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Post by Iconic944ss on Dec 18, 2015 17:06:28 GMT
Intro: Wild Canada West: BC2015
Inordinate planning length, disappointments and the odd stupendous sight seem to be trademarks of my longer bike adventures of the past few years. After a minor let down of not being able to get booked up for the Isle of Man TT for 2015, I was told of a newspaper article for a tour company offering bike adventures in Canada of all places. Partner-in-crime, Norrie, set me up nicely and would not let the matter lay until I had read the print so, I downloaded a copy and literally gasped at the photos presented. A quick look at the tour company’s website had me hooked and the rest was simply down to logistics and of course, cost.
This didn’t go down very well initially, since it was winter 2014 and we were not too long back from Italy and World Ducati Week however, a long term interest-free credit card helped ease the negotiations! Sometimes, shift work does have some advantages, in my case, regular holiday blocks which lined up well with the recommended best touring window for west coast Canada of August. Sadly, Norrie couldn’t get the same days off but I had some extra holidays available to use so, with two weeks in mind I hastily booked the BMW GS1200’s we had decided upon, after some studying of the hire companies array of machines. Both of us having the same bike seemed sensible to trouble-shoot and yes, gentle reader, we did ask if Ducati’s could be made available! Maybe, next time…
It did look as though our plans had stalled when no flights could be found, Air Canada and B.A. flights were either booked for the days we needed or prohibitively expensive. When exactly the brain storm hit of looking on Canadian website for flights, I’m not sure but, it worked. The WestJet Company were due to start flying out of Glasgow to various destinations in May 2015 and it could not have been better timed for us. Flights were duly booked and those and the deposits for the tour paid together, no turning back now, we were off to the ‘big country’.
Sadly, gentle reader that is the end of the good news as far as WestJet were concerned. A month later, I received an email stating our two flight journey had altered to three with the unwelcome addition of Glasgow to Halifax (Nova Scotia) onto the original, Toronto / Vancouver. Nothing could be done, no compensation would be offered and as a good will gesture we were offered preselected seat so that we were guaranteed to sit together. The next disappointment to be unearthed was no hot meals of any type on any of the flights! I worked out we were in the air for 14 hours with only cold food offered apparently, the ‘infrastructure’ would not be in place to allow hot food service before we flew, I detest those types of ‘buzz-phrase’.
Thank goodness the fun of deciding on route variations and learning about the geography of the land was such a welcome distraction. The tour company (cyclebc) have a range of accommodations available over much of Canada it appears, they used to offer guided vacations in the past but this seems to be by request now however, the great knowledge gained by actually riding the roads was evident in the meticulous day notes they produce. All this planning and rekindling my cycling interest in pursuit of a little much needed fitness, worked very much against any motorbike riding time at all, during the first half of 2015. The decision to try a lighter weight set of riding trousers at least got my Ducati out of the garage to blow the cobwebs away and help with the purchase of some Dianese Amsterdam (how appropriate a name from previous tours) textile trousers from Infinity cycles.
Our eventual Full Route - 'J'is the start & finish point, South from Vancouver then, North.
All my other riding kit I was very happy with but, I did want to take some on-board video of our rides and my eyes were made much more square investigating options on the 'net until, the decision to buy a JVC action cam was made, along with the fun of making that work! I never thought I’d be glad of leaving my own bike behind. However, I found it time consuming enough trying to plan packing priorities for the limited space we had on the hire bikes, without worrying about bike servicing and the like. Factor into this the late addition of a set of Bluetooth bike-to-bike intercoms and it was astonishing how fast the days were counting down to departure. A trip to a local BMW agency was sweet and sour in that we were at least convinced at making a good bike choice but dismayed at how small one factory pannier was, being quite compromised on space due to the huge single silencer fitted. Norrie to the rescue though, he had not one but two Bags-Connections removable tankbags and in a turn of good fortune the hire company in Vancouver dealt with the same supplier and could source appropriate fittings for the bikes; result.
Fancy some late changes dear reader? A possible mistake first in not realising how diverse a city Vancouver is, as we both agreed on sacrificing a free-day on our first proper day, for a riding day to get us acclimatised to the bikes and riding in Canada. Later in the journey we decided to add a dip down over the border into the USA and instead of a final ‘lazy-day’ in Vancouver, I talked Norrie into a ferry ride to Vancouver Island for a ride down to the State capital: Victoria. All accepted by CycleBC without any qualms or fuss at all. One week to go, I finally started my holiday block and was buzzing with excitement. For weeks previously, If I wasn’t searching for information on Canada then I was either studying the route, especially on Google street view for the start and end of each day, or watching videos of Canada on the ‘net. There is a fine line I think between preparing oneself for a trip well and tainting the surprise, I’d hoped I got the balance right, reading up on things like plastic bank notes that can stick together when new, right turns on a red light being fine but the signs or lights to prevent the same can be located anywhere and really important stuff like the best local beers and bourbons!
On a very serious note, the massive and uncontrollable forest fires in the northern California areas were causing problems many miles north and into Canada. Firefighters lives had already been taken along with hundreds of thousands of acres of forest, the knock-on effect being road closures from the smog and even a highway we might need, closed down the very day before we left our own, green and pleasant lands. One day to go came around too quickly, with a long list of 'to do' items for both home and away, only completed on the Friday morning. I had to sacrifice my preferred route of the A68 North as a visit to friends on the outskirts of Newcastle was needed, a poor choice of day as the roadworks that seem to have been built with the A1, in and around the Metro centre caused even more delays than normal. With only a single coffee stop, I pushed on up the motorway but, late, as expected I guess, getting to Glasgow but, spot on time for an excellent meal to be served as soon as I walked in! Over a few beers the evening also passed far too quickly, no time to enjoy the moment. Documents checked, cameras sorted, helmet intercomms installed, with an unnecessary and annoying bluetooth pairing issue delaying plans, by the time I'd completed our online check-in, we were able to enjoy a whole four hours sleep before getting back up again for the airport run!
Poor Norrie had to endure a deluge of personal and work issues that became so critical, at a week before departure, there was a doubt if he would be able to go to Canada at all. Thankfully, all overcome a penalty still remained that he was missing a few items that we were running around to airport to try and get. Luggage tags, luggage locks, batteries and even suntan lotion were all things wanted to settle a flustered traveller before we flew. All were obtained but Norrie's purchase of an oversized bottle of sun-cream did worry me and later, it was to prove, well founded...
Final check-in annoyed me somewhat. Instructions I thought were clear: One piece of hold luggage, 25Kg maximum weight. I'd had to drag an old large suitcase from our loft and rebuild a broken lining to pack all my clothing in a single bag. I was a few grams over and got a 'tut-tut' from the desk clerk, while Norrie used two slightly smaller bags and nothing was said with no extra payment to make, bizarre. Just time to grab a coffee and snack and for us to indulge in some foolishness before flight of buying Scotland caps and flags for us and the bikes to wear! With the misery of UK security checks out of the way we got to the gate just as the first call was announced. Seats as planned, we were both carrying our helmets as hand luggage which thankfully, didn’t prove a problem at all as they went in the overhead lockers with ease. Clear Saturday morning take-off skies allowed Norrie to point out some landmarks before we headed off, over the water. We were sat with an informative lady called Linda, who happily talked almost non-stop after introducing herself as a minor internet music star. She kept us entertained and did offer some interesting motoring advice, "Don’t trust any Chinese drivers in Canada"!
Speaking of similar, I do wish I hadn't bothered with the cold Chinese chicken wrap I'd ordered. I knew something was wrong from the instant tingling in my lips which felt like cold sores and would trouble me for days to come. Sleep came easily as the initial excitement of travel wore off and the next I knew we were preparing to land in Halifax. A very welcoming place it was too. Water features, wide quiet walkways and welcoming staff made it feel like a holiday arrival now, for these two aliens, anyway. Customs clearance was effortless but it was curious, picking up our hold luggage and carrying them all of fifty feet to another conveyor belt for them to disappear, however, it was deeply worrying for Norrie sadly, as his brand new Ducati tote bag came through with the sides so badly scuffed it was hard to make out the Ducati text.
A drink and a decent WARM bite to eat were obvious next priorities as this was the longest stopover of the journey to Vancouver. A leisurely look around the airport shops led to our first taste of Canadian ice cream, the small kiosk having a Tardis like array of flavours available. Just as we arrived at the security gate we heard the first call for our flight and hurried through with our hand luggage, a familiar routine already for us, Norrie had to take his belt and metal heeled boots off, I had to take out and open my notebook for electronic inspection. Sadly, the guards took issue with our helmet intercomms. Going to different scanners to save time might have been a mistake but, my while my explanation was accepted quickly, Norrie was still being questioned, while I was caught up in another issue. Last minute at home, I'd dropped a multi-tool into my hand luggage in case of bike problems, completely forgetting that the tool also contained a very sharp blade and scissors - Glasgow were happy with this but not Halifax security. I either left it behind or tried to get it into my hold luggage, (that was long gone) so it is on permanent holiday in Nova Scotia now, the guards finally being happy we really were riding bikes after seeing our deposit paperwork.
I wish that was the worst of our problems but it didn’t even come close. We heard no announcements in the security area and became alarmed at the lack of any passengers, anywhere on the walkways to our gate. We decided to start running down the aisles but at the gate we were greeted by the unbelievable sight of our plane, backing away gracefully from the stand! Too shocked to be angry, I think I felt all my energy drain away at that point knowing we were essentially only a third into our journey. "Don’t Panic" said the clerk in what seemed to me a feeble parody of the hitchhiker’s guide to the Galaxy. "The plane is full but we can get you on the next flight in 30 minutes", this seemed beyond my comprehension, apparently, late as we were, but without any final calls, known to be on a connecting flight meant our seats could be sold to make WestJet a little more money. Best of all, OUR luggage was on the flight that had just departed for Toronto.
In compensation we were given ‘plus’ seats which are a little wider with more leg room and apparently, complementary food and drink but, only when the attendants bring the trolleys around. Needless to say, a whisky was almost a medicinal requirement at that point. Being our shortest flight at a mere 2 hours 30 minutes, I can hardly remember it now, but, I made sure not to have any of the cold foods offered, sticking with snacks and drinks only.
Despite a quote I’d heard of “its always a happy day when ours tickets show YYZ”, the latter being the airport code for Toronto, the location didn’t always have a good reputation with customers and certainly left a bitter taste in our mouths, partly our fault but most, definitely not. After disembarking, we knew we had cleared the port-of-entry already and thought we would have to collect our luggage as this was supposed to be our first change of aircraft. After finding the correct carousel we waited a stressed 40 mins for most of the luggage to be collected from the flight we were ‘supposed’ to be on. The WestJet rep couldn’t understand it but a helpful baggage assistant, worked it out instantly after checking our itinerary. Our baggage was automatically taken to the next flight, no intervention needed! So we tried to return to boarding area we came from but security would not allow that, so we had to move ‘on’ to the entrance lobby. The WestJet desk, at the other end of the building had this happen many times before (surprise, surprise) and allowed us though their gate without any delay. To say we were both somewhat stressed by this time is something of an understatement, we didn’t even want any food or drink, I simply wanted to be on our last flight and away. Sadly, because we had effectively been through the check-in procedure we had to go through security clearance again. Any guesses at the security breech this time dear reader?
Norries sun-cream would be the correct answer.
Even though, it was in a Boots-the–Chemist hermetically sealed bag, stamped from Glasgow, that wasn’t good enough for Toronto. An end of shift guard, chastised Norrie for having an oversized lotion and said it would have to be removed from its bag and scanned. Now, I have no idea what the scanning was meant to do, I only saw the bar code being read and the item didn’t exist on the guard’s system. Next step was analysis of the contents, which it turned out couldn’t be attempted as the necessary machine was broken! Sadly, Norrie was beyond his threshold at this point and called for the supervisor, who simply laughed and walked away, when Norrie said a few choice words (to the guard, who promptly disappeared) and then came to tell me of the problems. I said to simply leave the lotion with them but Norrie was then ushered over to a group of guards, it appears the lotion was confiscated anyway AND Norrie was required to go and check in AGAIN, followed by another security scanning at a different desk, unbelievable!!
I was sure our entire holiday was under some horrific curse by this time. After 20 minutes waiting, I went to get a bottle of water for the pain killers I needed to take, it took another 20 minutes for Norrie to finally appear. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry before so I thought I’d better buy us some beer to try and calm down. 13 hours we had been on the go already and we were frazzled, for the want of a better term. The flight was then late taking off, we were back to standard seats and I’m afraid we both needed a stiff drink during our final 5 hour trip to Vancouver.
Even now, nearly three months after the event, upon typing this, I can still connect with my own frustration with the final insult of one of Norrie’s cases disappearing! My large case appeared quickly on the carousel, followed by Norrie’s standard case but NOT, his Ducati bag. It was 9.30pm local time now and we had been awake for 20 hours on only 4 hours of sleep. All the help desks were either closed or deserted, as travellers drifted away into the night, we were, eventually, the only two left standing.
I walked to the other end of the collection terminal, looking for help and the local staff said to try the damaged luggage area which was… right next to where Norrie was still waiting for me. I’m afraid gentle reader that I lose the timeline around this point, I was told to wait in various areas and was eventually taken to an oversized baggage area where (surprise, surprise) there was Norrie’s, much smaller than a standard suitcase, Ducati bag – but (surprise, surprise), it was smashed to pieces, broken handle, base and dented top, it had been badly misused and of course, no one was available to record a complaint.
I wonder what it is about the human condition to think that a terrible situation could only improve? Norrie was actually in remarkably good spirits, nothing was missing and we were in one, very much tested piece.
Vancouver city was impressive, the little we saw of it through the windows of our silent Toyota Prius on our way ‘uptown’. It was 11pm by the time we arrived at the hotel, I was surprised how quiet the roads were with few cars or people visible. Check in was easy and we were allowed into the breakfast area to grab a coffee and some snacks after being told the only bars were closed already or too far to walk. It didn’t really matter, back in the room, I remember unpacking a few dress clothes and hopping in the shower to try & wash a nightmare start away to a dream vacation, well, it was certainly going to be unforgettable.
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Post by Iconic944ss on Jan 20, 2016 23:01:10 GMT
Day 9 – Washington / Kelowna: ‘Darkest Day’.
My sleep must have been good as I awoke early and quickly got up and dressed, keen for my travel buddy to experience the hot springs using the early hours nominated for hotel guests only. Norrie however, would have none of it, focused already on the day ahead and equally keen to have breakfast and hit the road! During the planning stage of this trip, we almost simultaneously suggested dipping down into Washington State as this day’s ride would bring us so close. I’d pondered the exact route for quite a while and though I really wanted to take another ferry to Kootenay Bay (the world’s longest free ferry crossing), which would allow us ride next to the lake for 30 miles and then try the highest part of the Hwy 3, ‘Crowsnest Pass’ in B.C., it was simply too much. Our distance for the day was 310 miles already, with a fair amount of minor roads being needed, it did rile me for some time, having to make this compromise but, since I knew we would have some riding in the dark and the alternative would have added an extra 50 miles, it was the sensible option to take.
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(With Thanks to Google Maps)
An excellent breakfast was followed by a delightfully smooth departure, thanks, once again to being able to park the bikes, almost outside the apartment. The smoke was more evident over Kootenay Lake than last night, in the still air it seemed to hang like some sort of oppressive curtain. Emerging onto highway 31 again, south, soon took my mind off it, as did the signpost for Toad Rock Motorcycle Campground, that came up after only a few miles and interesting it looked too. The road surface was a bit, let’s be kind, ‘weathered’ on this single lane road but, the very light traffic allowed for good progress. Just before the town of Balfour, two friendly North bound motorcyclists waved friendly greetings, always nice to see, I think and shortly after our road designation changed to Highway 3A, ready to swing us along the west tributary of the lake; Kootenay River, ("Kootenai" is thought to be a word meaning "water people").
Speaking of which, it’s not every day one gets to see a riverboat nestling in a green plot, next to a road junction corner but, that’s just what we saw next in the shape of the ‘SS Nasookin’, the rescued remains of what was in the past, B.C.’s biggest sternwheeler, after many guises now, converted into a unique family home.
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After crossing the river, we stopped at a Husky station in Nelson to refuel, we agreed there was no other need to attend to and pressed on to Highway 6, west. A mere 3 miles later we rode back over the river to its northern shore but not for long, at Castlegar we bid farewell to the Kootenay and returned to the Columbia River once more. I found it a little amusing that we rode on the Crowsnet highway for less than a mile before turning off for Highway 22. With a population of over 7000 it didn’t surprise me to see a ‘Welcome to Castlegar City’ sign apparently, the city takes its name from Castlegar, County Galway in Ireland, the ancestral home of townsite founder Edward Mahon.
Before leaving Castlegar, mention should be made of the prolific explorer and map maker, David Thompson. A plaque on the east bank of the Columbia River is dedicated to him upon his arrival at Castlegar; September 5th 1811. His first significant survey in 1792 was mapping a route to Lake Althabasca and the Englishman’s skill and reputation grew rapidly afterwards. From humble beginnings he rose to become a partner in the fur trading North West Company and was not only the first European to navigate the full length of the Columbia River but became considered as the "greatest land geographer who ever lived." If that wasn’t testament to his stamina, he lived to the ripe age of 86 and fathered 13 children! His full story is well worth pursuing.
We were now skirting the Columbia River, south, with an attendant railway line for company too and soon enough skirted the city of Trail and its village of Warfield, soon after, until at last, tucked high in the Monashee Mountains, we reached the city of Rossland at an elevation of 1023 metres (3410 feet).
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I’m not sure what it is about wide, main road towns but I took an instant liking to Rossland. Perhaps it’s the simplicity of design or a reminder of my own original hometown layout, sadly, it was hard to see the far end of the town already with the ever thickening fire smoke, present all around now. Already after noon and my stomach told me so, quite loudly, I spied a coffee house called Alpine Grind and hung a right turn to park nearby, on quite an incline so that leaving the bikes in gear seemed a wise precaution. The smell of coffee in the shop and the decent queue of customers, made the decision to stay easy and not only was the coffee great but the Rocky Road cake, really was the best I’ve ever tasted! Some fun photos taken on the stools made up with miniature bicycle wheels later and we were outside snapping shots of the main street itself. Norrie shocked me by NOT wanting a photo next to the superb casting of two bears playing on top each other, the claws were obvious and I thought the best animal representation we had seen yet but, Norrie thought it was too realistic, how fickle!
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Once I’d stopped laughing at my grizzly obsessed buddy, we mounted up and headed towards the border crossing, thankfully only 8 miles away. All of the areas over the last few days of travel had involved land mining of one type or another and riding down Hwy 22, now named the Paterson-Trail felt to me, very much like prospector country. The roads became dead straight for a time before we arrived at the ominous looking frontier crossing at Patterson. We were waived on to proceed to a set of red lights, where we waited until they turned green. Officer Durham came out to greet us which I thought a nice gesture for us motorcyclists. Sadly, that was just the start of our woes. We knew of the fee to be paid for crossing and had all our paperwork in order but foolishly, I thought the payment would be in Canadian Dollars. Nope, cash needed to be American Dollars and just an hour before the credit card machine had died so no electronic payment could be made either; stalemate. The only option was to ride back to Rossland and obtain some American Dollar bills. The experiences we had getting this far must have tempered me quite well as I now found this quite amusing. Officer Durham was very helpful and bemused to find out I lived in the county in the United Kingdom that he was named after and if I remember correctly, traced his roots right back there to the 1700’s!
Rossland it turns out was founded on the back of a gold discovery, in the late 1800’s by the prospector-miner Ross Thompson, who originally named the town site ‘Thompson’ but was thwarted by discovering that place name already existed so, I guess he went with his first name instead. I’d seen a photo of him, back at Sandon with its own founding father; wheels-within-wheels.
At least I knew the roads back to Rossland and had also spied a Credit Union opposite the coffee house there, little wrong with my observation (or plain nosiness) at least. The lady cashier in the Credit Union was delightful and even waived the exchange fee when we told her of our plight, made all the funnier when she commented that at least we were coming straight back to her wonderful country. Maybe she had a glint in her eye for my devilishly well styled companion?
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Back down Little Sheep Creek road for a third time with our $12 fee stowed away ready, we approached the crossing station looking like seasoned travellers. An interesting process of finger printing, scanning, photographing and cross-checks later at least gave us time to enjoy a glass of water and cool down a little and thank you for the Homeland Security pens, which, of course we didn’t just take.
It would have been interesting to take photos of the Washington and Stevens County welcome signs but we had lost far too much time. I don’t know why the 55 miles per hour sign startled me but it did, after seeing Km speeds for so long. I knew exactly how to change the oddly, well behaving SatNav to display Mph and did so, the downside being that the excess speed warnings came up more rapidly. There was now a tangible smell of burning wood everywhere, so distracting was it that I didn’t notice that Hwy 22 had now become State Route 25 in the USA. Our destination was to be 50 miles South and the city of Colville, it meant something to us both and allowed us to return to Canada only backtracking a short distance out of the city, instead of retracing routes. A few miles further down the road, I saw the first warning of what might come later, as the hill sides gave way to open farm land, a group of young distressed deer bolted from under a tree canopy and had my heart in my mouth by racing towards the road side fence. Thankfully, a toot from my horn dissuaded them, much to my relief. Some more center line riding seemed prudent from that point on and indeed, when needed for the remainder of the day.
The mighty Columbia River greeted us once more as we crossed it toward the town of Northport, this gentle section of wide waterway kept us company for the next few miles too, with a railway running without any safety barrier only a few feet away from the roadside for the run down to our exit onto the Williams Lake road. There was some arrow straight roadway to be consumed on this 20 mile stretch of road and even in the thickening smoke, it was a good opportunity to raise the tempo and make up for lost time. If it wasn’t for the smoke it would be been an enjoyable ride, open pastures with farm land running right up to the road edge in places but all too soon, our minor road ended and we joined SR395 on the edge of Colville City.
We stopped our bikes under the city sign for some photos and to take stock of our location. A cluster of food outlets was nearby that looked interesting while on our side of the road, lumber yards seemed to dominate the view, what there was of it, I could see a tower crane in the near distance but it was completely shrouded in smoke and I’m not sure if it was an accumulation from the day but my eyes were positively stinging from the same. Subway was to be our choice of food outlet as convenience and speed became necessity. My original plan was to visit the city historical society museum but, as it was after 3 pm already that idea had to be consigned, along with all the others that I regretted, as unfulfilled. A lone lady was running the food outlet as all her staff had called in sick, the abilities of women being able to multitask so well is still a source of wonder to me, at times. Likewise, a sub, cookie and iced tea hadn’t tasted that good for a long time either, it had only been a 140 mile journey so far but we seemed to be stymied at every point and the reality was that we were not at half distance, yet. I remembered that back in the UK, I’d bought some eye spray to help with tired and sore eyes, so now seemed an ideal time to try, just sprayed onto closed eyelids it must have worked so well that Norrie wanted me to tend to his eyes too! What a sight that must have seemed (sorry, gentle reader).
One memory that will stay with me for some time is that of two women who were chatting in a booth near to us. Norrie disappeared for a comfort break and being close to the window I was admiring our motoring feats of technology that had carried us so far. Brought right back to earth, I overheard one of the ladies say “I think we should give thanks for that” and they bowed their heads together and spoke a simple and touching prayer. I admired them for expressing their faith and gentleness openly.
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I took the chance in a quiet moment to ask the lady server if the roads north were all open and she replied that some had been closed earlier and advised us to go to the only open information facility in nearby Kettle Falls. Instead of making a right turn on the State Route, it seemed a shame not to see something of the city so a quick run down to the next roundabout and back again seemed appropriate before finally, heading North. Kettle Falls is only 4 miles North-West of Colville and the Information bureaux was obvious from the main road. Incorporated into a library the staff could not have been more helpful, searching the internet they found the roads we selected open, importantly, including the next border crossing or it would have been a significant back track to Paterson. Bad news was they advised the smoke was about to get even WORSE and insisted we wore some ‘duck masks’ as the local children called them, as theirs had a much brighter yellow colouring to coax wearing of them. We were very glad of them and they weren’t as cumbersome as our crazy photo might imply.
The Columbia is one of the oddest Rivers I’ve ever encountered as we crossed over it yet again before heading due North, oddly it was only for a few miles as the river turned North-East and the waterway we ran next to became the Kettle River. The smoke was no worse than at Kettle Falls but the smell was intense, just like being stood too close to a raging bonfire and the fires obviously had raged here as next we saw an RV park that had been cleared and filled with scores of tents, marked as ‘Incident control’ and a shelter for those fighting the fires. A very short distance on the opposite roadside was situated some of their larger equipment, water bowsers, mobile cannon units and even a large helicopter, capable of dropping water, I imagine. The scale of the operation and effects were only becoming clear to us now.
We had our own problem to worry about only 2 miles further North, ‘loose chippings’, ‘oil on road’ and ‘no median line’ were all ominous precursors to new road having just been laid for the second time on our journeys. 35 mph speed limits were posted continuously as were some even more ominous signs for motorcyclists!
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It took twice as long as we expected to reach the state line at Laurier and the Cascade Border Crossing, some light relief provided by the ‘tax free booze’ shop sign immediately before the crossing station. It was 5.30pm and we were very glad of the smooth, rapid and, please note USA, fee free passage back into ‘The Best Place on Earth’, so the Welcome to B.C. sign stated.
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I didn’t think it would be possible for the smoke or smell to become worse but it really did, as soon as we swung due West and back once more, onto the Crowsnest Highway. The reason was obvious, this whole area had been ravaged by fires, the ground was often scorched and yet the damage to the trees was bizarre in its design, most were totally charred, ranging from completely stripped to many retaining branches and yet, some trees appeared to have been spared any damage at all! The saving grace I hoped, is that the standing trees might regrow and that in nature, this is a recurrent phenomenon, millennia old. I do remember hearing that for once this disaster was not due to human failings, discarded cigarettes or camp fires and was caused by a lightning storm. Little consolation to those who lost business, property or, as happened in too many cases, lives.
Speed restrictions were in force on Hwy 3 as well and while all drivers were attentive by turning headlights on, it was difficult to make any decent progress, especially as the thick smoke hastened the early evening dusk. Just after the city of Grand Forks we bid farewell to the Kettle River and started an odd, grand horseshoe shaped maneuver that I could only figure was taking us around Mt. Attwood and the ghost town of what was B.C.’s highest city of Phoenix at 4600 feet above sea level. There was only the satisfaction of riding safely and considerately to take from this section of the route and even that was muted when I saw a house that had fallen in the disaster, perhaps it was a blessing that darkness came early.
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(The same section of Highway before and after The Fire)
A flash of head lights from Norrie and I knew exactly what he meant, his fuel reserve always seemed to come on a little earlier than mine and the SatNav showed only 20 miles to the next fuel stop so I gave him a thumbs-up sign to show all was OK. The city of Greenwood soon appeared with its Race Trac fuel station at the far end. Being here completed a neat hat-trick of visits for us, having arrived at British Columbia’s largest populated city of Vancouver with some 600,000 plus inhabitants, we were now in its smallest city of just over 700, Phoenix then completed the set, as the highest.
After fueling both bikes, side-by-side to obtain a single bill, I paid for the fuel while Norrie shot off for the restrooms. An interesting smell pervaded the ‘we sell everything’ store so I asked if any hot food might be available, “of course, our soup is Borscht” said the lady attendant and pointed to a sign behind me stating exactly the same. Norrie was nodding approval already, so we took a seat at the rear of the station and of course, dear reader, your curious editor had to ask about the soup. I’d never heard of the Ukrainian originated dish before, highly beet coloured for our meal, it was spicy, hot and very importantly to us; filling.
Back on the road, we had just over 100 riding miles still left to our hotel in Kelowna and on inspecting a road map from a book stand noted that a straight line can be draw between our start and finish points today with roughly the same distance separating them. I’d been in this situation many times before but this time, was surprisingly unconcerned, our bikes were more than adequate for the task, we knew where we were going and would get there, just a little later than planned.
Back on Hwy 3 once again, we dropped to within a mile of the State line and then the Kettle River returned all ‘Columbia’ on us and not content with tracking the highway, ducked under us, considerately at the Kettle River RV park. Only 2 miles later we turned onto Hwy 33 at Rock Creek before the Kettle River finally moved away from us, some 8 miles further north at Westbridge. This whole area had been evacuated just a week previously and the communes were all empty, the size of the fire here was reported at 2,500 hectares and could not be controlled at that time.
I’m afraid I have little to say about the remainder of the ride as my thoughts were lost on the devastation, the like of which I’ve never known before. Total darkness now, the stunning headlights of the BMW’s could be used to good effect in the non-existent traffic. Still going North, past Beaverdell, I believe, the road had been resurfaced but not too recently, superb road marking were in place and I’m not too disappointed to report the excess speed warning on the SatNav nearly got burned into the screen. At last we turned West which I knew signalled the last 15 miles to our hotel and sure enough as the city lights started to glow, the traffic arrived with it and I don’t mind admitting a small sigh of relief that our journey’s end for today was nearing. We did receive an award in the form of the odometers clicking over to 2000 Km on the outskirts of Kelowna and a return to city life.
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Post by Iconic944ss on Jan 27, 2016 22:36:28 GMT
Day 10: Kelowna, British Columbia - 0 Miles, plenty on foot!Kelowna flag and Motto: Fruitful in Unity. It will be of no surprise to the gentle reader that we were very late for breakfast the next morning! We really didn't know what to expect from the upmarket restaurant within the hotel but it turned out to be very good. Not only was the presentation excellent but the taste was superb, all in all so enjoyable that we lingered for quite some time just enjoying the coffee, service and the corner plot view. Let's get the only negative out of the way for the whole of the day, on our way back to the hotel the previous night, I had seen quite a few people gathering in the city park opposite, I didn't think anything of it at the time but, the next morning I was surprised to see the police department moving people on who had obviously slept in the park overnight. I'm not sure why I found this distressing as I knew Kelowna was a substantially sized City. At least, there were no confrontations with the police and public quickly moved on. It was nice not having any schedule for the day, I did have a mind to find somewhere that rented pedal bicycles but found out it was quite some distance from the hotel. In no particular hurry, we wandered down Abbott Street and could instantly see the Okanagan Lake dominating the view. The lake is 84 miles in length from near Vandon in the North down to Penticton, 25 miles downstream in the south. We walked down to a delightful landmark known as the Kelowna sails and crossed the road before going into a marina. It felt so relaxing to be in a waterside city once again, people were wandering around the marina charting boats, seaplanes could be seen landing and taking off nearby and one brave soul was even trying out some water jet boots on the lake itself! I have no doubt we looked like complete tourists but we were having far too much fun to worry about that. We turned down the main street of Barnard Avenue to see the interesting landmark Paramount cinema, Coffee always on our minds, of course, introduced us to a new outlet called Blendz coffee, this impressed us so much that we started to look for the chain at every opportunity. Drawn once again to the Lakeside walk we passed through Stuart Park with an interesting bear sculpture, (simply entitled ‘The Bear’) on top of a low-level building, it turns out that the name Kelowna in the area’s First Nation inhabitants tongue means roughly ‘female grizzly bear’, I’m not sure which of the two of us laughed the most. Onwards, we walked passed the very exclusive looking dining levels of the Kelowna Yacht Club and further past grand designed hotels to return to calmness, once again, as the green and immaculate Waterfront Park and features proudly claimed their space by the water. A slightly too tall resort complex made up for its presence with a magnificent water sculpture on its frontage, including dolphins at play above one another called ‘Rhapsody’ but, that signalled the end of our waterfront stroll and we headed back into the city streets. The goodness of Google showed me that a motorcycle store was nearby and a well restored Moto-Guzzi outside the shop front pointed the way. MotoVida at first sight appeared to be a modern boutique store with a bent for classic machines, behind that, however, was a large garage and workshop that was obviously in demand. Bikes of all types were getting some serious alterations and the shop owners were very glad to show two interested Brits around, even if it was obvious there was little we could buy! A sticker exchange was the best we could offer but the shop went the extra mile and insisted we took a wood bike puck each to remember the shop on our travels, thanks guys, mine is now on display at home, far too good to use. We did get some good advice to try the micro-brewery, next door, (how appropriate, booze and bikes) and we did have to quaff a few tasters, just to appreciate the range of flavours. I'm sure the gentle reader will understand. Three blocks walk later, amidst office structures and with the hour well after mid-day it was not so much 'money on my mind' as the much more essential 'tummy on my mind'! A wonderful shop name drew my attention, 'The Curious Cafe Artistry and Alchemy', an eclectic range of decoration and artwork, along with good soup and great coffee. Interesting custom cars traded places with clusters of cyclists on the streets as we retraced our route back to our temporary home at the Prestige Inn. We stayed close to the water’s edge to enjoy the sight of children playing safely and suitably noisily, on an enterprising concern of a large scale multicoloured floating water park, before continuing the trail around and then through the city park. The heat of the mid-afternoon sun was almost as intense as I remembered from Hell's Gate on our first day on the road and while it was good to attend to sundry tasks back in the hotel room, I will freely admit to having a nap for a short while, just to be able to report that the bedding was sufficiently comfortable, obviously. When we awoke the sun was low and orange in the sky already, shrouded by the still present smoke that also lingered even now, on our bike clothing! Showered and changed, we struck off out, once more to explore a little by taking a different direction. The retail area was winding down now as the bars and restaurant’s came to life. Having enjoyed the marina area so much we walked back towards the waterfront and decided on having our evening meal outside while we had the chance. After a few investigations we finally decided on an Irish bar called Kelly O’Bryans, mainly I think as the sound of cheers could be heard a few blocks away. Upstairs to choose to eat under a covered balcony area with a view of the Lake and bizarrely, the Kelowna bear sculpture. A few drinks were needed to ease the path for Buffalo sized burgers, I could hardly pick up and a plate smashing pizza on our orders and I do remember my grizzly companion asking for a takeaway box but, some things that happen in Kelowna, stay in Kelowna. I certainly wished we could of too, boats drifted lazily by as we enjoyed long drinks and the view over the lake. A stream of performance cars going to the Paramount, behind us, kept Norrie entertained in the high-octane way that I was sure he was going to sorely miss, especially the thunderous V8’s rolling by. Without a care in the world, we watched the sun shimmer its best over the water before starting to slide towards the distant hills. I’m glad that such good memories have the same feeling of tranquillity, no matter how far in retrospect. The restaurant was starting to empty and since we felt at the opposite end of spectrum, we knew it was time to depart for our accommodation too. I abused Norries camera while he played with kinetic pavement lighting, a gentleman caught my lens by walking past with a fully grown Timber-Wolf and next to the water line was a sculpture of a serpent that we didn’t understand at the time is a companion for our very own Loch Ness monster, known here as Ogopogo. I was mystified by Kelowna, British Columbia’s largest inland city, yet still retaining a sea-side holiday feeling. Ever expanding, with habitats on both side of the Lake, (in the shape of the province’s newest city; West Kelowna) but it still felt fresh and intimate to this traveller, what a vibrant area. Kelowna as seen from Knox Mountain - Thanks to Wikipedia.
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Post by Iconic944ss on Feb 16, 2016 8:05:37 GMT
Wednesday: D11 Kelowna - Whistler (Aug 26 - Wed) “99 Percent Perfect” 260 Miles The gentle reader will be shocked to learn that we arose early and were well presented and on time for breakfast! Of course, knowing an excellent meal is waiting, tends to be a good motivator for both of us. I only added to the meal I had the day before and we sat at a window table once again, watching the hectic traffic of Highway 97. Wikipedia informed me that 97 is the longest continuously numbered highway anywhere in Canada. Bizarrely, at just over 2000Km, the gentle reader may care to recall that same number as the total distance we accumulated on our arrival at Kelowna. I bet that would be an interesting ride, from Osoyoos, at the USA border, only 20 miles further west than where we crossed, twisting and turning, through Kamloops and Cache Creek before heading North to Prince George and then through the sparsely inhabited Northern Rockies, all the way to the Yukon Boundary, the entire length of British Columbia! Check out was as easy as ever and a last pedestrian breath of fresh air on checking the bikes, showed the city (park), waits for no-one. Ladies were playing tennis and children were equally active clambering over the activity zones, all seemed well with Kelowna.
I was a little apprehensive about riding that morning, being off the bikes for a full day and emerging straight onto a major highway didn’t sit too well with me, so I used that as a sign to be cautious for a little while. The BMW’s fired up instantly, I’d learnt to start mine early to give the Garmin as much time as possible to wake up, then an easy left turn onto a junction where the traffic could only filter off to the right, ended the riding warm up nicely and placed us on the three-lane asphalt of Highway 97. Within a mile we were over the Okanagan Lake, the impressive William R. Bennett Bridge supporting us easily as the main section of it actually floats on pontoons with the water being some 60 meters deep at that point. Soon after we entered BC’s newest city, West Kelowna and totally different it felt too, rows of adverts beside the highway and block after block of shops and malls. I guess the downside of visiting any city is in making an escape, it was a beautiful bright day and I could still see the sun glittering on the lake, not too far off on my left, the bike was handling nicely but I was getting an itchy throttle hand after what seemed like ages but, in fact was only 6 slow miles covered, across the new city. The road suddenly splitting came as a wake-up call, it seems the lanes isolate an elongated cluster of buildings that includes the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, so who was going to argue with that.
With our last glimpse of the lake, it was time to bid Hwy 97 proper, farewell and we slipped off to a little ‘cousin’, I imagine in the form of Highway 97C, the much newer, Okanagan Connector. Not so little, the three lanes soon shed to become two and the 120Km/h sign was very welcome as we tried to keep our speed down to that. Passing the Trepanier protected area, the vista opened up nicely, we had been climbing constantly and the winter warning signs and pole markers beside the road must have borne witness to some harsh conditions which thankfully, were not reflected in the good road surface. There did seem to be a lot of road signs on our assent, ‘dense fog’, ‘snow chains’ and ‘no fuel for 85Km’ being just the tip of the iceberg, (ouch). For 5 miles we had been climbing when we reached a U-turn point that used a subway under the highway, what a clever safety idea. Still gaining altitude, I was even more impressed to see quite a few groups of cyclists grinding away in the hot and unforgiving conditions, some were even towing small trailers of equipment. That feeling soon turned to admiration for them when soon after, I saw information proclaiming this Highway as the second highest in BC at the summit point of Pennask Mountain and a leg burning 1700m above sea level. Time to explain today’s title a little and why perfection, apparently reached 99%. I’m sorry most respected reader but, I promise this will be the penultimate time I complain about SatNav insanity. We were starting to get a little low on fuel so I was pleasantly surprised when only a mile past the summit and still on equally high ground, the MadNav asked us to slip off to the right. Sunset Main Road, stated the sign before we had to plunge down a steep incline to be greeted by a four-way crossroad. Before leaving the highway I checked carefully, by slowing down, however, the unit was adamant this was the way to go; to exactly nowhere! A lodge was proudly proclaimed some 20-odd Km away but we got to look at the screen now pointing ‘straight ahead’ again to take us back UP to Hwy 97C. I can only imagine that someone had programmed way-points into the unit and it was picking them up in some way but I had neither the time nor patience now to examine it. Once more, onto the road, dear friends and the SatNav got some physical finger abuse but slightly redeemed itself by showing the nearest fuel stop to be 40 miles away. We could see the city of Merritt, down below us now, spread out in the Nicola Valley, the city motto of ‘flourish under the sun’ was very apt as the heat of the day was getting to us already. ‘Coffuel’, was next on our minds, the coffee and fuel amalgam being of equal priority and the Husky station fulfilled the latter while on the same location what appeared to us to be a massive restaurant actually turned out to be smaller but, incorporated into a Greyhound bus station. Still almost sated from breakfast we were quite happy to sit in the bus hall, with a view of the bikes, having a coffee and a Twinkie, just to show how well we could adapt to our surroundings.
A full tank seemed to bother me more than the bike but, as expected normal service was resumed once on the move. I guess everyone was either eating or busy in Merritt as few citizens could be seen, I did note a few motorbikes parked outside of motels that hopefully was a good sign of roads to come. An easy right turn onto Nicola Avenue also signed as Highway 8 soon took us past the city limit. Just as we passed what appeared to be cement works, I noticed not only two giant wooden stands, taller than the telegraph poles around them for birds to nest upon, one was occupied while the other looked bare but, what a great idea. The cement works owners were obviously proud of its Country; a Canada flag was not only displayed on top of a silo but the Maple Leaf also flew high up on the lookout point over the valley; quite right too. The good road condition was greeted with a bike friendly 80Km/h limit but sadly that soon dropped to 60, when back in the U.K. we both knew this road would have been rated for 100Km/h speed, how about having a slightly high limit for drivers who had passed an advanced test, I mused, knowing, with many other random thoughts that it would never happen…
Sprawling farm lands were all around us now and I found it invigorating to see huge tracts being worked instead of the much smaller plots I’d seen being harvested during my life. A tiny wooden church, daubed with faded white paint but now highlighted with blue steeple and trimmings denoted the area of a First Nations community. A much newer church in the distance and very modern buildings nearby gave a real contrast, almost as though the past had to be retained to give the future an identity. I hope it worked out for them. Next up was a mobile home park and then another smaller community with the speed limit reduced even further to 50, I never push limits when in built-up areas but couldn’t help but wonder about the effect this would have on the day as we had not quite covered a third of today’s distance yet. I need not have worried too much as instantly the limit was increased to 80Km/h but, the sign came with a slight warning, it was situated, perhaps deliberately, next to the most quaint cemetery, tiny grey weathered headstones in rough lines, all facing up the valley, some with fresh tributes. Point taken.
Green fields were being watered by massive contraptions, similar to ones we had seen previously but instead of running a horizontal track, many of these were anchored at one end and used a semi-circular track, the water pressure providing the motive power for its slow progress but enough pressure still being available to produce a sizeable enough water spray to feel the mist on the bikes. After a brief stab at heading West, we were now aiming to the North West, the scenery continued in a similar vein, pleasant open valleys and fairly straight line roads; easy riding. I mused on the small cracks in the asphalt that would be of no concern to anyone but a rider on two or possibly three wheels and then the myriad other fragments that we all absorb, gravel, over banding, diesel, pot holes, filled in holes, camber and I guess the list is only tempered by experience. Then, just as I was beginning to miss riding next to a waterway of some sort, up popped the Nicola River again, almost in synergy with the thought, maybe I really was adapting more than I imagined.
Just as the road began gently climbing, it appeared that we deserved a treat; not only did the view open nicely but the nature of the road began to follow the twists and turns of the river more closely, to make for fun riding. Not by coincidence, I imagine, we began to see groups of fellow riders appear, everyone waving to us in shared enjoyment, something that I always appreciate, a little action that could easily mean a lot to someone. Norrie was a little more stoic about such things but at least, he was waving to the larger groups now.
For ten miles the road continued like this, great riding, open sight lines, good road surface and interesting scenery too. The speed limit only dropped in one place and it was totally justified, the danger of rocks, must have happened recently and even though a barrier protected the roadside, some spoil had made it onto the surface and been crushed into gravel, making this rider glad we had slowed enough for avoidance. More than a few times, we twisted back and forth over the Nicola River until the road suddenly flattened out and we passed over the Nicola one last time before welcoming back the Thompson River! We passed Spencers Bridge and then onto the Trans-Canada highway, once again. This is the ONLY section of open road on our entire tour that was deliberately planned for us to ride twice, but in opposite directions; the 20-mile stretch of Hwy 1 between, Spencers Bridge and Lytton. This is what I grown used to and so loved now, grand scenery, towering mountains and a wide river to ride along, it really felt like it couldn’t get much better. Only 10 miles down the road and the mighty Thompson was narrow compared to its former scale, 10 miles further and we slipped off Hwy1 onto 12 towards Lytton, noting a set of railway lines across our path on an inclined and curved section of road, I bet those would be dangerous in the wet! Lytton, we soon discovered, has not only been inhabited for an estimated 10 thousand years, yes, I thought I’d better write the number down but also has one of the highest maximum temperatures for the whole province often topping 40 deg C. Not quite that much today but, it certainly felt higher than 30 degrees and I’d drank my Camelbak empty already, so poor Norrie must have been gagging for a drink.
I thought ‘half-day’ closing on a Wednesday was a purely English tradition but Lytton was almost quiet enough to be taking part as well. We rode the full length of the Main Street and didn’t spot an obvious place to rest. In exasperation, I pulled up near and signalled to a gentleman walking towards us, being able to open our helmets to say ‘Hello’ seems a respectful gesture to make and the passer-by came to help us. I asked if there was anywhere near to get a coffee, an unsure response was not what I hope for and apologised for disturbing the guy, apparently, he did live nearby but only ever ate in the Chinese restaurants and could highly recommend them. Not quite what we were looking for, he thankfully remembered somewhere near the ScotiaBank, back the way we came and a good recommendation the ‘Lyl Towne Deli and Sandwich shop’ turned out to be. The simple homemade good food was well received, especially the BumbleBerry pie and ice cream that I wondered about trying to manage an extra portion, as it was delicious.
Outside of the Deli, in a tiny community almost submerged, if not by the immense Fraser river nearby but figuratively by the theatre of hills and mountains all around, we met the most astonishing young couple, I’ve had the pleasure to meet, just as they were getting ready to move on. I’d noticed some nice pedal bikes on entering the Deli but didn’t note the large trailer carrying not one but two, full-size foldable canoe’s stored within. They had already cycled to Takakkaw Falls and Moraine Lake and camped at both and canoed on the waterways, taking spectacular photos and video en route. I invite the gentle reader to search the internet for ‘meander the world’ and be spell-bound.
I decided to try mounting my bike cam to the crash bar on the BMW to provide some relief from the constant helmet viewpoint before travelling the small distance to the left exit for Highway 12. We were about to ride 35 miles Northeast to enable a further 85 miles Southwest travel and our destination of Whistler, it was hard to believe so many mountains and peaks had collided here but our satellite route around them pointed to how impenetrable their nature. We had only travelled a single mile when I admit to being spooked by two animals running next to the opposite barrier, a short distance ahead. It seemed equally odd that further away, a pickup truck accelerated from our roadside. Despite my imagination, the animals turned out to be two large dogs, that were not concerned with the noise from our slowing engines. They stayed next to the concrete barrier as we safely passed by, I watched them in my mirror, hugging the barrier almost as though they knew the road, I found it perplexing.
Not even the same distance again and we happened upon a small community, so small that no speed reduction was in place but, with a group of people walking along the road edge, thankfully on the opposite side, for us but sadly walking with their backs to the traffic, not good. Enough warnings, I knew this was to be a road to look forward to but now, I also understood full attention and concentration were demanded, no afternoon cruise this time.
It seems an understanding was reached and straight away the roads began to flow once more, double solid lines but clean road, begging to be ridden and we were glad to oblige, the lightened fuel load making bend swinging easier than previously. Seems we needed a final test to be awarded our highway graduation today. Rounding a nice set of constant radius bends, I could see, in the distance, a car, parked on the opposite side of the road and others slowing near it. I throttled back and showed a brake light to Norrie, sure enough, there was a goat walking, taking all the time in the world to go, nowhere obvious to me but, it was calm and allowed us both to pass, without showing the slightest interest.
All of the above happened within 10 minutes of leaving Lytton. I noted the majority of the road was slightly downhill most of the way and I guess I’m just wired to enjoy descents more than climbing, why is still a mystery to me, as I’m well aware of how a front tyre can be overloaded by braking, many rubber tracks on the entry to corners from overzealous drivers paying equal testament. At a less hectic stretch of road, I reached down to check on the video cam to discover the poor thing was boiling hot to the touch, not good for delicate electronics, as soon as enough run off was available I pulled over and removed the cam from its mount. A makeshift home was made for the mount on the handlebar end but this interfered with bike operations but, I wanted the cam in a cooler air stream and still be able to keep an eye on it, all appeared well. Four miles outside of Lillooet the road surface became almost pristine just as the highway dropped down and ran at its closest to the Fraser River, it felt a little sinful not to take in the canyon scenery fully but this was the idyllic roads that we had been hoping for, fifth gear most of the time and gentle throttle control paying dividends. We could see why much of this area was considered the premier for river rafting, numerous teams riding the rapids and in some cases the howls of excitement could even be heard within our helmets.
The exit to Lillooet came up and we swept through the easy left turn onto Highway 99, of course, another link in the chain for today’s title. We crossed the Fraser one last time and avoided the town Main Street by following the highway over a rough wooden bridge and the Seton River...
Crossing a similar bridge near a Hydro power station, still on the highway now proclaiming itself as ‘Duffey Lake Road’. The road condition was quite poor at this point, so I was quite happy to indulge in some easy canyon cruising, while we had the chance, it didn’t help us see much of the lovely Seton Lake itself as we glided past a valley viewing point before everything was hidden from us by peaks and mountains.
Riding the wide canyons felt very ‘Scottish’ to me once again, probably through rising and falling with the terrain instead of being on the valley floor. The road must have been subject to some harsh conditions, the video shows some bouncing of the bike over the repaired surface, a constant crack being visible in the centre but grass coming to the very edge and splendid views more than made up for any surface imperfections. The road was now running alongside the Cayoosh Creek and we crossed over it a few times on wooden, one-way traffic bridges but, after the last of these the road surface became much newer and, as if an angel was riding with us, the sun came out to play from behind the peaks that seemed to lift us from an ebb in the ride. Duffey Lake itself soon arrived so we took a break in one of the many scenic viewpoints along the lakeside. I do believe we raided Norries final reserve of his nature bars as we knew another stop before Whistler was unlikely. Late afternoon when we set off next and the sun was dazzling us a little by skipping through the tops of the trees but in compensation, the road widened nicely so that there was no need of full lane sightline needed for making ‘good progress’. The road and scenery simply became superb once again, the path of the road highlighted well in advance by the tree line and the sun now shining on the distant slopes, some road bridges had their wooden decks re-laid which I was a little wary of but, it never upset the bikes at all. The section from Joffre Lakes to Lillooet Lake was a joy to experience, no traffic, perhaps due to it being around meal time and a few well-posted switchbacks to scrub the tyre sidewalls with, all added to the flavour of the ride.
All this goodness had to become subdued at some time and the edge of Lillooet Lake was to be it. Traffic backed up and overtaking became hazardous so, it was single line but pleasant riding, with farmland and mountain views still dominant. Some very late signposted road works caused a vehicle some locked up wheels, as midway through a bend a small section of rubble had been laid, this being the only noteworthy item all the way to the community of Pemberton, nearly 6 pm now we forlornly only had time to wave to Pemberton's stout Inukshuk, as Whistler was calling. The road now takes on the name of the ‘Sea-to-Sky’ Highway and I love that phrase, conjuring images of roads so perfect they meld sea and sky together, at least in my grey matter. More traffic denoted the popularity of the Olympic resort we were aiming for and some thoughtfully provided two lanes on our side of the road even allowed us to get throttle happy in places, brought to a halt by the only major road works we actually observed during the whole trip, I believe. A two-mile-long section was being totally resurfaced, the tram lines of excavation unsettling the bikes but not the riders, for a change.
Green lake lived up well to its name and I smiled to myself at seeing people enjoying nature at its best. I didn’t realise how close our day’s ride was to its end, less than a mile later, we left turned into the cycling haven that is the village and made our way to the Summit Lodge Boutique Hotel. Underground parking makes perfect sense but for me, signals an indoor oven for motorcycle clothed riders. Another two-night stay, so porter’s trolley collected, all four panniers came off and our spacious room suddenly looked quite littered. Free coffee was kindly provided in the lobby so I grabbed one while Norrie showered and got changed. A very stylish place this appeared, outside and in and yet I was a little surprised at the number of dog’s guests had brought with them, great to see, I thought, all sorts of breeds and sizes and that they were well catered for. Pedal bike hire was available and with the hire shop built into the lobby, hotel residents got a free taster session as well.
Good coffee; I grabbed a refill and made another for my Grizzly buddy to consume while I enjoyed a jet blasting from the power shower in the bathroom. Our room was a great design, lots of hidden storage space, a cooking area and even an iPad mini loaded with information for the area. Early evening, ‘in-between-time’ and in-between meals but a great time to stretch ride weary legs with a walk around the Olympic plaza and a little window shopping, we made a reservation to eat out, as the restaurant in the hotel was fully booked. Then, by lucky chance, we happened upon another outlet of Blenz Coffee, so it was compulsory to stop and indulge a little and let the world go by.
I liked the feel of the plaza, it was vibrant and alive with activity. Despite its initial design in the 1960's the resort had been continuously upgraded, always with the ideal of winning an Olympic winter games bid, which it finally hosted in 2010. We took our evening meal on the edge of the plaza, choosing to eat outdoors as the temperature was so mild, 23 degrees celsius at nearly 8 pm. The meal it must be said was only average, I was starting to think we had been perhaps, spoiled on our journey but Norrie agreed with me. Even more so, when we saw the high price to be paid for our pleasure but, we had been warned in advance that this was a world-class resort.
Another walk seemed appropriate and I was pleased by the diversity of shops and eating options, every type of taste appeared to be catered for. Many shops were still open late and I couldn't resist but browse at some of the high-end pedal bikes and their technology that were on display. We passed up the various options for a slightly stronger beverage, choosing to return to the hotel and then being thwarted at discovering the bar was closed for refurbishment. No great problem, the coffee was good and we were both weary. Norrie surfed the TV info channels while I did my tech chores and read brochures on activities for tomorrow. It was only when we turned the lights off that the problems began!
With no noise being made by ourselves we became aware of a brain-addling droning sound that neither of us could sleep with. Just as annoying was that we could not identify the source of the noise, it almost seeming to come from all sides. I called reception and a maintenance operative was sent who confirmed the noise (that he'd never heard before) and went away to investigate. It took us some time to work out it was an interference noise between our air-con unit and the one next door. The noise was only lessened by turning the air-con down, so the room was much hotter but, the outside fans could not be turned off so, an unsettled night was had by both of us with two grumpy and grizzly bikers waking the next morning.
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Post by Iconic944ss on Feb 29, 2016 22:25:12 GMT
WCW D13 Whistler – Victoria: “The Experience is Everything”. Aug 28 Friday - The night’s sleep had been so good that upon awaking, I simply laid and revelled in the cosy warmth and comfort that I didn’t want to disturb. It took me a while to realise the noise from outside was actually rain. Knowing we only had a 70 mile run for the first part of our ride today, I didn’t bother checking the weather earlier and had been caught out. Grabbing the hotel’s iPad only showed drastic news, a colossal rainstorm was starting to head inland and this rain was just the mildest of pre-cursors. I enjoyed the quality shower (and the array of lotions, creams and toiletries supplied) one last time and then sorted my bike clothing and a majority of the packing while Norrie showered. Downstairs we were thoughtfully offered a free breakfast in compensation for having to move rooms but, we respectfully declined and struck out for our last visit to Blenz. I was surprised how good their breakfast was, the smell of great coffee helps, of course, but the pastries, cereals and simpler foods were just what we both fancied to start the day right. Back at the hotel, a number of dogs were waiting in the lobby as owners were checking out, which is just what we also did next. Waterproofs donned as late as possible in the basement oven, we made a reasonably swift departure but not too far as fuel was next on the agenda. This took us along Highway 99, which seemed to be falling consistently since we joined it and in this direction I named in my head, the sky-to-sea highway.More than once the road just dried out and then there would be some mist or light rain to dampen the surface again. I didn’t bother us or the bikes at all but the spray from some of the bigger trucks was something to be wary of. Lots of waterways were hidden from us by forests except when we crossed river bridges, then, just past the town of Squamish, the weather gods took a little pity on us and allowed, not only the roads to dry but, provided us view of Howe Sound and a little later in the middle of it, Anvil Island. A few miles of easy two-lane 99 later and we were at our mainland destination of Horseshoe Bay. Full circle, we had been less than a mile away from here already on our very first day, exploring on our newly collected steeds. They looked quite a bit worse for wear now. Cypress Mountain even looked familiar to me but, we soon turned away and left the highway to allow us access to the ferry port. This would have normally been an end to the tour, with just 15 miles more riding back to the Cycle BC headquarters. I’d even looked into an evening dinner cruise in Vancouver harbour that sounded interesting if the weather held. However, Norrie needed little persuasion on spending another day on the bike and riding even further, Vancouver Island looked intriguing to me on the light reading I’d done and was the only viable detour without covering old ground. At the port, we filtered correctly for the destination we needed and were waved to a motorcycle-only zone for waiting. An ideal opportunity to remove waterproofs as the weather was getting milder all the time. Some fun photos were snapped with our wooden bike pucks from the guys at MotoVida and then it was time to board the ferry. Motorcycles first, yet again, an elevated road guided us into the yawning chasm that was the entranceway onto our road-deck of the ferry and a larger version of the cleverly designed wooden wedges, which we had seen before, were offered for each rider to secure their machines for transit. An interesting array of machines was present, including, as on our last ferry, a Can-am trike, a good turn-out of Triumph’s and a selection of serious touring and trail bikes. Our ship for the voyage was the Coastal Renaissance, which at the time of its build was one of a small fleet of the world’s largest double-ended ferries. I knew the gentle reader would enjoy that. We certainly enjoyed the spacious decks on board but not necessarily, the number of deck stairs we had to climb to reach the passenger levels. In the cafe we chose, everyone must have rushed to the window seats as hardly any were empty. It meant we could place all our bags in view while we queued for drinks and snacks and being central, we could see out of both sets of windows. The 90-minute crossing was very pleasant. Tiny islands could be seen with isolated but very beautiful looking houses, one of which Norrie was told was available to hire for those seeking solitude. Considering how treacherous it was hinted the crossing could be, I was surprised by how calm the crossing was and put a lot of this down to the size of the ferry. Right on time we were called to return to our vehicles and no sooner did we start our bikes than we were waved to move along. Such a slick operation. With that, we arrived at Departure Bay, just one of the terminals at Nanaimo, yes, I did keep thinking of the excellent sweet bar I had, way back in Jasper and almost a lifetime ago. It transpired that Nanaimo was originally named Colville Town! I thought this some sort of bizarre mistake but it seems not, the discovery of coal in the area, back in 1849 prompted large scale mining and it was not until 1860 that the town would be renamed by the native Indians as “Sne-ny-mo”, from where its current city name is derived. Speaking of earlier discoveries, the road we were riding on now was also the Trans-Canada Highway and would be all the way down to our overnight stay in the B.C. capital of Victoria. I’m not quite sure why but Nanaimo seemed a little ‘run-down’ to me almost like the neglected suburbs of a city, perhaps it was just the port areas we were riding through but then, the boating industry appeared to be replaced with concrete and metal industrial units that didn’t let up, mile after mile they continued. The twin highway was posted at a decent speed of 90 Km per hour, which was just as well considering the sets of traffic lights every few miles, even after we had left the city. As we passed the Nanaimo airport sign the view and highway opened up but the scenery seemed bleak to me while the narrow lanes and constant speeding by the majority of drivers gave me the impression that this highway was just a utility road, to be driven on as quickly as possible with only a destination in mind. Where the land was open it was mainly scrub and bushes and yet where trees were present it was often to hide more roadside commerce. If the gentle reader had not gathered, I was in low spirits at the uninspiring riding, I kept trying to put it down to being so spoiled by what we had seen already but, the facts that this was our very last main day on the road and that I had specifically added this detour when we could have easily returned to Vancouver for a relaxing end to our holiday played on my mind. In-flight cleaning session. At the community of Goldstream, the road finally turned East, for the run into Victoria and then South within the city limits. I suspected a Capital city and Friday afternoon were never going to be a great combination but I was surprised as the traffic moved reasonable well though the suburbs. All along the commerce area were hints of the Victorian influences that I’d heard of for the city, my spirits were lifted, I bonded with the place instantly as it reminded me of England but, as I remembered it in my childhood, grand and significant. Douglas Street was already awash with people and I took to the city even more as we swung around the busy harbour and past wonderfully impressive government buildings and stylish hotels. We turned away from the water and saw the handsome frontage to our own hotel and followed the signs to parking at the rear. Those alarm bells were ringing in my head, once more at the sight of match-boxed sided rooms and more than a few residents leaning over the outside railing to smoke tobacco and stare at the alien machines that had just arrived. The name really should have been the ‘Bates Motel’ as that is how we both felt about being inside. I hope the gentle reader will understand why we dared not even shower in the room but felt the need to ‘escape’ as soon as possible, then, the correct texture of a 1950’s horror story will have been painted. We walked back along the road we had ridden and bought some tall drinks at the first popular place we saw. Both of us were perplexed by the day’s events, the ferry crossing being the only highlight of the day so far. Victoria to the rescue, we set out again down to the harbour’s edge with merchants stall’s set out on walkways, some street carnival and even a decent bagpipe player, much to the chagrin of my Scottish supporter. The elaborate Baroque style buildings all around were a treat, from the weather worn rotunda of the Parliament buildings to the Royal BC Museum and even some of the hotels, looking strikingly stylized. The harbour complex attracted us further, water taxi’s zipped across the water with various other boats and vied for space with sea-planes that seemed to be doing a roaring trade. ‘Welcome to Victoria’, proclaimed the delightful flower arrangement running easily a hundred yards long on the main road bankside of the marina and I really did feel welcomed. A phrase came to me that I had seen back in Whistler near our hotel, a van with a huge single word ‘Smith’, which just happens to be my surname, so obviously, attracted my attention and written underneath the statement “the experience is everything”. I later found out it was a vehicle for the goggles and eyewear manufacturer but the motto had found a home in my tiny grey matter, somewhere. My perception changed, the indifferent ride and down-market hotel, were just experiences; we’d survive them unscathed and they wouldn’t detract from the marvels we had already experienced and the interesting sights all round us, which chances are, we would never get to see again. The harbours stretched away into the distance now, a late market was getting ready to open for guests as were an Irish-themed live band, on this outcropping section of the marina. Tourist attractions, whale spotting trips, massive luxury yachts and even tall-ships all took their place in the section of waterway amongst hundreds of smaller vessels. Food could be smelled and heard cooking outside too, which turned both our minds to our eternal consumption issue. Just by the very action of hearing our accents as we talked, quite few people took the time to talk with us, we discovered live concerts were held in summer on a massive platform floated to the middle of the harbour and of a few interesting places to eat! Walking away from the water we passed many eating places that didn’t seem to our liking and then I saw the other Cycle BC hire outlet that I’d noted as we rode in. Early evening already, we were going to pop inside to say hello, as essentially we had some of their bikes but, all the staff were busy with customers and more were waiting, a great array of scooter and pedal bikes lined the property and well-presented too. I decided to allow my iPhone to show me some eating options as we were both hungry now and blow me down, an outlet of the Old Spaghetti Factory was just around the corner on Douglas Street. Must be the ingrained hint of Italian in both of us but it was a decision that didn’t even need discussion and off we went. It was only a short walk between conference centres, malls and even a bus station to the Italian food that smelled great even before we got there. The décor of the outlet was detailed as in Whistler, just like stepping back in time. We hadn’t even finished our drinks before the food was presented and I do believe two clean plates were taken away soon after! Some Italian deserts were also consumed and I do seem to remember being decadent in ordering some delicious Lemoncello liqueur, just to ease the food down, I’d recommend the gentle reader to try some. Back out on the streets and the city had come alive. More people were taking the night air with the roads around the harbour full of pedal-bike taxis, horse-drawn carriages and even open-topped London double-decker buses in full English flag livery. Many of the buildings were artistically illuminated and we stopped, with many other people to admire the vine-clad frontage of the luxurious Fairmount Empress hotel, the description of a chateau-style hotel, simply not doing it enough justice. Despite my new “Smith” resolution, I must admit it was with heavy feet, I crossed the road to the harbour wall and started the return to the hotel. The main Legislature building was beautifully illuminated with lights placed on the edges, giving a strong outline to the night sky and reminding me of a Sultans palace in even more distant lands. Back at the ‘lodging’, it occurred to me that right now, I was the furthest West I had ever been and curiosity being the driver that it is, got the better of me. It seems we were 4500 miles away from home, measuring our direct flight path back to the U.K. (but a curious distance, given that the Trans-Canada Highway is longer, I can only imagine ‘as-the-bird-flies’ is a complex calculation) and yet, I just wanted to see even more of this interesting island and this gratifying province of Canada. Sadly, as I drifted off into slumber, I couldn’t know that we were about to ride into a calamity many would rate worse than the forest fires aftermath we had already experienced.
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Post by Iconic944ss on Mar 7, 2016 23:48:08 GMT
WCW D14 - Victoria - Vancouver. (Rush Hour / Journey's End) Aug 29 Saturday Following only the second worst night’s sleep of the whole holiday, we packed quickly in anticipation of the breakfast matching the standard of the accommodation. We were not disappointed so, it might be best to leave that episode to history and place us on our trusty bikes for a ride along the seafront! I guess I should have returned us to the Old Spaghetti Factory, executed a right turn and then made our way to the only objective I had, to ride to Mile Zero, the start of the Trans-Canada highway. Perhaps I’m just not cut out for the easy way. A few twists and turns in the opposite direction dropped us onto the frontage of Dallas Road, it had rained overnight and the roads were still damp. Shower proofs protected us and kept us warm against the cool wind. I stopped us at an open section of the road looking out over a strait that I thought was simply a set of islands but in actual fact is Port Angeles and the U.S.A. over the invisible state line. So intent was I at finding the Mile Zero monument that next, I rode straight past it! It was only eagle-eye Norrie that spotted it and quick toot of his horn brought me around. We parked the bikes on the Trans-Canada highway, which actually at this point, is an ordinary and fittingly simple two-way town road. We walked over to pay our respects to the monument and pose for some photos, there is so much history attached to the Mile Zero. A plaque is affixed to it celebrating the efforts of Glasgow-born ultramarathon runner Al Howie, who, among many wondrous achievements, ran the Trans-Canada highway from its start, just over 4500 miles away in Newfoundland to Victoria in the record time of 72 days and 10 hours! An even more poignant statue near here is devoted to Terry Fox and his one-legged run of Hope across Canada in 1980 to raise Cancer awareness, his spirit and vision being so inspirational that had his body allowed, he too would have ran to this very spot. We stayed on Dallas Road, as I was enjoying the seaward view so much, impressive houses having a majestic view of the bay as the road eventually merged into Beach Drive and swept us all the way along to Oak Marina. ‘Scenic Drive’, stated the road side sign and it was certainly that, even with blocks of condominiums opposite, blocking the landward view it was still enchanting riding that in all honestly, I didn't want to end. The houses grew more impressive and charming and I even noticed the Glenlyon Norfolk School that looked more like a Derbyshire town house than I've seen in a long time! BR: Glenlyon Norfolk School, with Thanks to John Greaves I eventually had to concede too much time was being lost on direction less sightseeing, no matter how pleasant and made the decision to turn onto Highway 17 for the run to the Swartz Bay ferry terminal. Just as smooth and efficient as the Horseshoe Bay terminal we were eased along the stream of vehicles but just in time to see the lane of bikes empty in the distance, meaning we would have to be loaded last and at the stern of the vessel. At least, while waiting on our own we had a laugh at the café name on shore: Land’s End. Today’s ferry the ‘Spirit of Vancouver Island’ is one of the two biggest in BC Ferries fleet, with even more carrying capacity than the Coastal Renaissance at 470 vehicles and 2100 passengers, we were certainly glad of the extra size and tonnage as the sea swell was noticeable as soon as the ship got underway. A good number of passengers were on board as the queues were noticeable for the café so we bought extra supplies to keep us good. The poor ship was getting a sound lashing from the wind, rain and then the sea itself joined in, eventually escalating until food and drinks were being spilled from tables and a ‘battening down of hatches’ was announced. Just to make things interesting the captain called over the ship’s intercom and announced storm conditions in the Strait of Georgia and we would have to circle while data gathering and assessments took place. Obviously well-rehearsed, the ship was turned to minimise listing which was just as well, as we were held in station keeping for another 90 minutes before the man-made peninsular of Tsawwassen came into view and the ferry docked. The rain and winds had hardly abated at all so, full wet weather suits were brought into play, for only the second time, on the road to Banff. The need for the remote peninsular was to accommodate commercial chemical ships that I observed jockeying for berths in the conditions. Sadly, it meant for a harrowing ride along the exposed causeway back to the mainland and a battering by the elements. As soon as we reached the mainland it was obvious something major had occurred. Wooden changing shacks on the beachfront had been flattened, trees had been blown over and leaf and branch debris were strewn all over the roads. An ambulance overtook us on Highway 17 with red lights flashing almost to emphasise the seriousness of the situation that wasn’t lost on us. One wish we hoped to achieve was to visit a Ducati bike shop, once back in Vancouver. Oddly enough, the biggest outlet near to our hotel was also a BMW dealership and the same that supplied the hire bikes to Cycle BC. I entered the dealership data into the SatNav via its zip code to make sure a good route was found and sure enough, instead of keeping us on major roads as I expected, it slipped us off Hwy 17a and onto a minor road, running us next to our old friend the Fraser River! It should have only been 90 minutes maximum to get to the bike shop but that amount of time later, with the conditions failing and now the traffic lights being off at many junctions, we still had not even crossed the river. I was so pleased to see a large road bridge finally loom into sight, the conditions were just damp, but not drying at all and after being dry for so long many of the roads were greasy, making smooth riding essential. Then, I noticed there was no traffic on the Alex Fraser Bridge, it had been closed down and we were being diverted to stay by the south of the river. Bad luck coming, bad luck going, or so it seemed to me. Bizarrely, back on Hwy 17 again, the traffic was nose to tail until we were taken off the road to use the Pattuilo Bridge to cross the Fraser River, the lattice suspension bridge reminded me of similar structure in the Gateshead Bridge back in the U.K. The wind made its presence felt as we crossed the river into New Westminster but, no sooner did we pass next to Queen’s park on the opposite side of the road than the heavens started to unleash an absolute deluge of rain upon us. Thank goodness for flip helmets and pin-lock visors to minimise the problem of misting however, my concentration was waning and I was in need of a break when, a little distance away a McDonalds was spotted, it was an easy decision to turn off the McBride Boulevard, for a coffee at the very least. Bikes parked and SatNav stowed away in my topbox, we made our weary way inside where a dinnertime queue of people had exactly the same idea. I told Norrie, it was my treat and asked him if he wanted anything to eat but he was too preoccupied to even answer me, searching around himself, he looked a little ashen before delivering his knockout blow. “I’ve left my backpack on the ferry”. Simple words that didn’t even sink in as I thought Norrie was referring to his waterproofs. “Whats in your backpack, Norrie?” I asked hoping for the best. “My passport, money, credit cards and camera” was Norries shocking reply. Not being able to quite take that in, I moved away from the order desk to around the corner and took some of my wet kit off while trying to process the information. Norrie didn’t even need to check outside or on his bike, he’d hung his pack on the back of the ferry café chair and didn’t put it back on again. I tried working through the variables, best case, the pack is handed in. We get the pack back to use before tomorrow morning, all is well. However, if the passport is lost, we need to figure a way to try and get Norrie a temporary passport so we can return home. Then, I tried to figure out who was best to help us, we wanted to go to the Ducati dealership anyway and knew they would have many more staff than Cycle BC so, they seemed the logical choice, Norrie agreed. We finally grabbed a coffee, the rain being so bad that we could not see the other side of the street while we continued to discuss options. We needed to move, our flight home was 6 am the next morning. I had a contact phone number from my ferry ticket for the port but sadly, couldn’t contact anyone using my mobile. By the time we lightened our own loads and dried kit out, the rain had eased significantly so, with no time to waste, we donned back up again and headed off. Our situation was put into context very rapidly at the next junction where another diversion was now in place, a tree had blown over and fallen onto an occupied car! Paramedics and police were in attendance but it looked dire. The SatNav recalculated yet again as we made our way through a maze of town houses and minor roads, time to push everything out of my head and concentrate on riding, not quite easy to do when streams of water were running across many of the roads and now many more traffic lights were dark, in this part of the city. Vancouver BMW Ducati came up soon enough and we rushed inside and explained our critical need to one of the sales staff. I’d actually emailed the sales manager before we left the U.K. in case any events were taking place, he’d passed this on to his staff so they were aware of the possibility of visitors from afar. All the staff that helped us in our hour of need were excellent, land lines were made available to both of us, drinks brought to us and assistance gave freely when it was needed. The outcome was that Norrie’s backpack had been found and complete with the passport, sadly it was missed on the first cleaning sweep and was returned to the Island so now, it would have to be brought back to the mainland, it would be available from 3 pm but, the lost property office closed at 7 pm and since the passport was a legal document, only Norrie himself could pick it up so, a courier was out of the question. The shop had phoned Cycle BC for us and they needed Norrie’s bike back now, as it needed a major service. So after a very quick look around the spacious dealership, it was time to suit back up once again and venture out into the rain and now darkening skies. Grandview highway to us three blocks into East 12th Avenue for the same again where we fuelled the bikes up before finding the traffic lights were dark on the Kingsway. Even the previously placid Vancouver drivers could be heard sounding horns and revving though four-way gridlock when fighting for priority. I decided to avoid Kingsway and use side streets instead; bad idea, I’m afraid gentle reader I’m going to have to admit to using a vacant cycle path and us both doing some pretty nifty manoeuvres at times, needs must. Safely back at Cycle BC, it was now raining hard, with the sky black with storm clouds. Hands were waved in the negative but I wasn’t sorry about riding straight into the shop basement to escape the now cold rain and the wind. Options; a taxi back to Tsawwassen would be expensive with no guarantee of making it on time in the conditions. Norrie would have to pay insurance, as a minimum for another bike and so, the only real option was for us to ride my bike, two-up! Norrie emptied all his panniers and topbox contents into black bin bags, while I did likewise, leaving only essential kit my topbox. I believe it was another ‘Dave’ that helping us in the shop and first-class he was too, our bags would be taken to the hotel and at the end of the day, we could leave my bike there too. All the paperwork was sorted swiftly, letting us get straight back on the road and hurry to the ferry port. It was only later that the scale of the storm, (that had hit hardest in the earlier hours of the morning), was made clear to us. Hundreds of trees had been uprooted or broken, half a million homes were without power but worst of all, a handful of people had lost their lives from falling trees or accidents. Power grids were down, taking out not just traffic signals but street lighting, the chaos was much more wide-spread than we imagined. So we rode out, two-up, into all of this. Dave was calm in our crisis and had put the bike into wet riding mode, I was used to full-power mode but pulling away did feel a little easier. Dave even tried to plot a decent course for us to Hwy 99, set the SatNav for the ferry terminal and wished us good luck. It felt like we would bloody well need it! I fired up our intercoms once again so Norrie could help watching traffic and road names. We got onto the avenue we needed but the traffic was Saturday gridlock of a type I’ve never experienced before. After 5 pm already, I seriously thought of attempting some lane splitting but decided against it as other drivers simply would not be prepared for it but, I had other problems to worry about, in any case. Hill starts! We seemed to be constantly up and down hills for the first hour or so and I was starting to get a serious pain in my left leg from holding up all our collective weight until I sussed out a way to use the front brake with a single finger, instead of the rear and still controlling the throttle, it made life a little easier. I lost count of the number of dark cross-roads we came upon, either extreme caution or a confident attitude were called for. Then, just when the highway seemed to be in sight the road was closed down and we were diverted again, it seemed as though we rode through a parking lot at one point, as we simply followed the locals while a recalc took place. Then, another diversion, a multiple vehicle incident, glass and fluids were strewn over both lanes so I trickled the big BMW through at walking pace and hoped the fluids would be cleaned away quickly. This was starting to feel like endless torture, I had seen one solitary other motorcycle and dare not take my hand off the bars to wave, given the gusts of wind that could strike at any second. It had taken us in the region of 60 minutes to travel 4 miles. But, we still had a final irony to suffer gentle readers. We had not yet made it to Hwy 99 however, I could see the signs for it when an interesting sign came up on the SatNav; ‘Low Battery’. I was shocked, to say the least. I’d not even seen the first warning that should have been mains power lost. I pulled over to the side of the road and checked the wiring. The power LED was also dark while everything looked intact, I could only assume water had worked its way in and either caused a short or a blown fuse but regardless, I couldn’t fix it. We only just made it onto the highway, 5 short minutes later when the SatNav died completely. It wasn’t as bad as it seemed, I knew 99 would take us back to Hwy 17 and from there I could wing it all the way to the terminal. WHY, is there always a BUT! Because there always is. ‘But’, it was well after 6 pm and we still had 20 miles to go: so go! The interchange onto Hwy 17 was a worry but worked out fine, likewise, I still remembered the two lane road down to the terminal but the frequent junction’s without any traffic lights meant caution every time and I could almost feel the clock ticking. The skies were a little brighter when we reached the port and we hurried into what turned out to be the wrong part of the terminal for lost and found. We could see Norrie’s bag straight away from the correct desk and the lady clerk was happy to hand Norrie his passport and every other single item of his, all intact. Impressive honesty, given the large amount of money Norrie had been carrying. The lady didn’t know who had handed the bag back in. I laughed as Norrie produced a bottle of wine and handed it to the clerk for either her or whoever deserved it the most, in any event, it was a great result. It felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders but I also instantly felt dreadfully tired, running on adrenaline, I imagine. With the café closed a machine brewed coffee had to suffice but I was apprehensive about the ride back without a guide of any type. The air even felt a little warmer as a rainbow broke out on the horizon, another prize every time. Back up Hwy 17 for the third time in less than 12 hours, at a much slower pace. I must say that Norrie was an excellent passenger, moving correctly when needed, watching for hazards and keeping me good. I’m still not sure which route I took on the exit of Hwy 17 to return us to Vancouver but it seemed much easier than the first attempt, some underpasses provided much-welcomed warmth. I remember a very industrial area and then the sign for West 12th Avenue that I knew would take us back to Kingsway and the hotel. Norrie hopped into the hotel for an entry token and poor ‘Loonie’ was finally quietened in the car lot, sometime around 8 pm at night, after roughly 11 hours on the road. Check-in completed, our cases were retrieved along with a mountain of black bags that Norrie seemed very happy to see. I think we were even given the same room as last time to make life easier and Norrie was a Gentleman, unloading the bags and returning the trolley while I simply had to jump in the shower and soak to try and pull myself around. It was only after Norrie had showered that we realised how terribly hungry we were, of course, we’d not eaten a decent meal all day long! The Indian ran restaurant next door, thankfully catered for all tastes and we could not be bothered to go elsewhere. Each of us devoured a bottle of Canadian lager before deciding upon food. We both decided upon something I thought I’d never see outside of the U.K., a ‘Parmesan’. We had ours with rice as a novelty and damn fine it tasted too, clean plates, some ice-cream and quite a few more bottles were consumed to toast our last full day in British Columbia. It was nearly midnight by the time we returned to the hotel and in a particularly idiotic move, I felt parched and drank far too much fresh milk from out of a chiller unit before downing more than one cup of coffee, which Norrie also did partake in. A final goodbye to my BMW included storing the SatNav in the topbox, along with a note about the failed charging system before handing the keys in at reception and asking for a wake-up call at 4 am. Yes, gentle readers, you are very perceptive, after midnight and we had not even started packing yet. The few slight gifts we had bought making all the difference and filling our suitcases to absolute capacity. Norrie managed just fine, having an extra case and collapsed into bed about 1 am while attempting to travel ‘light’ proved my undoing and took three attempts at packing before my suitcase could even be zipped closed. The last backup of the final copies of videos and photos and I too could no longer stay awake, falling into bed finally, at 2 am. Even though I’d set an alarm and knew the wake-up call was also requested, it was a restless sleep. Sure enough, the 4 am alarm was prompt and now, no longer adventurers, just simply two weary travellers that had to drag themselves and luggage to reception, one final time. Minutes later and we were in another hybrid taxi being hummed along to the airport. It felt surreal, not only a city eerily quiet and still recovering from the storm but, after two weeks of either walking or riding in some way, not being in control of our direction and destiny, felt quite odd. Soon enough, the bright lights of the departure area were overhead and we were amazed that our overweight suitcases were swallowed by the machinery bowels of the airport without a word or hint of excess baggage charge. I really thought this part of the city would never sleep and was surprised when all shop shutters were down and long queues of passengers waited outside of breakfast bars, just as we did at a Timmy Horton’s, for our first hit of the day. Except I didn’t feel right at all. I only managed a few sips of coffee and a bite of the bagels we’d bought and could not stomach any more. I took some strong sedative pain-killers, in the hope that some sleep would help me pull around and even though I slept through our first short-haul flight, it was not to be and I am sad to report that I became more ill as the day wore on. So, I will end our final day in Canadian air-space right here.
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