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!

Hi,
It was my dear friend Angela, in Germany, who upon receiving my invite to join me on this trip, albeit thru the miracle of modern technology, answered saying: "I'll be there for every raindrop."

Well, my sweet and lovely Bavarian Goddess, not only are you poetic, but prophetic as well. Perhaps that's why I love ya!

Only took three days to escape Nelson, on the third of which I blew half a months food budget on having Blu's ass end rebuilt once again. This time his rear wheel caved in, much as it did on the test run last year, but this time it was properly fixed in the hands of an able young mechanic at the Boomtown Emphorium in Nelson. The cost of the repair hurt bad, and delayed my departure on that hot muggy afternoon until well after 2PM.

Still it was good to get on the road. I felt the wind in my long recently showered hair, smelled the fresh pollen in the air, and was swept up in the blue of Kootenay Lake as I made my way to 12-mile, where all my stuff is stored. I could see up the lake a thunderhead brewing, but knew by the air it would not come too soon.

It was beautiful, except for one thing. Remember the guy on the recumbant tricycle Dennis, or Dense, as I've recently been referring to him. Well, all the way along I knew he wasn't far ahead because I kept coming across his trash meal-in-a-can cans, cigarette butts and chocolate bar wrappers. Dutifully, I picked them up and put them in a bag dangling from my handlebars.

About three quarters of the way to my destination I caught up to him, and dumped the lot in his lap as I rode by.

"Quit Littering!" I boomed.

Later, he showed up at the campground, the free cycle campground at Kokanee Park, where I was headed, and immediately began to talk. He talked and talked and talked, through several power and wind storms and a couple days, he talked. The only real saving grace was Kokanee Creek. It raged so loud the whole time that I barely heard a word Dense had to say.

After waiting out the weather, and stowing stuff I didn't need, I woke up after the second night in such a foul mood that poor Dense rode away early just to escape my "vibe." He rode away so fast he forgot the lid to his coffee mug, which I dutifully scooped up and took along, in the likely event I caught up to him once again. Dense or no, I know what it is to loose a coffee mug lid. It sucks.

Caught up to him later in the day, despite lagging around at 12-mile and catching a ferry two ferries after him. I returned the mug lid and gave him hell. You see, earlier in the morning I'd gone into the john, the john next to our camp that only Dennis had used. I hadn't. I pee outdoors. Anyway, its early in the morning and I'm going for my morning constitutional, he has already gone. I get in there and there's yellow piss all over the toilet seat.

Dutifully, I find a way to wash it off, delaying my constitutional. Then, when I'm done and I go back into camp I say, "Dense, for future reference, when you piss all over the toilet seat, clean it up for the next guy."

He adamantly denied being the seat soaker, despite the fact there was no one else around. He even said he'd seen the piss when he went in there. Anyway, as I returned the coffee lids some hours later I said: "Thanks for leaving the urine for me to clean up."

Then I sped off, only to be slowed again when all of a sudden some truck came up behind me blowing its horn. At first I growled, then I realized it was my pals, R & P, coming out to wish me well on my adventures. It made my day to stand on the road with them a few minutes and change up the "vibe."

I would see Dense once more, near Flockhart Beach. Later I would hear he told some other cyclists that we didn't get along. Also heard he had a warped wheel to go with his other warpage.

I flew out of Flockhart the next morning. Flew over the remeaining hills and down into the Creston Valley, on what was turning into a fine warm June day, flawed only by the fact I no sooner made the Kootenay flats then my back tire exploded into shreds.

Once again I said good bye to a nearly new tire and replaced it with the old beater spare I've been carrying for two years. It forced a stop in Creston, to buy yet another tire. That night I made it east of town where I slept at "Little Joes Campsite". Well, "slept" is too strong a word. I nodded off between diesel whines and farts, in a little pavillion augmented by my tarp.

I walked in and said to the guy, "You win."

He said, "watch this!"

He walked over to the window, looked up at the sky, and said, "Thanks rain, you can stop now."

The rain did, but not before the guy said, "Special deal, since the weather works for me, you only have to pay ten bucks, and I'll throw in a load of wood."

So, I sort of slept then got on my high horse in the morning and rode away, thanking Little Jo for his magic and generosity.

That night, after an enthusiastic ride, I made Yahk, and was once again able to escape the rain which seemed to be building all around.

It caught up to me a night later in Moyie Lake. Well, it tried to, but I was tarped well enough to avoid too much damage. I was tired tho’, and took an extra day off, resting my god-like thighs, certain I'd finally escaped Dense, but feeling some need to download all I'd heard between the crashing of the creek.

Got out of Moyie Lake good and early, turning Cranbrook into a whistle stop and pounding, first down the Isadore Canyon, then out Highway 3 to Rocisky Road, on the east side of the Kootenay River, north of Lake Kookanusa, a road I remembered to be one of the nicest I'd ever ridden. It did not disappoint as I ambled up its long curves, blowing my BoB tire for the second time that day. Stopping to fix it slowed me down and let me taste the rain in the easterly wind that curled in the long green grass. By time I made Wapiti Lake, an hour later, the rain was more than a taste, it was wet and thirsty and threatening to deluge.

Setting camp, I scavenged some firewood, cooked up some dinner, then retreated beneath my tarp with a transistor radio, just as the sky openened up. It stayed open for 24 hours non-stop. I woke up the next morning and delayed leaving my bed. When I finally did, I found a wet watery world. No sooner did I step out in it, than I was soaked to the bone. It inundated everything, and by noon, everything but my sleeping bag was wet.

Lucky for me there was a couple camped nearby. Between telling me "God Bless You" and "Pray" they provided me with enough wood and water to get through the day, then drove away, reccomending I do the same soon. I couldn't, not right then. I was too wet. Blu and BoB were loaded right out. The roads were mud. My best bet was to stay put, if I could avoid hypothermia, I might survive.

All alone on the lake I sat, listening to the loons, refraining from burning any wood until I was certain I could make the stuff last the night. I didn't want to find myself just after dark with no source of heat. Finally, about 5 pm, I managed to ignite a fire. It was my saving grace. I was wet, but warm all through the next twelve hours.

That night my camp resembled something you might find under a viaduct in the city or along a greenspace near a highway, a regular hobo's shanty, with damp clothing and tarp hanging everywhere, every centimeter of space clogged with some damp piece of equipment. It all stunk of sweat, was smeared by mud and dripping, all of it dripped. Once again, only my sleeping bag escaped the wet, and I woke the next morning to a lull in the storm. It had stopped raining.

Before 7 am I was packed and ready to go. Then, with the lull in the storm combined with the miracle that the fire had burned all night, and there was still plenty of wood left, I sat writing until 10 AM, the gist of which was, "If I have another day like that, I QUIT!

That night I made it to Kikomun Creek, after a brief interface with a laundry dryer in Jaffray. While riding out Baynes Lake Road the sun actually appeared for a few minutes. That whole time I was yelling:

"GLORY FOOKING HALLELUJAH!!!"

Managed to set up okay in Kikomun, and get the attendant to top up my wood supply with a little of his personal home kindling. Actually, he felt bad selling the crap his boss gave him to sell, so he went home and got me some decent stuff. Nice kid, remembered me from last year. I sort of remembered him.

Then I went and, as if I wasn't already waterlogged enough, had a luke warm shower. It did nothing to warm me up, but with the help of some soap, managed to reduce my odour, which was something like the cross of a skunk with a grizzly bear.

Yesterday, I rode up Kikomun Road to Elko, along the River Logging Road to a place called Morrissey, then into Fernie on the highway. I'd ridden in shorts and a t-shirt much of the way, but as I headed down that last stretch of highway I saw what was coming, big, black, and damp. I put on some rain wear and pounded against the building headwind, and almost succeeded in making town before it hit me. However, it was at the turn off to Fernie Mountain Park, the thing caught me, and once again, I was soaked in a minute.

It did end though, off and on, even got nice out for a bit today, when, for the first time in the five days I've been in the Rockies, I'm finally able to see them!

Even now, as I sit in the lovely old library building in the middle of town, a great black rocky mountain blaster is building all around. I'm expecting it, and have left everything well stowed beneath layers of tarp and plastic, with lots of air in between.

It could have been worse, when I was getting it in Wapiti, this place got snow. They actually had to close the park where I'm staying because the snow was so heavy it felled the trees. Snow might have done me in, the rain almost did.

Alas, I survived, barely. I'm now within a day of the Alberta border. I may hunker down and let the last of this storm center wander. Looking for a good westerly flow I am, so I can crack those mountain ramparts once again. When I do, looks like I'll be sleeping on the sly. I'll have to change my camping budget over to my food budget, and be a hobo. So if any of you haven't bought a book, now would be good. I'm not kidding.

Anyway, next time you hear from me I'll be a flat lander, talk to you all when I get there.
Will