A Bike in the Woods

It was a novelty finding myself in a strange city one summer morning.  All around me are what my friend Roy tells me are Ponderosa Pines.  A tree that I thought only grew in California and yet here I am surrounded by them.

Roy, my long term friend and I are in the parking lot of an apartment building not far from downtown Penticton, British Columbia.  Since we plan on riding our bikes for the next seven days, Roy has gone up to speak to an elderly acquaintance and make arrangements for leaving his vehicle in her unused parking stall.

I spend my time with my bike leaning against a chainlink fence surrounding the parking lot.  This is my very first attempt at bicycle camping and I have no idea how to attach, stuff, cram, squeeze, compress into two saddlebags the pile of equipment I've brought along with me.

For years, Roy has been telling me stories about the fun he has had riding his bike in the Okanagan Valley and finally I've agreed to join him.  I have experience.  Camping has always been an important part of most holidays I've taken and as for cycling - I commute to and from my place of work.

It isn't until we start riding the rolling streets of Penticton that I immediately realize what poor shape I'm in - either that or my friend cycles at a much faster speed than I'm used to.  Plus I hadn't taken into account just how difficult it is to maneuver in traffic a bike that now weighs 50 pounds more than what I'm used to riding.  I begin to wonder if I have made some sort of mistake thinking I could bicycle camp as I watch Roy disappear from view and now have to push even harder to be able to follow him in this unfamiliar city.

50,000 Words In One Month

During the month of November I could be found in any number of places, hunched over my keyboard, tongue poking out the corner of my mouth and soft tappity sounds emanating from my tiny keyboard.

The first chance I got to write, I went out of my way to Mandolin Books in an older area of town.  I had done a lot of writing there during National Novel Writing Month last year and knew it was a great place to write.  Way in the back, surrounded by nonfiction books is an old nineteen fifties kitchen table - the kind with the chrome trim around the table top and shiny tube legs that all meet in the center underneath.

To the left of the table is a bank of windows where plenty of diffused morning light warms your work area.  Whenever you need a break, it's just a matter of standing up, stretching and reaching for one of the used books on a nearby shelf.  Looking for inspiration or simply diversion?  Behind where I sit are two shelves of travel books and I enjoy spending a few minutes every hour idly leafing through them.

The front of the establishment is busy with locals meeting over coffee and tea or quietly reading the paper while the street out front is clogged with commuters on their way downtown.  Going up front for a refill, I never have to worry about my personal items since I'm the only one in the back.  I can leave my IPAD and keyboard just where they are and quickly get back to typing with a hot ceramic mug of java beside me.

It should come as no surprise that I'm writing about a subject I'm very familiar with: the Kettle Valley Railway.  I thank my friend Roy for introducing me to this this abandoned railway and I've had ten years and twelve trips of memories to write about.

NANOWRIMO 2014

We are already at the 5th day of November which means I'm currently involved in National Novel Writing Month.  In the month of November, a large group of writers will be found in unusual places working away on their keyboards.  Although some will be writing by hand.

If you don't hear much from me this month, look for me at a coffee shop early in the morning.  I'll be the guy in the corner hunched over my IPAD, quaffing large quantities of coffee.

Nursing My Bike

Other than a mild concussion suffered when I wiped out on some ice in the McKinnon Ravine, there has only been one time I had to seek out medical attention from riding my bike.

Coming off the sidewalk on a bridge, I somehow used my front brake and flew over the handlebars and onto a very busy thoroughfare.  Since it was rush hour, the road was clogged with traffic and as my bike slewed onto the pavement it was only by the grace of you know who that I wasn't run over by the bus in that lane.

Cradling my left arm, I managed to make it home and it wasn't until the next day that I sought aid at a local medicenter.  An efficient nurse got me x-rayed and put in a cast within an hour.

Nurses can make all the difference to a hospital stay.  When I was 14 it was necessary to have my appendix removed. My appendix nearly ruptured so my stay at the hospital was two weeks instead of a few days.

My older sister Janet had just completed her nurse's training and our family knew a lot of her classmates.  Fortunately for me, two of them were assigned to my ward and unfortunately for them, two of them were assigned to my ward.

Years later, my sister informed me that I was a complete brat during my whole stay.  Being a pubescent male, I thought it was completely natural to ask these young, attractive women to go fetch me uneaten meals from other wards and other selfish tasks.

Or I would make numerous demands on their time.  "Can you turn up the radio?  Brown Eyed Girl is one of my favourites!  Can you open the blinds?  I want to see if my family is coming to visit me every ten minutes!  Do you have any more Ginger Ale?  This tube sticking out of my gut hurts.  Can you get me an aspirin?"

When I was twenty and single, I found myself in a teaching hospital where my mother and sister worked.  The operation I was having meant having everything from the waist down shaved.  Luckily a male nurse took care of that procedure but what I didn't expect was an action by the head nurse.

One morning she hustled in a group of nurses in training to my bedside and without so much as a how-do-you-do, she whipped back my top sheet and there was my naked body for all to see. What made it even more embarrassing was that one of the nurses in training was someone I had been trying to date.  Now that she'd seen everything I had to offer, my chances were probably nil.  I never called her again although since she was a family friend, I saw her many, many times afterward.

Food Glorious Food!

There does seem to be a strong connection between cycling and food.  When I'm on the trail, my thoughts are often on food.  Commuting to work, I'm concentrating on what I'll eat when I get to my desk.  Riding home is the same.  Food.

At Thanksgiving time we are thinking about being with the ones we love and just as importantly, the food we are going to enjoy (usually with those people).  Just last night my wife and I were filling our vehicle with brussel sprouts, a fresh ham, a large turkey, bananas, crackers, cookies, pop, juice, eggs, beer, wine, bread, yoghurt and ice cream.

I remember one time when we owned a Suzuki Sidekick that seated four and had just enough trunk space for an envelope.  When our family of four would go grocery shopping, it was necessary to strap a blue recycle bin to the roof of the vehicle to hold our groceries.

On the way home, we jested about what would happen to our groceries should the blue bin fall off the roof.  Our list of consumables would change dramatically.  We would now have cracked wheat, squash, pressed ham, scrambled eggs, split peas, mashed potatoes, shredded beef, whipped cream, crushed ice, bread crumbs, shake and bake, creamed corn, pulled pork, rolled oats, Bounce, battered fish, chopped liver, grated cheese, milkshake...

My family rolls their eyes every time I mention the Suzuki grocery list but I also know that my family enjoys the meals we share together and this Thanksgiving was no exception.

Biking with the Viking

Stepping out from under our covered shelter on our second day, I could see low clouds covering the hills in every direction.  While our tents and camping gear were dry, nothing else was.  It looked like more rain could fall at any time.

Our first stop was the Midway hardware store where we hoped to buy garbage bags to cover our rolled up sleeping bags and tents.  Chris was persuaded to buy a rain suit since I figured while riding up the trail to Grand Forks, we would be soaked by low hanging branches and wet fields.

We made it to  Greenwood finally after Chris lost part of his bike seat but managed to repair it with some electrical tape he had thoughtfully toted along.  We had stopped to admire? the giant slag heap that lines the banks of a clear running creek behind the town.  We couldn't help but wonder how Greenwood has the world's best tasting water when the area is full of slag heaps.

Said slag heap

 The carrot on the stick that kept wet Chris going was the thought of pie at the Copper Eagle.  My hungry boy ordered two slices of Bumbelberry pie (Roy would have been proud) while I enjoyed a slice of vegetarian lasagna.

It was while we warmed up in the cafe that we decided that with Chris' faulty gears and wonky seat that he wouldn't be able to make the summit at Eholt so we turned back to Rock Creek where we stopped at Mile Zero of the KVR  to sign in and visit the railway museum.

The obligatory signing

While I showed off my pocket watch, the boy wrote his name on the rafters after finding his uncle Roy's, his Dad's and his sister's signatures.

The museum at Mile Zero is well done and is staffed by a trusting couple of volunteers.  Trusting enough to let us loose in the backyard where they couldn't see us.  In moments we were riding around on a child's trike and fooling with large axes.

It was all reminiscent of a visit Roy and I had made a few years ago to the museum where again we were allowed to be out of sight.  In a  mock classroom,we carefully arranged (hard to do when you're giggling like a couple of naughty kids) a Dick and Jane book so that the manikin teacher was pointing to the name DICK.  Then took numerous pictures while snickering like the immature men we are.

A Bike Name Fairy Tale

Once upon a time there was a GHOST who wanted to have an ADVENTURE.  She wanted to go to WHISTLER where she expected to meet her NEMESIS the GIANT DRAGON.

It was while on the EXPRESSway to the NORTHSHORE of Vancouver that LIGHTNING struck nearby and scared her.  A GHOST being scared?  A loud THUNDERBOLT made a SIMPLE SLICE in the LUSH undergrowth.  It was bad enough that it could TRIGGER a landslide which would mean that the GHOST would have to make a DETOUR and choose another ROUTE.

The GHOST thought she should call on her friends LEXI, IVY and LILY to help her.  The problem was that LEXI was such a BAD GIRL and LILY was a HOOLIGAN.  Ivy was  young with a QUICK temper.

The GHOST had an idea.  She and her friends could RACE DOWNHILL and call the POLICE.  The worst that could happen is that the POLICE might warn them of the GRAVITY of their situation and possibly give them a TICKET.  A TICKET could PROPEL them into court where a judge might find them too ROWDY and throw them out of the SESSION.

It would seem that the GHOST and her COMPANIONS would never leave the METROPOLIS and get to WHISTLER where if they could DEFY the GIANT DRAGON, they would be known as the SLAYERS because they made the GIANT DRAGON'S heart FLATLINE.

Alas, the GHOST and her friends LEXI, IVY and LILY would never enjoy the SIMPLE pleasures of the town of WHISTLER and would have to content themselves with cycling Vancouver's TRAILS where they might be able to eat CUPCAKES with a LIL HONEY on top!