7/2 Off to a much earlier start today. Pedaling happily by 8am just in time for the morning commuters, slowly making their way from the suburbs to the city. The night earlier had been strange when I finally put my head to pillow and closed my eyes, after having tried to balance my bike all day with any minor lapse of concentration throwing me off, I was still 'swaying' as I lay down to a rest.
Using my compass and the mountains as a reference point, I made my way back through suburbia, headed back to where I was yesterday, and then on the Louheed Highway, heading east.
I found riding much easier than yesterday, now I was getting used to lugging so much weight, yet it was still quite a hard trek. Road works along the way kept things interesting.
I finally left the built up areas and had my first taste of rural Canada with the mist covered, forest green coastal mountains in the distance (which I will riding over later), contrasting with the brown hay fields. My selected route took me along side the Fraser River, which provided a nice backdrop.
After only 2 days on the road, and 1 by myself, I think that I am already going crazy, because I have been riding along, singing loudly to myself. After realizing what a freak I was, I decided it could be time for some real tunes and selected Canadian rock legends, Tragically Hip, to start my ride off. At the end of the tape, I listened to a Vancouver radio station until I was out of frequency range, and then back onto the Hip for another revolution. The music was great!
Although I always said to myself that I wouldn't be seen dead in a pair of lycra pants, I can't believe how much I dig this slinky fabric, infact I wouldn't mind being buried in them.
I reached my destination, Mission, a small town bordering the Fraser River, where I was staying the night with Les's ex-girlfriend's parents, high up in the mountains. I was in KFC just before a downpour, ate, and then set off in the heavy rain to my accomodation. Trish and Graham, a very friendly and hospitable couple. Very interesting people with a big hovercraft-type thing on the front lawn. I was fortunate enough to time my stay with one of their socialist meetings, which was interesting for me as it is something that I have never really discussed before.
8/2 A day of rain, from dawn to dusk. After a hearty breakfast, I set off on my way, and with directions from an initially shocked old lady who I asked for instructions, I found myself back on the highway heading east.
Once riding, the rain wasn't too bad. The only problem was it was hard to be discrete in a bright yellow rain jacket when trying to relieve oneself on the side of the road.
The scenery was spectacular. The weather made the coastal mountains misty and mysterious. I played my first 'educational tunes' - some old fart comparing the Chinese culture to the American culture. I got through 2 sides, but I think the walkman and/or the tape got wet, so I couldn't get any more sound out of the contraption, and my education came to an abrupt end.
I met some interesting characters along the way, but probably the most memorable was a strange old dude walking around in the rain, who I saw at the foot of a hill. He looked at me and my monsterous load, looked at the hill and shook his head yelling out in a worried tone, "you've got a big haul ahead of you".
The hill wasn't too bad, and the reward at the top was a refill of my now empty drink bottles at the natural spring at the top, hearing the usual "you're crazy this time of the year" from a couple of others also replenishing their water supply. I put more air in more already fairly hard tyres, so they could handle the weight of my luggage and my hefty frame.
It was getting dark, so I stopped for dinner at a diner in Agassiz, a small red-neck town with some really nice old character buildings. I was in the middle of a conversation with the owner about riding her motorbike through Russia, when a friendly-looking, middle aged guy, John, came waltzing into the restaurant and asked me if it was my bike outside, as I probably had that 'I've been riding in the rain for hours' look all over me.
It turned out that John owned the Sasquatch Springs Holiday Camp in Harrison Hotsprings, about 7 clicks in the other direction, which was closed for winter. He offered me a free place to stay in his rec room where I could dry out my gear, "anyone riding their bike through BC in February deserves a free place to stay".
I made my way back through the dark wet night, quickly changed out of my wet clothes, and went with John, who shouted me to his weekly night Rotary dinner meeting, where he informed me I was a guest speaker. I gave a quick talk about my travels and preparations and ended up getting a few places along the way from other Rotarians.
I was during Bob's PowerPoint presentation about the Chilliwack leg of Rotary's project to build a herin santuary, when outside, lightning struck, with thunder very close behind, and then the rain came bucketing down. I was a very happy man that I was staying indoors that night.
9/2 After last night's torrential downpour, I was very happy to wake up and see dry, overcast weather outside.
After seeing no sign of John, I set off for Hope, looking forward to reaching the town for 4 reasons:
1) Before I really knew what riding a bike full of gear, I had planned to be there 2 days ago;
2) It was a psychological breakthrough as I was leaving the lower mainland;
3) It was at the foot of my first big hill and I was curious to see to see how I would cope; and
4) It was my scheduled lunch break.
I arrived in Hope, the chainsaw carving capital, just after midday. Before the entrance to the town, there was a large digital display above the road warning road users to look out for falling rocks and ice - I was eager to see what the road ahead had install for me.
After Dairy Queen for lunch and a half hour chat with a couple of ladies on their way to a spa-weekend-thing, I set off for my first uphill challenge up the almighty Hope-Princeton Highway. With snow now framing the side of the road, I was starting to see what I could expect for the next month or two.
The sweet scent of burning brake-pads gave me a good idea of what I was in for. I rode solidly for about 3 hours up the great incline, cruising between 5-7km/h, just enjoying the spectacular scenery around me.
I was surprised how well the climb went, raising 700m in altitude, although I was releived when I reached the top, where a friendly truckie took some snaps and then gave me the rundown on the road conditions ahead - mucky but fairly dry.
I set up camp just down from a service station, on one of very few flat areas of accessible snow that I saw on the roadside. I pitched my tent and had some delicious tinned chilli for dinner. My toes were pretty cold and numb from my snowboots which hadn't dried from yesterday's rain. Worried about frostbite, I put on two pairs of socks and wiggled my toes for almost an hour until I finally got feeling back in them.
10/2 I was warm and snug all night, and didn't sleep too bad considering I had pitched my tent just down from a truck rest area, whose roaring engines hummed bedtime lullabies all night.
It was an absolutely beautiful day, clear blue sky, with not a cloud in sight. The sub-zero temperatures didn't faze me, but unfortunately my bike didn't cope so well. Something that would be obvious to someone who had lived in Canada all of their life, but my drink bottles had frozen, as had my bike lock. I had a backup water supply in my water pack, and used a candle to thaw out the lock. The rear-derailer was frozen, so I was stuck in the easiest gear, which didn't really matter as the day's ride consisted almost entirely of uphill climbing.
The scenery was even more spectacular than the day before - Staligtites covering the roadside rocks with breathtaking snow-covered pine trees and mountains contrasting with the deep saphire-blue sky.
After 30kms of solid uphill climbing, the terrain finally took its tool. I started stopping more regularly, and by the time I nearly reached the top of the hill, I think I became slightly dillarious, thinking that a much flatter gradient uphill was actually downhill. I think it was because I was so used to the steep climb earlier. I couldn't figure out why I couldn't roll down without pedalling. I felt a similar sensation to what I had felt in the last 10kms of my marathon.
A couple of minutes later, and not a minute too soon, I reached the top of Allison Pass, at 1342m. After that, it was a cold downhill coast to the Manning Park Lodge, where I spent the night, dried my wet clothes and had the most incredible dinner and chocolate explosion cheesecake. I had worked up quite an appetite.
11/2 The thing I love about this is even when you absolutely stink of sweat and have frozen snot sticking to your face, everyone still talks to you. I spent my entire childhood trying to get passing truck drivers to honk their horns, with very little success, but now it is very regular. It is quite warming.
I left the lodge just after 8am, for my earliest start yet, fully kitted for the 15km downhill ride ahead of me. After that, it was up and down all day, on the part-mucky, and part-dusty roads. It was quite exhilirating after a long uphill, to ride down a fast windy downhill, around each bend revealing a panoramic view of the mountains.
Having more control of the bike, I was comfortably cruising at 40km/h down a lot of the hills through the fresh mountain air. I reached the Sunday Summit (1282m), just before midday, which was followed by a 3km, 8% decline, quite testing on the brakes.
My knees were giving me a bit of grief climbing up some of the hills, but other than that there were no problems today. My water was sensational - slightly frozen, tasting like a slurpy. As the mouthpiece was frozen, I had to open the nozzle to drink it.
I arrived in Princeton, a very friendly little town, and found a nice little diner with a salad bar and free refills of coke, which I took full advantage of. I ended up staying with a very nice couple, Neil and Sharron, who I met in the Internet Cafe, who had also riden across Canada, through New Zealand, to Aires rock in Australia from the coast, 20 countries in Europe, the US and just about everywhere - these people were pretty keen cyclists. That night we went to a fundraiser for the local figure skating team where I met some of the locals including the bike shop owner and his wife and Neil's dad who was a snow plow driver, who was a hoot.
12/2 Being cyclists themselves, Neil and Sharron knew how nice it was to have a good breakfast before a day of pedaling, so a good breakfast was what they gave me! A sensational real Canadian breakfast consisting of berry pancakes, peaches, blueberries, raspberries, apple sauce, all locally grown, bananas, maple syrup, pecan and whipped cream, an absolute feast. I stuffed as much as I could in before getting dropped off back in town by Neil, where my bike was being stored at the Internet cafe. I signed the log at the bike shop, the first for the year, and then set off on a side route that Neil had recommended, The Old Hedley Highway.
I followed the peaceful road along the path of the river, with mountains to my left and right. Since leaving Vancouver, me and my 3-wheeled contraption had been a prime target for every single neighbourhood dog to bark at, with only tall fences keeping them from chasing me to St. Johns, but here it was different. The lack of cars to share the road with on this rural route was counteracted with the frequency of loose dogs running around. I had my first experience when I had just reached the top of a rise, fairly tired from my small hill, I thought I would sit back and coast down the hill, when two full-grown, ferocious German Shepherds, came running at me, barking wildly. Fortunately as I was on a downhill I could ride relatively fast, and I pedalled as fast as my little legs could carry me to escape the angry canines. I was just catching my breath when a couple more littler dogs came yapping my way, so not wanting to have a mauling on my hands, I picked up the pace yet again and outran the savage muts. I went back to enjoying the prestine mountain scenery, fresh country air, when about 10 minutes later, a fairly large black mungruel came from nowhere, and started running along beside me, showing its full mouth of teeth and barking wildly, getting uncomfortably close to me ankles. Being a paperboy for years, I knew that dogs could sense fear, so I acted the opposite and putting on the meanest face I had, verbally abused the brutal animal with a few filthy words I had picked up in the playgrounds, and after running by my side for a bit, it retreated back to its home.
After that, there was no more, the odd bark or two, but all from behind secure fences.
I made my way to Hedley, a cute little mining town, with visible mines carved into the side of the mountain. I stopped for dinner at the Hitchin Post, a restaurant that Neil had recommended me because of its sizeable portions. The place lived up to its name and I was dished up a large pile of beef, which I enjoyed in the neat little restuarant cluttered with many tacky mining memorabilia, placed around it in a surprisingly tasteful way.
The meal seemed to give me a second wind, so I rode, well past sundown, I was in no mood to stop. The dusk air had an incredible ambience about it. I was in a spectactular valley, and the clear night air was exceptionally quiet except for the roar of my tires and the odd car passing ever couple of minutes.
I finally found a nice little spot on the side of the road where I pitched my tent and went straight to sleep.
13/2 I had an early rise, packed my things and set off down the road. It was less than 10kms down the road when I reached my first town for the day Keremees, or more appropriately, Fruitsville, BC. The sides of the highway were lined with Orchards and fruit stalls, which were unfortunately all closed for winter, so my desire for crisp apples was left unsatisfied.
I made my way past the next town, Cawston, and then along the breathtaking valley past more orchards, vineyards, cows and horse ranches.
A light flurry of snow fell, dropping from the sky weightlessly like fairies. I powered up the hill through Canada's only desert, and just over the summit, got a magnificent view of Osoyoos and the surrounding lake. It was downhill from there for more than 10kms, where I reached my top speed for the trip of 58.5km/h, in full control.
In Osoyoos, I was staying with Scott, a friend of my old roommate, Karen, who we had visited on the way to Nelson last summer. Scott showed me his photographs he took from his year in Africa, and then took me to the local Osoyoos Community dark room where he taught me the ins and outs of developing photographs. After the all-you-can-eat pasta special and a couple of the locally brewed ales at the local pub with him and his boarder, Dale, we returned home again, where I was ready for an early night.
Fahey and Les had driven all the way up to Osoyoos to surprise me, and saw me just before the last downhill into town, but when they tried to sneak up on me on their bicycles which they had carted all of the way up in the back of their truck, Fahey's front tyre blew out, and I, unknowingly, slipped off, never to be seen again. They drove around Osoyoos for hours looking for me, following a number of dud leeds, and unfortunately, their detective work was inadequate and we did not connect.
14/2 Today was the big day, it was the day of the Anarchist Mountain, which everyone had been warning me about since leaving Vancouver. I was pysched up for the occassion. Playing my most racey tunes, Tragically Hip, I reached the foot of the grand mountain, where I could see the early part of the road etching itself into the side of the great mountain. Without further delay, I started the almighty incline.
I set myself an easy pace and just rode casually up, enjoying the music and the view of the lake below, getting smaller and smaller as I rode to the heavens. I was little more than 2kms up, when a very friendly couple drove paste in their white wagon, with the camera out, ready to take a photo of me. Although I wasn't in my best photo-state, sweat covered, and probably looking a little exhausted, I posed for the photo. To my delight, the couple, still driving next to me, pulled out a bag containing a some nice looking cookies, of which looked too good to refuse, so I accepted the offer and attempted to grab them from the moving car. It took me 2 attempts, but I got hold of the nutricious snacks, although the excitement of the cookies caused me to loose balance, and I fell to the gravel road below for my first crash of the trip.
I think the couple felt pretty bad, so they immediately pulled over to help me up. I felt bad for making them feel bad, and as I was only going little more than 5km an hour, I didn't hurt myself at all. It turned out the the man in the relationship had done some cycling. In a nutshell, the couple were very nice and offered me a place to stay if I made it to Calgary.
I pulled myself together, and started the ride, saying goodbye to the friendly pair and soldiered on up the hill. Things started to chill and the light snow fall turned into a a denser fall, with little visibility at times. The road quickly became white, covered with a coating of snow. Each time I looked back, I could see my tracks in the snow, and I was surprised how much I was all over the road, the wobbly path I created gave a sign of my random route. It looked quite impressive, and sounded even better, as the noise my bike usually made was completely muted by the snow, as were passing vehicles including trucks. It created a peaceful presence.
The road became fairly slippery, but if I didn't do anything too sudden, I was seemingly unaffected by the conditions. I finally reached the top, after almost 4 solid hours of pedalling, at 1233m, almost 1000m up from Osoyoos way below.
I was looking for the town Rock Creek, which I had understood was close to the summit, so I rode on without putting anymore warm layers on. It turned out Rock Creek was at the foot of the Anarchist mountain on the other side, so by the time I reached it I was pretty cold, with a numb face, toes and fingers. I had slowed down the travels of 2 snow plows (probably the same plow, but 2 separate occasions) and numerous other vehicles. I did not take it too fast down the hill as my brakes were fairly unresponsive and it was pretty slippery in the conditions.
I reached the pub at Rock Creek, a nice wee establishment playing good music, where I lay everything out to dry, and had a burger and a beer, while all of my body parts thawed out.
Feeling a little warmer, with circulation now streaming freely around my body, I befriended the pub's owner and played a few games of pool. He didn't turn out to be a bad guy, and as the place seemed to have a warm and friendly atmosphere, I decided to maek it my bed for the night.
After putting my bike in a storage room in the pub, negotiating it and its trailor awkwardly through two skinny doorways, I returned to pub where I ended up spending the evening with a couple of brothers, Art and Doug. They referred to themselves as "the last of the Mohegans", as they were the last Indians in Rock Creek. I had a few beers with the guys, played a bit of pool, sparked up a few songs on the duke box, sung a little and altogether had an excellent night with my newfound friends. Not the traditional way to see in Valentines Day, but an experience.
15/2 I woke up in the hotel room. The big cheesy Japanese fan was still on the wall above the bed and the china ducks still flew south on the wall opposite, the hotel room fresh from the sixties wasn't some psychadelic dream, I was sleeping in a true peice of history. It turned out the pub/hotel, the Prospector Pub, was the longest continually operating pub in British Columbia. It still had all of its original charm including the decor, which may not have been bracing its walls since its erection in 1894, but certainly had been for a long time.
After breakfast I ventured outside, overjoyed that yesterday's storm had passed, and it was a clear blue day outside. The town of Rock Creek was pretty cute, it was an old mining town at the foot of the mountain, with turn of the century buildings dotting the two streets that made up the junction town.
I rode on in the sunshine, stopping for lunch at the railway museum (closed for winter), in Midway, for lunch. It was a nice break, I sat out and basked in the sun and the unseasonably warm conditions, where for the first time in a while, I could feel the sun cooking my bones. I savoured the delicious cookies that had so kindly been given to me the day before.
The next town, Greenwood, was neat as well. It was another historic mining town, probably the most grand of the towns I had been past, with a large brick water tower, and many character cottages randomly dotted on the hillside, their roofs covered with a thick layer of snow. The main street still had all of its original buildings, of course including a nice pub. I lay down on the ground to get the camera ready for a timer shot, when someone saw me, did a big turn in the middle of the highway and drove up next to me with a worried look on the passenger's face. They had seen me lying on the pavement, and had thought I was dead or dying. It was fairly entertaining.
There were no more towns until Grand Forks, but a few run down, wooden barns that looked like they were going to collapse under the weight of the snow that blanketed the roof lines of the rickety structures. The familiar aroma of horse and cow dung helped add to the atmosphere of the countryside.
It was downhill for about the last 20km into Grand Forks, a nice gradient, which was fast enough to compell me down the hill at a good pace, but not so ridiculously steep that I had to hold the brakes. I was much better clothed that yesterday, so I was much warmer.
I stopped at the Donut shop, where I met up with Carl, an lifelong friend of Dave, a friend of my old roommate Fahey. He was an absolutely great guy. It turned out he used to play a bit of rugby and spent a year down in Havelock North, New Zealand, picking apples.
Carl took me to his and his wife Isabels' home, for some incredible hospitality. The best meal I had consumed in a long time, a huge steak, mashed potatoes, salad, corn and chocolate cake and strawberries for dessert. It was a feast the I would have riden through the snow for a month for.
16/2 Up for an early breakfast of pancakes with Carl and his friend Ross, who was coming for us for a day in the snow, snowboarding at the local mountain, Red Mountain, about a one hour drive away.
I borrowed Ross's board and bindings, and another of Carl's friends, Rivot's, boots. As Carl was a certified snowboard instructor, he gave me a lesson and then left me on my own accord to get down the hill, back up again and so on. It was a glorious day, and the view from the top of the mountain of the mountain ranges all around was sensational.
The atmosphere on the mountain was pretty good, a lot of the people seemed to be local and it wasn't as commercialized as some of the other fields in British Columbia. There was a disproportionate number of New Zealanders sliding down the slopes, including one I sat next to on the lift from Te Puke, a small town of 3,000 people where my Grandpa used to live and we used to visit just about every Christmas.
I met Carl and Ross for lunch - a big plate of nachos and fries, and skied for a little more before making our way back to Grand Forks, indulging in Carl's homemade wine on the journey.
Carl went off to soccer practice and I had dinner with Isabel, before greasing my chain. Carl came home from soccer with one of his team mates, his wife and 7 week old baby. We all had chocolate cake before making our way outside to the hot tub, when we consumed more of Carl's wine.
The night got later and Carl's soccer mate had to go home, so we went to the local saloon with Ross and his two cousins visiting from Australia, for a few beers and a bit of pool.
It was awesome to have a day off and give the joints and muscles a bit of time to recover from the constant pounding that they had taken over the past week or so.
17/2 After saying my goodbyes to my unfaultable host Carl, I set off under crisp, clear blue skies. The chain greasing from yesterday was well worth while and the bike was running like a dream.
I made it to Christina Lake for lunch. Chistina Lake was in all her glory as she glistened in the sunlight, her glassy waters providing a near perfect reflection of the mountains that surrounded her.
The road around Christina lake was the last piece of flat highway that I was to see that day, as I left the low elevation to climb to the Paulson summit, the road which we had driven up on the way to skiing yesterday, so I already knew of the big climb ahead of me.
I slogged away up the mountain riding up some long straights where the corner at the end did not seem to be getting any closer. I chased the sun up the hill, stopping for a rest whenever it cast a ray of light through one of the valleys.
I stopped at a small clearing about 1km shy of the 1535m summit that Carl had suggested yesterday. It was about 300m from the highway and provided a nice setting, surrounded with pine trees, to pitch my tent.
I parked my bike and went for a walk to catch the last of the daylight before the sun set to behind the mountains. I waded through some snow up small hill which gave a surreal view of the magnificient mountains around me, elegantly rising above the forests below. The setting sun tinted the mountains with a pastel pink colour. The full moon now shone proudly above.
I returned to camp, where I pitched my tent and then cooked dinner, a tin of ravaloli, under the clear night sky.
The sky now a rich indigo, was lit up with the full moon, which projected a rich stream of light to land below. The clean, white snow all around glowed, with its contours now very obvious. The tall, thin pine trees provided spectacular silhouettes against the night sky, with the snow resting on its branches like blankets, glowing in the moonlight. Apart from the odd car or truck on the highway every few minutes, it was absolutely silent and still.
It was now a crisp -14° C and getting colder, so after dinner and cleaning my teeth with my frosen-bristelled toothbrush, I took refuge in my snug, down sleeping bag.
18/2 My breakfast which consisted of a tin of chilli, took about 30 minutes to cook, as it had frozen in its can and needed to be thawed on the element before I could spoon it out into the pot. It did taste very good and was well worth the considerable preparation.
I left, two tins lighter and rode the short distance to the summit, before a long downhill glide to the town of Castlegar for lunch.
Shortly after lunch the sun burnt away the high cloud, and I happily rode along the attractive Kootney river, past an old suspention bridge and then numerous dams, generating power for the province.
I made it to Nelson with about an hour left of sunlight, so casually rode around the cute small city, taking in its charming, well maintained, character buildings that lined the streets, which were buzzing with activity, in its impressive amphitheatre between the mountains.
Pulling into the busy hostel, I was immediately bombarded with interest from the other guests. After quite an impressive entry, I was dissappointed to discover that it was a long weekend in the United States and a bunch of them had come up and fulled the place. I called Bryn and Fahey in Vancouver hoping they could give me some names, and ended up staying the night with Bryn's friend Greg, better known as droopy. He lived right at the top of a steep street overlooking Nelson. His house was like a railway station, people coming and going all evening, popping in for a few drinks. I ended up sleeping the night in the lounge with two others sprawled out on the couches.
19/2 Today was longest day on the saddle and in kilometres, breaking the 100km in a day barrier for the first time since leaving Vancouver almost 2 weeks ago.
After a traditionally Nelson breakfast of scrambled tofu and tortilla, I left mid-morning. Through town and over the bright orange bridge, I headed east, enjoying the the local radio station BKR FM. I was about 10km past the bridge when a couple in a big pickup truck came driving past me yelling something out, of which I didn't hear a word of as booming in my ears was a George Michael rendition of Police's Roxanne. The truck stopped and the driver signalled for me to stop. I turned off my tunes and pulled over to hear what the man had to say. It turned out that he had seen the bright yellow flag that used to fly high from the side of my saddle bag on the side of the road back by the orange bridge. I was a very happy that he had stopped to tell me this, but at the same time, I was gutted that I would have to ride back to get it. But as yet another example of Canadian kindness, the man offered to drive back and get it, urging me to ride on and he would catch up to me.
I saw the couple about 20 minutes later with my flag, and thanking the couple profusely, I rode on. The sun was streaming down, and my ride along the side of Kootenay Lake was awe-inspiring. To one side of me the lake glistened, with golden sandy beaches, dotted with canoes, kayaks and mini catamarans, looking very summery, while on the other side of me was snow lining the side of the road, at the foot of tall, snow-capped mountains.
I arrived at the Kootenay Bay ferry, and had lunch in a pleasant snack bar, while I waited for the ferry to arrive. The ferry is the longest free ferry in North America, and I was given special treatment by the very friendly ferry staff. I was allowed on first, and then was taken up to wheel room, to enjoy the 40 minute ferry ride with the great guys working on it, with panoramic views of the Kootney Lake. Although the ride up to now had been through incredible scenery, today was the most spectacular day I had had. The locals described the area as mini Switzerland.
On the other side of the lake, the road winded around the coast, with grand snow covered mountains dropping into lake below, casting a silver tinting over the water.
There were a few cute little towns I passed through including the 'Metric Free' Gray Creek, a town that seemed to be proud of being backward by still using the imperial system. A pair of deer on the side of the road hopped away when they saw me.
The sun set and night came, the large moon lighting up the the mountains, whose reflection was even more clear and defined than that I had seen on Christina Lake just two days ago.
After about two hours of riding in the darkness, it started to take its toll. It took a lot of concentration to focus on the unlit highway, and my dim headlight did little to remedy the situation. Every couple of minutes when a car came by, with its headlights blinding me, it took a couple of seconds to readjust to the darkness.
I don't know if it was the long distance I had pedalled, the twilight riding, or a combination of them both, but I was pretty exhausted, so when I saw Bryn's father, Bob, in his truck about 5km outside of Wynndel, I was a pretty happy man. Bob took me to his and Margo's beautiful house on a strawberry farm, where I was spoilt with some fine hospitality.
20/2 It was hard to leave the Wyka's of Wynndel, because although I had only been there one night I was getting very used to the lovely residence, the impressive mountain views and Margo's baking which almost always consisted of a large portion of the finest Belgium chocolate.
After a delicious breakfast of bacon and eggs, I spent the morning on the Internet updating the site and catching up on email. It conveniently took all morning and by chance, I happened to be there for lunch, tasty hot dogs with some weird, meaty, European sausage and more Belgium chocolate cookies. Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I finally left just before 4pm, packing a stack of cookies.
The day was yet again blue skies. I road down a quiet and scenic road that Bob had suggested all the way to Creston, up the hill, and past the famous Kokanee Brewery.
I wasn't too far out of town, and even though I was in a new time zone and had an extra hour of sunlight, it started getting dark and I was getting tired of the deceiving road that looked flat but was a gradual uphill, so I pulled over to a nice spot on the side of the road, and made camp for the night.
21/2 I awoke an hour later than usual as I was still adjusting to the new time zone. After repacking everything onto the bike, I set off up along the fairly gentle road, zig zagging back and fowards across the Moyie River.
I was only a couple of hours into my ride when I thought I heard a faint, yet familiar noise, far into the distance. I heard it again, this time louder, as I was closer to the source of the soothing tune. It was the solo baa from a woolly sheep, something I had not heard for a while, except for a few cheap imitations from people trying to hassle me because of my heritage. I looked down off the road where there was a small flock of my woolly friends, with a shaggy sheep dog proudly standing guard on a post above them. Another cry from a sheep, and then they all started, singing like a hamonic quior, with the shaggy dog adding to the symphony with a throaty bark. I don't know if they were acknowledging my sheepskin seat cover or just the vehicle I was pedalling, but whatever it was, it was a very special moment, and probably the highlight of today's ride.
I rode past Yahk and then onto Moyie, a neat little down on a lake, which had frozen over and was covered in snow. A character, wooden church stood elegantly above the town, with the rest of the structures dotting the landscape down to the lake. I stopped for lunch at what seemed to be the only food spot in town, a gas station/grocery store, where I savoured a couple of microwaved cheeseburgers and a banana.
After the leaving the scenic lake, the ride wasn't much longer to Cranbrook, where I was staying in a lovely little house with Cam and Sandy, and their three kids who had all just returned from Australia after a 1-year teaching exchange. After a great pasta dinner, carbo-loading for tomorrow and a play put on by the three young guys, Emma, Wynter and Madison, I finished up on the Internet and went to bed for a rest.
22/2 I was up with the kids early this morning for waffles and maple syrup and then onto the school Cam teaches at, Baker High School, for a presentation about cycling across Canada to a class of Grade 11 (Form 6) Social Studies students.
I returned back to Cam and Sandy Trueman's residence where I unloaded all of my gear except a warm sweater and rode free like I never had before. It was quite a different experience riding with no weight again, but it felt good to feel so light.
I rode out to the Three Bars Ranch, owned by some friends of the Trueman's. A magnificient property just outside of Cranbrook. When I finally arrived at cattle-grated entrance the estate, I realised that I still had a 3-km trek up the driveway to the main lodge.
The lodge itself was a grand oversized log cabin with a large shist chimney and a fine view of the Rockies, which were partially showing themselves through the clouds in the distance. I met the owner's son, Tyler, one of Cam's former students, who showed me the equally impressive interior to the main lodge, decorated with a large buffalo hyde and a large stag's head mounted above the pool table.
We played a round of pool, before Tyler's girlfriend, Jill, took me for a tour of the ranch including the old, character stables of which they had some authentic horse-stuff from a while ago. I knew that I wasn't that knowledgable about stallions and maires, but I was even more ignorant than I thought, having to ask questions after about everything that Jill had to say.
The next leg of the tour took us into the new stables - heated, very clean and new, nicer than the average suburban house, of which the horses bathed in the comforts of horse-med. The setup also consisted of a large indoor arena, where the horses were trained to do equestrian, in addition to many other little log-cabin styled buildings that were mostly accomodation for the predominantly East-Coast Americans that frequent the establishment.
I got a ride back into town with Tyler, where I went to the local computer store on 11th and 1st and scanned in the trip photos, and then returned to Trueman's house for yet another lovely dinner and very entertaining evening with my hosts and their friends Rod and Colleen and their two kids Jordan and Jasmine. Rod had ridden across Canada in May '76 on a thin-tyred ten speed with $400, from the East to the West, and gave an interesting perspective on things.
23/2 An early start to the day, on the road before 9am - I think the effects of the time change had warn off. I left Cranbrook and my very hospitable hosts and headed towards my first destination of Fort Steel.
Fort Steel was a blast from the past, an old town, seemingly unchanged from the boom years of the 1890s when the town thrived with gold miners. It looked like the scene from a western movie. I walked around the historic streets enjoying the old wooden buildings that had been lovingly restored, when an old guy in a pickup truck came driving up to me and offered me a coffee. I don't normally go with strangers, but he looked nice and I was keen to get out of the rain.
I joined the friendly old guy and all of the other people who were doing maintenance on the town for a warm cuppa in the Wasa hotel, the focal point of the town. They had some interesting stories about Fort Steel.
I left Fort Steel and my new friends and rode down the Bull River Highway. It was a very pretty road, running along at the foot of the Canadian Rockies, whose peaks were covered with the clouds that were raining on me as I rode. The highway proved to be very peaceful with only three cars overtaking me in the first hour of the road, with traffic becoming a bit more frequent as I got closer to Bull River.
Back on the main highway, the rain had passed, with the mountain peaks finding their way through the fluffy clouds. I had just riden through the town of Elko when a sign on the side of the road caught my eye. It was a sign with last year's road-kill count, with small posted number beside each animal, that reminded of a scores posted on the scoreboard at a cricket match. The sign read:
Road Kills
Wildlife killed by vehicles on Highway 3 between Elko and the Alberta border (about 80km away)
1999
Bear 8
Bighorn Sheep 3
Elk 41
Deer 62
Moose 6
While I felt sorry for the animals, and the people who hit the moose, at the same time I knew that this was a sign of a lot of animals near the road that I was riding on. It was literally around the next corner when I saw a trio of bighorn sheep clambering up the side of the steep cliff, munching on clumps of grass. One of them heard me coming and scrambled for safety, sending a few rocks down the hill, starting a mini rock slide, some of which managed to make their way to the highway below.
I kept my eye out for more animals as I pedalled on, hoping to see a moose, but there were no signs of them.
The Rockies were awesome. More grand and rugged than any of the mountains that I had seen in the rest of British Columbia. Everywhere I looked could have quite easily been a postcard.
I was surrounded with mountains, a little worried about having to actually ride over one to reach Fernie, but the road kept winding its way through gulleys between the mountains and the road remained relatively flat.
I had just riden through a little tunnel, cut into the side of the mountain, when a heard a huge shatter. It sounded like a glass fish bowl being dropped onto concrete from a 1st storey window. It was my tyre - a blowout, my first flatty of the trip, which was ironic, as it was just last night that I had been boasting about no flats to Rod who had been plagued with flats in his trans Canada cycle.
I obviously had to unload everything, and then started to change the tube, which had blown a hole in the side of the tyre. A nice old guy with a thick Scottish accent stopped to help me out. He had just started his cycle training on his orange, 80's style racing bike, for the annual BC President's Games in August. The cycling veteran negotiated with the tube and the tyre and had it fixed in a time that would have made the pit crew at an indy race proud.
The rain had started again, I had gotten a little chilled when I stopped to change the tyre, but I rode on for about another hour to the town of Fernie. Fernie reminded me a lot of a little Banff, a town surrounded by mountains with a lot of young skiish looking people walking around. I stayed the night with Louisse and her family, who had also just returned from a teaching exchange in Australia.
24/2 Yesterday's rain had turned into today's snow, and boy it was coming down. I bought a new back tyre to replace the one wrecked in yesterday's blowout, and set off in a north-easterly direction.
The snowfall meant visibility was poor, so unfortunately I couldn't see the Rockies that were both sides of me, just the snow-coated, leafless trees framing the road.
I arrived in friendly Sparwood for lunch and to visit the world's biggest truck, a big green truck that had been decommissioned after a hard life in the mines.
The snowfall hadn't eased at all after lunch, and I found myself getting sprayed with the sludgy brown stuff that had accumulated in the middle of the road, which was sent my way when cars and trucks pulled out into the middle of the road to give me space. One side of me and my bike was wet, while the other side was completely covered in the sloppy brown stuff.
After a gradual climb, I reached the BC-Alberta border. It felt pretty good to have completed my first province.
I had barely ridden into the wild rose province, and just after having taken a cheesy photo of the 'Welcome to Alberta' sign, tragidy struck! I went to wheel my bike back onto the road, but it wouldn't move. After closer inspection I realised that one of the arms connecting my trailor to my bike had come out of its slot and was in the spokes of my back wheel. When I tried to put it back, I realised that the pin to hold it into place was nowhere to be found.
After a few swear words, I used a bit of ingenuity, and with my second smallest allen key, the chain link tool to bend it, and of course some trusty duct tape, I had a makeshift pin.
I set off again on my merry way, down the Alberta highway. The bad weather had passed and I now had commanding views of the grandiose Rockies around me.
I rode down through the Crows Nest Pass, of which I had been warned can be one of the windiest places in the world, but today, it was as calm as a 14 year old Saint Bernard.
In places the snow had melted, leaving bare, dry, hay-coloured fields, which contrasted awesomely with the dark green pine trees and the snowy mountains.
There were many little towns along the pass, although probably the most memorable one was one that isn't there anymore. Frank's Slide is the site of where a town used to be until the start of last century, when a huge rock slide buried the whole town. You could see the scar on the side of the mountain and the piles of boulders on both sides of the highway that smuthered the town.
I arrived in Lunbreck, a town that looked like it had been built between the 1950s-1970s, with the cheapest materials possible. I was hoping to find a nice restaurant and get stuck into some famous Alberta beef. W hen I waltzed into the town's only restaurant, it completely stopped when they saw this alien wearing a bright yellow jacket, covered head to toe in road scum. Unfortunately they did not have any Alberta beef, so I ordered the special - a big plate of crumbed pork chops. The restaurant's patrons turned out to be very friendly, and I ended up having a good, yet fairly basic conversation with a local lass and a couple of truckies who drive down to Eureka, Montana and back twice a day.
After the big dinner, I found a nice grassy spot on the side of the road just down from the restaurant and pitched the tent for the night.
25/2 I stopped at the first town I passed for breakfast. The venue was a dimly lit gas station covered wall to wall with car parts. I sat down with the lady who worked there and watched a talkshow as I ate my breakfast and she sipped her coffee, I had to borrow the microwave to thaw out my drink bottles which had frozen solid overnight.
I rode past a windmill farm which looked pretty spectacular, a line of huge mills perched along a ridge with the backdrop of the Rockies.
As the sunny day progressed, the terrain got flatter, changing from small, infrequent hills, to very gradual ups and downs. I found that I could ride pretty fast, pretty easily, assisted with a stiff, chilli wind coming from the west.
The scenery couldn't be much more opposite from what I had seen in the previous days of the tour. There were no rugged mountains, no green trees or signs telling trucks to check their brakes, just hay-coloured paddocks for as far as the eye could see. In its own way, it was kind of pretty, perhaps because it was such a contrast. Even a simple train that ran by me, looked fairly neat in this particular setting. I could see its 96 carriages for a long time as it chugged away into the flat horizon.
I was on the home stretch of my journey to Lethbridge, riding down the steep dip before the city, cruising at a speed in excess of 50km/h, when my speedo cut out. I was curious to see how fast I was going, so I quickly pressed one of its buttons, hoping this may help. The slight movement totally through my bike and trailor into disarray, as I was going at a fairly quick clip, and I stared to swerve, with no control what-so-ever. I heard a truck coming up on my outside lane, which was confirmed when a quick glance into the rear vision mirror revealed the big grill of a big truck uncomfortably close behind. I was totally out of control and I was thinking that it may be a matter of seconds before I am run over by atleast 9 of the truck's wheels, so I aimed the bike to the side of the road and said my prayers. The fiasco came to an abrupt end when I rolled onto the soft dirt to the side of the road. The tyres sunk in after a couple of metres and threw me a few more metres. The bike had ended up perpendicular to the road, with a few peices of luggage scattered around it. I was worried there may be some serious damage, but when I quickly assessed it, I discovered that only the front bag had snapped off and the handle bars were temporarily bent.
A nice local guy who had seen my escapade while driving up the other side of the highway, came back to see if I was alright and helped me carry my bike back up to the road.
A little bit shooken up, I rode a little slower for the rest of the hill onto Daleen's house, a friend of the Trueman's from Cranbrook studying to be a nurse. She was very cool and cooked up a mean feast.
26/2 1 kilometre of the smooth, almost flat prairie highways is certainly a lot easier than 1 kilometre on British Columbia's roads. Today's mammoth trek went smoothly, not a cloud in the sky, passing through the flat wheat fields.
You can see a town coming in the Prairies more than 10km before you get there. Across the flat plains is a grouping of trees with the skyline generally being dominated by an elevator, a tall wooden, barn looking structure used to process wheat, usually painted red, green, cream or white with the town's name painted on the side of it. The bigger towns have all kinds of weird farming machinery for sale in a lot similar to a car lot.
Between the towns are large, fenced fields with long, metal apparartuses spanning the width of the field, used for irrigation.
My only major stop, as I was trying to reach Medicine Hat at a reasonable hour, was Grassy Lake, a small town with an elevator and a large, empty grocery store where I ate.
The most spectacular times of the day in the Prairies are sun rise and sun set. I wasn't up early enough for sun rise, but I was lucky enough to still be riding when the sun set.
The sun going down was quite a sight, as it got lower, it made longer and longer shadows. Even the pebbles on the road had long skinny shadows, and the ugly shadow of me riding gracefully stretched way off into the fields. Before the sun sunk into the horizon to the west, it cast a golden tinge over everything, making the wheat fields glow.
I was fairly close to Medicine Hat when it got dark. The twinkling lights of the city could be seen from afar, especially the lit up structure that I discovered was the world's largest tepee when I rode past it later.
I arrived in Medicine Hat, winner of the communities in bloom, 1999. I was absolutely pooped from my ride. I found the residence of Laura, a student in Medicine Hat, showered and went to Moxies, the restaurant where she works, and finally had some Alberta Beef, which lived up to its reputation.
27/2 Today started off farily late as I was still recovering from the effects of over 9 hours on the saddle yesterday. I finally got off just before noon and had just left the city limits when my tire went flat.
I could see that something had been rubbing on my tyre as there were a number of gashes on one side of it, and the tube had finally given way.
I unloaded everything but realised I couldn't take the trailor off as my makeshift pin was permanent, and if I removed it, I may not be able to replace it. I though that I would just take the trailor and rear wheel off and work on it like that, but when I tried to take the wheel off, I realised that the accident from a couple of days ago must have bent the slot for the wheel, as it would not budge. So I ended up fixing the puncture with the tyre still on the bike, using a couple of layers of duct tape to cover the gashes from the inside of the tyre.
I returned to Medicine Hat for lunch as I was hungry (suprisingly) and there was a good selection there and I didn't know how long it would be until the next food opportunity.
After lunch, I got back onto Highway 1, the Trans Canada, for the first time of the trip.
Past more wheat fields and the odd paddock of cows, who all stopped what they were doing and stared at me, without moving their bodies, just turning their heads from whatever direction they were facing.
It was getting dark, I was a little tired and there was a slight head wind, making the pedal quite a grind, so I found a nice spot just outside the town of Irving and pitched the tent.
28/2 I could hear the wind whistling outside my tent, and hoped the wind was going in an easterly direction.
I opened the tent door so the wind could funnel in and dry everything, so I wouldn't pack everything away damp with condensation, like I normally do. I changed my front tyre that had gone flat over night and hit the highway, very happy the wind was blowing in the same direction as I was headed - and it was blowing, assisting my travels immensely.
It wasn't long until I was at the Saskatchewan border, leaving the sleek, smooth, two-lane, grassy median strip highways of the oil-rich Alberta for the single lane, painted median of Saskatchewan.
After the first 10km-odd of hills, Saskatoon flattened out considerably, flatter with seemingly more open space than fellow Prairie province, Alberta. Instead of towns every 10-15km like in Alberta, they were now every 20-30km.
On top of a low, wind-swepted hill, there was a gas station, a diner and the Proud Prairie motel, with nothing around for miles. I stopped at the very reasonably priced restaurant, had the 3-course special and then set off back in the wind.
It was partially cloudy and some fields were soaked with sunshine, while others were emersed in shadow. It had quite a neat effect, as did an old pickup truck driving down a side road in the distance, with only the sky behind it.
The ride was going smoothly, easy pedalling and terrain, with a nice tail wind pushing me along, when my back tyre went flat again. I fixed it with the same performance as yesterday, but this time while being battered with bitterly cold winds, which I had to pull out the balaclava and many layers of fleece. I was about 3km down the road, when my substandard repair job was insufficient to hold in the air, and my tyre went flat again.
It was dusk, so I pulled over to fix it in a ditch protected somewhat from the wind. I decided as the flat back tyre was becoming a recurring theme, I would do my best to get the back wheel off so I could swap the front tyre with the back tyre, as the gash-ridden back tyre would perform better with less weight on the front, and if it went flat again, it would be easier to change.
I unscrewed everything that could be unscrewed on the back wheel and then tapped away at the axel for about 15 minutes, using my allen key set as a chisel, and my spanner as a hammer. The wheel finally popped out, and I bent the slot with the spanner so this wouldn't happen again, and changed the tyres over.
Very content that my bike was in much better shape than it had been an hour ago, I pitched my tent, ate my ravaloli, and then phoned my parents for my weekly check-in call. My belovered sister, Clare, was home, having returned from England via two months in Africa, so it was nice to talk to her again.
29/2 It was a good feeling to wake up knowing that yesterday's bike problems seemed to be fixed. The Trans Canada Highway took me through more of the same fields as yesterday, except without the assistance of a tail wind.
Half of me was looking forward to getting east of Winnipeg for a change in scenery, while the other half of me enjoyed the space and vastness of the almost flat terrain and the incredible skies. I found myself noticing things that would normally go unnoticed such as the dead-straight line of evenly spaced power poles spanning the side of the highway.
I arrived in Swift Current and talked to some very friendly and helpful people in the local municapility office who gave me a makeshift map of Swift Current and recommended a good value motel to stay.
I had spent the last couple of nights in a tent without showering and was a little self-conscious about absolutely stinking, so I was keen to find a place where I could clean up. I stopped at the Rainbow Motel, where I had a lovely soak in a warm bath, did some laundry, and then went for a walk around the town, stopping at Carol's Diner for yet another sensational Saskatchewan 3-course special.
1/3 Regenerated and fresh smelling I hit the saddle for another day. Unfortunately the wind couldn't have been blowing in a more painful direction - into my face. I suppose I deserved it as I had such a strong wind with me a couple of days ago.
But I was cursing the ghastly gusts, riding down the flat, straight road at a mere 10km an hour. It required the same energy to move as the passes I had experienced in British Columbia, without the same sense of achievement from reaching the summit.
I battled the chilly winds all morning before stopping at Herbert at a Greek-owned family restaurant, where I got the special. I had been thinking about savouring the taste of lunch since leaving Swift Current, and it was terrific to sit down in a warm and sheltered environment to be waited upon for about 30 minutes.
After lunch it was a completely different world outside. The winds had eased and the birds were singing. The Prairies are a completely different place when strong winds aren't battering your face. I rode past some frozen lakes and dodged field mice road kills, of which I saw at least half a dozen of the poor rodents. I watched another incredible sun set and then pitched my tent in the middle of a wheat field, where I was seranaded by the sound of wheat brushing against the side of my tent in the wind.
2/3 An easy day all around. Almost perfect conditions, not too much wind, sun and a temperature that allowed me to ride without a woolly hat under my helmet for the first time in a while.
The morning was trouble free, all the way to Moose Jaw, apparently where Al Capone and other crooks used to hang out. I was craving a traditional McDonalds combo as I had been overdoing the roadside diner specials since entering the province.
I sat down with my tray of goodies and almost before my bottom hit the seat, a 60-70 year old lady sitting at the next table starting talking to me, telling me how she still rides a bike at her age, between garage sales on Saturdays and Sundays. Then her joke telling session begun, joke after joke for the duration of lunch. I must admit she was pretty funny for an old girl and had a few one-liners that Seinfeld would be proud of.
The old lady and I left the restaurant together, and we saw a couple outside, obviously her friends, of a similar age. The old guy was absolutely fascinated with my setup, especially the trailor. My joke-telling friend gave me an apple pie that she didn't eat, and offered me a lot more food, which I had to refuse, and I set off again, giving the three a toot as I rode off, which I think gave them a bit of a thrill.
The 70km from Moose Jaw to Regina was almost entirely straight and the flattest leg that I have encounted on the journey to date.
From about 35kms out, I could see Regina's skyline peering over the prairies. I thought that I may nearly be there, but I rode a lot more highway before the buildings seemed to get any closer.
I got tired of listening to my educational tapes on the history of the United Nations, which I had listened to 10 in the last 2 days, so I tuned into a local weird, but soothing, folk music station, which seemed very fitting for the scenery. After too much of that I tuned into a local rock station, where I discovered that Regina was backing in 13° Celcius at 5pm. Not bad for a city known for its extremely cold winters.
I arrived in Regina, where the Royal Canadian Mounted Police started. Its population of about 180,000 made it the largest city that I had been to since leaving Vancouver. Convertibles with their tops town were cruising the streets as the sun beat down and I had some good music ringing in my ears.
I rode down the beautiful tree-lined Albert Street past the Provincial Parliament buildings and through downtown, onto a sports shop owned by Jay, a friend of Al who I was staying with, and got cleaned up. Al was your typical prairies guy, very friendly and hospitible, with an honest sense about him.
Al, Jay and myself went to a restaurant/pub they frequent regularly, and were joined by Al's girlfriend, Christa, and Jay's brother, Brad.
After dinner we went back to the town of Southey, about 60km North of Regina, were Al lives. Al took me to his car dealership, Southey Motors and showed me his awesome collection of Harley Davidsons and Muscle cars.
3/3 I spent the morning washing all of my clothes that were a little bit damp. I went with Al to his mother's place a great lunch and then was picked up by Al's friend Leroy to do a bit of ice-fishing. Like Al, Leroy was very friendly and hospitable and seemed to have the same honest and genuine feeling about him.
We drove out to Last Mountain Lake, reputedly one of the best places to ice fish around. We left the gravel roads and drove straight onto the frozen lake. It was an incredibly weird feeling driving across a lake in a big dodge truck.
There were a lot of other cars and trucks and even little portable cabins scattered across the huge lake, all with little holes in the ice, waiting for a jerk on the line.
We found a spot and drilled some holes, baited the lines and then dropped them through the 30cm thick ice, and sat, waiting for the fish. It was extremely relaxing, good company, pretty scenery, sunshine and flocks of geese flying overhead, on the migration north, apparently about 3-weeks earlier than normal. Although I have been enjoying pedalling away, it was a nice change from the saddle.
We moved around a few times and drilled a few holes, until we found not a bad little spot, where there were some fish biting. Leroy, the avid ice-fisherman, pulled up three fish, while I went home empty handed.
Back to Al's we drove, where Leroy gutted the fish and then cooked them up. They tasted pretty damn good.
At 8pm, we went down to the local ice-rink for the 4th game in the best of 5 semi finals, in which Southey were 2-1 down, so it was a must-win game for them. There must have been half of Southey's 700 population packed into the brand new arena, of which Al must have known just about every one of them.
Unfortunately Southey went down to the visitors, but it didn't seem to dampen anyone's spirits as everyone migrated to the local Southey Hotel for a few brews and then onto another place to finish the night off.
4/3 Something that I wanted to do in Saskatchewan was visit a Hutterite Colony. Hutterites are similar to Amish people that you see in American movies, self sufficient people who do not have many influences from the outside world, living on a large farm with all of their own facilities, in their clothes they made themselves and eating food they produced themselves. Al, Leroy and myself packed into Al's Dodge and drove out the colony, stopping at one of Al's friend's private Harley museum on the way.
One of Al's friends knew one of the Hutterites, so he gave us the name for the colony. It was a very interesting place, with a population of 98, all of who which milked cows, cooked, built and all of the other things that you'd expect. We met Elias, the manager of the colony, who told us a little about the place, while we sipped the homemade wine.
Elias's son Phil, showed us around the property, of which I was very impressed to see that they had the latest agricultural technology and seemed to be pretty efficient, selling some of their surpluses to companies such as KFC. I expected to see a line of people sitting on stools milking cows, but the milking shed was a fully computerized system, with the suckers coming of the udder automatically after five minutes.
I didn't see any sign of it, but apparently these such collonies were looking for sperm donors to diversify the gene pool, but I think what happens now is people get married to people from other colonies.
We left the colony and went home via Regina Beach, apparently Regina's version of Muscle Beach in the summer.
It was into Regina for the night where we had dinner with Al's girlfriend Christa and her friends Candi and Tami, visiting from Saskatoon and Calgary.
5/3 As we were in Regina, Al took me around to see some of the attractions.
The tour started with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Barracks and Museum, where every single RCMP officer goes for 6 months to learn the ropes before they are admitted to the force.
Next on the agenda was the Saskatchewan Museum, which had some informative displays about the province and the native people who live here. We drove a little bit around the city, past the football stadium, agribition centre and university before taking a tour of the beautiful, marble interior of the Provincial Government buildings.
After the famous Western Pizza for lunch - a pizza staked atleast 2 inches high with toppings and undisputedly the best pizza that I have ever had, we went out to one of Al's friend's, Adair's brother-inlaw's buffalo farm. Apparently the great beasts used to run wild around these parts at the turn of the century, before they were slaughtered for their hides, with the rest of the animal was left (the meat, etc) to rot, and there are photos of huge piles of bones. There are now only 250,000 left in the world.
We took the adventurous way back to Adair's house, with the 4-wheel-drive on through paddocks and some pretty slippery and boggy tracks.
6/3 Today was probably the most rested day I've had since leaving.
I packed and then caught a ride with Adair to Regina to get some photos developed and use the Internet, before going back to Adair's for dinner with his family and to scan in the pics.
7/3 Four days of relaxing in Southey had finally caught up with me and I didn't wake up until midday. It was the last supper with Al and his roommate Craig, who had come home for lunch, before swinging by Southey Motors for final farewells and photographs.
I had really become attached to this town and its residents, which is why I ended up staying 5 nights after only planning to stay 1 or 2. I had seen a lot more of the prairies than just the Trans Canada perspective.
I pedalled out of town on a road that Al had recommended that had more towns and was more scenic than the main highway, with less traffic.
I thought I'd be adventurous and take a gravel road short cut, which ended up probably taking a bit longer, and being a little harder pedalling, but a nice change from the traditional surface.
After dinner in Balcarres, I road down the highway for a little bit in the dark until I found a nice little side road to pitch the tent.
8/3 It is amazing to me how the two thin sheets of faric of a tent and its fly can keep out so much cold or keep in so much warmth. I left my relatively warm, snug tent to discover a biting cold wind keeping things crispy outside.
I packed up as much as I could inside of the tent before braving the elements outside. The freezing wind was gusting in the exactly the opposite direction that I was going, right into my face. I had to stop early into the ride to bring out the balaclava as my nose and chin were starting to tingle.
Abernethy, the first town that I reached, a mere 14km from last night's camp site, was the designated lunch spot.
It was incredibly warming coming in from the bitter cold to see the smiling faces at the O'Brien's Cafe. I had a lovely lunch with the friendly staff and patrons, followed by a photo shoot with the owner, then back into the icey head-wind.
It was a very slow slog, and as I wasn't making much ground at all, I stopped for dinner a couple of towns along in Noudorf, at a family restaurant run by a very nice and inquisitive Chinese couple. I changed out of my cold clothes, each layer having droplets of ice on them from frozen perspiration. My balaclava was the most impressive with moisture from my breathing forming a large frozen clump on the front.
I had sweet and sour pork, a nice change from the predominantly Canadian delacacies that I had been living on, and then savoured a hot chocolate, procastenating going back out into the wind and also waiting for the blood to rush back to my stinging foot.
I planned to ride a little out of town before pitching the tent, as I still had about 30 minutes of daylight, but I saw an old gas station for sale which didn't look like it was in service, and after closer inspection revealed the calendar inside was still on September, I decided it would provide a good shelter to take refuge behind.
It was -13° C, but the windchill was making it much colder, so I pitched the tent as fast as I could and went to bed.
14/3 I took the day to look around Manitoba's provincial capital. The day started down at the Forks, where Winnipeg's two rivers meet. In the last 12 or so years, the area has been rejuvenated, with the old warehouses being converted into a lively market and other buildings such as a children's museum, theatre, etc, errected, with some nice landscaping on the river bank to compliment the development.
I moved onto Winnipeg's financial district for a quick look around, with my main reason for going to go to the intersection of Portage Avenue and Main Street, reputedly the coldest corner in Canada. I've seen colder corners in my travels, but the light wind did make things a little chilly.
It was to the impressive Portage Place, the city's largest shopping centre to take a look around. The centre was a tell-tale sign of Winnipeg's cold winters, as the mall was spread over a series of city blocks all linked by enclosed bridges above the streets. If someone wanted to they could see the hundreds of shops in Winnipeg's downtown area without stepping outside. The bus stops were another sign of how the city's weather conditions can be freezing, fully enclosed, with doors to block out the chill. But today the sun was shining and the city was basking in a temperature of not too far below zero, so people were out and about enjoying the heat.
I left the city centre to visit the aviation museum out by the airport. I am fascinated by aeroplanes, but my main reason for going was because my Great Uncle Bayly, who my father was named after in 1943 was stationed to Winnipeg under the Empire Training Scheme, so there was some historical significance for me there.
I don't know if its because I have a strange accent, but I cannot get over the friendliness and helpfulness of the people of Winnipeg, a very cosmopolitan city, with a bit of culture from almost everywhere in the world.
I met Christine and went to her AIESEC awards dinner and then out for a few beers.
15/3 I left Winnipeg, but not before lunch at McDonalds, storing up on the greasy burgers just as a camel does with water, as I knew it may be the last time I saw the golden arches until Thunder Bay, over 700km away.
As I rode further east, I noticed the scenery start to change. It started with leafless trees, lining the sides of the highway, with the odd evergreen starting to appear, with some rises and dips in the road starting.
As I pedalled on the trees all became evergreens, with roadside rocks appearing randomly. It was a sad moment, but I think this was officially the end of the prairies.
The prairies had put on a beautiful day for their last showing, so I was left with good memories of a wide span of blue sky, with a magic sunset, as red as the #3 pool ball.
With so many trees, there was an abundance of excellent camping spots, so I found a nice clearing amongst the bushes, out of view from the road for a change so I wouldn't get the high beams of passing motorists lighting up my tent.
16/3 An early start meant I was at Falcon Lake by lunch time. Falcon Lake is a resort town in a provincial forest, where Winnipegers play during the warm months of May-October. Since March doesn't fit into this spell, the town was empty, so just about all of the shops, including the eateries, were closed. For my last meal in Manitoba, I had the Shell Station or a bakery to pick from.
I chose the bakery, but as it was out of season, all they had were cinnimon buns and apple turnovers, of which I sampled both, but still not completely satisfied that I would be leaving the province without a full stomach, I went to the Shell shop for more, in which the very nice lady gave me a complimentry hot chocolate.
It wasn't long until I was in Ontario. The road was a very smooth tarseal surface that wound its way through the gorgeous scenery. Rock faces were frequent on the side of the road, looking like they had been chipped away to make way for the highway.
There were many lakes, dotted with little cottages around the perimeter. The lakes which were frozen, were covered in snow which had partly melted, revealing some of the ice underneath, which made some fanastic patterns.
Pine trees were the prevailing species of trees, but numerous silver birches added a bit of variety as did the fluffy topped toy-toys.
It got dark, so I pulled over and found a nice wee camp spot amongst the trees that looked like something from the Blair Witch Project, pitched the tent, and lay down for a rest.
17/3 I slept in a little longer this morning as I could hear the wind gusting outside and I wasn't in a hurry to get into it.
I took a short detour to Kenora for lunch. Kenora is a small resort city, built on the shores of the lake of the woods, a large lake sporting 14,000 islands I am told. The town seemed to have a bit of history as there were a lot of charming old brick buildings.
It was more of the same scenery of forests, lakes and bare rocks which came in an array of colous including blue, red, orange, pink, grey and charcoal, often with small, frozen waterfalls stepping down the metamorphic faces. Although there didn't seem to be many towns around, every now and then there would be a sign of people in the area, as they had put their mark on the rocks with spray paint, often couples expressing their feelings for one another.
In the late afternoon, as the forecasters had predicted, it started to snow, and as I wasn't near any towns, I pulled over and set up camp, to save getting wet and cold for the sake of another hours riding.
18/3 It was gloriously sunny and warm, the first day in the positives for a while and the first day my water bottle wasn't frozen.
I was less than an hour into the days riding, enjoying a light tail wind and blue skies, when I thought I better pull over and put some air into my tyre, as the weight of my luggage in addition to my mass was damaging the rubber.
I stopped in a nice spot by a lake and decided as it was so warm, I might as well fix my tyre properly, and swap the damaged back tyre with the near-new front tyre, and while I was doing that, I bent the rear forks back so the derailer ran straight. I also changed the brake pads and greased the chain. It was nice to sit out in the sunshine in a pretty setting.
After the two hour running-repair job, I left on the smooth King's Highway with not a worry in the world. Just as I was starting to feel hungry, I saw a restaurant, which around here is rare, especially ones that are open this time of the year.
After a few more hours of rocks, lakes and forests, the scenery changed slightly to rolling hills, cleared fo farming, it reminded me of parts of the North Island back home, especially the town of Minnitaki, which almost sounded like a Maori name and also housed Emlo's wool and sheepskin shop, complete with a large sheep statue out front.
The blue above started to dissappear as the skies clouded over, giving a fantastic sky show, complete with very dark black and royal blue clouds, and after it started to rain, the full arc of a vivid rainbow. To complete the extravagnza, when the sun went down, it tinted the remaining cloud hovering over the eastern horizon a bright pink, creating a scene that looked like something out of a 70's Mars movie.
I rolled into Dryden, found a cheap motel to wash and clean my clothes and then ate at the motel's restaurant, where I was served by the lovely, yet no BS, Elvira.
19/3 It was so sunny and warm outside, that I decided to share my strapping figure with the world, and ride with no top on. It was a great sensation to feel the warm air against my bare skin after having warn so many layers for the past month.
By late morning the winds picked up and it got a little chilly to be bare-backed, but the feeling of my near-nude experience kept a smile on my face for the rest of the day.
After a truck stop for lunch, it was road construction in progress all the way to Ignace, 75km away. As it was Sunday, there were no workers leaning on spades, holding stop/go signs and steering large machinery, yet there were no shoulders, as there never seems to be in construction areas, which did get a little hairy when there were two large semis going either direction trying to share the roadway with a loaded cyclist.
After a delicious dinner in Ignace, another small town by a lake, I pitched the tent right in the middle of some pine trees where the sweet pine scent was as strong as I had ever smelt.
20/3 I left my bumpy campsite, thinking I could have an early lunch, as my breakfast hadn't quite filled me up, and I always seem to ride better on a full stomach.
But an early lunch I did not have. I rode almost four and a half hours into headwinds before I saw my first restaurant. It is amazing how tired I became having only seen forests, a few lakes and rocks and a closed holiday camp all day. But I was given a new lease of life when I saw the tall, proud sign for the English River Motel and Restaurant, and rolled in one happy man.
The nice thing about travelling in the off season is that the people are relaxed and laid back. The lady in the restaurant was no exception, a friendly gal who had just baked a fresh batch of raison pie and butter tarts, both of which I had to sample and was thoroughly impressed.
The day's headwinds and anticipation for a restaurant had taken it out of me, so I rode a little further before finding a nice sie to pitch the tent.
21/3 It was bound to happen sooner or later - all of the unhealthy food I have been consuming in addition to the pounding that my body has taken, sometimes in fairly frosty conditions. One minute before midnight I awoke with a churning stomach and an ailing feeling that made me get outside as quick as I could as I knew I would soon have less bodily fluids inside of me than before.
The procedure was repeated all night, the frantic unzipping of the sleeping bag, the tent and fly doors, putting on my sneakers and rushing outside.
By morning, I was all cleaned out, but in no shape to ride, so I just lay in the tent feeling sorry for myself. I would have been happy lying there all day, watching the pine trees sway in the wind through the flapping tent entrance, listening to the strange sounds of the forest birds as they communicated with one another, but I had to get to Upsala, the next town up the road, to phone Mrs. Speak in Thunder Bay, to let her know I was arriving.
Weakened from my activities, I left the campsite, freshly decorated with my outputs.
I arrived in Upsala, a small town which wasn't much more than a stop on the highway. I ate a light dinner as my apetite still wasn't back to its noble self, and then tried to phone Mrs. Speak. Unfortunately the phone was busy. After the same result later on, I accepted defeat, found a grassy verge to pitch the tent on and went to bed.
22/3 Country music certainly is alive and strong in these parts. All three little spots I stopped at today had the tunes blasting.
Still not feeling 100%, I got a good day's ride in under clear, blue skies. I got in touch with Mrs. Speak, which made me feel better as I knew she was expecting a call from me.
Shortly after the time zone change plaque, as it was so warm, I stopped for some icecream at a small cafe along the way and was informed tha there was a Maori family from New Zealand living 20km down the road on the way to Thunder Bay. Lynn, the lady at the cafe, phoned ahead to let them know that I would be popping in, but unfortunately, when I arrived noone was home, just two dogs barking feverishly at me.
A little dissappointed, I pedalled on through the scenery that had improved as the day progressed, with rivers, hilly backdrops and old barns now commonplace.
Like most nights, I found an isolated spot to pitch the tent as the sun went down, but this time, I was confronted by a lady walking her toy-dog. I think she was a bit shocked at first, because I had a feeling I may have been unknowingly on the outskirts of her land, but after a bit of chit chat, she came around, and went on her with her walk.
31/3 It was only a short ride to the turnoff for Wawa, but it took a while as the bearings in my trailor were shot, which made the wheel rub against the guard causing the tyre to puncture. Putting it simply, I was towing a trailor with a flat tyre on a wheel that didn't go around properly, pretty much a sack of bricks.
The only store that sold bikes in town was the hardware store. It wasn't hard to find, on the main drag opposite the post office. I was directed to the 'bike guy', who took me downstairs to the workshop, where he fumbled around for about two hours, still without a fix. In the end, when he left me to talk to some customers, I made a makeshift solution with some of his parts, that would easily get me to Sault Ste. Marie, and set off not wanting to waste any more of the beautiful day outside.
Wawa seemed like a friendly town, one drunken local on his way to the pub offered me a hand and another guy on his bike stopped me for a chat as he was interesting in doing some touring.
I left the town past the large, fake goose, and headed for Lake Superior Provincial Park.
The park seemed so much less disturbed that the previous spots in Ontario, with the only sign of humans being the smooth road winding its way through the tremendous scenery.
I pulled over early in order to find a good campsite where I planned to take my camping to the next level and make a big fire and roast some sausages on sticks.
I'm not a terrific firemaker at the best of times, but with the damp wood, I didn't have a chance, so I had to resort to another night of using the pot and butane cooker.
Dinner did turn out very good though, better than the usual lineup of Kraft dinner with a bit of tuna for flavour, I had a 3-course meal of truly international standards. It was Italian styled tomatoes to start followed by Polish sausages in Texas cut bread smothered in thick, red ketchup made in French Canada, with Hunts Swirls Pudding, of which I am not sure of its origin as its packet was one of the few things that did burn in pile of wet sticks in front of me.
1/4 Most of day was spent riding through the provincial park which braced both sides of the Trans Canada Highway for 83km.
The majority of the park took me through rugged forested terrain past small lakes and over rivers, but every now and then the road would venture out to the shoreline of the great Lake Superior for panoramic views of its golden sandy beaches, often dotted with keen anglers, spending their weekends hoping to fill their buckets with fish of the fresh-water variety.
When I think of my ride around the lake, what I will have the fondest memories of is hooning down the smooth, fast hills, while lying in front of me, a fantastic vista of tall, abrupt, granite cliffs and sandy horse shoe bays arising from the saphire-blue lake.
Within 10kms of leaving the park, the relief became gentler and the road started to hug the coastline. The wind had gone and most of the clouds were gone.
The smaller lakes and creeks off to the side of the road lay perfectly still, giving an immaculate inverted reflection of the trees framing them and the white, puffy clouds above.
I rode until the sun sunk into Lake Superior to the west, and used the little light that dusk had left to pitch the tent in a sandy clearing.
2/4 The road continued along the shore side. With the sun beating down, the sandy beaches and the smell of smoke from cottage owners with bon fires burning winter growth made the place feel very summery.
It was fairly flat with only one big hill before Sault Ste. Marie, where I followed directions to Bob Shea's sister and brother inlaw, the Chaput's, lovely family home in a ring road with oak trees growing in a park at its centre and kids running around, looking just like a neighbourhood from TV. As I had been sleeping in a tent for over a week, I hadn't had the luxury of a shower or shave, the longest spell I've ever had since before puberty, and I don't think the daily soaking of aftershave and deoderant to nuetralize the smell helped too much.
My hosts were very friendly and Audrey cooked up a superb roast beef of the barbi, followed by dessert, a deliciously rich family recipe from Gerry. Gerry was an engineer on Ontario's roads, so knew the routes like the back of his hand and gave me a helpful run-down about the province's remaining roads, routes and towns.
3/4 I rose early to drop Gerry off at the airport to fly to Thunder Bay for work. It was a convenient trip because waiting for me at the terminal was a slick sign that Les had kindly had made for me to tie to the side of my trailor to promote my web site.
Gerry and Audrey had generously let me borrow their car for the day and it was a nice change from pedalling along at 20km/h with a hard lump of plastic between the legs.
The Buick proved to be very helpful, and I buzzed around town, first to the bike store to fix the trailor wheel that couldn't be fixed in Wawa. The next stop was the supermarket who had a fine selection of gourmet rations that would keep me from starving until Toronto.
I drove around to orientate myself with the city, down to the revamped waterfront, which for a section provided a nice area with parks, a large open tent for concerts and farmer's markets in the summertime, and an old boat full of character, all with views to the other side of the river which was the USA, another city called Sault Ste. Marie, linked by a bridge.
I found an Internet cafe to update my web site and reply to emails and then returned the car back to its rightful owners, the Chaputs.
8/4 I met a guy about a week ago at my first stop after Lake Superior Provincial Park. He was buying liquor at the general store/restaurant that I was dining at. The alcohol was for the only night of the year which he drinks, to celebrate the end of the season as he was a snow plow driver and that meant he didn't have to show up for work anymore, or so he thought...
The snow plow drivers, many of them still hungover I'm sure, were kept up all night with heavy snowfall. When I awoke in the morning it was still coming down, with the odd large plow keeping the roads driveable.
It seems that the ugly weather brings out the best in people because when I stopped at the Nobel Wendys/Tim Hortons for lunch, I was in the restroom drying my tops, hat and gloves with the hot air drier and having a small makeshift bathe with the sweet smelling industrial hand soap from the stainless steel dispenser, and literally everyone who came into the little boys' room had a chat. I felt a little awkward standing there half-naked while talking to some stranger with his thingy in his hand, but no one seemed to mind my cleaning routine, I think they understood as they seen my bike parked outside.
After a long lunch, I headed a short way down the road before turning off to Parry Sound, a sweet little town built around an inlet on Lake Huron. The town had a lot of big beautiful old wooden homes and the downtown streetscape had been improved with nice street lamps, among other things. I went down to the waterfront where the 30,000 island cruises leave from, but there wasn't too much going on as it was still off season.
Back on the 69 south, I started to see signs of 'cottage country, the area where a lot of mainly Torontonites have summer cottages on the lakes. Some were fine residences, more than your typical ply-wood bungalow, but grand homes with satellite dishes, jetties and gazebos - a very appropriate neighbourhood for me to pitch my tent in so I did.
9/4 For the first half hour I was very happy to see large, clear signs on the side of the highway warning motorists to look out for cyclists on the shoulders.
Without warning, the highway changed from a two-lane road to a four-lane expressway, complete with a median strip and fly-overs, and from nowhere, no cycling signs popped up at every on-ramp.
Generally expressways are accompanied with alternative routes with plenty of warning, but in this case, I saw no other roads, just plenty of lakes and swamps, so I just kept riding.
I normally see plenty of police patrol cars on the road, keeping the province free from crime, but today they were strangely scarce. One flew past me at about lunch time, looking like he was chasing something, but it wasn't again until about 10km before Barrie when I saw the next boys in blue.
An Ontario Provincial Police (OPP) car drove past me and then pulled over to the gravel shoulder. A finger signalling for me to stop appeared from the slightly ajar window, so I slammed on the brakes for a spectacular stop.
It was my first encounter with the law since leaving, and shortly after stopping another officer arrived, backup I presume.
The cops were friendly chaps, just doing their jobs, but they took down my details and informed me of the road's rules and advised me of an alternative route through Barrie.
Barrie was a nice town, built around the corner of a lake with a redeveloped waterfront and newly cobbled streets. There were many lovely, old brick homes. There seemed to be a positive vibe through the city on this sunny Sunday afternoon.
I stopped for dinner at McDonalds, drawn in by some pretty good specials. A friendly bloke in his late-teens or early-20's sitting across from me started to chat, telling me about Barrie, which he informed me with its 100,000+ residents, was the fastest growing city in North America, with Toronto only 80km away, people choose to live there for its quality of life and lower cost housing and commute to the big smoke, your typical satellite town. The guy could not believe that I hadn't heard about the town's growth.
My friend left, but soon returned with a local newspaper, the Barrie Examiner, for me to take away as a souvenir.
South of McDonalds I could see signs of the city's growth, with subdivision after subdivision, each row of lego-houses looking like their neighbour.
I was looking for a place to pitch the tent, but unfortunately there were only empty paddocks and new subdivisions for miles. I finally found a grouping of trees, fairly near a house, but well enough hidden for a peaceful night's sleep.
With every branch I stepped on, plastic bag I ruffled and velcro I ripped, the little dog in the nearby house would go crazy barking. I finally got everything up and the yapping and yelping ended.
11/4
Straight to the subway after breakfast for my first experience with Toronto's efficient transit system. It was a fascinating ride, with faces of every size, colour and expression, representing the great mix of people in the city.
The train stopped a short stroll from the central bus station where I caught a bus destined for Niagara Falls. The bus ride itself was interesting as it was my first experience on the city's rat race highways of many lanes, of which Gerry Chaput, the roading engineer I stayed with in Sault Ste. Marie, had told me had the busiest stretch of Freeway in North America.
More than half of all manufactured goods are made in Ontario, of which a large portion come from the area I was being driven through called the Golden Horseshoe, spanning from Toronto to Niagara, so it was interesting to see.
Niagara Falls itself was entertaining. The two sets of waterfalls, the American Falls and the more famous, horseshoe-shaped Niagara Falls were an impressive spectacle, and it was hard not to be impressed by the sheer volume of water flowing over the ledges and crashing onto the water below, creating a layer of mist rising around the falls.
Niagara Falls is the premier tourist attraction in Canada, attracting more than 12 million tourists a year. There were signs of this with the large casino and hotels, in addition to the Hard Rock and Planet Hollywood cafes, but the most obvious sign of catering for the mostly American tourists, was the fun, but tacky street of Clifton Hill.
Clifton Hill was a cross between the circus and Disneyland, having everything from Jurassic mini-golf to wax, Ripleys, Guiness World Records, celebrities and criminal museums to the Daredevil Hall of Fame and at least four haunted houses. After lunch in the street, as I had always loved the ghost trains at the school holiday fairs when I was a youngster, I decided to be brave and visit the House of Frankenstein, a walkaround house that would probably scare little children.
The is just about every way imaginable to view the falls themselves, from the numerous platforms and viewing towers, to tunnels that go behind the falls (apparently not that exciting), but I chose to see them from the water below on the Maid of the Mist. The Maid of the Mist is a boat that sails right into the horseshoe of the falls, where everyone on board gets a very close perspective of the world wonder. Each tourist is provided with a blue, souvenir raincoat, as there is a lot of spray up that close. The rocking ride right in the currents was a fantastic ride and is well worth while.
After a walk down through the nicely manicured parkland on the shores of the river I had some unlucky attempts on the casino's pokie machines, before catching the bus again.
I must have been a little tired, because as soon as I sat down on the bus I fell asleep. When I awoke, the bus was completely empty and stationary in a bus stop that didn't look familiar. What had woken me was the driver coming back in to get his jacket. He almost jumped out of his skin, when he heard me call out to him and seemed awfully confused as to how I had got on.
Apparently the bus load had transferred to another bus in the township of Niagara, about 10 minutes away from the falls, but I must have slept right through it, including the bustling of the passengers leaving.
The bus driver recommended a Chinese restaurant that he frequents, where I had dinner until the next bus left.
It probably wasn't such a bad thing missing the transfer as it meant that I was travelling back in the dark, so I got the full effect of the vast collection of neon-billboards and huge TV-screens dotting every spare area beside the expressway, bombarding Torontonites with all kinds of advertising. But the highlight of the light show was the downtown area, where the skyscrapers were complimented with the bluely-lit SkyDome, and the spotlights from the Air Canada centre, where Toronto's national hockey and basketball league teams play.
12/4 Back in 1997, my great aunty Ismay had her 80th birthday, which a lot of the extended family attended. One of the attendees was Jim Paterson and his wife Donna, from Toronto. Jim had a keen interest in genealogy and had come out to New Zealand to meet his distant relatives, with my father being his third cousin.
I thought that I might pay him in visit while in Toronto, so I caught the bus out to their house in the suburb of Branford for lunch. They were as nice as I remember them, and I also had the please of meeting their neighbour and their son Ian, who is my fourth cousin, about as closely related to me as the queen of Sweden.
Coincidently, also out in Branford is the Nortel head office, where Trev worked. Trev is an old rugby buddy of one of the old Net Nanniers, Lance Craven, and I met him a couple of times when he came out to Vancouver to see Lance.
Trev knocked off early from work and took me for a tour of the huge, extremely flash Nortel headquarters, which were complete with just about everything imaginable to make the office environment enjoyable for the staff, right down to the treadmill/climbing wall cross and the massage chair room - a bit of a change from the Net Nanny offices on Seymour.
Trev then drove us to the enormous CN tower, where we caught the glass elevators to the world's highest observation deck at 447m up, and then we went down a bit to walk on the glass floor and take a gander in the fresh air on the outdoor deck. The views were amazing and allowed one to get an appreciation of the size of the sprawling city of Toronto.
Back down on ground-level, we went to a nearby pub, Smokeless Joes, a cosy, friendly little pub with over 175 beers from all around the world (not Australia) to choose from. To add to the international flavour, all but one of the bar-people were foreigners, including two kiwis, who are always good to see.
A little bit tiddly, we caught a flick and then went to a nice Greek restaurant in Greektown for dinner.
13/4 It was a glorious day, perfect to take the short ferry ride out to the Toronto Islands, a small grouping of islands just out from the downtown area. After the closet thing that I was going to get to a harbour cruise that I was going to get, I arrived on the islands.
They were a magical place, with one side of the island offering compelling views of the palacial skyscrapers of downtown Toronto and the other side feeling like a world away with sandy beaches leading into Lake Ontario, with nothing to break the peacefulness except the sound of birds singing.
I wandered past the cute cottages and through the parklands of the almost car-less islands and caught the ferry from the other end almost 6km away.
Back on the mainland, I walked up for a tour of the SkyDome, via the redeveloped waterfront. The SkyDome is the stadium where the Toronto Blue Jays Baseball team play in addition to many other events. The dome was an engineering feat, with the world's fully retractable roof, that can open or close in 20 minutes. The American owned facility has a hotel and four restaurants where people can view the event from.
I stopped at the grandiose headquarter of the CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Company), where I tagged along on a tour with a class of high school media studies students. My cover was blown when my cell-phone rang and I lost the tour party, and upon the guide's return, I was given a stern lecture about it being a private tour with public tours costing $7, etc, etc...
I wandered through downtown back home for a pleasant dinner with Jackie.
14/4 The first stop on the agenda was Casa Loma, a grand castle on a hill overlooking downtown Toronto. I took an audio tour through the magnificent establishment which in 1911, took 300 men nearly 3 years to built and cost $3.5m at the time.
A neat thing about Toronto is that there are many neighbourhoods, each with their own unique character including Greektown, China town, Little Italy, Little India, Little Portugal, Cabbage Town and many more.
As I was craving Italian food, I went to Little Italy for a delicious lunch, then onto the provincial parliament buildings and the lovely old brick buildings of the University of Toronto. I then had a look around the city's gay neighbourhood and then went to Cabbage Town, a part of town of extremes, where the bankers and lawyers rub shoulders with the unemployed and refuges live next to yuppies.
Aiesec, the organisation who I got the job at Net Nanny through, have their national committee in Toronto, in a well located office in the heart of town. I stopped for a visit and a couple of beers before going to watch the Blue Jays baseball at the SkyDome, that I was inspired by yesterday, with Aaron and Brenda who were on the committee. The Blue Jays who won the World Series in '92 and '93, went down to Seattle 11-9, after being down 9-0 after 2 innings.
I finished off the balmy evening meeting Jackie and her friends Nia and Phil for a good beer in a nice little pub in GreekTown.
15/4 It was a perfect sendoff to what had been an awesome stay in the big smoke. A pancake breakfast, eaten outside, basking in the 20° C sunshine.
After breakfast, which would be hard to beat, I packed everything up which had been in a large untidy pile for the last 5 days, said my good-byes to Jackie and, in sandals for the first time, rode down a route recommended by Jackie, past the beaches on the provided bike trails.
It was a beautiful spot and the weather was perfect, with a lot of people out in the sunshine enjoying the sand, enhanced with the irresistible smell of smoking barbecues.
I got a couple of flat tyres shortly after getting onto the highway east, due to a worn tyre, but a routine front-back tyre swap seemed to alleviate the problem.
There were a lot of traffic lights to stop at to stop at in the suburban sprawl. I finally got out into the country and as it was starting to get dark, I found a spot to camp.
The weather was exceptional and I sat outside and ate dinner with a T-shirt, but the warm air had marked the first signs of the mosquitoes, which were making a nuisance of themselves, until I pulled out some repellant which I had fortunately been sporting since Vancouver.
16/4 The last couple of days of sensational weather had been short lived as I woke today to chilly winds and drizzle.
The first leg of the journey was nothing special, but after about 20km, the road I was travelling on, crossed over the 401 expressway and headed east fairly close to the shores of Lake Ontario.
The scenery was low, rolling hills of a rural nature, with the odd barn and farm house dotting the landscape, with the most gorgeous, little towns, dating back long ago, appearing every now and then.
I had lunch at Port Hope, which was a town settled in the late 1700's which had many lovely old brick homes and buildings. There were a lot were a lot of similar towns further along, built in the same era, and to put the icing on the cake, the area was a fruit growing spot with a lot of little orchards along the way.
The weather had cleared by the time I had reached Prince Edward County, which was similar to the previous spots, but even more rural with less traffic.
It was that beautiful time of the day when the sun is setting, and I found an excellent site to pitch my tent on the fine, white sandy beach of North Beach Provincial Park. The setting for dinner was great with the waves lapping on the shore.
20/4 My obvious start for the grand tour of Ottawa was the
parliament buildings, the most predominant landmark in this city of
a million, proudly perched on parliament hill overlooking the Ottawa
River. The buildings were quite a sight, with the large, centre
block and its tall peace tower, being the focal point of them. To
the left and right of the grand building were two more buildings,
almost as dignified, with towers and fine masonary work as well. The
three buildings together formed a 'U' shape, with a pleasant grassy
patch in the centre.
The tour took me around the important
spots including the House of Commons, the Senate, the library and a
few other halls. Some of the detail in the buildings walls and
ceilings was superb, with stories being told in many of the carved
stone. As impressive as the parliament buildings were, I didn't
think they had too much on the Provincial Parliament buildings that
I had seen in Regina.
After the guided visit, I sat out on
the parliament steps and rested my feet for a short time and soaked
up the atmosphere, enjoying the warm afternoon and the music booming
to the grassy area out front, including everything from First
Nations music, to French, to classical to some familiar bag-pipe
tunes. I looked around town, which included a stop-off at the New
Zealand High Commission, which had closed early for the easter
weekend. There still was a guy working some overtime, who I had a
good yarn with, before taking a quick squiz at the Dominion, the
morning paper from back home.
Foosh finished work, and after
a quick tour of some of the grand homes in Ottawa along the river,
including the Prime Minister's residence and a few embassies, we
picked up his friend Ingrid, who had just finished her last exam for
the university year, and went out for a few beers in the downtown,
which was alive and kicking as there was a public holiday the next
day.
21/4 - 23/4 Foosh's friend Nicole had organised a weekend
away with about 30 of their friends and offspring staying in two
chalets in Mount Tremblant, Quebec's premier ski resort, about a
two-hour drive from Ottawa. The town itself recently had a lot of
money spent on it developing it and looked cool, but a little bit
plasticy, very similar to Whistler, which was no surprise, as
Intrawest, the company that owns Whistler, owns Mount Tremblant as
well.
The chalet we stayed in was a beautiful old, gabled,
timber-interiored home overlooking a lake. It seemed to be the
central meeting place, and was always the hive of activity, with an
abundant supply of alcohol and very well cooked food. I was in
heaven as I was able to eat or drink whenever I felt like
it.
The weekend was incredibly relaxing, playing with the
kids, watching cheesy 80's videos, playing board games, attending a
9 year-old's birthday, and general socialising, with the most
exercise in the three days being a 30-minute hike down to the river.
It was such a good break, as I find even when I have stopped in a
town in the past, I have been busy trying to see the sites, so this
was the best rest I had had in a long time.
It was also great
to be in Quebec. Ottawa is neat city as there are a lot of people
speaking French as well as English, but in Quebec, everyone speaks
French. Just going into a cruddy liquor store was fun as it felt
like an artsy-fartsy french restaurant as the server greets you with
'Bonjour'. The drive home was one big French lesson from Foosh,
where he kindly told me a lot of the basic words that it would help
to know in this part of the world, and then patiently listened to me
trying to pronounce the language of love with my thick kiwi
accent.
24/4 As relaxing as the weekend was, we must have both still
been pretty tired because we both slept in until almost midday. With
half the day gone, we went for a drive in the suburbs, stopping at a
nice Italian restaurant in Gleeb for brunch, and then went to the
architecturely-impressive National Art Gallery of Canada.
The
gallery had some incredible works from artists such as van Gough,
Picasso and Monet and the uniquely Canadian Group of Seven, who
painted some interesting impressions of Canada, but the highlight of
gallery for me was the large collection of Inuit art - comical, yet
tasteful, carvings, generally of greenstone. It almost tempted me to
change my course and ride to the far North to see more of this
work.
I only had 20 minutes at the war museum before close,
so I had a quick look around the exhibiton on the Canadian
contribution to the Boer War. Across the road was the Notre Dame
cathedral, with its two silver steeples and stunning
interior.
