Eureka (Montana) to Seeley Lake

Re-entering the US brought up many images for me. For one, everything really appears bigger here. The pickups (utes), the houses, the RVs (campers), the food servings, the beer cans...well, The latter two excite me a tad. More food and beer wouldn't go astray, particularly as I start to shed the pounds. Was that a six-pack starting to appear? Well, I'll be darned - I can start to see muscles I thought had long departed, never to be seen again (truth be told I had never seen them before, ever).


After entering into Montana, we spent the night in the cosy town of Eureka. Quite a name, one obviously synonymous for Australians with the 1854 Eureka Stockade in Ballarat, Victoria, during the gold rush (a miner's rebellion). The town had set up a campsite in what appeared at first as a 'normal' town park, on the banks of the Tobacco River. Quite cleverly I thought they allowed people to camp there for US$5 a night; you simply walked up the main road for 100metres or so and visited a central town services office (open 24 hrs), which gave you a key for a shower. The park filled up by nightfall, and with most people then spending some money in the stores that lined the short main street, I could see how this initiative gave the area some much-needed cash (Montana has been hit hard by the recession).


This next leg of the Great Divide trail would see us travel around 245 miles (393km) to Seeley Lake, ascending a number of 5000-6000ft passes along the way. The first of these was 5,100ft Whitefish Divide; this involved an 16-mile ride up a generally gradual ascent, although within a few miles of the pass, with the sun belting down on us, it jumped to an around 7-8 per cent grade. After a pleasant six-mile descent we camped at Tuchuck campsite, a Montana forestry campsite.


Our next section would see us deviate from the official trail; we wanted to spend some time in Glacier National Park, a little to the east of the Great Divide, and so we took a six-mile deviation and spent two nights in the delightful 'town' of Polebridge, which was one mile from the western entrance to the Park. There are pretty much just a few houses in Polebridge, which included one general store, one pub, and one hostel. Not much else. But that was more than enough for us.


We pitched our tent next to the hostel, which is run by Oliver, a German who fell in love with the area and ended up immigrating to the US. A cyclotourist himself, Oliver had completed numerous journeys around the globe, including one across the 200,000 square km Nullarbor Plain in Australia, a feat that still has me pinching myself. When asked how he obtained water, he said there were enough bores to get along, in fact "there was plenty of water. If the kangaroos and other animals could drink it, then he figured he could as well - you just had to get used to it. The moment he saw a windmill-type structure, he knew water was present - and off he went to fill up. Amazing. Not being connected to the electricity grid also made Oliver a very self-sufficient person and, as such, he had an amazing greenhouse that was burgeoning with vegetables. It certainly made me think about how I would like to do things back in Australia - having a garden full of vegetables and fruits is definitely one thing I'd like to follow through on. Now, for a house to do it in...



We had a 'rest' day in Polebridge, during which we rode 20km (return) to Lake Bowman, a mountain-rimmed spectacle of pristine water. Rather than return to the Great Divide trail the next day, we instead opted to take a 28mile road that ran just inside the western edge of the National Park to the main campground area at Apgar. This day caught me by surprise. By taking this route we missed another arduous 6000ft pass - Red Meadow Lake - so maybe we subconsciously thought it would be a piece of cake compared. Well, it probably was a lot easier than the pass, but for some reason my legs weren't there on this day. Yes, there were a few steep inclines, one of which in particular I would have walked on any given day. But today I couldn't even surmount the smaller rises. This happens every so often - I think back carefully to consider what might have led to it. Alia thinks it's not drinking enough water on our days off, and this is true - I tend to stop drinking water, probably because I'm drinking beer. And coffee. Two of the most powerful sources of dehydration. Yet I also think it's our diet, and not enough energy-giving foods, particularly in the mornings. It's something we would address.


The ride was largely through an area of forest that had been burned out. In some ways we felt it robbed us of the 'real' forest, but after a while you begin to appreciate the process of regeneration, which would appear to take quite a bit longer here than in an Australian forest. It also allows for views of the nearby peaks, which we would otherwise not have had.


The main campground at Apgar is set up for bicyclists and hikers, a nice change from the many RV-dominated sites we have visited. Oliver had the same issue as we did - why do we pay the same as someone who takes up so much more space and resources? And how many more people could fit into the almost always full campsites if RVs didn't dominate? They probably have an RV-lobby group here in the US, maybe one that Charlton Heston once chaired, so I know I'm going nowhere with this...At least it's something Glacier has addressed - you simply cycle to one of three campsites that people can share, and all for just $5 each. Nice work.


Our next day saw us take up on the free shuttle buses up the 'Going-to-the-sun' road, which runs through the southern/central parts of the Park. This road, an engineering marvel built in the 1930s, hugs the side of the mountains as you ascend to 6646ft (2025m) Logan Pass. Talk about narrow; large vehicles are banned from the upper sections of the road, and cyclists can only ride up before 10am and/or after 4pm. Not sure why you would want to cycle this monolith, although the grade it doable at six per cent. Try 12 miles of this though and see how it feels. We see a baby Grizzly feeding along the roadside - what a sight. No site of mum though, but she's likely lurking nearby.






We managed a hike to Hidden Lake, and with a thunderstorm rapidly approaching we ducked back to get a shuttle back down to Apgar, only to be put a 100-long waiting list. With shuttles only taking 12 people each, it ended up being a three-hour wait, although in that time we were treated to an amazing display of nature's power, with lightning stretching across the sky, quickly followed by the deep growl of thunder. One lightning bolt hit the peak just above where we were standing, startling the crowd that had gathered for the bus. Many of the glaciers that once graced this part of the US have long since vanished; there are now 25 remaining from more than a 100 when the Park was proclaimed. It's a stunning place, one to add to your US list.


The next day saw as traverse 55 miles, or close on 90km, to Bigfork, on the largest lake west of the Mississippi River - Flathead Lake. It's a golden day, one of modest rises, (mostly) paved roads, and unending vistas of fertile farmlands backed by the Flathead, Swan and Mission Mountain Ranges. You still get tired on these days. Just no where near as quickly. We managed to set up camp just before Mother Nature released a barrage of water on us; against all sound advice we ended up eating in the tent that night, we really had no other choice. If a bear came, well, bring it on - I was just too hungry to care. And I would have put up a good fight...no bear would have it easy trying to get what was on my dinner plate. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.


We would be away from towns for the next two days, so we stocked up and off we went, headed to a remote campsite at Cedar Creek (well, it's next to the highway, although it wasn't close to any towns). We had a sharp rise today, a six-mile ascent out of Ferndale; this one was worth it. We both felt strong today, and the descent was fantastic, getting up to 24 miles per hour on a well-packed gravel/dirt road. We have to make plenty of noise on these sections, as bikes are quiet enough to catch bears unawares up ahead (never surprise a bear I'm told, it's when they're most likely to attack)...so I belt out a regular supply of COOOOOOEEEEEEEEEES as we ride. Of course, any animal knows what's coming - an Aussie in between a good meal and beer - so off they scramble lest they get trampled by yours truly. And don't forget Alia's appetite. In fact, I've noticed how quickly she eats these days...she denies the charge just after molesting another meal in record time. Hungry girl.


A skunk, my first sighting ever, was all I run into on the trail. 'Pepe le Pew' I exclaim! He looks at me briefly, and then hops off into the brush. Good to see one at last, and not be sprayed. Bonus.


Cedar Creek campsite wasn't great. This mosquito-invested swamp of a site wasn't much fun. I mean, the mosquitoes here didn't just bite, they came with baseball bats and balaclavas, ready to mug you. Hordes of them. We eat dinner quickly and retreat to our tent. Enough said.


The next day - Saturday July 24 - is a rather special one. Alia's 30th birthday. She's a tad morose. Would I still love her now that she was 'old'? I ponder the question. I did enjoy being seen with a 20-year-old. Quite invigorating, actually. I'll let her know, I say....seriously, it's a day she deserved to be at a nice restaurant with her friends and family. I feel bad for not having a birthday cake for her but what can you do - we can only carry so much. That night, camped on the shores of Holland Lake (stunning setting, all to ourselves, set amongst cedars and pines so tall and straight I strain to see the tops of some of them), we celebrate with a Hershey chocolate bar and a hot chocolate. Such simple pleasures.


Alia has been extremely strong throughout the trip, her riding excellent, and generally the more rational of the two of us. I often think how lucky I am to have her, particularly as she was the one who pushed for the cycling adventure we were on. Definitely something I wouldn't have done without her urging. How wonderful.


Ok, that's enough of the lovefest. Back on the trail, we hit an impasse. It's a forestry road now closed to the public. Today (Sunday July 25) is meant to be our toughest to date, although we'd resolved to end it by booking into a motel for two nights. We decide to go around the impasse by heading back to Highway 83, and pick up the trail on the other side of the pass. We take a wrong road. Back to the Highway. We find the right road. Temperatures are now at 30 degrees Celsius. Our earlish start is lost with all the backtracking. We start climbing to rejoin the trail, nagging our minds though is the six mile ascent around Mt Richmond. We ride some more. Stop. More pedalling. Quick stop again. We look at each other - with Seeley Lake just 15 miles by highway from where we are, or 23 miles by the grueling pass route, we make what ends up being an easy decision, although one we delayed in a honest effort to stick to the trail. Head back to the highway, and just get into town. Too damn hot, and not enough energy...and not too much enjoyment, which is really what we're here for.



And so we ended up in Seeley Lake, a nice little town. But I don't really take too much notice - I just want the supermarket, some food, beer, shower, and a bed. Time to relax. And, so, as I write this (it's Monday July 26), I'm lying here, legs outstretched, mind at ease, tapping away at the Netbook. Alia is halfway through a sandwich; she's watching the Food Channel. It's just making us more hungry than we really need to be. Hamburgers tonight I'm thinking. I'm dribbling at the thought.


Next stop is Missoula, again off the trail. It's a 50 mile ride from here, along a highway. Should be a nice ride although the weather is expected to be hot with thunderstorms to boot each evening. Bush fires are kicking up we're told. Something to keep an eye on, which we'll surely do. However, that's for tomorrow. Now, back to that sandwich...

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.

Jasper to Banff

Our train trip from Terrace to Jasper was wonderfully relaxing. The carriages looked circa
1970s, perhaps earlier, and as such were decorated in that simple yet comfortable way many things were back then. The seats were deep, my legs could barely touch the seat in front of me, the windows panoramic, and two people could pass each other in the aisles. Throw in a
bottomless cup of coffee for both legs of the journey (the Skeena makes a mandatory overnight stop at Prince George, a little over halfway to Jasper) and a well-stocked bistro, and you've got yourself a relaxing 1100km trip.

A highlight was heading around the base of Mount Robson, just outside of Jasper. Mt Robson is the largest (not highest) peak in the entire Rocky Mountain chain, and if that alone doesn't make it jump out at you, its layer upon layer of horizontal rock contours will.

We arrived in Jasper on July 1, Canada Day, and were met at the station by my niece, Monique, who has been working there since April. We ended up spending four days there, much of which was spent eating and sleeping. And watching soccer. Jasper is set amongst an amazing backdrop of mountains, and is central to an array of outdoor pursuits. Yet the town itself doesn't do much for us. In fact, it's disappointing in its superficiality. I suppose these towns are just there to service us tourists, little more. Culture? History? You can buy your trinkets in the local shopping mall I guess. That's about it. I'm not questioning the town's beauty, just its depth. And I've witnessed interviews with Quarterbacks who are deeper.

The one shining light was the bike store, and the mechanic there who showed me how to insert brake pads and remove airpockets within the hydraulic brake lines. Earlier that day I had inadvertently loosened two bolts on my front brakes in an attempt to separate the pads, which had closed together (apparently this is normal, and you need to insert something between them to keep them separated) after I had removed my front wheel for the duration of our stay (the front wheel is easy to steal, and as we had to leave our bikes outdoors while at Monique's, I simply removed the front wheel and took it indoors with me). Well, after loosening what I thought would be the right bolts, a quick rush of hydraulic fluid oozed out and over the pads, meaning they had to be completely replaced. More fluid had to be inserted as well. The bike mechanic allowed me to watch him at work, which was great, and I managed to ask him a heap of other questions as well. I mean, who did really shoot JFK? And do blondes really have more fun? He didn't know the answers to those, although he knew a lot about bikes.

Our next cycle leg centred on Jasper to Banff, 290km to the south following what is (I can now say) one of the world's premier roadways, the Icefield Parkway. For those of you taking a close interest in exactly how far we travelled each day, and where we stayed, the itinerary was like this: July 5 - Jasper to Honeymoon Lake (50km); July 6 - Honeymoon Lake to Wilcox Creek (56km); July 7 - Wilcox Creek to Waterfowl Lake (67km); July 8 - Waterfowl Lake to Lake Louise (59km); July 9 - Lake Louise to Banff (60km). Amongst all that were two passes, Sunwapta and Bow, at just over 2,000 metres each (although we were starting at just over 1,000 metres in Jasper). Ouch.

We departed Jasper at the rather late time of 3pm on July 5, as a heavy downpour made it unpalatable to start earlier. At 50km it wouldn't be an overly long day, and we had a topographic map showing the inclines weren't too onerous. Still, it's always tough going at first. Yet it was day two that hit us like a ton of bricks. You`ll note the distance wasn`t the factor, instead it was the incline up to the Columbia Icefield that had us panting more than a dog in a Darwin summer. To this point the road itself had been rather gentle with us; a generous shoulder, and solid but generally steady inclines. But not this 5km stretch. This was a wall the East Germans would have been proud of. We battled up the first 1km or so to a lookout over the Stutfield glacier; after that, it was a walk, or more like a a big, onerous shove to the top. Once at the top, we had a graceful but short descent into the valley that leads to the Athabasca Glacier (by the way, this glacier has retreated quite a ways since the late 1800s, but more on that later), only to then be struck with a meaty headwind that had peddling like maniacs to keep above 10km per hr. It`s one thing I`ve noticed as you travel through valleys; you never really know when or where the next gust of wind will come from. There are just too many ways the wind can move in the twisting and turning array of mountains to predict it. One thing is for certain, I can count on one hand how many tailwinds we`ve enjoyed. Not many. But when they arrive you feel like a missile, regularly clocking 30 km per hr quite easily.

Day three made up for day two. Big time. A 50km stretch of largely downhill riding through to the Highway 11 turnoff to Red Deer. Now, I`ve assured both sets of parents that we`re being very safe about how we travel. But I did have a lash at one downhill stretch of pavement, clocking a rather respectable 56km per hour. Mr and Mrs McMullen - rest assured, Alia wasn`t doing anything like this. Just idiot me. Generally I rode my brakes down this stretch, with a 7-10% grade and sharp turns making for a white knuckle ride at times. The views down the southern side of the Sunwapta Pass (we`re now a few kms south of the Columbia Icefield) were staggering. Like, really staggering; some of the best scenery on the planet - a tight valley, encased in granite and pine forests, adorned with towering waterfalls arching their way down to the emerald green river below. And we were cycling headlong into it.

It was amusing; I had been complaining about the ViaRail lady at the Jasper railway station who said she would rather do the trip the way we were doing it, even though Banff is 1000ft higher than Jasper. After the exertion of Day 2, I though the lady was a quack. Day three put her comments in proper perspective - I would have needed the best part of a day, and a defibrillator, to get up the Sunwapta Pass going north. If they had sperated Berlin with this wall, no one would have escaped. Ever.

Later that same day we had another highlight - a Grizzly Bear at five metres. A few cars had pulled to the side of the road, so I slowed down and had a peak. Gees, he or she was BIG. And being that close without a car to wrap around me made me feel rather vulnerable. He was down a sharp slope, noisily digging out roots and whatever else he could find to eat. A few seconds and that was enough for me. I wasn`t planning on the bear thinking something from the Aussie Outback Steakhouse menu had arrived.

The Icefield Parkway at bike speed was a visual assault almost too much to take in. So it's hard to imagine how one absorbs such splendours from the car. The truth is that no one can really ever absorb such stunning magnificence; one great thing about hill climbs is you have plenty of time to look up, wipe aways the sweat, and take in what`s around you. I did mention the Lord's name a few times. And then I took in the view. One thing always got me; just how the ice on some ledges managed to stay there. Obviously it ends up melting or falling away, yet so much of this ice looked liked it had just been placed there the night before, and that at any moment it would all come crumbling down.

Two final highlights on this leg. The first was meeting Larry from Illinois. He had gotten into the very thoughtful habit of letting camping site people know that he was willing to share his camping sites with others. It was this thoughtfulness that allowed us to nab a camping spot in an otherwise completely full Lake Louise camping site. And he was great company to boot.

Second was the Bow Valley Parkway, an alternate route between Lake Louise and Banff that had you gliding almost effortlessly through a well-maintained road full of geographic and historical sites, all dutifully recorded at regularly interviews along the way. One included a World War One era camp for 'enemies of the state', mainly East Europeans, many Canadian citizens at the time, who were then made to build the Bow Valley Parkway.

This leg of the trip was relaxing. With a top speed for cars of around 60km per hr, it made for a stress-free way to enter Banff, and the start of the Great Divide. Until next posting!

Rupert to Jasper

We arrived in the northern BC town of Prince Rupert late on June 21, 15 hours after leaving Port Hardy by ferry, and after a short 4km ride we arrived at our hostel.Not before a strong hint we were in rural BC; a couple of bored kids, slouching by the sidewalk at 11pm, pointing to the road we were just about to cycle across. 'That's piss you're cycling through,' one
screeched, rather too proudly as our wheels went through a wet patch on the road. This wouldn't turn out to be an indicative of Rupert. Yes, it was sleepy. But it had charm,
emanating from the weatherboard houses neatly lining roads above the Downtown, through to the quaint shops in the Cow Bay district, aptly named after the once wharf-less bay where cows were dropped off by ship and left to swim to shore.

Our two-night stay was more recuperative rather than touristy. I'm amazed how long pain can linger in one's muscles, so it's good to be able to simply amble around a town with little planned. On these days coffee stops are about as complex as it gets. Decisions take an eternity. Body movements slow. Gazes linger.

We picked up a can of bear spray at the local fishing and camping shop. 'So, any suggestions on how we should use it?,' I asked intently, hoping for that snippet of local knowledge that would surely have us better prepared than other hapless tourists. A tired look meandered back. 'You just point it at the bear and press.' Well, what answer did I really expect. I finish signing a government form confirming who I was, and that I would promise to only use it on aggressive bears. Little did they know that should a bear even look at me funny, it was likely to get a dose of pepper to savour. 'Any bears you know of near where we're headed,?' I followed up. His gaze lifts to the drab ceiling. 'Just a Grizzly, not long after the descent from Rainbow Summit', he replied. Just a Grizzly.

Our next leg was 145km to Terrace, east from Rupert travelling along the majestic Skeena River. The 'River of Mists' lived up to its name, with light to heavy rain failing from low-slung clouds, greeting us on our first leg to a Provincial Park - Prudhomme - 20km outside of Rupert. It was an easy start which allowed us to set up camp by mid-afternoon. It's nice to have camp set up a bit earlier than usual, although as the sun doesn't set in these parts until 10.30pm, you can find yourself at a loose end after a few hours. I pass time watching the clouds filter through trees a hundred or so feet above. Something about simple minds perhaps.

Our next day saw us travel just under 70km from Prudhomme to Kasik Resort. Sounds enticing, right? Resorts always conjure up images of pristine beaches, heat, and Coronas. Not so in northern BC. Try a highway maintenance yard that has been partly converted into a basic (yet pleasant) lodge, cafe and campground. A resort with a pragmatic edge. And wonderful
staff, I might add, who couldn't do enough for us, whether it was feeding us with wholesome food or ensuring we had a hot shower (self interest on their behalf, perhaps?). Kasiks would be more than a worthy end to this day of cycling, one which had us travelling along the very edge of the Skeena.

The scenery, like most things you'll see in BC, was majestic. Snow-capped mountains,

pristine waters, and thick, lush forests. Throw in a generous shoulder along a largely flat highway, and a healthy tailwind, and you've got two very happy cyclists, averaging 25km/hr at times without too much effort.

Luckily for us it only rained for an hour or so, and we enjoyed snippets of sun most of the way.
After setting up camp at Kasiks Resort we ventured into the much-hyped cafe. Well, when I say much-hyped, I mean to say the Scottish guy at Rupert's only cycle store gave it a big thumbs up. He also liked talking soccer, so in my mind he was an excellent source of all knowledge. He talked fondly of the

blueberry pie they made at Kasiks; what he didn't mention was the hamburgers they made, completely home-made and with a huge side of pasta salad. Not intent on just gorging on a burger, we then progressed towards the 'pies' menu...and by pies, we're talking home-made monoliths filled with fresh BC-grown fruits and vegetables, all topped with cream and ice-cream (we couldn't decide, so she gave us both). Ehh.

It was about this same time we had a surprise visit by Gordon and Kim, our friends from Terrace. They had driven the 57km from Terrace to see how we were going, and in their wisdom brought me a cold beer. Talk about having your cake and eating it, too. I hadn't seen Gordon and Kim in 16 years - Gordon is the brother of Becky and Ellen, whom you'll
recognise from my earlier posts. The Woodd's have been very, very good to us, and Gordon and Kim would be no exception.

Our next day was gleefully rain-free, and despite a couple of solid uphill sections, another tailwind helped us get into Terrace with energy to spare. A highlight along this leg was the Sitka spruce at Exchamsiks River Provincial Park; a sample of Kitimat Ranges ecosystem, the trees, as gloriously tall and beautiful in isolation as they are, were often set against a background of sheer granite-encrusted mountains. As with much of our trip to date, once off the highway we generally had places to ourselves. Just relative silence. Apart from the odd growl of a logging truck barrelling down the nearby highway every few minutes. Yet the minutes of silence were wonderful as they were.

And, so, into Terrace we rode. A town of a little more than 10,000, stands at the confluence of five valleys, including the one we rode east along. Our time with Gord and Kim was another focused on conversations and coffees rather than too much on tours and snapshots. In saying that, they both ensured we saw what we needed to see in the surrounding area. That included a magic day spent travelling north into Nisga'a Memorial Lava Bed Park. It's in this area that Canada's most recent volcanic eruption took place in the mid-1700s. The lava burst forth from little more than a hole in the ground, yet it was enough to fill much of a large valley floor.

Now a First Nations Reserve, managed in part with BC

Parks, it's been well preserved,

although Gord assures me that ma

ny a Terrace BBQ is fired by the leftover lava rocks despite requests not to remove anything from the park.

During the trip we were treated to four separate sightings of black bears, all munching on grasses and roots near the side of what was a relatively quiet road. It was quite something to be this close to a bear; you're not quite as worried about them when you have a car wrapped around you.

To top it off, a beaver had decided to eat near the road as well; so, having never really had a close look at either animal before, here both were served up as 'easily' as you please. And the bear spray wasn't required.

Gord astounds us with his knowledge of the local area; we're both so impressed with this, and his pride in showing us. And, well, his wonderful sense of irony and sarcasm. Kim has a healthy dose of these traits as well. It's an outlook filled with a sense that some things - well, most things perhaps - are often better laughed at than taken too seriously.

Gord was as enthusiastic about the

World Cup as I, so each morning we were generally up by 8 to watch whatever game was showing. In two instances that involved trips to their second house, one they're renovating. It's home to what must be the largest TV in town, maybe even BC, with more inches than a Carl Lewis long jump. I almost felt like genuflecting in front of it. And, so it was, we enjoyed a couple of games of soccer and, later in the week, the movie 2012.

I can't talk highly enough of all the Woodds during our stay in BC. All opened their warm homes to us, and treated us like family. It's not easy doing that, and Alia and I certainly appreciated it. And, so, it was with great sadness that we boarded the Skeena train on our way to Jasper, Alberta. The train starts at Rupert, although we could pick it up at Terrace. It's a 1160km journey, one that starts by following the Skeena, and ends adjacent the start of the Fraser River, which goes on to empty into the Ocean in southern Vancouver, right near Becky and Graeme's place in Richmond. Talk about coming (almost) full circle.

Waiting at the other end was my 22-year old niece, Monique, who stayed with us in Toronto for a few months. I'll update you on this leg in the coming weeks, one that will see us start our gradual cycle south, all the way to Mexico. And to those resorts that really do have Coronas. And hot weather.