Monashee
Pulling out of Nakusp, after a night of sushi and
restless sleep, was
not easy. For the first several K I struggled, barely able to make
Wheels turn. I stopped several times before my good sense told me to
eat some bee pollen.
Fifteen minutes later I was rocking, ripping off a
good 20 K in an
hour. Then I hit my stride and managed to arrive in the sleepy berg of
Faurquier by 5 pm. I’d left Nakusp at 11. Six hours, with a nice hour
long break at the tipi flats, to go 60 K on rough roads, not bad.
That evening I crossed the ferry and slipped a
couple K north along
Needles Road to Plum Hollow, a commercial campsite that is left
untended at this time of year. Setting camp, I made dinner, ate,
cleaned up, then, as night fell, listened to the coyotes howl. It was
something to be all alone on Upper Arrow lake with the haunting sound
of the coyotes.
I slept okay, better than in Nakusp.
Yesterday morning I woke up, packed up, then headed
out on what I knew
was going to be the most challenging day of my trip. The Monashee Pass
is the lowest, but one of the steepest, passes in BC. I would need all
my mustard, and more than my usual patience if I was to cross it in one
day.
The climb began slow, as I slipped Wheels into
low-high and settled
into the saddle, one revolution after another until, in less than an
hour, I found myself drifting at high speed down into the Edgewood
valley.
Once down on the flats I was joined by a fellow
riding an old Raleigh.
He’d apparently spotted me from his cabin up on one of the surrounding
hills and decided to check me out. He rode up asking, “A little early
for touring isn’t it?”
Pat, is a fifty something, British ex-pat, who, upon
hitchhiking into
Edgewood 30 years ago decided to stay. His hobby is collecting old
abandon bikes and rebuilding them, when he’s not out chasing touring
cyclists along the road. In the end the man gave me an exce
llent
description of the road ahead and reccomended a spot at the far end
where I’d probably find a warm bed and a hot meal.
Leaving Pat, when his single track beater couldn’t
take the hill, I
began the grind. It was the toughest grind on a paved road I’ve ever
experienced. I was doing fine, no, I was barely able to keep myself
upright and forward propelled, but I did it until I got within a few K
of Angel Falls, where I finally had to give up my Macho Man insistence
on riding, and walk Wheels for a few k.
For the next several hours and tens of K I
struggled, riding mostly,
but sometimes walking. My knees began to tremble, my heart pound, and
my thighs tense like rocks. Then, just to make matters more typical,
rain hit, hard, and wet. I found myself fighting not only the steep
grades, but rain. Mercifully, there was little or no traffic.
At about six pm I rounded a bend and found the
Monashee Summit sign,
1421 meters. I’d done it. And even though I’d half hoped to camp there,
in the rain, with snow all around, I decided my best bet was to
keep rolling until I got below the snow line.
So, I settled into the idea of continuing the roll,
as long as I could.
Then I saw it, a sign that said “Spruce Grove - cafe and bunkhouse - 2
km”.
I was on a serious downhill at that point, with the
rain still
pounding, I reached the place in minutes, where I was greeted by the
talkative and friendly young woman, Miranda, who offered me a burger
for $7, and a bed in the “bunkhouse” for $20. Amid the rain and snow,
with my thighs screaming and my knees buckling, it was an offer I
couldn’t refuse.
While I chowed down on a so-so burger, Miranda went
out to the
bunkhouse and lit a hot woodfire. By time I was done dinner the place
was warm and cozy. I reeled the Wheels over, disassembled BoB, hauled
the works indoors, jumped into a hot high pressure shower, then made
myself a licorice tea and sat down to veg in front of a hockey game on
the TV. By 11 pm I was out cold, having the best sleep of my so far so
short trip.
Ten hours later I have awakened to find all my gear
nice and dry, my
limbs and joints relaxed, and my heart ready to continue my adventure.
Today I will reward myself with an easy 35 K glide
down to Cherryville,
where I hope to drop in on some old pals and maybe take a day off, if
they’re up to being visited. If not, I’ll push on to Vernon and see
what happens from there.
So, I can now count the Monashee on my list of hills
in this country
I’ve conquered. In retrospect, its a highway better suited to someone
who is a little more in shape, but, considering I’ve only been out four
or five days, surviving the grind, is a real good sign. If I wasn’t in
shape when I left Riondel, I certainly am now.
Well kids, that’s all for now. I’m off in half sun
and half sprinkles.
Will write more soon.
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