Yellowstone and Teton National Parks (to Pinedale, WY)

For a National Park that's so well known, I really knew little about Yellowstone, apart from the reliable geyser of Old Faithful. On reflection, what resonates with me more than anything about the Park was the wildlife. Quite literally, they were everywhere. Elk, moose, deer, bears, wolves and bison...all readily accessible.

Add to that canyons, mountains, hot springs, geysers and plains, and you have a Park truly unlike no other.

We ended up spending seven days in the Park, beginning with Madison campground (and a sidetrip to Old Faithful that same afternoon). From there we rode 35 miles to Mammoth Hot Springs (including a wonderful descent through the 'Golden Gate', pictured), where we spent two days; another 22 miles had us at Tower Falls, on the eastern side of the Park; 17 miles and 2200ft of uphill (six painstaking miles at 7 per cent grade) then had us up and over 8859ft Danraven Pass (see next picture, below) and into the Canyon of Yellowstone.




We hiked a short distance up from the Pass towards Mt Washburn. The views towards the south and east, as I'm sure you can guess, were astounding. The Tetons beckoned to the south, serious shafts of granite heaved towards the sky millions of years ago, while to the east Absaroka mountains formed a wall along Yellowstone's boundary. It was in this area (more to the north) that a recent Grizzly attack occurred, where one man was mauled to death in the middle of the night by one Grizzly mum and her three starving cubs. A freak incident we're told but a sobering one as well. We're constantly reminded of this event each time we stay at a campground in this area - you're made well aware of not keeping food in or near your tent. Even water bottles can't be kept with you (they may also have food odor on them) - all of it goes into a bear box, a rectangular metal container often found in campgrounds. Not that this helped the person who was mauled as no food had been kept in his tent. Just very, very unlucky.




I'd heard a little of the Canyon as we neared Yellowstone. We've been lucky enough to see the Grand Canyon, so in some ways you guess no other canyon is quite going to inspire you in the same way. Of course, this is never the way to approach any sight; they're all unique. And with two thundering waterfalls at it's head, and soft yellow rocks coloured by the heat below (Yellowstone is essentially the sight of a supervolcano, hence the amount of geysers and hotsprings throughout), this canyon had plenty of appeal.



Probably the most awe-inspiring leg of the trip was the next day's cycle, from Canyon to Grant Village, in the south. This leg took us through the Hayden Valley, and hundreds of Bison (buffalo) who were engaged in their annual mating activities. The boys who had girls and children were sticking very, very close to them, as plenty of young men were on the prowl for someone to call home. Think George St in The Rocks late on a Saturday night. We had to ease our way through the valley, often using cars to sheppard us past these massive beasts . You would catch the odd glance from a male, full of menace and intent. Our heads went down, and we pedaled hard. Very bloody hard.


As a special bonus, a woman who took a great interest in the Park's wolf population (they were reintroduced to the Park in the 1990s) allowed us to look through her high-powered monocular to watch wolf cubs at play.


Yellowstone was special, no doubt. What isn't so special is the amount of traffic flowing through its veins. I get it - it's a place many want to see, most of all in the holiday months of July and August. What we don't understand is how the Park appears to cater too much for cars and over-sized RVs. What had us appalled was whilst the Park had the 'hiker/biker' camp setup (this is where they keep aside space for bikers and hikers in otherwise full campsites, allowing us to get in later in the day), a wonderful idea, many of the roads within the Park made it nigh impossible to get to these sights. Half the park had great shoulders for riding; the other half had shoulders about as large as those of a horse jockey. The official cycling brochure essentially attempted to discourage bicyclists from doing the entire northern section of the Park (others we talked to confirmed this same impression, one that was made worse when you saw that some of these roads had been recently improved but still left without a shoulder) - we just went ahead and did it, with plenty of thanks to the many drivers who slowed down when passing us. For the rest of them, well, what a bunch of inconsiderate so and sos...it's amazing, they'll stop dead in the middle of the road to see an animal, holding up traffic for minutes on end when they do, but when it's a person on a bike, well, who cares. And, of course, the attitude is often that oversized RVs are OK but a person on a bike is an impediment to traffic. Go figure. My hope is one day they ban cars from the central part of the Park, and have a bus system implemented much like that of Glacier. Add to this some bike-only paths, and what a park you would then have.

And before you say that this all costs money, please consider that people are paying $25 to enter the Park. Add to this the hit of stimulus money the U.S. Federal Government recently pumped in (long overdue from what I could see - it shouldn't have taken a recession to funnel this money in), and I'm adamant it's all achievable. Alas, the car dominates here, and until petrol prices reach the levels they are elsewhere in Europe, Canada and Australia, it won't happen.

Sorry about the rant. Now, where were we...



On a much more positive note, the Teton National Park was in stark contrast to Yellowstone. The main road which runs along the eastern flank of the park, highway 89/191, has a generous shoulder, and in the park's south they've recently built an eight-mile bike path from Jenny Lake to Moose. This latter project was the result of research undertaken by a group focused on rural transport - we met a few of them as they undertook a post-construction survey, seeing how many people were using the path. It was plenty, trust me - from families through to serious cyclists, all gliding along under the gaze of the magnificent Teton mountains. The Tetons are a climbing mecca, the sheer granite spires attracting climbers from all over the world. It was hard to take your eyes off them; their sharp and abrupt nature so different from many of the other ranges we had enjoyed.


We had three days in the Teton National Park, which is located just eight miles south of Yellowstone. We were officially back on the Great Divide trail although not for long. As we wanted to venture to the south of the Park, and onto Jackson Hole, it made no sense to head north just to get back on the official trail. Instead, we headed through the tourist trap of Jackson along 191, all the way to Pinedale, WY, where we are now.




Wildlife again stole the show. Male moose from 10 yards, in a town called Moose. Well, what else did you expect to find? Moose are more dangerous than bears, weighing three times as much, and when I talk impressive racks, please confine your thoughts to those that sit atop a moose's head.



More and more we're using the Great Divide trail as a guide only. We do try and stick to it as much as possible. Yet there are times when hitting the highways, many of which have large shoulders (particularly 191), makes much more sense, for us at least. You can travel further, and if you're lucky the scenery is still magnificent and there won't be too much traffic.

The stretch from Jackson (another 8 miles of bike trail from the town almost to the next highway junction) to Boudurant was particularly impressive, more canyons, more history of fur traders and explorers, and yet more mountain ranges complete with jagged peaks and glaciers. The Gros Ventre and Wind River Ranges were our companions on our 57 mile leg from Hoback campground to Pinedale. Another 8000ft pass aside, this time 10 miles of 6 degree-plus road, and most of the day was spent pushing into a slight headwind at 15 miles per hour.

Pinedale meant rest, particularly sought after following 14 straight days of camping and only a few showers here and there (although plenty of dips in local rivers and lakes, with a cake of soap discretely placed in my hand) and we've been here since Sat evening doing just that. And eating. Lots. We leave tomorrow for a particular tough and remote part of the trail; 220 miles to Rawlins, through the dry and barren Great Basin. All things going to plan we should be in Colorado by Monday next week.


Our fitness levels are certainly strong although each day is different, and it can still be tough getting the legs going. And even if the energy is there, headwinds and steep ascents can sap whatever you have very quickly. As a summary, we've travelled over 1822 miles (2915km) including Vancouver Island and the Rupert-Terrace leg. That includes 51 riding days (this excludes rest days). It's still hard to believe how we've managed to get here, to keep going, and to enjoy what we're doing. Thanks for all your kind words, they can certainly motivate us when times get a tad tough.

But never as tough as 'real' life. We received the terrible news that our close family friend, Lorne, passed away a week ago from prostrate cancer. It's for his reason Alia has started up a website looking for donations - of any size - for cancer research. Please visit www.gofundraise.com.au/becausewecan . Thank you.

Elkhorn Hot Springs, MT, to West Yellowstone, MT

It was something I briefly noticed from the corner of my eye. I looked back again, more intently this time. Something moving in the trees, about 100 yards away. Another deer perhaps. We had seen plenty of deer along the way.

But this wasn't bambi. No, this was much larger and bulkier. And it was moving fairly rapidly on all-fours.

"BEAR!", I exclaimed to Alia, just as she came up beside me. A lone Grizzly. With a strong headwind the bear wouldn't smell us, so Alia, remembering what we had been taught about how you should never startle a bear (this is when they're likely to get defensive and attack), starting ringing her bike bell. "Ssssshhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!," I blurted, totally ignoring Alia's sensible approach to the situation. "I think we can get by it if we just continue along the road," I said, half alarmed at my own suggestion. We set off. But the bear, which was essentially loping at a 45 degree angle towards a point in the road a few hundred yards ahead of where we were, was much faster than we had anticipated.

He was out from under the trees now, and getting closer to the road.

We were into our second day from Elkhorn Hot Springs, travelling along the 1860s trail that once linked Utah with the gold town of Bannack. This was also the route taken by the Lewis and Clark expedition of 1805 to find a way from St Louis along the Missouri River to the Pacific coast (see http://www.lewis-clark.org/ for more information on this amazing journey, set in train by President Thomas Jefferson). We had spent the night camping at Bannack, now a State Park complete with preserved (ghost) town. Bannack sits adjacent to Montana's (then known as Idaho Territory) first ever gold strike, in 1862 on Grasshopper Creek, and became Montana's first capital in 1864, a distinction it only held for only a short period.

We were close to nature in Bannack as well; a horned owl decided to do some hunting right next to our tent at around midnight; these are BIG birds, and the flapping of its 5ft-spanned wings sounded more akin with a helicopter than an animal. Combined with another two owls nearby, each screeching to the owl close to us (and us imaging a conversation along the lines of - 'Nooooo Bruce, the Aussies are in the bloody tent, not next to it'), we have to admit we were too afraid to stick our head outside to try and see it (we learned it was a horned owl the next day).





From Bannack, we then entered the most remote section of the route to date, a 57 mile stretch beginning just south of highway 324 through to 7 or so miles north of Lima, on highway 91. When I say remote, we were still riding on a fairly solid dirt roads through cattle-grazing ranch lands. People were thin on the ground though, and we only encountered two or three cars along the day's 43 miles of riding. We were climbing the entire day,from Bannack's 6000ft of altitude to the 8000ft Medicine Lodge/Sheep Creek Divide, and into the stiff headwind I mentioned earlier. It wasn't an entirely pleasant day, although the scenery was improving as we got higher. Until that scenery included a bear.










Well, deep, deep, deep down, seeing the bear was exhilarating. Particularly once it saw us and scooted up the hill away from us. From what I understand bears that haven't had any interaction with humans will generally scare easily, fleeing at sound or smell of us. When people tell you bears can run fast, please believe them. This one ran up a 10 percent slope at a rate of knots; they can reach speeds of 60km/hr.


Our day wasn't quite done yet. We had been warned about the mud in these parts, and how sticky it was. Something to do with its clay qualities. We had dodged a particularly harsh storm earlier in the day, only to discover the water it dumped on the road ahead of us rendered our bikes useless. We were only a few miles from our designated campsite, and from the crest of the day's ride when we hit three miles of the sticky stuff. You could only push the bike for 10 metres at best before you had the clean mud from the tires...it ended up taking us two hours to do around 2.5 miles, which included me carrying Alia's bike for a few hundred yards.





As if to emphasize the 'fine line between pleasure and pain' theme of our entire trip, the views from atop of the summit were incredible. Mountains to all sides, all draped in the soft glow of a setting sun, the odd 'mooing' of a cow reverberating through the valley stretched out below. Oh, and the almighty 'FXXXXX' coming from my mouth as I dragged Alia's bike to the top. Serenity.










With the sun beginning to set we made the decision to camp beside the road, just near Hansen Livestock Rd and an adjacent stream. We had just enough time to set our tent and eat our dinner, nothing more. We had travelled just over 43 miles, and we were exhausted.

Any fears of a repeat of the mud-choked roads we encountered the day before quickly dissipated the next day. The road was bumpy yet firm, and after a short ascent that morning we were quickly motoring downhill at around 18 miles an hour, wind at our back and sun warming us from above. After about 13 miles we entered a canyon that we would travel through for most of the day. We were following Big Sheep Creek as it wound its way out of the mountains and into the flats just north of Lima; the cliffs had me looking up for the most part, the reds and oranges of the rock adding some vibrancy after the softer tones of the day past.

Small towns, even those with under a 1000 people, always seem like metropolises once you've been away from it all for even a few days. And so it was with Lima. A motel/RV park, a gas station/grocery store, and a diner. That was it. But it was enough. We've actually found ourselves a tad lost in larger towns, with too many choices distracting us. Our needs are simple, and they centre on food and lodging. And beer, but you already knew that.

It was in Lima that we met four people hiking the Continental Divide trail. Talk about stamina. These guys would go without towns for up to 9-10 days at a time. They weren't travelling together; there was a couple from just outside Portland, OR (Kelly and David), another man from Chicago, and another lady from New York. It was Kelly's 35th birthday, and we kindly invited to their motel room to celebrate that fact. And to eat cake. Ehhhh. We later learned Kelly had recently been given the all clear from a cancer she had a few years earlier; the trip was their way of celebrating that fact. They had started the trek in April, and were travelling until September. I would suggest visiting their website - http://www.cancerhike.com/ to learn more. We enjoy chatting with fellow hikers and bikers, you almost always come away learning something, and you get to meet people who understand the need to sometimes throw in the job to do some travelling. It's a luxury being able to do that, I know, but it is also beyond many people's comprehension.

With the rain coming down overnight and into the next day, we decided to miss a notoriously muddy section of the Great Divide trail (the road north of Lima Reservoir) and instead head southeast along highway 91 (also Interstate 15) to Monida. From there, we headed east towards Red Rock National Wildlife Refuge, a site dedicated to the preservation of the Trumpeter Swan. Set up in 1935, a time when the bird was just about extinct, the site has helped play a prominent role in preserving these majestic birds. Ironically I only saw a few from a great distance (you're not allowed to get within 400 yards of them as they are known to simply desert their nest and young ones when they feel threatened), although I ended up seeing one up close in Yellowstone National Park.



The Refuge entails open grass plains and a two large lakes/swamps, all buttressed closely to the south by the mountains of the Continental Divide (and the Idaho border). We camped beneath one particularly impressive mountain, on the shores of Upper Red Rock Lake. That day, in which we travelled 47 miles, we had the pleasure of seeing countless Proghorns, deer-like animals that can run up to 70 miles and hour, along with two badgers, an animal we hadn't seen before. Think of a striped pancake on four legs, and you have a badger.

Of particular interest though were the mountains of Yellowstone, which could be seen to the east. We were close now; after following the Great Divide trail over 7120ft Red Rock Pass, we left the route via road 055 and highways 87 and 20, and headed to West Yellowstone, a town on the outskirts of the famous park. West Yellowstone was little more than a tourist town, a staging post for the Park. You knew that from the volume of traffic, and the $37 'going rate' for a simple camping site. But these towns serve their purpose, and that was preparing for Yellowstone.

Seeley Lake, MT to Elkhorn Hot Springs, MT

Well, here we are back in a motel again, although this time in southwest Montana overlooking the Pioneer Mountains. Washing decorates an otherwise featureless but somehow cosy room. Our bikes lean against a timber-veneer wall - you get the feeling they're enjoying the rest as much as we are. Dark clouds are brewing out yonder; there's some thunder overhead, and the rain drops slowly begin to thud into the hard-baked ground. We're in ranch country; most of the valleys we've traveled through of late are for cattle grazing, although most of the ridges are tree-covered, with peaks bursting through at regular intervals.




This leg of the trip began with a 60-mile jaunt from Seeley Lake to Missoula, a university town of around 70,000 in western Montana. Missoula allowed us to be tourists for a few days, and we ended up staying three nights in a campsite not too far from the Downtown. As luck would have it, the campsite was located behind a REI store - REI is an outdoor/adventure cooperative store, which includes a comprehensive bike section. Our bikes, needing a service, only had to be walked a mere few hundred metres in order to get the attention they required. And it was excellent service, I will add.


For the record, and for those interested in the bike-mechanic side of our trip, I required a new chain, cassette, rear brake pads, and a crank (bottom bracket) re-grease; Alia needed a new chain (but not a new cassette - he explained that once the chain becomes too loose, it creates grooves in the cassette that doesn't allow for a new chain to sit properly - Alia hadn't let her chain get to this point, while I had) plus some new rear brake pads. Both also had a general check of our spokes/wheels (both had slight wobbles that were fixed with some tightening of the spokes), and some general tightening of gears. My service (incl. parts) cost $120, Alia's $85.


The rain is now pounding down, slanted from the west. So glad we're holed up in this room. We've had excellent weather of late, temps around mid-80s (high 20s), and minimal humidity. Rain is welcome is these parts, and it does help keep the dust down on many of the roads we travel along (our 2,400 mile route had us on backroads 80% of the time).


Missoula was pleasant, it's Downtown laden with authentic 1900s buildings and charm. We visit the Adventure Cycling Association head office (this is the organization that plans the route we're on); they have a policy of taking your photo, and giving you as much free ice cream and pop as you want. You can also do some research there in a room set aside for bike riders. It's a very welcoming place.


From Missoula, which isn't on the 'official' Great Divide Trail, we aim to head to the mining town of Butte, around 130 miles to the southeast. This leg will have to be done via chunks of the Interstate Highway (No. 10), although the majority is along what are referred to as 'Frontage Road'. I'm sure the name tells you what they are; they are often remnants of the old highways that once linked towns, to be replaced by the 75-mile an hour highways that now criss-cross this massive land. Sometimes the roads get you far enough away from the Highway to soften the sounds of traffic. Other times they don't, and they literally sit adjacent to the Interstate. Still, the scenery is remarkable, Like the part that had us cycling through the Madison Limestone outcrops (see picture), and just gets better as we head south. Much the land we pass through is where gold prospectors tried their luck in the 1860s, or thereabouts - we pass many a ghost town. This overall leg was broken up into 30 miles to Beavertail State Park; 59 miles to the charming town of Drummond; and then the final 42 miles to Butte.


Pools of water are now forming in the gravel parking lot downstairs. The rain seems in a hurry. It's almost rushing to quench a thirsty ground. We had only just returned from a short walk to 'Ma Barnes General Store', about a half-mile from here. We were stocking up for our next leg, which will see us out and about for two days without going through a town. The lady who served us was a lovely woman, very intent on knowing what we were up to. She had sign a book saying we were passing through on the Great Divide trail. As we were leaving, she offered us a booklet on the Lord's teachings. Not my usual bedtime reading but I take it anyway, cautious not to offend. Maybe my indifference to this sort of literature brought on the heavy rain. Better see about a boat perhaps...


Butte was fantastic. A true mining town if there ever was one, it's entire Downtown remains locked in the late 1800s/early 1900s. The pace is slow, relaxed. The locals amble. It's hot but dry. The town is rimmed to the east by the Rocky Mountains, although even more startling is the open-cut mine that sits adjacent to town. Dubbed the world's richest hill, it's yielded massive amounts of copper, amongst other minerals, and many a man rich. There are two large open cuts, although only one is still active. The other, Berkerley Pit, was closed in the early 1980s, and has since filled with water. Now toxic water, as much of the minerals once dug up have since leeched into it. We're talking about a pit that's 5600 ft long, 1800 ft deep, and over 2000 ft wide. You can see it for yourself - it's now a tourist attraction, although charging people to see what is so obviously an environmental hazard doesn't make sense to me. But there we are, paying to see it, so how can I talk... The company has a plan to deal with the water once it hits a certain level, expected in 2023, and it's all monitored by the government. But few tourists who are with us at the viewing platform give much credence to the company's claims of how safe it all it is. Think BP, and you get the picture.


Our next three days have us climbing. The first, which sees us ride around 30 miles (and up 2000ft) to Highland campsite literally on the Great (Continental) Divide, offers majestic views back towards Butte. We pass through rock-strewn pastures, likely deposited by glaciers of many years ago. Much of the trail has us passing through tight valleys, often adorned by colourful rock ledges; from deep orange to soft grey. It's an imperfect landscape, rough and disorganized, and it's this quality that likely makes it more appealing to two Aussies used to the brown, hard land we grew up in, one that we consider so beautiful and captivating.









The next day sees us climb some, and then descend sharply to Interstate 15, before climbing to almost 8000ft (or 2000 ft over 12 or so miles on this part - Interstate 15 sits just under 6000 ft in altitude) just under Fleecers Ridge. Here we tackle the toughest part of the entire trail, a sharp but thankfully short descent down the side of the same Ridge. We're forced to walk the bikes down 0.25 miles of it, it's that steep. Loose stones make the walk treacherous, although we both make it down safely. The next 8 miles are downhill to the town of Wise River, where we camp for the night.


The next, and final part of this section, sees us travel on paved road along the 'Scenic Byway' of Highway 73. For the most part we have this glorious piece of bitumen to ourselves. It's initially a gradual ascent, although as we draw nearer to our present location it becomes tougher. Breathing becomes more labored, for me at least - that's the altitude, or so I believe. As with the two previous days, we're gaining 2,000 feet today, topping out at just under 8,000 ft near Crystal Park. We pass some meadows near the top, one of which is likely named after the moose that are no doubt present. The grass flows with the westerly breeze. Sharp, jagged peaks sit proudly to our east, the result of tectonic movements 70 million years ago. The mountains to our east are rounded, smoother - the result of being capped by erosion-resistant sandstone.


And, so, back to Elkhorn Hot Springs, which is where we hitched our bikes after a winding descent that began just after Crystal Park. Our next leg will see us enter Yellowstone National Park, somewhere I've always dreamed of visiting. We remain in good health, and apart from a few flat tires, the bikes continue to purr. Our muscles do ache most days, and our stomachs are rarely full, but we continue to savour the good fortune we have been presented with. Maybe I should begin reading that booklet, as a form of thanks to the Lord above? After all, the rain is continuing to fall...

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.