The Great Divide begins: Banff to Roosville

We were feeling fairly good after five straight days on the road. Our only challenge was getting up to the Banff campground, at the top of a rather painful hill on the eastern outskirts of town. Once there, we were greeted with a exhausts of around 10 RVs, all waiting to be processed and granted entry into the campground. For a campground that holds over 400 sites, they had one entry point, and just the one service window. Being a Friday didn't help. Later that night cars and RVs were apparently lined up out onto the road, likely 30-40 deep.

After waiting around 30 minutes two Germans cycled up to us just when we were about to go
through; we ended up sharing the site with them. We didn't mind so much - it's quite common, as we were learning, to share a campsite, particularly with other cyclists. But these two had a fixation on how 'expensive' Canada was. Ha, try travelling through Germany when you don't earn Euros. Give me a break.

The next morning we rode into Banff to do some washing, have breakfast, and shop for the next few days. We were starting the 'official' Great Divide trail today (well, the 346km Canadian leg) - to this point we had cycled around 750km as a warm up. And we needed it, as we would soon learn. The start of the trail, behind the famous Banff Springs Hotel, would take us through Banff National Park before entering a series of Albertan Provincial Parks.

It wasn't long before the reality of off-road riding hit us. The first part of the trail was OK, except for the odd mountain biking maniac cycling furiously downhill on the wrong side of the path (one almost came off his bike). It was up and down, although the trail itself was wide and firm. About half-way the trail narrowed slightly, and we started to encounter some severe uphills, all around 10-12 degrees of incline. They weren't necessarily long, so we managed to push and shove our way up all of them. Overall, once at our Spray Lakes Westside campground, we had traversed 30km and just under 1000ft in altitude.

Day two started early (for us), with first pedal at 8.30am. We had a mission - to make it to Mt Engadine Lodge by 12.30pm - that was 35km in four hours. Very doable. Or so we thought. The early going had us travelling along Spray Lake Reservoir, a fairly nice ride with only the odd rough patch of stones here and there, plus the odd fallen tree to lift our bikes over. Once over Canyon Dam though, things changed dramatically. A narrow path, little more than a hiking path in parts, confronted us. Up and up we went...then a bit of downhill. Phew. Then up, and up again. Short downhill. Quick gulps of air. Up and up, and then really up and up we went. Pushing now. Forcing those pedals now. Gulping down the crisp mountain air. Sweating. Up some more. Finally at the top, but it was already after 12pm, and we were struggling. What little energy we had from breakfast was now little more than sweat washed into the dirt.

Yet the scenery was breathtaking. I tried my best to keep perspective - the pain would fade, but not the memories of what we were travelling through. We had travelled past peak after peak, including Mt Assiniboine, a peak my brother John had climbed in the 70s. My heart warmed at that thought; I think of John quite a bit through our travels, and none more so than in this part of Canada, so close to his former home in Inveremere.

Alas, even with a generous downhill into the Mt Shark trailhead carpark, our energy reserves hit empty. On yet another uphill I give in - the World Cup Final would just have to be missed. We had to eat, right there on the side of the road. And so we did - with great gusto. We end up making it to the very homely Mt Engadine Lodge near the end of the Final's second half, and the host informs us of the score (there wasn't a TV anyway but he had the score via the Internet), 0-0. I couldn't care less. Just give me a cold Coke! And another! In what was a lovely spot, the Lodge overlooks a sedate valley which included a mud patch adjacent to a small river; Moose generally come in at dusk and dawn each day, to wallow I suppose.

Alia and I weren't thinking terribly positively at this stage. We had taken almost five hours to do just 35km. How the hell would we make it to Mexico at this rate?!? They would run out of cold Coronas if we maintained this poor speed. It was about that point a Kiwi named Al walked in. Our mood worsened - no, not because he was a Kiwi, but because he had travelled from Banff that day, around 60km! "Gees, those hills weren't as bad as I expected. Pretty moderate, actually," he said with little fanfare. My eyes slumped to the ground. Holy Cow, not only
did he do the route in super time but he considered the hills mere bumps. Dreams of Mexican
beaches faded faster than most nags on the final turn at the Melbourne Cup.

Alas, we would just have to push on regardless. We did, and to our delight the next 35km to
Boulton Creek Campground, next to Kananaskis Lakes, was all downhill on a relatively hard
packed gravel road. We literally cruised at 25km per hour, enjoying views down a mountain-
rimmed valley the entire way. We ended up sharing our campsite that night with Al, who
joined us again along the way. Our mood was much improved, and even more so when we learned that Al had taken a rather large shortcut (he laughed at this suggestion - the more we
talked about it, the larger we felt the shortcut had been) which had made his trip from Banff that much easier. Still, for a guy who had only hopped off a flight from New Zealand two days earlier, riding almost 80-90km in one day was an amazing feat.

We ended up riding with Al all the way to Fernie, which involved two 80-km days via Elkford. He was great company, and as someone who knew his way around bikes, he helped us understand a few of the basic points about bike mechanics. Apart from 6,443ft Elk Pass, the
border between Alberta and BC, our rides on these days were largely downhill, although some
stretches were roller-coaster rides. The roads were generally good, except for small
sections were you had to guide your wheels through and over chunky stones. One highlight
was seeing a female moose with its young one, grazing in a clear cut (a section where trees had been cut down for logging - these are popular places for animals as they often enjoy eating the foliage that sprouts up after the trees are removed) - moose are said to be more dangerous than bears, as they have a habit of charging whatever scares them. Throw in some severe stomping once they catch you, and it's not a pretty thought. So we tread gingerly around the two, and let them wander off as they see fit.

It was in Fernie that we decided to bunk down in a motel (well, the campground was another
few kilometres out of town, and our minds couldn't quite fathom pedalling any further that
day). Alia and I had ridden for nine days straight, and we needed a break. Al took off early
the next day; he would be missed. Great company, and a very interesting man in his own
right - he spends three months each year working in the Antarctic, and has accomplished many
other noteworthy feats.

Our rest day was spent cleaning the bikes and doing some washing - oh, and watched music
videos and news on TV. Ohhhhh, TVeeeeee. It had me entranced. And I Washed all this fun
down with a few cold beers. Fernie is a great place to kickback, and it's so much more authentic and real than either Jasper or Banff. You do feel like you're in a town of substance.

After our rest Alia and I headed off for Baynes Lake, around 50km from Fernie and 35km from the US border. The scenery here is more sedate (relatively), and the climate dry and hot. Slim yet stout Ponderosa pines dominate the flora. After camping near Baynes Lake, we begin our final day in Canada, with the sun shining and the heat robust but not inhibiting. A touch of melancholy hits us - we were leaving our home for the past 2.5 years, a country and people that have been very good to us. Will we be back? Most probably. But you can never know for certain.

We're travelling near and around Lake Koocanusa, a man-made lake emanating from a dam built in the US. We manage sneak views of the waterway as we pedal south to the US border, and entry into the state of Montana. Alia is adamant she can see the mountains of Montana - "They just look different to the ones in Canada". Mmmm. I think she's just anxious to get to the state where the 1992 movie 'A River Runs Through It', starring Robert Redford and Brad Pitt, was set. Pretty boy mountain men. Great. Hope the real Montana men aren't all that pretty. Somehow I doubt it - either way, we would soon find out.