just about as long I scrambled, desperate to keep what I could of my possessions safe and dry.

Eventually, I had to brave the rain, dismantle the bed tarp and restring it over my picnic table, above the little one already strung there. It was wet windy work but I succeeded, and after nearly a half hour of cynching rope and tying it off, I managed to double my roof size, to cover the entire picnic table, Blu, BoB and everything else.

Still it rained, and I was now cold and wet, mostly wet. I began to think, it would sure be nice if the rain would let up for a bit so I could build a fire and at least get warm, if not dry.

I'd no sooner thought the thought than that's exactly what occured. The rain let up, I built a fire, and for the remainder of the evening, until about 11 pm, I sat, half wet but warm, as the remnants of the storm played drums on my tarp, and I plugged my ears into the CBC Sunday night jazz shows, to escape that noisy drummer.

By the end of the night I was pleased, and realistically honest about how I myself had created the problem, that led to the desert flood of my bed. I'd known when I set my bed up on the low end of the camping pad that I risked flooding. I simply didn't believe the rain would be severe enough to actually create the flood. In the end the result was, I was once again reminded of the camping rule, IF IT CAN HAPPEN IT WILL!

There will be no more of this setting my sleeping quarters up on the low end of the campsite!

Anyway kids, I'd intended to flee Penticton today but Elections BC won't let me vote early. So, I have to wait around until the polls open tomorrow to cast my absentee vote against the facists in BC, and for the new proportional representation referendum (I want to stop once and for all this drunk driver approach we have to politics in BC).

When that's done, which will be early tomorrow, I will climb the KVR west of town and head for the Myra Canyon and West Koots. Somewhere up that mountain tomorrow night I will again tune in the CBC, where I fully expect to hear, despite my personal best efforts, that the facists have been reelected. But at least I'll have the quiet of the mountains, the emotions of the spring weather, and the certainty that I'm not laying in a trough, to get me through the disappointment.

So, if you're in BC, don't forget to vote, and if you're not, don't forget to have fun anyway, and remember; DON'T SET YOUR BED OR TENT UP ON THE LOW SIDE OF THE CAMPGROUND!

Take Care, talk to you all soon,
Will