All By Myself

It must have been 7 years ago that my friend Roy must have mentioned bicycle camping and the trips that he had taken on the KVR.  While I had never heard of it, he described exotic sounding places.  Zack's campground in Beaverdell.  27 trestles in the Myra Canyon.  Mudslides near Princeton.   Exorbitant fees for everything at Chute Lake.

My imagination was stirred when Roy described how he and his nephew rounded a bend in the trail, deep in the forest and there standing in the middle of the trail was a soldier who informed them that they were not going any further.  "We have enough people lost in the woods - we don't need any more.  You'll have to go back and find another route!"  This was during the Okanagan Mountain fire.  Just the encouragement I need to go!

The fire Richard, Roy and I experienced near Princeton

When I think of how far I have come in the last five years riding almost the full length of the KVR, I'm now prepared to lead an expedition of my own.  And I describe it that way as I sit here indoors and the temperature is still - 30 Celsius outside and too cold for me to be out riding - although I admire the cyclists who are out there right now braving the cold - people like Coreen.  So I daydream...

Swimmers under the Cascade trestle

The expedition will claw our way to various summits, camp in the middle of nowhere, be excited when we come upon a country store, enjoy any food that comes our way and most of all, discover history together and feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment as we swagger into town and act as though our trip was nothing as we regale neighbouring campers will tales of our exploits.

Love those tunnels!

Like an expedition, there will be decisions to make on the trail, choices to be made.  Weather is a always a factor.  Too hot can be just as taxing as too cold.  Conditioning (training) will play a key role in the amount of enjoyment riding the trails will bring.  It will be easier for my daughter and I since we will train for the MS Bike tour in June and by doing the KVR, we will have a leg up on our training for the MS Mountain Tour in mid September.



The good old MS Tour in June



British California Pie

Cherry Rhubarb pie

It is never me that starts the whole pie thing.  Usually on one of our long trips, we will be stopped on the trail for some reason and Roy will lick his lips and say something like "Yummm.  Pie!  With ice cream!!"  While I don't think it has any effect on me at the time, I'll notice as I pedal down the trail and the repetition of pedaling, steering and shifting once again become automatic, the idea of a piece of pie begins to take hold in my mind.  If I was to have a piece of pie - what kind would I choose?  My favourite - cherry?  What if they don't have any?  Would apple pie do?  Ice cream on top?  Chocolate?

So that little vocalization of Roy's begins to latch onto my brain cells and is usually buttressed by our third cycling companion.  Two years ago I could hear Richard and Roy up ahead of me excitedly discussing the merits of pie and just how many slices they would each have at the next town.  This year it was Perry enthusiastically extolling the virtues of that delectable dessert.  As I rode through their comments I recalled a passage from Bil Bryson's "A Walk in the Woods":  ...Everyone on the trail dreams of something, usually a sweet, and my sustaining vision had been an outsized slab of pie.  It had occupied my thoughts for days and when the waitress came to take our order I asked her, with beseeching eyes and a hand on her forearm, to bring me the largest piece she could slice without losing her job.  She brought me a vast, viscous, canary-yellow wedge of lemon pie.  It was a monument to food technology, yellow enough to give you a headache, sweet enough to make your eyeballs roll up into your head - everything, in short, you could want in a pie...

The above should put to rest the question that is so frequently asked:  "Why does pie figure so prominently in cycling stories?"

Trail Silliness

As I mentioned in an earlier blog, we found that using the Tikka light which you strap to your forehead, helps you to navigate in the dark when camping...

My buddy Perry, on our KVR trip made me laugh everytime that he would say TIKKA TIKKA TIKKA TIKKA in a falsetto voice that reminded me of the 1963 song Dominique by the Singing Nuns.  Which inspired me to create my own version of their lyrics:

Tikka Tikka Tikka Tikka

It's the light for you and me

It shines so darn brightly

You should get one for yourself

They are sitting on the shelf

Of your local M-E-C

When they hear of all the fuss

People stop and wonder why

If you turn the light on

Make sure it's not in their eye!

Tikka Tikka Tikka Tikka

It's the light for you and me

It shines so darn brightly

You should get one for yourself

They are sitting on the shelf at your local M-E-C

It's a very useful light

And you'll like it on your head

It's especially helpful

As you stumble off to bed

Tikka Tikka Tikka Tikka

It's the light for you and me

It shines so darn brightly

You should get one for yourself

They are sitting on the shelf

At your local M-E-C

The Country and Western Adventure

The dark line above the trail is the C&W in the distance

While everybody calls it the Kettle Valley Railway, in fact the old railbed that we chose to ride this year is actually called the Columbia and Western Railway - hence the title "Country and Western".

Two years ago, my intrepid cycling partner Roy and I had made this trip starting from Rock Creek and aiming towards Castlegar.  The idea was first planted in my head on my inaugural KVR trip when we ran into a supported group of cyclists in Rock Creek and their leader told us that their tour had begun in Castlegar.  As well, when travelling on the Crowsnest through Christina Lake, one can see way up on the mountainside the huge blocks of cut stone that were stacked up like Lego blocks to help hold the railbed to the side of the mountain.  As Roy drove and my mind wandered, I began to imagine us way up there clinging to the edge of that steep incline, riding our bikes and exploring that remote trail.

My friend Perry was joining us this year and through some wise planning with our friend Terry T., we determined that the trip this year should start in Castlegar and make its way to Rock Creek and then return.  Three days out and three days back.  Why do all that extra driving and waste important saddle time?

Just like two years ago, it was raining when we pulled into Castlegar and we had some difficulty finding the campground since they don't advertise on the internet and we had to rely on our faulty memories from a couple of years back.  I mean we only stayed there overnight and it was dark when we drove in and early the next morning when we left.

We avoid the rain

The camp host rmembered Roy and since he is such a charmer, she suggested that we pitch our tents under one of the covered picnic shelters.  Since it was raining, all the other campers were in their tents bemoaning the fact that their holiday was being ruined while we excitedly set up our tents on the nice flat (and dry) concrete slab that makes up the floor of the shelter.

We were to find out a few days later that a group of four cyclists were climbing to the summit at Farron while we were nice and dry under the sturdy roof and that it was so cold and wet at the top that one of the group suffered hypothermia and had to be brought down to a lower elevation where it was warmer and dryer.  Their trip had to be altered significantly to accomodate their ill partner.

Once on our own way to the summit, we took pictures of Perry to mark the beginning of his first bicycle camping adventure.  We chose to photograph him at the only place on the KVR/C&W that you can actually see the rails of the old train route.  You get to ride between the rails for about 1/2 a kilometer and we have been told that the CPR may use that railbed again in the future.

What a couple of hams!

They say a picture is worth a thousand words so I guess Perry will be talking a lot to his family and friends about everything he experienced on the trip!

Less Than One Week To Go!

From our recent "Adventure Cycling" trip

For those of you who would like to learn more about bicycle camping then you might want to attend the "Cycle Camping" workshop being held at "Bikeworks" - the bicycle commuter's bike shop.

The two hour course will include topics such as: choosing the right bike, what to take with you, where to go and how to get the most out of such a fun trip.  Plus lots more!

To attend, you can register at: http://edmontonbikes.ca/calendar/more/cycle_adventuring_course/

See You There!!

The Excitement Is Building



Near Greenwood

 In only a few days, Perry (whose blog you might have read the other day), Roy and I will be heading southwest to the interior of British California to begin our adventure cycling trip for the year.  For me this is year five, Roy year seven and the newbie Perry - year one.

The above picture shows Roy up ahead near Greenwood and one of the two summits we would climb on the way to Castlegar.  We had just had an encounter with a local who I named Graham Townsend - a rifle toting farmer originally from southern England.  Mr. Townsend was out for an evening stroll with his dogs and keeping a wary eye out for the coyotes who had been raiding his henhouse.

It has been a busy week trying to get everything ready for the trip - choosing freeze-dried foods, replacing a bent tent peg, trying to locate my camping pillow, returning the crappy sleeping bag that I tried out last weekend on our over-night camp out, raising the handlebars on the bike, buying small containers of toiletries, finding a second water bottle and bottle cage and a hundred other tasks that need attending to - like cutting the grass, weeding the garden etc.



Just one of the tunnels that we'll travel through

One of my favourite occurances is riding through the railway tunnels that dot the trail.  Riding from 30 degree temperatures and bright sunlight into a dark, moist and cool cave-like atmosphere never fails to thrill me.  The longest tunnel is called the Bulldog Tunnel - here's an excerpt from "Riding the Kettle Valley Railway": The tunnel itself cuts a straight line from east to west with a slight hook at the west end.  Travelling from west to east is preferable because once around the corner you just walk toward the light at the other end, but coming from the east you walk in total darkness for almost the total length of the tunnel.



From cool and moist to hot and sunny

 The weather forecast is for hot sunny conditions and if there isn't a fireban in effect, we might just relax in front of an open fire.  It can get pretty cool way up near the summits that we will ascend and a fire can quickly improve the morale of my two fair-weather cycling friends.  I can remember huddling with Roy in a patch of sunlight early one morning in Beaverdell while trying to eat porridge and waiting for the temperature to warm up enough to melt the frost on our tents.

If the thirty degree temperatures that are called for actually happen, then our stays inside a cool railway tunnel might actually stretch into an overnight adjournment.

That Wasn't So Bad

Perry here.  I've been losing sleep worrying about our impending Kettle Valley Railway bike trip.  Am I strong enough for seven or eight days of riding in the mountains?  Am I going to pack the right stuff?  What about my sleeps?  Did I get the right Thermarest?



A mountain of stuff

 My nerves took a beating when I stood back after loading my new bike and saw the mountain of stuff on the back.  Yes I've done the Golden Triangle three times but that was different because we went "Inn to Inn" and had lunches and meals in restaurants - we didn't have to carry everything on our bikes.  I'm a fussy guy and I don't want my brand new Specialized getting all scratched up.  Pearce told me to take off the kickstand because the added weight isn't needed so I hope I find trees or something to lean the bike against.



Just for starters

 Our little ride down to the campsite was a piece of cake.  My computer showed 11 klicks - which is shorter than my commute to work.  Pearce tells me that we'll do 50 - 65 klicks a day on the KVR -  so doing that distance everyday concerns me.  Once we pull into our reserved campsite, Pearce whips out two big cans of beer even before we decide where to put the tents.  And then he pulls out a bottle of red wine from deep down in one of his panniers.  Does this guy have a drinking problem or what?  Or is the KVR trip just a beer bash and punch-up?

I had to pat myself on the back when I got a good fire going in one of those useless rotating mailbox looking BBQ/firebox thingies.  (I did have to call my wife to bring down a box of split wood from home and what the heck - maybe some more beer).  We went over to the camp office to ask about wood and when we saw that the wood came in great huge chunks and was stuffed into a four foot sack and cost ten bucks, that's when I called my spouse to help out.  Not only are we too cheap to pay for wood but without any way of splitting it, we would end up like the rest of the campers with a smoke generating machine (which might help keep the mozzies away!).


Not bad eh?

Except for having to get up for a whizz at 3 am, I had a good sleep and using my earplugs, I blocked out the buzz-saw snoring coming from Pearce's one man tent.  The tent that he says he bought intentionally so that there was no way he would have to bunk with anyone else.  Let alone spoon another man!

I think I can do the Kettle Valley Railway.

Breakfast of Champions?

Our trip on the Kettle Valley Railway in August seemed like a good time to try "carb loading" which I had recently seen mentioned in a book about the Tour de France.  The first opportunity came when we chowed down at an Italian restaurant in Princeton that my cycling friend Richard had recommended.  After a couple of cold ones, my spaghetti and meatballs arrived at the table and I heartily scooped spoonfuls into my hungry face.

My next opportunity came at the hotel in historic Hedley (for some reason locals refer to it as "Hapless Hedley").While quaffing ice cold lemonade and sitting under the air conditioning vent, a heaping mound of pasta was placed before me and I tucked into it with relish (not the pickle kind).  My cycling partners chose salads and smaller main courses.  Each to their own.

At breafast on the last day of our trip while we were camped at Tuc 'l Nuit Lake, I got the bright idea to carb load again except that it was too early for the grocery stores to open. We still had freeze - dried dinners in our saddlebags but none of them were pasta.   Roy (my other cycling buddy) suggested I try the store down the street from the campground.  In Western Canada we call them Convenience stores but in Eastern Canada they are referred to as Variety stores.  Did you know that?


So I hopped onto Big Blue and took the short jaunt to the Convenience store where I was looking for Kraft dinner which my children call Mac 'n' Cheese.  I was lucky on two counts - the store was open and I found a box of KD/M'n'C on a shelf near the back of the store.  Carrying it under my arm as I rode back to camp, it did seem like an odd thing to eat at b'fast.

Richard and Roy are too nice of guys to say anything, but I could tell that thay thought this was a little eccentric.  And once I had the hot macaroni in my origami bowl and had my first spoonful, I remembered that years ago I stopped eating the stuff because it just did not have the same taste that I recalled from my youth.  Being the cheap guy that I am, I continued filling my gaping maw until the last crescent of pasta was devoured.  Right away it felt like a lump of clay in my stomach and as I lurched to the sink to wash the pot and my origami bowl, I realised once again that "Prospect is often better than possession".

A few klicks down the road on our way to Richard's place on the outskirts of Penticton, the lump in my stomach began to dissolve and convert itself into energy for my legs.  Maybe there was something to be said for carb loading - I had noticed better performance cycling from Princeton to Keremeos and the uphill ride from Oliver to Okanagan Falls seemed easier than in the past.  The hotel where we stopped in OK Falls for lunch had spaghetti and meatballs on the menu.  When the waitress came over to take our order, I ......

Riding the Rails

It was 8:30 on a Sunday morning that the three of us, my friends Roy, Richard and I were locked and loaded and ready to hit the road (or should I say trail?). Richard`s wife got up early with us to be able to take a pic of the three of us and say goodbye.

We started out making a large U-shape by going south to Penticton and riding along the lakeshore to highway 97 where we headed north to Summerland and then turned inland to find the trail near the Kettle Valley Steam Railway. It was already proving to be a warm day and we had to stop numerous times to get directions to the train station. Luckily for us, our route took us past the ``Dirty Laundry`` winery whose vine - covered patio appeared to my parched lips and sun-blasted skin to be a cool, shady oasis.

Without any rails on the trail, it is easy to forget that this wonderful trail system owes its very existence to the railway that was built throught these rugged mountain passes and at the time provided the only practical transportation to many remote towns and villages. Given the heat and the steep ascent to the railway station, it was tempting to put our bikes onto the train and ride the short distance to Faulder, the next stop on the line.

By late afternoon, the temperature was 30+ and as I followed Richard and Roy, the distance between us became further and further. At one point I caught up to the two of them relaxing in the shade of some trees and without much prodding, Roy and I scrambled down the bank of the Samilkameen River to drench ourselves in water to cool off. Roy had the great idea of doing push-ups from the bank and thereby lowering his whole head into the cold rushing waters.

Things change constantly on the KVR and when we reached our intended campsite we discovered that it no longer existed. In fact, the spot that our guidebook recommended for camping had been bulldozed flat and deer fencing had been placed between the trail and Thirsk Lake where we planned to stop. Roy went up ahead and scouted a suitable site that had an opening just large enough for a person but not a bike. The spot he found was nice and flat for our tents, surrounded by trees and had a great view of the moon reflecting upon the waters of the lake.

We unloaded our gear and made camp after locking our bikes to the deer fence. While we set up our tents and put water on to boil, we enjoyed a fine Merlot that we had purchased at ``Dirty Laundry`` and either Roy or Richard had humped up the trail. I crashed very soon after eating and I fell asleep listening to Richard and Roy counting falling stars in a dark sky that was devoid of any light pollution.

Where the smoke is coming from

Being out in the woods of British California for the best part of the last week and a half, the only news of Alberta we obtained was when we were able to call our wives and catch up on the news. And the big news of course has been the smoke innundating the Alberta atmosphere.
Finding the condition of the Kettle Valley Railway trail to be too torn up, we decided to take the highway route from Princeton to Keremeos and as we pedalled down the highway, we could see smoke filling the valleys up ahead. About 10 klicks out of Keremeos we stopped to watch the forest fire action on top of a nearby mountain. We had seen a helicopter filling a Bambi bucket from a river that parralled the highway and it was easy to spot the birddog plane directing the waterbomber and showing the bomber where to lay down fire retardant. Cars were stopped along the highway and a crowd watched as the fire service people did their best to control the fire. The mountain was too rugged to have firefighters placed on its slopes and we could only watch in awe as nature had its way and the flames crept down the mountain and into a strong wind.
When we camped in a peach orchard in Keremeos, we were concerned that the fire might sweep down the mountainside and cause us to have to evacuate. Our host assured us that it was unlikely that the fire would reach us, but she did explain that if an evacuation was necessary that a neighbour had already been designated as the one to spread the alarm door to door.