Well, my supposed easy downhill glide into Cherryville was just as I supposed, with a couple hills and some stiff inclines thrown in for good measure. However, that's where my suppositions went awry.
I had hoped to visit my old pals, Tom and Sue. Now Tom, he's a songwriter. Probably the first real songwriter I ever met. We met long ago, over 30 years, when I was in college back in Nelson. At the time I was the class activities coordinator and it was my reponsibility to organize the party after class. Until I came along the class had always used canned music, but I have always done things differently, and wanted live music. I scoured the bars and found a bunch of guys from a band called
Loafers Glory. They told
me they couldn't come, but knew of
a band called God's Own Jukebox, who would be happy to do the job. I
hired them on the spot, music unheard, band unseen. They turned out to
be a rag tag bunch, but they did their jobs, kept us hopping all night,
and drank so much beer we had to hold a second dance, for which they
performed free, just to make up the money we lost on the first one.
After that we all became fast friends, fast in the sense that we'd see
each other from time to time and just as fast we wouldn't see each
other again, until we met up again.
Sue, well Sue was always around, lurking somewhere in the background, helping us drink the beer, but always remaining somewhat anti-social, toward me anyway.
Some years ago Tom and Sue finally got together. A few years after that they bought themselves a little homestead out in Cherryville. I've dropped in from time to time, helping them build fence, repair their porch and pick berries from Sue's magnificent garden.
Over the years Tom has continued to write his songs, rooted in a pure Canadian vein of country folk and bluegrass. He put out a pretty good album back in the '70s, tried his hand at writing screen plays, and did a lot of things. A few years back he hooked up with some Kootenay and Cherryville locals and they formed a band called the Buddhagrass Boys. Four albums later, the band was on a roll.
Then, all of a sudden, I stopped hearing about them.
While all this was going on Sue became the editor of the Cherryville Mirror, the local rag, and I became an editorial writer, paid only in copies of the paper, and her apparent undying appreciation. Recently, Tom and Sue have got into horses. That's led to a yearning for opens spaces. A while back they informed me they were packing up the homestead, saddling the horses, and heading out for the wide open spaces of Saskatchewan.
With all that history between us, and with the knowledge they were moving on to a place where I've been but once in 20 years, I was looking forward to seeing them and saying goodbye. I hadn't dropped in a couple years and thought it would be fun to spend a night, catch up and bid them greener horizons. With that in mind I showed up at their door with few gifts, including some new audio CDs of my poetry.
Alas, they weren't home. The horses were there, the dogs were there, but there was no sign of the people. It was Sunday evening, I thought maybe they were out visiting, so I hung around a while. No show.
As evening approached I decided I'd best find myself a camp. So I did, setting up in a glade by the Shuswap River, a few K down Sugar Lake Road. There I built myself some tasty burritos and settled into a cozy night by the fire, until the rain came and drove me to the safety of my nice warm bivy. It rained most of the night, but I stayed dry and toasty.
In the morning, I had a quick breakfast, marvelled at my ability to stay toasty dry in the rain, packed up, then found my way to a telephone. I called Tom and Sue and asked if they were up to a visit. Sadly, they informed me they were too busy working on their house, packing their possessions, and running back and forth the 100 K round trip to Vernon, picking up things they forgot to buy the day before, to have even the shortest visit, not even coffee! I was sad about that, even thought it a little weird and unfriendly. But signs are signs, and one thing you learn to do when you're doing what I'm doing is to read the signs.
I mounted my trusty Wheels and let out, in a light rain, for Vernon. Now this is a run I've done many times, still somehow, I'd forgotten about the killer hill between Vernon and Lumby. The 23 K run to Lumby took me nearly three hours as I fought rain, strong head winds, and ever increasing traffic, which was none too polite. The nearer I drew to Lumby the unfriendlier the traffic grew, and the heavier the rain fell. What I'd imagined would be an hour and a half of relatively easy riding turned into a marathon. By time I hit Lumby I was wet, cold, tensed by traffic, discouraged by the turn of events with Tom and Sue, and really wondering what was going on.
I pulled up to the Lumby laundry, stripped of my wet duds, and threw them in a dryer, while having a short but humourous visit with the middle-aged, crew cut, laundry operator. I began to feel better as I slipped on my newly warmed and dry outer clothes. Then I set out again, as rain clouds began to rebuild.
I'd only ridden about three minutes when I came upon a pick up truck pulled over on my side of the road. I recognized the driver but he was out of context. It was one of you! One of the passengers on my digital coach! Rob, had been following me on his computer, and watching for me as he drove over to the Armstrong area to visit family. It was delightful surprise. The rain held off as we stopped along the side of the road and visited for about 20 minutes, a visit that left me feeling like my luck had changed again.
Rob carried on and so did I. The rain came back with a vengence and by time I reached the sleepy bedroom berg of Lavington I was soaked, and the rain was so thick I could not see. I pulled Wheels over and ran for the shelter of a phone booth. While there I decided to phone my pals the Brandoli's, of Okanagan Landing, just in case they too would be too busy for wandering fools. As the rain beat on the telephone booth, I was delighted to hear the friendly voice of another Sue, warmly inviting me to drop in, and apologizing for not having the truck licensed so they could run out and pluck me from the deluge.
Spirits bouyed, I rode hard for a couple hours, across the high plateau and down along Kalamalka Lake, no longer disturbed by the rain and increasingly rude rush hour traffic, into the bustling town of Vernon, out the Lake Road to Kin Beach on Okanagan Lake, then up the horrendous hill to their big pink house overlooking the beach.
We've had a great visit the last two nights and one full day. We've eaten big, and I've got to cook dinner. We've told stories, traded music, ranted on about the Conservatives and the developers, who have turned the once wild unscarred landscape around here into something resembling the hills around San Francisco, run into town a couple times, visited another old chum from my college days, and generally had a great visit. After what went down in Cherryville, its been a true delight. Nice to know some folks still appreciate my wandering spirit.
Now its about 8:30 Wednesday morning. I'm about to pack up and roll again, but my plans have changed somewhat. My pal Al and I went out last night and found me a bike box. We've stashed it in his garage. In a few days, probably Sunday, I'm going to come back, put Wheels in that box, stash my BoB, and head for the coast to catch my plane. In the meantime, I'm going to ride north of Vernon, up to the Armstrong-Enderby area, maybe even into Salmon Arm, where some of you will remember I had some very musical adventures a few years ago.
Basically, I'm just off on a circle tour for a few days. Something to keep me in shape and keep the wheels greased until its time to fly. However, I'm certain there will be adventure in it and I'll likely have more tales to tell before I get on the jet.
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