This summers bike tour came to a conclusion on Wednesday August 5, 2009 as I fell off the side of a cliff on an attempt to climb to the far side of the Aguasabon Gorge outside of Terrace Bay, Ontario.
Clambering along the edge of the cliff I slip and fall about 10 feet, landing abruptly on my left foot. A cracking noise and the sharp pain coming up from my foot pretty clearly let me know that something is not quite right. So there I am, lying half in the water and half on a jagged rock gasping and gulping. Looking around I think to myself that it took me a good 10 minutes to get here in the first place as an able bodied human, and nobody is going to come rescue me.
Well, I pull myself up to my good foot and try and put a bit of weight on the left. This proves impossible, and I collapse back into the creek. "Ok, now what" I think. I guess that I had better deal with the mobility issues as best I can on my hands and knees, and start swimming upstream to the nearest outcropping that will get me back to the path. This looks like it will work for a little while, but pretty quickly it becomes apparent that the sides of the creek are not going to be scalable in my current condition and I head downstream to a jagged rock which I am at least able to crawl up.
It takes about five minutes to drag myself out of the water to a sandy point 10 feet onto the shore. Ok, so far so good, except now there is about 25 meters of very rough rocky terrain with an assortment of climbs and descents before I get to the most climbable section of the rock wall which will lead me back to the woodland pathway that got me here in the first place. This climb is one of the most painful experiences of my entire life as I am forced from time to time to depend on my injured foot for support as I get my body ready for the next heave up the hill.
Finally I am lying on the forest floor, and am now probably getting close enough for someone to hear me call for help if they are at the Aguasabon lookout, however, my calls for help go totally unanswered. Just like before, I have no idea if anyone is even out there to hear my calls so I get on my hands and knees and start crawling up the path. The forest floor is covered in pointy needles, and each time I put my knees down they are subjected to a variety of sharp pricks.
Now I really want to make something clear about all this, at no point during this process am I suffering. There is definitely lots of pain, but there is no suffering. I grab onto a nearby tree and drag myself to my feet, or rather to my foot. I am standing there looking out into the forest, calling for help, and thinking how nice it was when I could walk 30 minutes ago, when a new thought occurs, "As far things go, this is going pretty well".
Looking around I see a fallen tree branch which I break into a staff of sorts and begin half-hopping and half-limping along the path all while literally singing a song about having a broken leg. The words escape me at the moment, but the next fifteen minutes pass as I stagger along the path, calling for help and singing my heart out. Finally as I arrive at the landing I collapse on my hands and knees and look up to see and elderly couple out on some sort of sight seeing adventure. They call down to me that they will go call 911, and I climb up the stairs onto the boardwalk leading to the lookout.
It's at this point that a cyclist I had met a couple days earlier (Bruno) finds me at the top of the stairs and helps me climb the ramp back to the parking lot. At first he doesn't believe me that my leg/foot are damaged probably because I am smiling and cogent, but soon enough he gets message and we get arrive back in something like civilization (the parking lot).
The ambulance arrives after a couple moments, and they take me straight away to the hospital. There I lie back finally comfortable while my nurse (a lovely young woman by the name of Elizabeth) takes care of me. After a while they take me to get an x-ray, and then a few minutes later the Doctor (a jovial guy named Ian) arrives to tell me that yes indeed, I have broken my foot.
And so ends this summers tour just shy of 4000 kilometers cycled over the course of 64 days.
Thanks for loving me.
Ted Bullock
Cross Canadian Cyclist
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Day 46 - Witty Title
This evening finds me sitting next to the bathroom of a campground just outside of the community of Portage La Prairie. Today the plan was to wake up and zip the mere 70 km to Winnipeg, and like the other plans us mice and men make up, this one went awry.
This morning, I awake to find that my bike, leaning against my bed, is just as damaged as it was last night when we hitchhiked into town from Neepawa. Meagan is in and out of our hotel room a number of times looking for groceries or food or something crunchable as I drag myself from sleep. I am all practicality and purpose when I suggest that I leave my trailer and luggage in the hotel room and that after dropping the bike off at the nearest bike shop for a bit of love and care we should make our way to the nearest greasy spoon diner for breakfast.
Good plan, I think to myself, and head out. My bike is terribly wobbly and the tire scrapes against the frame severely once every revolution. At last count there are 8 broken spokes and at least that many others which have been gouged by the chain falling off the day before. However, my plans for quick and decisive action hit a major stumbling block almost right away. The first bike shop has no mechanic, and the second turns out simply not to exist. The third bike shop (Two Tired Boys Bike Shop) is completely swamped with customers (with appointments; drat them) and the fourth is simply closed.
Well, we leave a message with the family of the fourth bike shop person (Mikes Bike Shop, naturally operated by a fellow known as Ken). Looking for a place to eat, Meagan and I settle on a small diner-ish style restaurant and while away a couple of hours chatting about the distant future (The Long Now Project) as well as a variety of humorous comics and books.
Eventually the diner closes on us, and not having gotten a response from Ken of Mikes Bike Shop, we head back to the Two Tired Boys Bike Shop. Which is now naturally closed. Hmm. Except, that one of the owners is packing up and getting ready to go home. Intercepting him, he gets the message that we could use some help and calls his partner (Dale).
Some minutes later, Dale arrives back at the shop from wherever it is that he was and brings me inside along with the tired and sickly wheel. It rapidly becomes clear that Dale is the most competent and diligent bike shop dude that we have met to date in Canada. This is not to say that the other folks did a bad job or something like that, it is just that Dale knows what it takes to make the job impeccable, and rose to the occasion.
We sit with him for more than two hours as he examines and replaces a full 17 additional spokes from the wheel, adjusts the center, the wheels dish (profile deally), tensions the spokes and finally hands me back a wheel in great shape. From there he goes to Meagan's bike and puts together a list of references for her to work with once we get to Winnipeg so that she can get herself tuned up too.
Before leaving town we scarf an entire delicious pizza from Bozzy's pizza and then head for the hills, or rather the first campground we encounter as we leave town. A full 10km from where we started this morning.
As I type this, and as I mentioned I am sitting on some pavement and leaning against the campgrounds bathroom. Above my head is an electrical receptacle, and I am taking advantage of my cellular data plan to access the Internet. Meagan and I have just spent a number of hours chatting with the local denizens of the campground, and now that she has gone to bed and most people are quietly settled around their respective campfires I am taking the opportunity to write.
And now I am done, so goodnight.
This morning, I awake to find that my bike, leaning against my bed, is just as damaged as it was last night when we hitchhiked into town from Neepawa. Meagan is in and out of our hotel room a number of times looking for groceries or food or something crunchable as I drag myself from sleep. I am all practicality and purpose when I suggest that I leave my trailer and luggage in the hotel room and that after dropping the bike off at the nearest bike shop for a bit of love and care we should make our way to the nearest greasy spoon diner for breakfast.
Good plan, I think to myself, and head out. My bike is terribly wobbly and the tire scrapes against the frame severely once every revolution. At last count there are 8 broken spokes and at least that many others which have been gouged by the chain falling off the day before. However, my plans for quick and decisive action hit a major stumbling block almost right away. The first bike shop has no mechanic, and the second turns out simply not to exist. The third bike shop (Two Tired Boys Bike Shop) is completely swamped with customers (with appointments; drat them) and the fourth is simply closed.
Well, we leave a message with the family of the fourth bike shop person (Mikes Bike Shop, naturally operated by a fellow known as Ken). Looking for a place to eat, Meagan and I settle on a small diner-ish style restaurant and while away a couple of hours chatting about the distant future (The Long Now Project) as well as a variety of humorous comics and books.
Eventually the diner closes on us, and not having gotten a response from Ken of Mikes Bike Shop, we head back to the Two Tired Boys Bike Shop. Which is now naturally closed. Hmm. Except, that one of the owners is packing up and getting ready to go home. Intercepting him, he gets the message that we could use some help and calls his partner (Dale).
Some minutes later, Dale arrives back at the shop from wherever it is that he was and brings me inside along with the tired and sickly wheel. It rapidly becomes clear that Dale is the most competent and diligent bike shop dude that we have met to date in Canada. This is not to say that the other folks did a bad job or something like that, it is just that Dale knows what it takes to make the job impeccable, and rose to the occasion.
We sit with him for more than two hours as he examines and replaces a full 17 additional spokes from the wheel, adjusts the center, the wheels dish (profile deally), tensions the spokes and finally hands me back a wheel in great shape. From there he goes to Meagan's bike and puts together a list of references for her to work with once we get to Winnipeg so that she can get herself tuned up too.
Before leaving town we scarf an entire delicious pizza from Bozzy's pizza and then head for the hills, or rather the first campground we encounter as we leave town. A full 10km from where we started this morning.
As I type this, and as I mentioned I am sitting on some pavement and leaning against the campgrounds bathroom. Above my head is an electrical receptacle, and I am taking advantage of my cellular data plan to access the Internet. Meagan and I have just spent a number of hours chatting with the local denizens of the campground, and now that she has gone to bed and most people are quietly settled around their respective campfires I am taking the opportunity to write.
And now I am done, so goodnight.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Day 11 - Dramatic
Most days starting in Hotels, like today, start slowly. My inner alarm drags me out of bed just before eight and I enjoy the delightful breakfast provided by the hotel. Fruitloops and half of a chocolate muffin (mmm health food). Meagan joins me a few minutes into my repast, and I cannot help but notice that there is a distinct lack of conversation or anything resembling affability. Well Ok.
So back in the room, packing starts, Meagan walks in, and she says what's on her mind. She didn't want to go out last night, she was tired, and upset especially since when we were at dinner she felt that barely anyone paid attention to her even though she is biking across the damn country. And not only that, she now has light brown smudges (big freckles) on her face that won't wash away. Well Ok.
After a few minutes of walking through all the things that are bugging her, I let her know that Gloria is sad she left in the way she did, and perhaps a phone call to clean up the mess would be appropriate. That done, the world is once more a good and happy place and we leave.
Rolling down the hill we are on the lookout for a grocery store for some basic supplies as well as a new change of clothes for Meagan (she has lost two waist sizes worth of weight since we left Vancouver!). I go to a bike shop for a quick tune up and do some banking on the way out of town so Meagan is once again a good way ahead of me by the time I am on the road.
Not long into my ride I notice that road has suddenly become rather bumpy. Flat tire. Off the bike, remove the luggage, flip the bike, remove the tire, the tube, pull the staple, patch the hole and reverse.
A few minutes pass as I get back up to speed against a gentle headwind. This is short lived though; just as I crest small hill just down the road my rear wheel makes a noise.
Plink.
Oh great, a broken spoke. Off the bike, remove the luggage, flip the bike, remove the tire, the tube, pull the spoke, and.... start searching for spare spokes in my luggage and find three. Cool. So I fit a spare, replace the tire and spend a couple minutes truing the wheel which involves a small amount of tightening and loosening.
Ok here we go again. On the bike, I take on the next couple of kilometers. The terrain is now much more luxurious with trees and thick foliage along side. It's while I am enjoying the change in scenery I notice a truck which seems to be filled with canon balls. Seriously. I think that they are pressured through pipelines to flush and clean them, or something.
Well, that was cool, except that I don't make it very far down the road when my wheel makes another sound.
Plink.
Plink.
Gah, two spokes at once. So off the bike again I set to work and use my last two spares. Well, no problem, I'll pick up some in Salmon Arm tomorrow. The thought of Salmon Arm jogs something in the back of my mind. I think a friend of mine (John Molberg) has a cabin there which he mentioned he would offer for the night, so I give him a call, which unfortunately goes to his answering machine, but I leave a message letting him know I am in the area.
Looking around, the sun is behind an overcast sky and the trees along the road are batting back and forth under winds which haven't figured out quite which direction they want to go. Any pizzaz at riding has left me and all I can think of is how grueling it will be to go to Salmon Arm in these conditions. hmm, well there is nothing for it, so away I go.
The road flattens considerably from here on out and although I am not exactly "feeling it" I am making respectable time down the highway, the sun comes out and pretty soon I am feeling good and ready. I see Meagan's bike leaning against the wall of a gas station across from the village of Pritchard. She is sitting and glumly looking out at the world.
Talking with her, she is on the verge of tears, and explains how tired she is and how she biked 95 kilometers yesterday and feels so unloved. My comment that I want to go to Salmon Arm this evening to meet Xavier lands on unhappy ears, and she derisively barks at me that she doesn't know why she is on a stupid bike trip anyways. In response, I tell her that when she is like this, my feelings get hurt, then tell her to come into the gas station to get some food. Looking back on this now, I clearly missed her unspoken request at this particular point in the day.
Mellowed out, she gets up and comes with me, and is standing outside the shop when it comes time to purchase my drink. A loud racket and clang gets my attention pretty quickly, and looking outside I find Meagan cross legged in the dirt sobbing and inconsolable. Between sobs and onlookers asking if she OK, she tells me she tripped down the stairs and slammed into a metal garbage can. Now though, she won't stop crying, and after two or three minutes I get the communication, this has nothing to do with the pain of the accident. I think to myself, "Meagan, you small petty manipulative human being, you can't just ask for what you want can you..." and I sit down on a bench next to her, open and down my newly acquired juice and wait for her to finish crying. It takes a few minutes, and when she does, I say, "Well, why don't we just go a bit more down the road to the town of Chase and stay there for the evening".
Instantly Meagan's entire demeanor shifts. I don't think I could have more accurately captured what she really wanted for this evening.
We pick her up out of the gravel and wave goodbye to the town of Pritchard. As per usual I pull somewhat ahead of her over the course of the 18 KM between Pritchard and Chase, and am alone when along the way that I hear an all to familiar sound...
Plink
Plink
Two broken spokes
And before I can get off the bike to inspect.
Plink
Drat, three broken spokes. Well, what to do. I have no spares. The wheel in considerably out of true at this point and is rubbing against the break every revolution. Pulling out my spoke wrench, I adjust the worst of the wobble out of the wheel so it at least roles unhindered. At least now the bike is functional.
My cell phone rings. It's John Molberg. I catch him up to date on my trip and he lets me know that Mitzy (his sister, who I have taken seminars with at various times) is actually at his cabin this weekend. He gives me her number, and wishes me luck. My call to Mitzy goes to voicemail, and as before I leave a message and get back on my bike. Riding with a wobbly wheel, although not exactly challenging is not the most comfortable experience in the world, partly because of the noticeable wobble, but mostly because of the anxiety caused by waiting for the next spoke to plink.
Limping into Chase, I arrive at a gas station just on the east end of town, and as I role up the driveway.
Plink. Argh.
The wheel made the plink; I made the argh.
Well, that's it for today I think to myself. No more cycling until this damn wheel is working properly. I can see Meagan coming up behind me now, and I go inside to see what provisions are available. To my surprise, the gas station has much more than just the standard array of chips and pop, although these are certainly in abundance, it also functions as a modest grocery store.
Meagan arrives and I bring her up to date with my circumstance. We are now aligned that Chase will be our endpoint tonight for sure unless, perhaps Mitzy is able to bring us into Salmon Arm. Of course, that is only a maybe, since I haven't even spoken with her yet. Conversation ensues with the proprietor and her family, and I soon learn that their son (Sorry I forgot your name!) is a former cross Canadian cyclist as well. After a while I notice that there is Internet access here at the gas station and pull out my laptop to check on the status of my friends from around the world.
Meagan, sitting across from me takes the opportunity to explain something that is on her mind. She says that ever since she was a young person her mother has been really concerned about protecting her family in the event of the imminent end of world due to some sort of cataclysmic natural disaster. She continues by explaining that she has spent a huge portion of her life waiting for the world to end, and being prepared to survive this event. Part of surviving the end of world is making sure that she doesn't have too many people really close to her, so that if they die she won't be too lost. Inside of this, she explains that this is why it's never worth getting to close to people. Also, being on this bicycle trip is fun and exciting, but she is worried about spending too much time being frivolous; after all if the world is going to end, there are more useful things to be doing than riding on a bike.
"Well that's fine" I reply, "So what"?
Slowly, she replies that she doesn't know, and doesn't have an answer and is on the trip anyways. She just figured that I should know where she is coming from.
Alright, well, I can deal with that.
We eat supper at the station and after a while, Mitzy calls, saying that she is indeed in the area and is definitely willing to come pick Meagan and I up. And after another hour passes, she and her boyfriend Lewis arrive with her fathers truck and together we head out to Salmon Arm. It turns out that their cabin isn't actually in Salmon Arm, but just west of it in the village of Canoe. I send a quick message to Xavier that we will meet him in the morning before I go to the bike shop, and unpack ourselves onto some spare couches in the living room.
And so ends day 11.
So back in the room, packing starts, Meagan walks in, and she says what's on her mind. She didn't want to go out last night, she was tired, and upset especially since when we were at dinner she felt that barely anyone paid attention to her even though she is biking across the damn country. And not only that, she now has light brown smudges (big freckles) on her face that won't wash away. Well Ok.
After a few minutes of walking through all the things that are bugging her, I let her know that Gloria is sad she left in the way she did, and perhaps a phone call to clean up the mess would be appropriate. That done, the world is once more a good and happy place and we leave.
Rolling down the hill we are on the lookout for a grocery store for some basic supplies as well as a new change of clothes for Meagan (she has lost two waist sizes worth of weight since we left Vancouver!). I go to a bike shop for a quick tune up and do some banking on the way out of town so Meagan is once again a good way ahead of me by the time I am on the road.
Not long into my ride I notice that road has suddenly become rather bumpy. Flat tire. Off the bike, remove the luggage, flip the bike, remove the tire, the tube, pull the staple, patch the hole and reverse.
A few minutes pass as I get back up to speed against a gentle headwind. This is short lived though; just as I crest small hill just down the road my rear wheel makes a noise.
Plink.
Oh great, a broken spoke. Off the bike, remove the luggage, flip the bike, remove the tire, the tube, pull the spoke, and.... start searching for spare spokes in my luggage and find three. Cool. So I fit a spare, replace the tire and spend a couple minutes truing the wheel which involves a small amount of tightening and loosening.
Ok here we go again. On the bike, I take on the next couple of kilometers. The terrain is now much more luxurious with trees and thick foliage along side. It's while I am enjoying the change in scenery I notice a truck which seems to be filled with canon balls. Seriously. I think that they are pressured through pipelines to flush and clean them, or something.
Well, that was cool, except that I don't make it very far down the road when my wheel makes another sound.
Plink.
Plink.
Gah, two spokes at once. So off the bike again I set to work and use my last two spares. Well, no problem, I'll pick up some in Salmon Arm tomorrow. The thought of Salmon Arm jogs something in the back of my mind. I think a friend of mine (John Molberg) has a cabin there which he mentioned he would offer for the night, so I give him a call, which unfortunately goes to his answering machine, but I leave a message letting him know I am in the area.
Looking around, the sun is behind an overcast sky and the trees along the road are batting back and forth under winds which haven't figured out quite which direction they want to go. Any pizzaz at riding has left me and all I can think of is how grueling it will be to go to Salmon Arm in these conditions. hmm, well there is nothing for it, so away I go.
The road flattens considerably from here on out and although I am not exactly "feeling it" I am making respectable time down the highway, the sun comes out and pretty soon I am feeling good and ready. I see Meagan's bike leaning against the wall of a gas station across from the village of Pritchard. She is sitting and glumly looking out at the world.
Talking with her, she is on the verge of tears, and explains how tired she is and how she biked 95 kilometers yesterday and feels so unloved. My comment that I want to go to Salmon Arm this evening to meet Xavier lands on unhappy ears, and she derisively barks at me that she doesn't know why she is on a stupid bike trip anyways. In response, I tell her that when she is like this, my feelings get hurt, then tell her to come into the gas station to get some food. Looking back on this now, I clearly missed her unspoken request at this particular point in the day.
Mellowed out, she gets up and comes with me, and is standing outside the shop when it comes time to purchase my drink. A loud racket and clang gets my attention pretty quickly, and looking outside I find Meagan cross legged in the dirt sobbing and inconsolable. Between sobs and onlookers asking if she OK, she tells me she tripped down the stairs and slammed into a metal garbage can. Now though, she won't stop crying, and after two or three minutes I get the communication, this has nothing to do with the pain of the accident. I think to myself, "Meagan, you small petty manipulative human being, you can't just ask for what you want can you..." and I sit down on a bench next to her, open and down my newly acquired juice and wait for her to finish crying. It takes a few minutes, and when she does, I say, "Well, why don't we just go a bit more down the road to the town of Chase and stay there for the evening".
Instantly Meagan's entire demeanor shifts. I don't think I could have more accurately captured what she really wanted for this evening.
We pick her up out of the gravel and wave goodbye to the town of Pritchard. As per usual I pull somewhat ahead of her over the course of the 18 KM between Pritchard and Chase, and am alone when along the way that I hear an all to familiar sound...
Plink
Plink
Two broken spokes
And before I can get off the bike to inspect.
Plink
Drat, three broken spokes. Well, what to do. I have no spares. The wheel in considerably out of true at this point and is rubbing against the break every revolution. Pulling out my spoke wrench, I adjust the worst of the wobble out of the wheel so it at least roles unhindered. At least now the bike is functional.
My cell phone rings. It's John Molberg. I catch him up to date on my trip and he lets me know that Mitzy (his sister, who I have taken seminars with at various times) is actually at his cabin this weekend. He gives me her number, and wishes me luck. My call to Mitzy goes to voicemail, and as before I leave a message and get back on my bike. Riding with a wobbly wheel, although not exactly challenging is not the most comfortable experience in the world, partly because of the noticeable wobble, but mostly because of the anxiety caused by waiting for the next spoke to plink.
Limping into Chase, I arrive at a gas station just on the east end of town, and as I role up the driveway.
Plink. Argh.
The wheel made the plink; I made the argh.
Well, that's it for today I think to myself. No more cycling until this damn wheel is working properly. I can see Meagan coming up behind me now, and I go inside to see what provisions are available. To my surprise, the gas station has much more than just the standard array of chips and pop, although these are certainly in abundance, it also functions as a modest grocery store.
Meagan arrives and I bring her up to date with my circumstance. We are now aligned that Chase will be our endpoint tonight for sure unless, perhaps Mitzy is able to bring us into Salmon Arm. Of course, that is only a maybe, since I haven't even spoken with her yet. Conversation ensues with the proprietor and her family, and I soon learn that their son (Sorry I forgot your name!) is a former cross Canadian cyclist as well. After a while I notice that there is Internet access here at the gas station and pull out my laptop to check on the status of my friends from around the world.
Meagan, sitting across from me takes the opportunity to explain something that is on her mind. She says that ever since she was a young person her mother has been really concerned about protecting her family in the event of the imminent end of world due to some sort of cataclysmic natural disaster. She continues by explaining that she has spent a huge portion of her life waiting for the world to end, and being prepared to survive this event. Part of surviving the end of world is making sure that she doesn't have too many people really close to her, so that if they die she won't be too lost. Inside of this, she explains that this is why it's never worth getting to close to people. Also, being on this bicycle trip is fun and exciting, but she is worried about spending too much time being frivolous; after all if the world is going to end, there are more useful things to be doing than riding on a bike.
"Well that's fine" I reply, "So what"?
Slowly, she replies that she doesn't know, and doesn't have an answer and is on the trip anyways. She just figured that I should know where she is coming from.
Alright, well, I can deal with that.
We eat supper at the station and after a while, Mitzy calls, saying that she is indeed in the area and is definitely willing to come pick Meagan and I up. And after another hour passes, she and her boyfriend Lewis arrive with her fathers truck and together we head out to Salmon Arm. It turns out that their cabin isn't actually in Salmon Arm, but just west of it in the village of Canoe. I send a quick message to Xavier that we will meet him in the morning before I go to the bike shop, and unpack ourselves onto some spare couches in the living room.
And so ends day 11.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Day 10 - Break time is over, now get back to work
I wake up as the sun rises over the crest of the hill behind Meghan and Gary's house. As usual Meagan is already up and has begun packing. Before we leave, there are few additional adjustments that Neil wants to make to our bikes, so he goes to work, which leaves Meagan and I to munch on a bit of breakfast care of our hosts. The kids are now up and about, and pass hither and yawn about the kitchen, yard and house, however their mom gets them packed, zips them to school and makes it back in only a few minutes. She is very capable with her children.
Now packed, fed and tuned up we say farewell, and hit the road. Meagan wants to leave a bit ahead of me just so she doesn't get left in the dust. I have been consistently quite a bit faster than her, and I guess she is tired of coming in later. Fine with me.
So I wander back to Chum's Restaurant and as I am jumping off the bike, I notice a small peculiar piece of plastic on the ground. As I bend to examine it, I think, hmm, I think this would fit on my MP3 player charger. Opening my saddlebag, sure enough the plastic fitting is missing from mine; I guess it fell off the day before I and I hadn't noticed it. Weird coincidence.
Water bottles filled I finally leave the town of Cache Creek heading east along the TransCanada Highway. The gradual hill out of town is a piece of cake, as is the series of rolling hills along the road. Behind me is a gentle tailwind as I pass lushly irrigated farmland surrounded by the rugged desert of the countryside. Sure enough though, it soon becomes apparent that the landscape is transitioning from arid and to something quite a bit more foliated.
The day off yesterday has refreshed my body and legs greatly and I power over the countryside, quickly overtaking Meagan, and finally surging up a hill in terrain which can only be described as desert. As oasis style gas station is just off the road and I think, hmmm, lunchtime.
Sometime passes, and Meagan eventually passes the station without stopping in. I wave her on, finish up and get back on the bike. Now I am directly under the noon sun, and even my freshly refilled water bottles are empty after only a few more minutes of climbing and riding. Below a shady tree I see Meagan, chat with her a while then continue under the yellow suns glare. Well, I am thirsty before long.
In this state I pass the town of Savona (not stopping of course) and begin a climb which I call the Savona Hill since I don't know its real name if it has one. The heat, incline and traffic make this distinctly challenging and before long my water is totally gone. Fortunately I encounter Cal Setter coming round a sharp turn on the road. He has his power tools on the back of his truck, and is remounting the small shrine he started years ago to mark the place his daughter was killed.
We talk and share our experiences for most of an hour, and he offers me some very appreciated water which are accepted graciously. Meagan passes me after some time, and doesn't stop. Before leaving, he hands me his card and asks for a post card from the end of my journey. Sure thing.
Continuing along I see Meagan pushing her bike up the steep climb. I make up some of the distance before she summits the hill and is gone. Summiting some 5 minutes later she is nowhere in sight, however there is a fantastic lookout point and a picnic table where I sit, eat and take a small nap.
Upon waking I see in the distance a grass fire burning the side of the valley some way ahead of me. After some photos of the event I jump on the bike and cruise down the far side of the Savona Hill. There is a long valley between me and the next climb which I fully expect to bring me into Kamloops. The valley itself is lined by farmland, and even as I descend the hill I see the firemen working to douse the upcoming blaze. By the time I pass them the fire is well and truly out.
It's about this time I get a call from Meagan saying that she is almost dead from weariness some way ahead of me. I tell her to take it easy and I will try and catch up to her. For myself, I am still quite drained from my own climb and the crossing of the valley so I can quite relate to what is going on with her.
Now the trees off the road are entirely dense and impenetrable with foliage, and I can see the clouds cruising in with an ominous dark tint. The rain starts as I come across a gas station where I hide under an awning, drink some chocolate milk and call my parents, friends and Meagan (who has turned her phone off). The owners of the station let me know that Meagan had passed by about 30 minutes earlier.
Moments before I go to leave, Gary (my host from last night) strolls in the gas station. He lets me know that he has spoken with Meagan, and that I am some 5 kilometers behind her. Wishing me luck, I leave and take on the final climb before entering the town of Kamloops. My legs are extremely tired and I break every couple hundred feet. On one of these breaks my friend Sandy calls me to return my call from a few minutes earlier which she had missed. We chat for a few minutes, she wishes me love and good luck and I grind my way to the summit.
Around one final bend is Kamloops, and a few quick calls to Meagan gets me to the Petro Canada diner after a short but pleasant ride into town. Meagan is sitting with three other women (apparently friends, and friends of friends) who have arrived from Merritt. Gloria is Meagan's oldest and best friends, and with her she has brought Holly and Shareen. We gab about the trip for a few minutes, then the conversation drifts off to the Landmark Forum, which Shareen is interested in taking.
Dinner wraps up a short while later, and Gloria and friends invite Meagan and I to a drum circle. Cool, I think and volunteer the two of us as compatriots for the evening. Before we head down to the event, Meagan and I scoot over the nearest hotel and unpack our things. Jumping in Shareen's car we zip downtown Kamloops only to discover that the smoke is pouring out of the drivers side front wheel well. Apparently the break has seized. We get out of the car, and Shareen goes off to park the vehicle.
It's at this point that Meagan expresses her displeasure with having to come by stomping around and huffing and puffing (no kidding, she actually was stomping and huffing and puffing!). We briefly talk, and she tells me that she really didn't want to come, but felt all sorts of pressure from me as well as Gloria.
In the few minutes I take to go find where Shareen has parked, Meagan jumps into a cab and disappears to places unknown. I find Shareen, however now everyone else has disappeared. Sometime passes while Shareen and I sit by her car, hoping for people to show up. Gloria shows up and says she is pissed off Meagan left after she had driven up from Merritt just to see her. Not only that, Holly has totally disappeared.
We agree to meet Gloria when she finds Holly at the drum circle, and Shareen and I wander off in that direction. At this point I should mention that I am really not concerned with Meagan leaving. I understand she is tired and didn't want to come in the first place, so I expect that since she is a big girl she has taken care of herself and left when I wasn't around so that she wouldn't feel pressured to stay. So Shareen and I arrive at the drum circle, and I am sorely disappointed. It turns out that there are two people with drums and about two dozen kids doings some variety of drugs, drinking and smoking. What's more, the drummers only play for a few minutes before being distracted into chatting with the comers and goers.
Gloria arrives some minutes later, and after a brief conversation is over her upset regarding how the evening is going. Holly is apparently uninterested in the drum circle thing entirely and is more concerned with getting home safely given that her ride is now unusable as reliable transportation. She has called her father and is waiting for him to come up from Merritt.
Gloria also introduces two people who are now with her, her uncle and aunt. Between the four of us, we conclude that we aren't terribly interested in hanging around. Shareen says she wants to stay so we say farewell, and head back to the aunt and uncles car. They agree to take me back to the hotel, and as we leave we see Holly, also leaving with her dad (I presume). Gloria says she is going to go with her instead and leaves me alone with the aunt and uncle.
We chat on the short ride back to the hotel, where I thank them for the ride, and head to my room. Meagan is fast asleep already and after a few minutes on my laptop I am done for the evening.
Now packed, fed and tuned up we say farewell, and hit the road. Meagan wants to leave a bit ahead of me just so she doesn't get left in the dust. I have been consistently quite a bit faster than her, and I guess she is tired of coming in later. Fine with me.
So I wander back to Chum's Restaurant and as I am jumping off the bike, I notice a small peculiar piece of plastic on the ground. As I bend to examine it, I think, hmm, I think this would fit on my MP3 player charger. Opening my saddlebag, sure enough the plastic fitting is missing from mine; I guess it fell off the day before I and I hadn't noticed it. Weird coincidence.
Water bottles filled I finally leave the town of Cache Creek heading east along the TransCanada Highway. The gradual hill out of town is a piece of cake, as is the series of rolling hills along the road. Behind me is a gentle tailwind as I pass lushly irrigated farmland surrounded by the rugged desert of the countryside. Sure enough though, it soon becomes apparent that the landscape is transitioning from arid and to something quite a bit more foliated.
The day off yesterday has refreshed my body and legs greatly and I power over the countryside, quickly overtaking Meagan, and finally surging up a hill in terrain which can only be described as desert. As oasis style gas station is just off the road and I think, hmmm, lunchtime.
Sometime passes, and Meagan eventually passes the station without stopping in. I wave her on, finish up and get back on the bike. Now I am directly under the noon sun, and even my freshly refilled water bottles are empty after only a few more minutes of climbing and riding. Below a shady tree I see Meagan, chat with her a while then continue under the yellow suns glare. Well, I am thirsty before long.
In this state I pass the town of Savona (not stopping of course) and begin a climb which I call the Savona Hill since I don't know its real name if it has one. The heat, incline and traffic make this distinctly challenging and before long my water is totally gone. Fortunately I encounter Cal Setter coming round a sharp turn on the road. He has his power tools on the back of his truck, and is remounting the small shrine he started years ago to mark the place his daughter was killed.
We talk and share our experiences for most of an hour, and he offers me some very appreciated water which are accepted graciously. Meagan passes me after some time, and doesn't stop. Before leaving, he hands me his card and asks for a post card from the end of my journey. Sure thing.
Continuing along I see Meagan pushing her bike up the steep climb. I make up some of the distance before she summits the hill and is gone. Summiting some 5 minutes later she is nowhere in sight, however there is a fantastic lookout point and a picnic table where I sit, eat and take a small nap.
Upon waking I see in the distance a grass fire burning the side of the valley some way ahead of me. After some photos of the event I jump on the bike and cruise down the far side of the Savona Hill. There is a long valley between me and the next climb which I fully expect to bring me into Kamloops. The valley itself is lined by farmland, and even as I descend the hill I see the firemen working to douse the upcoming blaze. By the time I pass them the fire is well and truly out.
It's about this time I get a call from Meagan saying that she is almost dead from weariness some way ahead of me. I tell her to take it easy and I will try and catch up to her. For myself, I am still quite drained from my own climb and the crossing of the valley so I can quite relate to what is going on with her.
Now the trees off the road are entirely dense and impenetrable with foliage, and I can see the clouds cruising in with an ominous dark tint. The rain starts as I come across a gas station where I hide under an awning, drink some chocolate milk and call my parents, friends and Meagan (who has turned her phone off). The owners of the station let me know that Meagan had passed by about 30 minutes earlier.
Moments before I go to leave, Gary (my host from last night) strolls in the gas station. He lets me know that he has spoken with Meagan, and that I am some 5 kilometers behind her. Wishing me luck, I leave and take on the final climb before entering the town of Kamloops. My legs are extremely tired and I break every couple hundred feet. On one of these breaks my friend Sandy calls me to return my call from a few minutes earlier which she had missed. We chat for a few minutes, she wishes me love and good luck and I grind my way to the summit.
Around one final bend is Kamloops, and a few quick calls to Meagan gets me to the Petro Canada diner after a short but pleasant ride into town. Meagan is sitting with three other women (apparently friends, and friends of friends) who have arrived from Merritt. Gloria is Meagan's oldest and best friends, and with her she has brought Holly and Shareen. We gab about the trip for a few minutes, then the conversation drifts off to the Landmark Forum, which Shareen is interested in taking.
Dinner wraps up a short while later, and Gloria and friends invite Meagan and I to a drum circle. Cool, I think and volunteer the two of us as compatriots for the evening. Before we head down to the event, Meagan and I scoot over the nearest hotel and unpack our things. Jumping in Shareen's car we zip downtown Kamloops only to discover that the smoke is pouring out of the drivers side front wheel well. Apparently the break has seized. We get out of the car, and Shareen goes off to park the vehicle.
It's at this point that Meagan expresses her displeasure with having to come by stomping around and huffing and puffing (no kidding, she actually was stomping and huffing and puffing!). We briefly talk, and she tells me that she really didn't want to come, but felt all sorts of pressure from me as well as Gloria.
In the few minutes I take to go find where Shareen has parked, Meagan jumps into a cab and disappears to places unknown. I find Shareen, however now everyone else has disappeared. Sometime passes while Shareen and I sit by her car, hoping for people to show up. Gloria shows up and says she is pissed off Meagan left after she had driven up from Merritt just to see her. Not only that, Holly has totally disappeared.
We agree to meet Gloria when she finds Holly at the drum circle, and Shareen and I wander off in that direction. At this point I should mention that I am really not concerned with Meagan leaving. I understand she is tired and didn't want to come in the first place, so I expect that since she is a big girl she has taken care of herself and left when I wasn't around so that she wouldn't feel pressured to stay. So Shareen and I arrive at the drum circle, and I am sorely disappointed. It turns out that there are two people with drums and about two dozen kids doings some variety of drugs, drinking and smoking. What's more, the drummers only play for a few minutes before being distracted into chatting with the comers and goers.
Gloria arrives some minutes later, and after a brief conversation is over her upset regarding how the evening is going. Holly is apparently uninterested in the drum circle thing entirely and is more concerned with getting home safely given that her ride is now unusable as reliable transportation. She has called her father and is waiting for him to come up from Merritt.
Gloria also introduces two people who are now with her, her uncle and aunt. Between the four of us, we conclude that we aren't terribly interested in hanging around. Shareen says she wants to stay so we say farewell, and head back to the aunt and uncles car. They agree to take me back to the hotel, and as we leave we see Holly, also leaving with her dad (I presume). Gloria says she is going to go with her instead and leaves me alone with the aunt and uncle.
We chat on the short ride back to the hotel, where I thank them for the ride, and head to my room. Meagan is fast asleep already and after a few minutes on my laptop I am done for the evening.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Day 9 - Start, Stop and Other Adventures
Knock knock knock.
Someone is at the door. My goodness, what time is it? Meagan staggers to the door, and Audry is looking in with a face expressing some degree of surprise. "Oh my, most cyclists are up and gone by this point". Meagan rejoins, "Well, we aren't most cyclists".
Blackness.
Sometime later I emerge from slumber and take Meagan's abandoned sleeping bag which is lying innocently on the hide-a-bed mattress she placed on the floor for the night. My own resting place on the couch was blanketless and hardly comfortable during the night and I fully intend to make the best of the next few minutes before the demands of the day set in.
It turns out that the teahouse also makes breakfast and we make our way over to enjoy french-toast, bacon and a couple eggs, then the packing starts, completes and after a brief tour of the Manor, we are on the road again. Almost immediately we encounter problems, this time with Meagan's bike. A significant wobble has materialized whenever she picks up some speed; well lucky thing we are only a few kilometers outside of the town of Cache Creek where we will be able to get most things repaired since I happen to know of a very convenient bike shop in town.
Unfortunately, Neil, the repairman is out of town at some sort of geocaching meeting, however, his sister-in-law Meghan (Sorry! I forget how you spell it!) is about, and lets us know that he will be back at 5:00 PM. Hmmm, I guess we'll be taking the day off. However before we go, we secure a place for ourselves behind their house and then we're off to explore Cache Creek.
Well, first thing on my list is to do a wee bit of laundry. Luckily, we pass the laundromat within mere moments of saying farewell to Meghan. My pocket is full of loonies, and twonies, however I notice that the machines mostly take quarters. Looking around for a change machine I notice a sign which directs me to go next door.
Next door is Bill Stadnyk, quickly he changes my big coins to smaller ones, and as a turn to leave I encounter the balance of his house. Floor to ceiling and wall to wall his house is lined with shelves, bearing of all things, accordions. Laundry can wait, and at once I ask what this is all about. It turns out, Bill is an accordion repair man, the only one in BC outside of Victoria. I call Meagan in to see, and turn to see Bill running to get one of his most favorite instruments.
The following hour is filled with Bill sharing his life and soul with us. From one instrument to the next he plays his music, shares his experiences, pleasures and passion with us. A tour of his shop, an explanation of the workings of the instrument and tune upon tune comes out of the man. The passion of the man brings tears to my eyes. Like no kidding.
Amazing.
Finally we say goodbye, and make our way to Chum's Restaurant. I get some work done, check my email, write some letters and occasionally run back and forth to the laundromat. This goes on for a couple hours until Neil the bike guy strolls up behind me and says, "I hear you need some work done". Well cool. I direct Neil back to his shop where Meagan is now waiting for him, and then pack up and get ready to leave myself. As I leave I see a man in t-shirt and shorts walking down the in front of the restaurant. I call out, "Looks like you are on an adventure". He turns around and says, "Yeah, I'm biking across Canada".
Boy, I must have a sixth or seventh sense pointing me at these people.
Anyways, his name is Terry and is planning on making his way most of the way across the country this summer with a follow up trip next year. At 68 years old he has already biked most of the way around the world and this tour of his home country is the final step in that achievement.
Parting ways with Terry, I head down to the bike shop where a young boy (his name is Quest) runs out of the yard and says, "Yay, Ted is here". Turns out my arrival has been anticipated. Meagan's wobble is now fixed and Neil is working on assorted tune-ups. The Meghan and Gary's (Neils brother) children are playing in the yard and come over to keep me company. The three boys are great little kids who ask all the really important questions like, "did you bring me any toys"?
Neil completes work on Meagan's bike, and turns his attention to mine. After a few minutes he has things tightened and adjusted in a variety of ways to improve my lot on the road. We go around back of the house to set up our tents for the evening and withdraw indoors to chat. The evening finally concludes with Meagan and I sharing our daring adventures and exciting experiences with Gary, Meghan and Neil. The kids are now in bed and finally we ourselves climb into our respective tents on the beautiful lawn to sleep.
And so concludes day 9.
Someone is at the door. My goodness, what time is it? Meagan staggers to the door, and Audry is looking in with a face expressing some degree of surprise. "Oh my, most cyclists are up and gone by this point". Meagan rejoins, "Well, we aren't most cyclists".
Blackness.
Sometime later I emerge from slumber and take Meagan's abandoned sleeping bag which is lying innocently on the hide-a-bed mattress she placed on the floor for the night. My own resting place on the couch was blanketless and hardly comfortable during the night and I fully intend to make the best of the next few minutes before the demands of the day set in.
It turns out that the teahouse also makes breakfast and we make our way over to enjoy french-toast, bacon and a couple eggs, then the packing starts, completes and after a brief tour of the Manor, we are on the road again. Almost immediately we encounter problems, this time with Meagan's bike. A significant wobble has materialized whenever she picks up some speed; well lucky thing we are only a few kilometers outside of the town of Cache Creek where we will be able to get most things repaired since I happen to know of a very convenient bike shop in town.
Unfortunately, Neil, the repairman is out of town at some sort of geocaching meeting, however, his sister-in-law Meghan (Sorry! I forget how you spell it!) is about, and lets us know that he will be back at 5:00 PM. Hmmm, I guess we'll be taking the day off. However before we go, we secure a place for ourselves behind their house and then we're off to explore Cache Creek.
Well, first thing on my list is to do a wee bit of laundry. Luckily, we pass the laundromat within mere moments of saying farewell to Meghan. My pocket is full of loonies, and twonies, however I notice that the machines mostly take quarters. Looking around for a change machine I notice a sign which directs me to go next door.
Next door is Bill Stadnyk, quickly he changes my big coins to smaller ones, and as a turn to leave I encounter the balance of his house. Floor to ceiling and wall to wall his house is lined with shelves, bearing of all things, accordions. Laundry can wait, and at once I ask what this is all about. It turns out, Bill is an accordion repair man, the only one in BC outside of Victoria. I call Meagan in to see, and turn to see Bill running to get one of his most favorite instruments.
The following hour is filled with Bill sharing his life and soul with us. From one instrument to the next he plays his music, shares his experiences, pleasures and passion with us. A tour of his shop, an explanation of the workings of the instrument and tune upon tune comes out of the man. The passion of the man brings tears to my eyes. Like no kidding.
Amazing.
Finally we say goodbye, and make our way to Chum's Restaurant. I get some work done, check my email, write some letters and occasionally run back and forth to the laundromat. This goes on for a couple hours until Neil the bike guy strolls up behind me and says, "I hear you need some work done". Well cool. I direct Neil back to his shop where Meagan is now waiting for him, and then pack up and get ready to leave myself. As I leave I see a man in t-shirt and shorts walking down the in front of the restaurant. I call out, "Looks like you are on an adventure". He turns around and says, "Yeah, I'm biking across Canada".
Boy, I must have a sixth or seventh sense pointing me at these people.
Anyways, his name is Terry and is planning on making his way most of the way across the country this summer with a follow up trip next year. At 68 years old he has already biked most of the way around the world and this tour of his home country is the final step in that achievement.
Parting ways with Terry, I head down to the bike shop where a young boy (his name is Quest) runs out of the yard and says, "Yay, Ted is here". Turns out my arrival has been anticipated. Meagan's wobble is now fixed and Neil is working on assorted tune-ups. The Meghan and Gary's (Neils brother) children are playing in the yard and come over to keep me company. The three boys are great little kids who ask all the really important questions like, "did you bring me any toys"?
Neil completes work on Meagan's bike, and turns his attention to mine. After a few minutes he has things tightened and adjusted in a variety of ways to improve my lot on the road. We go around back of the house to set up our tents for the evening and withdraw indoors to chat. The evening finally concludes with Meagan and I sharing our daring adventures and exciting experiences with Gary, Meghan and Neil. The kids are now in bed and finally we ourselves climb into our respective tents on the beautiful lawn to sleep.
And so concludes day 9.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Day 8 - Coincidence
One of the really great things about being in a desert is the low likelihood of being rained on. On nights such as these I like to leave the fly of my tent off so I can enjoy the breeze as well as watch the stars through the fine netting. The pleasure of watching ants and little creatures vainly attempt to climb inside and eat me is only surpassed by the joy of knowing that sleep can proceed with utter disregard for all the little crawlies that wiggle about.
The road down from Hilltop Campground is comprised of a series of small and moderate hills until we reach the base of the climb known as Oregon-Jack. The climb here pulls the two of us out of the valley; however like many things in my life, there is a bit of drama associated with this too. I arrive at the beginning of the hill to discover that traffic is being blocked by a construction crew which is preparing to do some blasting on the cliff aside of the road along the ascent.
The folks waiting for the crew to signal the all clear are questioning me about my trip and a couple mention that they have seen both myself and Meagan a number of times as they journey up and down the highway on their day to day errands. The crew signals that I should proceed by myself and make a head start; however I am only part way up the hill when I see Meagan's bike on the back of a truck cruising past me on the way up the hill. Apparently she was offered a ride, and couldn't resist the temptation.
Meagan is dropped off about halfway up the climb, and quickly guns her way to the top. Slowly but steadily I gain on her and by the time she reaches the summit, I am only a minute or so behind her.
From here there are a couple of minor dips and rises, however we are now out of the formal part of the valley and about 35 KM from the town of Ashcroft. The terrain here is now showing a number of trees, however the majority of them appear to be dead as they are entirely brown. Apparently the ravages of the pine beetle has been a major force in this area. The grass and shrubbery along side of the highway is still utterly dry, and there is absolutely no shade to be seen, and what is more the sun is roasting the countryside alive.
A crack of thunder in this situation grabs my attention almost immediately. I turn around, and behind me is a dark and powerful looking thunderhead powering down upon us from behind. The smell of ozone fills the air, and wouldn't you know it, my back wheel is flat. A call to Meagan ahead of me doesn't reach her and the last I see of her is the flag on her bike waving so long around the nearest bend.
Well, there is nothing for it except to dismount and fix the flat. At this point in my life I have fixed 37 flat tires, and now am working on the 38th. In moments, the sun vanishes behind a deep and dark cloud, the wind buffets me from all directions and I almost rip the wheel off the bike in my urgency. Patch kit out, glue applied, patch applied, pressure, remount the tube, the tire, the wheel, and someone says "Well, hello there". Meagan is standing next to me. Where did she come from? Well, apparently the moment she went around the corner, she too had encountered a flat tire and was waiting for me to come rescue her.
Given this, the urgency, wind and clouds disappear almost at the same time. Leisurely we stroll around the corner, remove her wheel, replace the tube, and are back on the road after an entirely respectable amount of time.
The road from the corner of flat tires to Ashton once again becomes witheringly hot, and the moderate amount of farmland in the area is the only indication that we are once again reaching irrigated climbs. A short while later we encounter the Ashton Manor which is a perfect rest stop for traveling cyclists. The teahouse is air conditioned and Kim and Audry (I hope I have your names right) rent us a cabin for the night at an entirely respectable rate.
The rest of evening is spent relaxing, chatting and playing computer games (entirely frivolous, and entirely enjoyable).
The road down from Hilltop Campground is comprised of a series of small and moderate hills until we reach the base of the climb known as Oregon-Jack. The climb here pulls the two of us out of the valley; however like many things in my life, there is a bit of drama associated with this too. I arrive at the beginning of the hill to discover that traffic is being blocked by a construction crew which is preparing to do some blasting on the cliff aside of the road along the ascent.
The folks waiting for the crew to signal the all clear are questioning me about my trip and a couple mention that they have seen both myself and Meagan a number of times as they journey up and down the highway on their day to day errands. The crew signals that I should proceed by myself and make a head start; however I am only part way up the hill when I see Meagan's bike on the back of a truck cruising past me on the way up the hill. Apparently she was offered a ride, and couldn't resist the temptation.
Meagan is dropped off about halfway up the climb, and quickly guns her way to the top. Slowly but steadily I gain on her and by the time she reaches the summit, I am only a minute or so behind her.
From here there are a couple of minor dips and rises, however we are now out of the formal part of the valley and about 35 KM from the town of Ashcroft. The terrain here is now showing a number of trees, however the majority of them appear to be dead as they are entirely brown. Apparently the ravages of the pine beetle has been a major force in this area. The grass and shrubbery along side of the highway is still utterly dry, and there is absolutely no shade to be seen, and what is more the sun is roasting the countryside alive.
A crack of thunder in this situation grabs my attention almost immediately. I turn around, and behind me is a dark and powerful looking thunderhead powering down upon us from behind. The smell of ozone fills the air, and wouldn't you know it, my back wheel is flat. A call to Meagan ahead of me doesn't reach her and the last I see of her is the flag on her bike waving so long around the nearest bend.
Well, there is nothing for it except to dismount and fix the flat. At this point in my life I have fixed 37 flat tires, and now am working on the 38th. In moments, the sun vanishes behind a deep and dark cloud, the wind buffets me from all directions and I almost rip the wheel off the bike in my urgency. Patch kit out, glue applied, patch applied, pressure, remount the tube, the tire, the wheel, and someone says "Well, hello there". Meagan is standing next to me. Where did she come from? Well, apparently the moment she went around the corner, she too had encountered a flat tire and was waiting for me to come rescue her.
Given this, the urgency, wind and clouds disappear almost at the same time. Leisurely we stroll around the corner, remove her wheel, replace the tube, and are back on the road after an entirely respectable amount of time.
The road from the corner of flat tires to Ashton once again becomes witheringly hot, and the moderate amount of farmland in the area is the only indication that we are once again reaching irrigated climbs. A short while later we encounter the Ashton Manor which is a perfect rest stop for traveling cyclists. The teahouse is air conditioned and Kim and Audry (I hope I have your names right) rent us a cabin for the night at an entirely respectable rate.
The rest of evening is spent relaxing, chatting and playing computer games (entirely frivolous, and entirely enjoyable).
Monday, June 8, 2009
Day 7 - Yummy
This morning starts out gradually. The countryside, and specifically the campground has given way to the desert and the layer of needles on the ground is almost completely dry. Last night as the fire smoldered and I sat and typed, the thought occurred that perhaps this would be a fire hazard, however I was attentive and no problems have arisen between then and now.
Climbing out of my tent and carefully picking my way over the dry needles on the way to find a fresh pair of socks I conclude that a restaurant made breakfast will be much more appealing than the drivel (or whatever) that I would otherwise be able to create given my currently meager set of supplies.
The balance of the packing concludes quickly enough, however I am dismayed to discover that the battery in my camera has drained. Well, off to the restaurant and we will find batteries later. At this point I should admit that although I have just gotten up, and am more or less ready to start the day, it is currently just past 11:00 AM in the morning. At this rate the day will only start at the crack of noon as my roommate Mario says.
Given the time, breakfast becomes lunch and my first meal of the day is a cheeseburger with fries. Yummy. (I see you there shaking your head with disapproval). It is during this meal that I meet Jaycee, who has just arrived herself with breakfast intentions in the same genre as mine. One interesting thing about Jaycee is that she has only got one leg; the other apparently was lost in a bike accident some years ago.
She lights up over the conversation in which topics range wildly, from the possibility of her doing her own cross country tour with a hand powered bicycle to hummingbirds and beyond. After we leave the restaurant, purchase batteries at the next door market and prepare to hit the road Jaycee comes out and sends us off with her best wishes. My last sight of her is her squinting at the back of her camera as she documents the event.
Now at this point things are clearly starting to shift physically for me. My legs seem to be able to easily power me up the first hill of the morning, and as I crest it, the view of the Thompson river blows me away. This river is powerful, as anyone can attest to who has viewed the rapids just east of Lytton. Enormous volumes of water pass here every moment of every day, and of course make there way south to the confluence with the Fraser River where things become truly astounding (Hell's Gate is a good place to observe this result).
Meagan and I slowly become separated over the course of the day as the heat and wears on us both. A number of moderate climbs and one long gradual ascent leads eventually to Spences Bridge.
Here we take advantage of not one but two delightful little restaurants, jump onto the internet for the first time in a while and then finally make our way up a hill and around the corner to the Hilltop Campground just north of Spences Bridge. The campground is at the lower bound of number a orchard, has a babbling brook, excellent showers, powered sites (although no Internet access :) ).
The balance of the evening is spent chatting with the fellow campsite goers, the repairman and Annette, a summer long resident of the campground and relative of the owners.
Climbing out of my tent and carefully picking my way over the dry needles on the way to find a fresh pair of socks I conclude that a restaurant made breakfast will be much more appealing than the drivel (or whatever) that I would otherwise be able to create given my currently meager set of supplies.
The balance of the packing concludes quickly enough, however I am dismayed to discover that the battery in my camera has drained. Well, off to the restaurant and we will find batteries later. At this point I should admit that although I have just gotten up, and am more or less ready to start the day, it is currently just past 11:00 AM in the morning. At this rate the day will only start at the crack of noon as my roommate Mario says.
Given the time, breakfast becomes lunch and my first meal of the day is a cheeseburger with fries. Yummy. (I see you there shaking your head with disapproval). It is during this meal that I meet Jaycee, who has just arrived herself with breakfast intentions in the same genre as mine. One interesting thing about Jaycee is that she has only got one leg; the other apparently was lost in a bike accident some years ago.
She lights up over the conversation in which topics range wildly, from the possibility of her doing her own cross country tour with a hand powered bicycle to hummingbirds and beyond. After we leave the restaurant, purchase batteries at the next door market and prepare to hit the road Jaycee comes out and sends us off with her best wishes. My last sight of her is her squinting at the back of her camera as she documents the event.
Now at this point things are clearly starting to shift physically for me. My legs seem to be able to easily power me up the first hill of the morning, and as I crest it, the view of the Thompson river blows me away. This river is powerful, as anyone can attest to who has viewed the rapids just east of Lytton. Enormous volumes of water pass here every moment of every day, and of course make there way south to the confluence with the Fraser River where things become truly astounding (Hell's Gate is a good place to observe this result).
Meagan and I slowly become separated over the course of the day as the heat and wears on us both. A number of moderate climbs and one long gradual ascent leads eventually to Spences Bridge.
Here we take advantage of not one but two delightful little restaurants, jump onto the internet for the first time in a while and then finally make our way up a hill and around the corner to the Hilltop Campground just north of Spences Bridge. The campground is at the lower bound of number a orchard, has a babbling brook, excellent showers, powered sites (although no Internet access :) ).
The balance of the evening is spent chatting with the fellow campsite goers, the repairman and Annette, a summer long resident of the campground and relative of the owners.
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