OMG!

As we cycled downhill on this the second day of the MS Mountain Tour, we had already passed two groups of riders and volunteers gathered around  prone figures on the ground.  Last year marshalls had been placed in this particular area to get riders to slow down at this spot.  What happens is this:  riders are tired from yesterday's all day climb and after the brutal ascent to the Nordic Center this morning, a lot of riders become careless when given the opportunity to "give 'er" on this first stage of the downhill portion of the Tour.

It is disconcerting to come across an accident.  The figure on the ground with a number of caregivers surrounding that person.  Their bike with it's wheels bent out of shape and an ambulance waiting down the trail for the injured soul to be carried out of the woods.  Three years ago my daughter Jackie and I happened upon such a grouping and we found out later that the rider had suffered a broken cheekbone, a dislocated shoulder and a broken jaw.

So crapped myself when I rounded a corner and a woman's voice shouted "Rider Down!!".  There was only one rider ahead of me - Jackie.  The spill was hidden from me in a deep dip in the trail and I immediately threw my bike down and ran the rest of the way to the site.  When I reached the accident, I had to scout around through the thick waist high grass that covered the gully.  Finally, I spotted Jackie on her back, feet clipped into her pedals and the bike on top of her.  A male rider was brushing aside the grass and Jackie was busy telling everyone that it looked worse than it really was.  That she was okay.

And thankfully she was okay.  Her bike wasn't.  The rear wheel had three broken spokes and after some fussing with the wheel, we determined that she could probably make it to the next checkstop where the mechanics at United Cycle could help her.

Merko the United Cycle mechanic

A quick repair was fashioned at the United Cycle tent and with a slightly wobbly rear wheel, Jackie was able to finish the tour in record time and without any bodily injury.  That's what really matters.  A bike can be fixed more easily than a human body.

Next:  How are we going to fix the bike before cycling the Kettle Valley Railway?

Inclementally Inclined

Even though I was unprepared to cycle home from work the other day, it took only one look outside at the crappy weather to make me decide to pedal home.  I like crummy weather for a number of reasons: makes me feel manly, the fair weather weenies are off the streets and I'll feel like I earned that glass of red wine that I'm bound to consume upon my arrival.

Lovely!

Being unprepared meant that instead of Spandex cycling shorts, I would be wearing my cotton Carhartt shorts, a cotton t-shirt and my yellow cycling jacket that no longer repells water.  My booties were still at home so that guaranteed that my feet would get wet and having no rear fender assured a muddy stripe down my back.

Since I was organized enough to wear clear sunglasses, the stinging rain lashing my face offered no hardship and my vision was sharp.  Sharp enough to spot the huge lake that had developed on the side of the road.  The strong headwind prevented me from steering quickly enough to avoid the tsunami wave that engulfed my whole body when a delivery truck swooshed into that body of water.  Luckily, I was riding on the bike path that followed the road and didn't have to worry about veering into traffic.

When you're halfway home, it's a quandry deciding to continue on or to turn back and seek another form of transportation.  My ankles were numb,  I couldn't feel my hands and my legs had turned a pasty white colour.  The thought of a hot shower followed by that glass of Okanagan red is what got me the rest of the way home and I was glad when I got there that no one was home to witness my blueish, naked body hurtling through the house heading for the shower.  (After pouring a glass of red).  So much for cycling in bad weather

Everything And The Kitchen Sink

Our recent bike-packing/adventure cycling trip was the first time I had done a bicycle camping outing with the luxury of having a support vehicle which would meet us every night at a designated campground.

What this meant was that I could bring way more stuff - important stuff we might need on the trail.  Packed in the trunk were 4 disposable lighters (fires can be hard to start), bottles of fuel for the two different stoves I brought along, newspaper for kindling and buried deep in the trunk, a pair of rubber boots (so my feet didn't have to touch gross shower floors?).

Having access to the vehicle every night meant that when it was bed time, I could scrounge through the assorted bags, boxes and crates for sleepwear.  Like a toque, a neck tube, gloves, two pairs of socks, cycling pants with jeans underneath (I had forgotten track pants).

It got so jam packed in the car that my wife Janet declared "Don't buy anything else - there is nowhere to put it!".  Fine.  Until we stopped at a garage sale in Oliver on our one day off and Janet bought a carton of fresh-picked walnuts, Jackie found an MSR Hubba Hubba tent for 15 bucks.  I bought 2 small books and a VHS of Dante's Peak (my cycling friend Roy and I had just cycled through Enaville, Kellogg and Wallace, Idaho where the movie was filmed).

It is hard to say if I'll have the convenience of a supported bike tour in the near future - I've always imagined that when I'm in my nineties and still cycling for weeks at a time, that's when I'd have a supported bike trip.

It was nice to wash the dishes after every meal in the roasting pan that Janet had packed so that we had everything including the kitchen sink.

Anarchy on Anarchist

Guidebook advice on riding up Anarchist Mountain:
1. Leave early in the morning to avoid the heat
2. Take plenty of water
3. Give yourself lots of time
4. Take care on the narrow shoulders

Bikewriter's Method of climbing up Anarchist:
1. Start climb just before the hottest part of the day
2. Have wife in support vehicle carry water
3. Time the ride so it is pitch black when you finish
4. Fix flat where there is no shoulder

That little dot at center right is me                          Photo:KRC

You couldn't say that it was a piece of cake cycling up Anarchist Mountain in south central British Columbia but compared to the first time it was a much more pleasant experience.  I mention the first time because the last time I went up Anarchist was after my cycling friend Roy and I paid a fellow 20 bucks each to take us to the summit with our bikes in the back of his pickup (20 mins.).

In the past, I've heard varying reports of cycling up the mountain.  One old cyclist told me that he had done it on a single speed when it was a dirt road.  Another told me that on his ride from B.C. to Halifax, he almost quit while riding up the dreaded eminence.  Other cyclists describe riding up to the 10 km. sign and then coasting downhill into Osoyoos.




Where is that summit?                                             Photo:RKC

Since I'd had the proper gear package installed (see post), the climb was simply a matter of grinding away for hours on end in the lowest gear.  A marathon of endurance versus power.  Unlike the first time when Roy's Garmin told him that he'd burned 5,000 calories and I calculated that I had burned almost twice as much cursing and asking Roy "Where is that summit?"  which after six hours became "Where the @#$%*&#;^% is that friggin' summit??".  My left palm had turned black and blue from a fall at the start of the incline when I veered off the skinny shoulder.  My front wheel buried itself in the sand and I must have stuck out my hand/arm in a self-protection reflex.


Starting to turn black and blue

There was no pie at the end of the climb but by pulling into the Rock Creek PetroCan, we did manage to scrounge some famous Rock Creek Cheese buns that were still for sale.  I munched them in the dark as we rode to the campground satisfied that there would be no anarchy on Anarchist this time.

Wide - Eyed in Oliver

Our bike-packing trip took us down the Kettle Valley Railway to the Wine Capital of Canada - Oliver, British California.  I've always imagined that the wine growers in Ontario would dispute Oliver being the wine capital.

The view from the camp

My wife had already set up camp on the shores of Tuc 'El Nuit Lake at Brookvale Holiday Resort.  As we pedal-stroked our way up Oliver's residential streets, I regaled my daughter Jackie with stories of just how crowded the camp could be and that she would enjoy staying in a family campground.

To my astonishment, ours was the only tent set up and there were only a few RV's down near the lake itself.  Gone were the chock-a-block campsites, the scores of tent trailers, kids zooming around on bikes.  Even the local fire department would not be coming out to spray down the children and turn the manicured lawns into giant, green slip-and-slides.

We had an early night of it and went to bed looking forward to having a day off from cycling and taking in the sights (and wines) that Oliver would have to offer.  My bike-packing friends Roy and Richard and I had visited a family owned bakery on one of  our cycling trips through the area and my family was anticipating a delectable breakfast there in the morn.  I hoped they had pie.

The bakery

BLAM! BANG! KERPOW! BOOM! Our dreamy slumbers were startingly interrupted by the sounds of a succession of hundreds of gunshots echoing off the nearby cliffs and bluffs.  Try as we might, there was no going back to sleep.  We didn't even make coffee at the campsite as we wanted shelter from the bullets and shotgun pellets that were sure to find their way into camp - given the close proximity of the shots.  We had been told earlier on the trail that Elk hunting season had just begun and we were eager to find safety inside the brick structure of the bakery.

While we waited safely indoors at a table for our order to be filled, we amused ourselves reading the cutesy signs gracing the bakery's walls.  "Women who seek to be equal to men lack ambition" or this pithy one: "Not all men are annoying.  Some are dead."  Just when I was beginning to think that there was some discrimination going on, our waitress showed up with our hearty breakfasts.  When she asked us how we were, we mentioned being woken up by all the shooting and just how many Elk could there be in the Oliver area?  She puts down the plates and began to laugh.  "Those weren't hunters you heard this morning!  What woke you up were all the air cannons going off in the vineyards to scare away the birds!  Here.  Have this pie on the house - I can't wait to tell the girls in the kitchen!"

A quieter way to control birds

My Package Hurts

There were two different cycling events to prepare for in the last two weeks - the MS Mountain Tour and cycling the Kettle Valley Railroad.  The Mountain Tour was first and required a stripped down mountain bike and the KVR required a bike with a pannier rack, handlebar extensions, a handlebar bag and the ever comfortable Spiderflex seat.

The problem was that I could only carry one bike on the bike carrier (leaving room for my daughter's bike) and this would mean that the bike would have to be adapted after the Mountain Tour but before bike-packing on the KVR.

Passing through an unusual gate on the Mtn. Tour

Bike-packing on the Kettle Valley Railway

I made the decision to ride the MOAB on both events - the bike was light enough for climbing the 6% continuous grade of Anarchist Mountain on the KVR trip and I was confident that the MOAB could handle the MS Tour and the single track it would offer. 

Another view of the Mountain Tour

What I hadn't taken into account in choosing the MOAB was the gear package.  On the second day of riding with my knees aching, it occured to me that I would have a difficult time climbing up Anarchist and when I inspected the MTBs passing me, I discovered that they had a whole different set of rear cogs than the MOAB.  At the very last checkpoint, the mechanics from United Cycle pointed out to me that I had done almost the whole mountain bike tour on a set of road bike cogs!  No wonder my knees were hurting and so many cyclists had passed me in the last two days!

The offending cog

After Kristian the United Cycle mechanic swapped in the proper rear cogs and added a new chain to match, the last 15 klicks of the Mountain Tour were a breeze and my daughter Jackie and I completed the Tour in the shortest amount of time in the four years we have participated.

Kristian saves my knees

Pie To Die (For)

This is the sixth year that my friend Roy and I have taken a bike-packing trip somewhere in the wilds of North America and every trip has included chowing down on pie.  After a long day in the saddle, nothing can beat a delicious slice of fruit pie.  I favour cherry pie to be exact while Roy is more adventuresome and will try a variety of fruit filled pies.

Glow in the dark pie in Rock Creek

We cycled three different trails this year in Idaho which included the paved 72 mile Trail of the Couer D'Alenes, the Route of the Hiawatha and the Centennial Trail.  And not once on all those trails did we come upon baked pies - not in Plummer, Harrison, Kellogg, Wallace, Avery, Calder, St. Maries or Couer D'Alene.

It has never mattered which place we've been in - Grand Forks, Christina Lake, Princeton, Oliver, Beaverdell or Castlegar - we've managed to find pie.  A farmer's market provided slices of heaven and once we found a lady selling pies behind the Canadian Imperial Bank in Osoyoos.  The cafe in Greenwood served up numerous servings and most fruit stands we passed sold 4 inch mini pies,

Greenwood's best

It wasn't until we were heading home and stopped in at the Panhandle Restaurant in Bonner's Ferry (love that name!) that our search was rewarded with that fine treat.

The Bonner's Ferry prize