Soakin' Valley

On our way home from last year's bike-packing trip,we saw a paved cycling trail that followed the Slocan River.Consulting my Kettle Valley Railway guidebook, we discovered that there was in fact a rails to trails route that was 50 kilometers in length called the "Slocan Valley Rail Trail".
.

Last year's trip

Wanting to do a bike-packing trip this summer, Chris (the boy) and I decided that since he was out of shape, we would try that trail as it looked flat and the guidebook confirmed that there was no appreciable grade.This time the boy had a much better bike and he had finally listened to my advice to ditch the cotton t-shirts and wear moisture wicking shirts. (Forget him wearing cycling shorts!).

My wife who is a sensible individual, suggested that because of the health risk that the recent forest fire smoke presented, we should consider another place to ride our bikes.Being males, we disregarded the wise advice. Although the smoke seemed to get worse the further south we traveled. Then it began to rain.

We told ourselves that it always rains in the mountains and sure enough, by the time we reached Slocan the rain had stopped. Visibility was still limited because of the tremendous clouds of smoke coming up from the southern end of the province. It also seemed that there must have been a lot of marijuana burning as we imagined seeing a pulp mill that upon closer inspection turned out to be an outcropping of rock. The bright lights of an RV coming toward us were not the ferry that would take us across Lower Arrow Lake...

Slocan gold

The campground at Slocan had only two other campsites taken so we chose an isolated spot that had a waterfall tumbling steadily behind it. The stream below the falls was clear and cold so we stashed a couple of tall cans of beer in its pristine waters.

Rollin' and tumblin'

It was hard to tell if above us was rain clouds or if it was forest fire smoke. It was rain clouds.Just after starting off from the trailhead, it began to sprinkle. This would be the driest we would be for the next several days. The boy and I had rain gear and after such a long drive and much preparation, we weren't about to turn back now.

Here comes the rain

We made it to our destination at Winlaw without a great deal of effort and we found that this place had everything we could want. A family - run bakery, a hardware store, a crunchy-granola food store and just as importantly, a gas station that had a liquor store. (We had forgotten the beer in Slocan  Creek). Once again, the campground was virtually vacant and we chose a secluded spot.

The ever-present rain made me think of the 1960's Alan Sherman tune:

Hello Mudda, hello Fadduh,
Here I am at Camp Granada
Camp is very entertaining
and they say we'll have some fun if it stops raining

I went hiking with Joe Spivy
He developed poison ivy
You remember Leonard Skinner
He got ptomaine poisoning last night after dinner

Now I don't want this should scare ya
But my bunkmate has malaria
You remember Jeffrey Hardy
They're about to organize a searching party

Wait a minute, it stopped hailing,
Guys are swimming, guys are sailing,
Playing baseball. gee that's better,
Muddah Fadduh kindly disregard this letter.

Bikewriters Aug.16,2015

Bikewriters is a group of dedicated cyclists who meet on occasion to write about cycling and then read aloud and discuss their work.

Here is what I wrote in the 15 minutes allotted to the subject:
NIGHT RIDE

The wind is causing the elm branches above me to sway. House lights and street lights reflect off the wet street. It is not exactly cold but compared to the hot summer days we have had for the past few months, there is a definite chill in the air.
I think to myself that plenty of people will soon be Tweeting or Facebooking that summer is over. Summer is not over. This is just a bump in the road.
Although I have to admit that this night feels like a fall night. One of those nights soon to come where a gust of wind blows the leaves off the trees and they scatter in front of your bike. Like large paper snowflakes, the leaves stick to your tires until centrifugal force flings them into the air - only to cartwheel until forced to a stop by a hard curb.
Enjoying yourself, knowing it doesn't matter how late you arrive home since you can sleep in tomorrow, you switch your headlight to flicker. The strobing  light turns the whole scene into a jumble of confusing images. Not to worry. You have command of your bike. You know this route. You want to play!
Soon, you are bored with the flashing light. You look at the houses you are passing. Blue, sharp light emanates from a picture window. The TV is on. In another home a light goes out. Bed time?
Not for me. I want to keep riding. Experiencing empty, quiet streets, secure in the knowledge I have a warm, comfortable bed waiting for me.

Holy Crap!

My bicycle camping buddy Roy and I decided this year to skip our annual bikepacking trip and go backpacking instead. We had our usual great time and I learned a number of things - especially when it comes to carrying a lot of weight.

The two of us near Princeton

When Roy and I started our annual trip nine years ago, I hadn't done any camping other than car camping with my family. So I was quite unprepared for bicycle camping. Roy had some experience  and I relied on him for advice when we began to plan. He told me that I should bring a Thermarest. A Thermarest? What on earth was that? A tent would be necessary and the list went on and on.

It turned out that I needed huge saddlebags to hold all my stuff. A lot of stuff. Pajamas, a bath towel, shaving kit, sandals, a huge sleeping bag, shirts, shorts, a toque, and a heavy plastic ground sheet among other things.

The ridiculous pajamas

There was so much stuff that due to the rugged trail we followed that the rack holding the saddlebags broke away from my bike and scattered my heavy crap all over a dirt road; in a place that had no shade nor anywhere to sit.

The spill

Over nine years, I've made a lot of changes to my gear and I look forward to my next bikepacking trip where I'll pare down my stuff even more. In fact I'm reading a book by ultra-light backpacker Ray Jardine and most of his ideas are practical and sensible. One idea that appeals to me is to use a tarp instead of a tent. Right now my one man tent weighs close to four pounds and Ray Jardine's tarp weighs mere ounces.

 Years ago I didn't know what a Thermarest was and now I have two - a long one (my first) and a shorter one that covers only my shoulders and hips. I wouldn't wear a light on my helmet again since a Tikka packed away in a handlebar bag weighs much less and can be used quickly when faced with a tunnel or when you set up camp in the dark.

Roy still makes fun of all the gear I brought on our first bikepacking trip and it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction on our recent backpacking trip to find out that Roy's pack weighed fifty pounds and mine a mere forty.

You can find out more about my backpacking adventures at:http://cpawsnab.org/blog/back-2-backpacking-by-adrian-pearce-part-2

I Won the Sweepstakes

Very soon is the MS Bike Tour which I've been training for.  Not as a fundraiser on a bike but as a marshal on a bike. Every chance I could in the last several weeks, I've been on my bike - doing especially long rides two days in a row on the weekends.

I noticed with all my riding that there was a persistent creaking sound with every pedal stroke. So it was off to shop where I tightened the seat onto its post, used a pedal wrench on the pedals,oiled the chain and tested out the front derailleur from where the sound seemed to be coming. After quite some scrutiny, I discovered that one of my rear cogs was loose and by simply screwing the locking ring down, the creaking disappeared.

A marshal's job is to ensure the safety of the participants over the two day tour and also to hustle the riders along so that everyone can finish in time for the banquet the first evening. My friend Roy can attest to how slowly I pedal so I happily accepted the volunteer position of sweeper. Sweeping is done at the tail end of a group of cyclists. The sweeper position can be unenviable in that most of the marshals will book it as fast as they can to get to the day's finish - leaving the sweeper to encourage the slowest riders to move along.  You can imagine that some of those slow riders are travelling so slowly because their bikes are in poor repair. As a marshal told me once "The first day is all about broken bikes and the second day is all about broken bodies!"

On previous MS Tours, I'd seen marshals; their panniers filled with equipment and a tall floor pump poking out of one of the saddlebags. Faced with the prospect of having to pump up some of those tires, I now understood why the marshals didn't rely on compact hand pumps. Two full days of pumping tires would be hard work.

With only days left, I've been busy reading through first aid materials and checking my tools and first aid kit. Everything looks in order and I must remember to pack along my tall floor pump.

My Art Ride

How not to do a Public Art Ride:

1. Leave late
2. Guess at the route the ride will take
3. Don't phone someone on the ride to find out where they are

Here is what I missed:

The Public Art Ride

A mural they enjoyed

Art at Borden Park

This is what I found on my own ride:

My mural

An empty Borden Park

All was not lost though. On my way downtown, cutting through the Legislature grounds, I realized I was present as history was being made - Rachel Notley was being sworn in on the front steps as the new premier of our province.

A One Night Stand

You have decided to go for a lengthy bike ride and then camp out overnight. Living in the city, there are still places where one can set up a tent and enjoy the camping experience without leaving the city limits.

I found just a place this afternoon and it offered me everything I require in a camping place. Privacy is important and this spot was near a fence that would separate me from others. Some of that separation came from the plentiful trees on the property.  Only the evergreens had any substantial growth on their branches with this still being a cold spring.

There was a perfectly flat spot to pitch the tent.  I dutifully laid down on the ground first to feel if I wanted to sleep there.  I had learned this from reading Ray Jardine's book (I first heard of his ultra lightweight camping methods in the movie and book "Wild") and it made perfect sense. Why I had not been doing this for the last ten summers of camping?  Making a grass angel?

Not far from the tent was a building that housed the washrooms, showers and facilities for washing up dishes.  There would be no stinky pit toilet to contend with.  Near the tent - but not too close was the firepit.  I hadn't planned on cooking over the fire but a blaze is always a cheery companion.  My joy increased when I saw that there was a plentiful supply of firewood.

After sundown, I bunked down in my tent and tried out my new Lamina 20 sleeping bag which is rated for 7 degrees.  By 2 am it was only 1 degree. I couldn't take the cold anymore so I got up and went into the building with all the facilities and climbed into my own bed.

Riding in the Center of the Universe

During a lunch break in Ottawa, I thought it would be a good idea to rent a bike and go for a short ride.  While working near the Rideau Canal, I was sure I had seen a bike rental sign.  My hope was that the rental place would be open at this time of year.

Success!

My hopes were boosted when I discovered a couple of signs pointing to a space underneath an elegant bridge.  Climbing down, I could see what looked like a tunnel with hundreds of bikes stacked around its curving walls.  The operator of the rental shop near the tunnel was munching on a ham sandwich clasped in his greasy, bike mechanic hands.  The place had that distinctive bike shop smell - rubber, oil and dirt mixed together,

The tunnel

It surprised me that the mechanic asked me what hotel I was staying at while he filled out the rental agreement.  How did he know I was an out-of-towner?  Then I remembered that Ottawa, like most capital cities is also a tourist town.  He warmed up a little when I explained to him that I'm a bike mechanic at my city's community bike shop and in minutes he had me riding out of the tunnel on a GIANT bike.  Although it appeared to me to be a normal size.

A Giant bike

Riding along the Rideau Canal should be a pleasant experience.  A decent spring afternoon, an empty bike path, a nice enough bike.  But there was a pair of eyes that stared right at me.  In fact, followed my every move.  Right out of a cheesy horror movie.

Scary eyes

The bike path along the canal is very organized and interesting.  I say organized because the city has, for your convenience, place strategic signs to help you on your way.  For example, the signs show you how to get to a bank. (To pay for renting a bike)?

Thanks!

In the canal itself was a pair of ducks, three seagulls, a car tire, one rusted shopping cart and a shelf of crusty snow lining the south bank.  There must be woodpeckers in the vicinity as evidenced by a tree so peppered with holes that it was a wonder it could still stand.

Woodpecker machine gun action

The thing that most impressed me about the Rideau Canal bike path is that it is for everyone except pedestrians.  Apparently, walking on the path is prohibited and fine - able.

When I peeled up to the rental shack I didn't need to visit the bank.  I had the ten - spot right there in my wallet.