We have been home for about a week, and have had some time to reflect on our trip. Here's what's on our mind:
We have so much random stuff at home, most of it just taking up space and serving no purpose other than cluttering our lives. It was wonderful living with so little this summer. There was nothing to distract us, and our minds were free. Simple is key.
Cities, especially Toronto, are incredibly huge, busy, and unrepresentative of the rest of the country. Biking here is exciting, and super quick without the weight.
Having finished school, we wake up every morning with no plan for the day. We have no destination, and our lives are scattered. The future is uncertain and malleable, dependent on a number of forces that we cannot control. It is exciting, and scary.
We have food, water, toilets and roofs at our disposal. This is luxurious living, and it feels odd; to use a toilet, sleep in a bed, shower regularly - all daily practices that we have learned you don't need to be content. And how removed we all are from nature: if it rains, we go inside. If it's windy, we don't even know. When it gets dark, we flip a switch. I'm not so sure that's a good thing.
Our return home was a bit overwhelming. We were met with friends and family at a delicious party, and as everyone lifted their glasses to toast our success, it finally set in: We did it. We biked across Canada, and people around us were amazed. We were called heroes, idols, crazy. Pictures appeared in newspapers: "Resident cycles across Canada for youth in Africa." Lines drawn on maps of Canada and taped on walls to remember.
Remember the summer we biked 103 days across the second largest country in the world. Remember the highways, trees, rain, skies, mosquitoes, black flies, trucks, animals, sunsets, rivers, books, foods, books on tape, people, places, middle-of-nowheres, grocery stores, borders, destination signs, sleeps, stretches, flat tires, peddle strokes, and the group of Kenya students who were put in school. Because that's what it's all about. Our sponsors brought education, empowerment and human dignity to a rural community in western Kenya. All we did was bike a lot to make it happen.
Let this be a lesson: how each of us has the ability to bring about positive change in the world, but how easy it is to get distracted by all the excesses of our lives.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
The end.
With every beginning comes an end. And when the stuff in-between is really challenging, the end is highly anticipated. For the past 103 days, we have been living on our bikes, heart and minds set on this moment: the ride into St. John's. The finish line. Mission: accomplished.
But as we peddled into the most eastern (and oldest!) city in North America this afternoon, there were no fireworks or cheers to mark our arrival. It seemed like just another day of riding, bodies sore and tired. Although we've been anticipating this day for the past three and a half months, when it comes down to it, it's just another moment in time, no different from the rest. What's different is the afterward. Because this is it. We can't go any further, even if we wanted to. Our days as gypsies travelling only with the bare essentials has come to a close. And though we're ready to get going with our lives, there's no doubt we'll miss this one.
It has been a fantastic adventure. Even Newfoundland came around, spoiling us with sun for the past week. The people here continue to be warm and talkative, each mesmerized by how far we've come. We had a stranger pull over on the highway to tell us that he'd read our blog the night before, having received news updates for Corner Brook. Then in Gander, a newspaper editor tracked us down at the mall and interviewed us in the parking lot. We almost feel famous, and all we've done is peddled.
We have come far. It's fun to look at a globe and trace our journey across a substantial portion of it. Traversed mountain ranges, plains, provincial and national parks, the Canadian shield, badlands and wetlands. In the process, we have gotten intimate with our weaknesses, tested our limits, and come to know eachother in detail. We have learned how little one needs to live -approximately four bags full - and how unnecessary are 95% of the things we own at home. We have marvelled at the fantastic machines that got us this far. And we have seen Canada, a huge, wild land, sparsely populated and early on in its life as a nation. Our favourite places have been Victoria, Alsask, the Northern Superior shores, Kenora, Quebec City, Sherbrooke and Charlottetown.
We've travelled 8000+ kilometres, and because of it, a number of students in Kenya will be receiving an education this year. Thankyou to everyone who has helped make this possible. If you have yet to donate, there is no better time than now!
But as we peddled into the most eastern (and oldest!) city in North America this afternoon, there were no fireworks or cheers to mark our arrival. It seemed like just another day of riding, bodies sore and tired. Although we've been anticipating this day for the past three and a half months, when it comes down to it, it's just another moment in time, no different from the rest. What's different is the afterward. Because this is it. We can't go any further, even if we wanted to. Our days as gypsies travelling only with the bare essentials has come to a close. And though we're ready to get going with our lives, there's no doubt we'll miss this one.
It has been a fantastic adventure. Even Newfoundland came around, spoiling us with sun for the past week. The people here continue to be warm and talkative, each mesmerized by how far we've come. We had a stranger pull over on the highway to tell us that he'd read our blog the night before, having received news updates for Corner Brook. Then in Gander, a newspaper editor tracked us down at the mall and interviewed us in the parking lot. We almost feel famous, and all we've done is peddled.
We have come far. It's fun to look at a globe and trace our journey across a substantial portion of it. Traversed mountain ranges, plains, provincial and national parks, the Canadian shield, badlands and wetlands. In the process, we have gotten intimate with our weaknesses, tested our limits, and come to know eachother in detail. We have learned how little one needs to live -approximately four bags full - and how unnecessary are 95% of the things we own at home. We have marvelled at the fantastic machines that got us this far. And we have seen Canada, a huge, wild land, sparsely populated and early on in its life as a nation. Our favourite places have been Victoria, Alsask, the Northern Superior shores, Kenora, Quebec City, Sherbrooke and Charlottetown.
We've travelled 8000+ kilometres, and because of it, a number of students in Kenya will be receiving an education this year. Thankyou to everyone who has helped make this possible. If you have yet to donate, there is no better time than now!
Throughout our journey, we've had a number of people host and/or support us along the way. THANKYOU to the following people for making our trip that much more enjoyable:
Holly and Graham in Victoria, Nat in Vancouver, Dave and Dawn in Keremeos, Linda in Kelowna, Shabheer and Christine in Canmore, Todd and Yvonne in Okotoks, Brian in Saskatoon, Lynn and Jean in Dauphin, S.J. in Winnipeg, Joel in Kenora, Pam in Thunder Bay, Charlotte in the Sault, the Kramers, the Liddle's in Muskoka, Nadav in Ottawa, Ali's subletters in Montreal, Claude in Granby, Moe in Sherbrooke, Martine and Andre in Quebec City, Cecilia and Clancy in Fredericton, Jeanne in Charlottetown, Bob at the Brackley drive-in, Debbie in Codroy Valley, the couple who drove us to Corner Brook, Bill and Candice in Gander, Jackie in St. John's, our parents, Marg and Mark (a special thankyou for all the gear), Jason Shim and Paul Okrutny (for website help), and SEED Canada (notably Nitasha, Anu and Eileen).
After this trip, it seems like anything is possible, so long as you've got heart. Cheers to that.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Giant rock in the sea
Alot has happened in the past few days, and I've been dying to find a computer to get it all down. After leaving Antigonish, we crossed the Canso Causeway onto Cape Breton, a large island north of the Nova Scotia mainland. It's a beautiful place, with stunning rock cliffs covered in green, the largest salt water lakes in the world, and skies in perpetual flux. We decided to skip the famous Cabot Trail, given that it would have been two days of extremely hilly riding that we didn't need to do. It's come to the point where scenery no longer trumps distance.
In Baddeck, Nova Scotia, we went to a real Cape Breton Celidh (pronounced Cay-ley, not Sell-i-ah, as I thought), complete with step dancing, foot banging, and mad-fast fiddling. It seems like ever Cape Bretoner can move their feet and fingers super quick, and are able to produce insanely energetic music and dance as a result. It was a great time. Afterwards, we sent up the tent in a picnic area of the Alexander Graham Bell Museum. We have been sleeping in public parks since Ontario, after realizing that paying $20 for a patch of grass at a campsite is unnecessary. What we had been fearing finally happened: we were woken at 5:30am and asked to leave the premises. We sluggishly packed up in the rain and got an early start to the day.
Four days ago, we found ourselves on the Lief Erikson, a giant ferry bound for Port-aux-Basques, Newfoundland. At 1:30am, we reached our tenth and final province of the trip. We had no idea what was to come.
Newfoundland's a world of its own. Everything, from the landscape to the weather to the people, is up-front, rugged and ruthless. We thought the weather was bad on Cape Breton, then we got to Newfoundland. We quickly learned that August is the month of rain. On our first day, it poured and poured. After 40km, we stumbled into a teahouse by the side of the highway, wet and cold. After delicious homemade soup and rolls, we hung around and waited for the rain to let up. It didn't. We considered a motel, but there weren't any around, or for the next 50k. We were offered a ride to St. John's, and it was tempting given the five day forecast of rain, but we obviously had to refuse. With no other option, we were just about to hit the road when Debbie, a bubbling cook, offered for us to stay at her place for the night. Needless to say, it wasn't a tough decision.
We spent the evening talking with Debbie, her son Paul, and her two brothers that came and went. We learned that Newfoundlanders treasure family; they also like their gossip and alcohol. As the wind howled and the rain poured all night, we were warm and dry in a bed. It was quite the storm. Debbie not only lifted our spirits, but she may have saved our life. The next day, she didn't let us leave before enjoying a traditional Newfoundland 'gig' dinner, served at noon, and complete with steamed veggies, potatoes, chicken, pork, cabbage, bread pudding, and homemade apple pie. Stuffed to the brim, we were able to ride for 110km without stopping. What a lady.
It has rained every day since we've been on this giant rock in the sea. As one man put it, last week it was sunny for a day, and 300 Newfoundlanders went blind. This is the only province where you get four seasons in a day, and we feel it riding - hot one minute, cold and wet the next. I guess where earth meets sea, the skies are tempermental. We wish they would make up their mind.
Yesterday, we found ourselves in dire straits after Rob's tire exploded on the highway. We attempted to fix it, but it was hopeless. We had no choice but to hail a ride to Corner Brook, 40km away, to a bike store, something we have been trying to find for a week now. So technically, we will have biked across Canada, minus 40k in Newfoundland. But not to worry, for we've definitely done an extra 40k somewhere along the way. We finished off the day with five flats between the two of us. What a day.
From Deer Lake, Newfoundland, a hearty Newfoundlander farewell.
In Baddeck, Nova Scotia, we went to a real Cape Breton Celidh (pronounced Cay-ley, not Sell-i-ah, as I thought), complete with step dancing, foot banging, and mad-fast fiddling. It seems like ever Cape Bretoner can move their feet and fingers super quick, and are able to produce insanely energetic music and dance as a result. It was a great time. Afterwards, we sent up the tent in a picnic area of the Alexander Graham Bell Museum. We have been sleeping in public parks since Ontario, after realizing that paying $20 for a patch of grass at a campsite is unnecessary. What we had been fearing finally happened: we were woken at 5:30am and asked to leave the premises. We sluggishly packed up in the rain and got an early start to the day.
Four days ago, we found ourselves on the Lief Erikson, a giant ferry bound for Port-aux-Basques, Newfoundland. At 1:30am, we reached our tenth and final province of the trip. We had no idea what was to come.
Newfoundland's a world of its own. Everything, from the landscape to the weather to the people, is up-front, rugged and ruthless. We thought the weather was bad on Cape Breton, then we got to Newfoundland. We quickly learned that August is the month of rain. On our first day, it poured and poured. After 40km, we stumbled into a teahouse by the side of the highway, wet and cold. After delicious homemade soup and rolls, we hung around and waited for the rain to let up. It didn't. We considered a motel, but there weren't any around, or for the next 50k. We were offered a ride to St. John's, and it was tempting given the five day forecast of rain, but we obviously had to refuse. With no other option, we were just about to hit the road when Debbie, a bubbling cook, offered for us to stay at her place for the night. Needless to say, it wasn't a tough decision.
We spent the evening talking with Debbie, her son Paul, and her two brothers that came and went. We learned that Newfoundlanders treasure family; they also like their gossip and alcohol. As the wind howled and the rain poured all night, we were warm and dry in a bed. It was quite the storm. Debbie not only lifted our spirits, but she may have saved our life. The next day, she didn't let us leave before enjoying a traditional Newfoundland 'gig' dinner, served at noon, and complete with steamed veggies, potatoes, chicken, pork, cabbage, bread pudding, and homemade apple pie. Stuffed to the brim, we were able to ride for 110km without stopping. What a lady.
It has rained every day since we've been on this giant rock in the sea. As one man put it, last week it was sunny for a day, and 300 Newfoundlanders went blind. This is the only province where you get four seasons in a day, and we feel it riding - hot one minute, cold and wet the next. I guess where earth meets sea, the skies are tempermental. We wish they would make up their mind.
Yesterday, we found ourselves in dire straits after Rob's tire exploded on the highway. We attempted to fix it, but it was hopeless. We had no choice but to hail a ride to Corner Brook, 40km away, to a bike store, something we have been trying to find for a week now. So technically, we will have biked across Canada, minus 40k in Newfoundland. But not to worry, for we've definitely done an extra 40k somewhere along the way. We finished off the day with five flats between the two of us. What a day.
From Deer Lake, Newfoundland, a hearty Newfoundlander farewell.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Lost in the Maritimes
Don't worry, we're not actually lost. We would initially like to apologize to everyone who has tried to make a donation online in the past while and has been unable to. Paypal is not cooperating, but we are doing our best to remedy this problem. In the meantime, please feel free to donate by sending a cheque to the address on our website.
Almost three months ago, we biked out of Vancouver and began a long, ambitious adventure. We now have only about 15 biking days left to St. John's. The end is in sight, and our hearts and minds are more fixed on our final destination than ever. We are tired. Although we are in the best shape of our lives, our legs just don't want to bike anymore. But there's no stopping us now, and our determination will get us to the end.
We are in Nova Scotia, province #9. The Maritimes are hilly, slow-paced, and all about water: raining from the sky, snaking through the land in the form of rivers, and encircling each province with ocean. Atlantic Ocean. We can now officially say that we have biked Canada from coast to coast, but must contain our excitement, cause we ain't done yet.
In New Brunswick, there is a mix of cultures and languages that changes depending on where you are. One town speaks english, the next french, and the next Acadian, a unique French dialect that most Canadians know little about. We cycled to Edmundston, then south to Fredericton where we celebrated New Brunswick Day with live music and free ice cream. We cycled through Fundy National Park, where we ate fresh lobster and witnessed a 13 metre-tall tide come in and out, the highest tide in the world. This natural ebb and flow that happens twice a day illustrates the impressive graviational pull of the moon and sun; it's also really cool to watch.
And then the coast. After crossing Confederation Bridge, truly an engineering wonder, we found ourselves on P.E.I. Being the "gentle island", P.E.I. lives up to its name. Made of sand, clay and stone and covered with potatoe plants, rivers and beautiful beaches, P.E.I. is a seafood-lovers paradise. Lobster, mussels and scallops are in abundance, but unfortunately not dirt cheap. Being on the island was wonderful, not only because it was quiet and flat, but cause it was so short: we were on and off in three days.
Today we took the ferry to Nova Scotia and rode through the rain to Antigonish, on our way to Cape Breton. And so continues our existence as homeless nomads. It's incredible how much we have come to appreciate a warm shower, bed and roof over our heads. These little things that we normally take for granted are enough to keep us pedalling for days. To all those who have provided us with these gifts over the course of our trip, a giant preliminary THANKYOU.
From Antigonish, Nova Scotia, bye for now!
Almost three months ago, we biked out of Vancouver and began a long, ambitious adventure. We now have only about 15 biking days left to St. John's. The end is in sight, and our hearts and minds are more fixed on our final destination than ever. We are tired. Although we are in the best shape of our lives, our legs just don't want to bike anymore. But there's no stopping us now, and our determination will get us to the end.
We are in Nova Scotia, province #9. The Maritimes are hilly, slow-paced, and all about water: raining from the sky, snaking through the land in the form of rivers, and encircling each province with ocean. Atlantic Ocean. We can now officially say that we have biked Canada from coast to coast, but must contain our excitement, cause we ain't done yet.
In New Brunswick, there is a mix of cultures and languages that changes depending on where you are. One town speaks english, the next french, and the next Acadian, a unique French dialect that most Canadians know little about. We cycled to Edmundston, then south to Fredericton where we celebrated New Brunswick Day with live music and free ice cream. We cycled through Fundy National Park, where we ate fresh lobster and witnessed a 13 metre-tall tide come in and out, the highest tide in the world. This natural ebb and flow that happens twice a day illustrates the impressive graviational pull of the moon and sun; it's also really cool to watch.
And then the coast. After crossing Confederation Bridge, truly an engineering wonder, we found ourselves on P.E.I. Being the "gentle island", P.E.I. lives up to its name. Made of sand, clay and stone and covered with potatoe plants, rivers and beautiful beaches, P.E.I. is a seafood-lovers paradise. Lobster, mussels and scallops are in abundance, but unfortunately not dirt cheap. Being on the island was wonderful, not only because it was quiet and flat, but cause it was so short: we were on and off in three days.
Today we took the ferry to Nova Scotia and rode through the rain to Antigonish, on our way to Cape Breton. And so continues our existence as homeless nomads. It's incredible how much we have come to appreciate a warm shower, bed and roof over our heads. These little things that we normally take for granted are enough to keep us pedalling for days. To all those who have provided us with these gifts over the course of our trip, a giant preliminary THANKYOU.
From Antigonish, Nova Scotia, bye for now!
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Bienvenue a Quebec
Bonjour de Quebec! After spending a couple days in Ottawa, where my good friend Nadav showed us the warmest hospitality anyone could ask for, we found ourselves crossing the Ottawa River into La Belle Provence du Quebec. We shared a reflective moment on that bridge, standing half way between province number five and six, remembering Ontario and breathing a sigh of relief that it was finally over.
There were no drastic differences on the other side of the river, except for the language. We instantly found ourselves amongst people we could not understand and signs we could not read, and had to remind ourselves that we were not in a foreign land. We were still in Canada, but in a place with a history and culture unique to all we have seen thus far. Bienvenue au Quebec!
The Quebecois know how to connect with others, how to laugh and how to party. We felt it in Montreal, where numerous festivals take over the city during the summer, and virtually every street is packed with pedestrians, cars, restaurant patios and street performers from nine till three in the morning. In Sherbrooke, where we spent two days with our friend Moe, we notice the slow pace and attention to detail that people here choose, and rightly so. And now, the capital, quite possibly the most beautiful city in the country. As you can tell, we have been taking our time lately, stopping frequently to take in all the beauty and wonder that this province has to offer. It`s hard not too.
On several occasions, I have felt utterly powerless due to my lack of French - so bad is it, that I actually had to ask someone how to say `from` to form the first sentence of this post. Too many conversations I`ve had have gone like this:
me: Bonjour, tu parle anglais
other: non, pardon
me: ok, au revoir
other: au revoir
The ability of language to draw barriers between people is astounding. Simply due to the fact that I don`t speak French, I am unable to communicate with people who share the same national anthem, prime minister and currency as I do. Words that hold meaning to some are merely background noise to others. Until I live up to my promise to myself to learn it, French will remain sound without meaning to me, and my ability to call myself Canadian with confidence will be jeopardized.
Quebec City has a fascinating story. This is where it all began: it was one of the first cities in Canada, and the battles that took place here hundreds of years ago shaped our nation`s history. You can feel it, walking through the old streets, amongst the fortresses and cannons that the British erected after winning the fight against the French on the Plains of Abraham in 1759. That battle, which lasted 20 minutes, decided that Canada would be a British, English speaking colony, rather than a French one. If the French colonists had been more prepared, most of us could be speaking French as our first language right now, while eating poutine and drinking wine until the cows come home. Man, that`s crazy.
This has all got me thinking alot about war, and what a huge role it plays in deciding a nation`s destiny. It`s easy for us to say war is bloody and evil, and I`m not saying it isn`t. But out of war comes not only death, but birth as well - of new countries and constitutions, rulers and ideologies. If we are to be truly proud of our country, I guess that means we must be thankful that those wars happened the way they did. Because if they hadn`t, things could be very different right now.
But enough rambling. We are still alive and living, and that`s all that really matters. In Sherbrooke, there were several occasions where we forgot where we were for a brief moment. It`s hard to keep track, when every day we`re sleeping somewhere different: two days ago, in a friend`s house; yesterday, a public park; last night, in the home of a generous Quebecois family. And tomorrow, we`ll be some other place, still uncertain. The only constants in our lives are our bikes and the people we are biking with.
There were no drastic differences on the other side of the river, except for the language. We instantly found ourselves amongst people we could not understand and signs we could not read, and had to remind ourselves that we were not in a foreign land. We were still in Canada, but in a place with a history and culture unique to all we have seen thus far. Bienvenue au Quebec!
The Quebecois know how to connect with others, how to laugh and how to party. We felt it in Montreal, where numerous festivals take over the city during the summer, and virtually every street is packed with pedestrians, cars, restaurant patios and street performers from nine till three in the morning. In Sherbrooke, where we spent two days with our friend Moe, we notice the slow pace and attention to detail that people here choose, and rightly so. And now, the capital, quite possibly the most beautiful city in the country. As you can tell, we have been taking our time lately, stopping frequently to take in all the beauty and wonder that this province has to offer. It`s hard not too.
On several occasions, I have felt utterly powerless due to my lack of French - so bad is it, that I actually had to ask someone how to say `from` to form the first sentence of this post. Too many conversations I`ve had have gone like this:
me: Bonjour, tu parle anglais
other: non, pardon
me: ok, au revoir
other: au revoir
The ability of language to draw barriers between people is astounding. Simply due to the fact that I don`t speak French, I am unable to communicate with people who share the same national anthem, prime minister and currency as I do. Words that hold meaning to some are merely background noise to others. Until I live up to my promise to myself to learn it, French will remain sound without meaning to me, and my ability to call myself Canadian with confidence will be jeopardized.
Quebec City has a fascinating story. This is where it all began: it was one of the first cities in Canada, and the battles that took place here hundreds of years ago shaped our nation`s history. You can feel it, walking through the old streets, amongst the fortresses and cannons that the British erected after winning the fight against the French on the Plains of Abraham in 1759. That battle, which lasted 20 minutes, decided that Canada would be a British, English speaking colony, rather than a French one. If the French colonists had been more prepared, most of us could be speaking French as our first language right now, while eating poutine and drinking wine until the cows come home. Man, that`s crazy.
This has all got me thinking alot about war, and what a huge role it plays in deciding a nation`s destiny. It`s easy for us to say war is bloody and evil, and I`m not saying it isn`t. But out of war comes not only death, but birth as well - of new countries and constitutions, rulers and ideologies. If we are to be truly proud of our country, I guess that means we must be thankful that those wars happened the way they did. Because if they hadn`t, things could be very different right now.
But enough rambling. We are still alive and living, and that`s all that really matters. In Sherbrooke, there were several occasions where we forgot where we were for a brief moment. It`s hard to keep track, when every day we`re sleeping somewhere different: two days ago, in a friend`s house; yesterday, a public park; last night, in the home of a generous Quebecois family. And tomorrow, we`ll be some other place, still uncertain. The only constants in our lives are our bikes and the people we are biking with.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Cottages, families and popsicles
Hello from the national capital! After 2 months, about 6000km, five provinces, hundreds of peanut butter sandwiches and numerous flat tires, we have reached the heartbeat of this vast country. And it feels damn good.
It's been a while since I've last written, so here's a brief summary of our time since we left the Soo:
After a few days of riding through repetitive small towns and Native reserves, we reached Manitoulin Island, a highly anticipated portion of our trip. We were not overly impressed with it, or the Bruce Penninsula that followed. It was a reminder that nothing much can change when you spend all day on the highway. As we approached Ontario cottage country, the landscape became crowded with money, bustling summer towns, SUVs, and people, mainly Torontonians. We hadn't been amongst this much homo sapien life since Winnipeg, and it was a bit unnerving. We made our way through the cottaging chaos to Orillia, where we spent a day with my family, and then onto Steph's cottage near Bracebridge, where we spent two days with Rob, Brad and Steph's. It was a refreshing hiatus to the trip, and a reminder of how much family matters.
We were spoiled with love over those few days, as we crossed the part of Canada closest to home. As Rob pointed out, the entire trip up to then had been progressing us towards our families, and from now on we move away. It was wonderful to see familiar faces, and share stories, food and wine. But by the end of it, I found myself yearning to be back on the bike again. I found this odd. Shouldn't I be utterly sick of my bike by now, ready to toss it on the car and head home? I reached the inevitable conclusion that I have acquired an addiction, of sorts, to biking. My body has become so used to biking every day, that like all addications, something just doesn't feel right when I go a few days without it. I am beginning to worry about what will happen in September, when biking every day no longer becomes necessary. It will be an adjustment, like culture shock.
We are nearing the end of Ontario, and looking forward to the provinces that await us. I am eager to test out my (lack of) French, and to explore the eastern provinces rich culture, seafood and, of course, highways. After nearly a month in Ontario, I can say that I love this province, but have definitely had enough of it. As I gaze across the Ottawa River to Quebec, I look forward to change. As we ride into the future with each kilometer, our entire lives await us. Rob says he's getting bored; he's ready to get on with life. But this is our life right now, and love it or hate it, it is what it is.
From Ottawa, a sincere farewell. To those reading this, thankyou for continuing to support our journey. We've only about a third left to go, and are still going strong!
It's been a while since I've last written, so here's a brief summary of our time since we left the Soo:
After a few days of riding through repetitive small towns and Native reserves, we reached Manitoulin Island, a highly anticipated portion of our trip. We were not overly impressed with it, or the Bruce Penninsula that followed. It was a reminder that nothing much can change when you spend all day on the highway. As we approached Ontario cottage country, the landscape became crowded with money, bustling summer towns, SUVs, and people, mainly Torontonians. We hadn't been amongst this much homo sapien life since Winnipeg, and it was a bit unnerving. We made our way through the cottaging chaos to Orillia, where we spent a day with my family, and then onto Steph's cottage near Bracebridge, where we spent two days with Rob, Brad and Steph's. It was a refreshing hiatus to the trip, and a reminder of how much family matters.
We were spoiled with love over those few days, as we crossed the part of Canada closest to home. As Rob pointed out, the entire trip up to then had been progressing us towards our families, and from now on we move away. It was wonderful to see familiar faces, and share stories, food and wine. But by the end of it, I found myself yearning to be back on the bike again. I found this odd. Shouldn't I be utterly sick of my bike by now, ready to toss it on the car and head home? I reached the inevitable conclusion that I have acquired an addiction, of sorts, to biking. My body has become so used to biking every day, that like all addications, something just doesn't feel right when I go a few days without it. I am beginning to worry about what will happen in September, when biking every day no longer becomes necessary. It will be an adjustment, like culture shock.
We are nearing the end of Ontario, and looking forward to the provinces that await us. I am eager to test out my (lack of) French, and to explore the eastern provinces rich culture, seafood and, of course, highways. After nearly a month in Ontario, I can say that I love this province, but have definitely had enough of it. As I gaze across the Ottawa River to Quebec, I look forward to change. As we ride into the future with each kilometer, our entire lives await us. Rob says he's getting bored; he's ready to get on with life. But this is our life right now, and love it or hate it, it is what it is.
From Ottawa, a sincere farewell. To those reading this, thankyou for continuing to support our journey. We've only about a third left to go, and are still going strong!
Friday, July 6, 2007
Somewhere North of Superior
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy...
Canadian singer and songwriter Gordon Lightfoot knew what he was talking about when he wrote 'The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald', a song about the Great Lake Superior. Having spent a week on the shores of North Superior, I have developed an appreciation for its name and legend. During our journey from Thunder Bay to Sault Ste. Marie, we have experienced dramatic weather, incredible campsites and spectacular scenery. Not to mention six days of long, hilly riding that rivals the Rockies in level of difficulty. But the greater challenge always equals a greater sense of accomplishment at the end of the day.
Other than small towns located about 100km apart, North of Superior is pure wilderness. In White River, we were visited by one of the many black bears that has recently been found feasting on the town's garbage cans. Luckily, the bear - the biggest black one I have ever seen - got no closer than 200 meters from our tent. This was close enough to make me want to book it over the motel across the street (which we didn't; and thankfully, both we and our food was left untouched). A local told us that in 100 square kilometers, there were and estimated 60 bears. I'm not sure, but it'd be a pretty good guess to say that this beats the human population in the area.
It amazes me how the highway finds its way through this landscape of such concentrated rock and boreal forest. It's absolutely superb riding, through majestic rock faces on either side of the road, with each rock a slightly different shape, colour and pattern than the last: green, red, grey, pink, and purple; jagged, curvy, flat and cubic, with each covered with an assortment of mosses, lichens, plants and fungi. The closer you look, the more you see. I could spend hours gazing at these rocks in wonder; bus alas, we must get back on the bike and ride another 100k.
The shores of Superior have damned us and blessed us on separate occasions. One day, it rained from 11 to 6 without stopping, and we cursed the world as we peddled, soaked to the bone. Just the day before, we spent the afternoon on the shoreline, soaking in the sunny, cloudless sky. We spent another night on the beach of Superior, surrounded by a dense fog that made me feel more like I was in a dream than in Florida. (The frigid temperature of the water was another reminder). For two days, we were riding in and out of clouds; sunny and warm one minute, cold and foggy the next. Talk about a constant change of scenery! I love riding in Ontario because, unlike other provinces, you never get bored.
The last couple days have been our longest stretch yet: 165 km each day. We are currently resting in the the Soo. It will be sad leaving Superior tomorrow, a lake I have developed a sort of connection to. It's now time to discover Huron, as we continue across the wonderous province of Ontario with its plethora of lakes, rivers, wildlife, rocks and trees. As the license plates attest to, it truly is "ours to discover." Ciao!
Of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy...
Canadian singer and songwriter Gordon Lightfoot knew what he was talking about when he wrote 'The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald', a song about the Great Lake Superior. Having spent a week on the shores of North Superior, I have developed an appreciation for its name and legend. During our journey from Thunder Bay to Sault Ste. Marie, we have experienced dramatic weather, incredible campsites and spectacular scenery. Not to mention six days of long, hilly riding that rivals the Rockies in level of difficulty. But the greater challenge always equals a greater sense of accomplishment at the end of the day.
Other than small towns located about 100km apart, North of Superior is pure wilderness. In White River, we were visited by one of the many black bears that has recently been found feasting on the town's garbage cans. Luckily, the bear - the biggest black one I have ever seen - got no closer than 200 meters from our tent. This was close enough to make me want to book it over the motel across the street (which we didn't; and thankfully, both we and our food was left untouched). A local told us that in 100 square kilometers, there were and estimated 60 bears. I'm not sure, but it'd be a pretty good guess to say that this beats the human population in the area.
It amazes me how the highway finds its way through this landscape of such concentrated rock and boreal forest. It's absolutely superb riding, through majestic rock faces on either side of the road, with each rock a slightly different shape, colour and pattern than the last: green, red, grey, pink, and purple; jagged, curvy, flat and cubic, with each covered with an assortment of mosses, lichens, plants and fungi. The closer you look, the more you see. I could spend hours gazing at these rocks in wonder; bus alas, we must get back on the bike and ride another 100k.
The shores of Superior have damned us and blessed us on separate occasions. One day, it rained from 11 to 6 without stopping, and we cursed the world as we peddled, soaked to the bone. Just the day before, we spent the afternoon on the shoreline, soaking in the sunny, cloudless sky. We spent another night on the beach of Superior, surrounded by a dense fog that made me feel more like I was in a dream than in Florida. (The frigid temperature of the water was another reminder). For two days, we were riding in and out of clouds; sunny and warm one minute, cold and foggy the next. Talk about a constant change of scenery! I love riding in Ontario because, unlike other provinces, you never get bored.
The last couple days have been our longest stretch yet: 165 km each day. We are currently resting in the the Soo. It will be sad leaving Superior tomorrow, a lake I have developed a sort of connection to. It's now time to discover Huron, as we continue across the wonderous province of Ontario with its plethora of lakes, rivers, wildlife, rocks and trees. As the license plates attest to, it truly is "ours to discover." Ciao!
Friday, June 29, 2007
It feels like home
Lakes, hills, rain and thunderstorms. Welcome to Ontario.
Since our last post, our four legs have got us through Manitoba, across a border into familiar territory, and into Thunder Bay, where we are now taking a much needed rest day. My hips, quads, back, chest and arms have been telling me to get off the bike, and I finally surrender. Ontario has been a rollercoaster of emotions, due to extreme weather conditions - the good, the bad, and the very, very bad. But before I go into that, here's a breakdown of our past 2 weeks on the bike:
Dauphin to Neepawa, 150km - rode through Riding Mountain National Park; stunning, with more hills than I ever imagined there could be in Manitoba.
Neepawa to Portage la Prairie, 102km Portage to Winnipeg, 75km (cool city)
Winnipeg to Elma, 96km
Elma to Kenora, 130km (crossed into Ontario, and lakes and hills became more prominent)
Kenora to Vermillion Bay, 92km
Vermillion Bay to Ignace, 153km
Ignace to Upsala, 102km
Upsala to Thunder Bay, 143km. Thunder Bay is a fairly large town of 120,000 situated on North Superior, and has a high Native population.
I'll admit, there were various occasions during this past leg when I felt like getting off my bike and catching the next flight home to Toronto. Thunderstorms and near-tornadoes have been slowing us down, both physically and mentally. But spirits are never low for longer than a day, for once the sun comes out, our stuff dries, and the winds change their course, riding becomes enjoyable again. We have also been passing other bikers daily, as there is only one route to take across Northern Ontario. It is an uplifting reminder that we are not alone in this journey; there are others who are equally determined to get across the country. Their conviction strengthens our own, especially if they're doing it for a cause (like Mitch and Matt, who are riding west to east for cancer research).
While camping in Vermillion Bay, at a deserted site by the water, we were woken at 7am by strong winds and rain. Having gotten used to such conditions in Ontario, Rob and I tried to tune it out and go back to sleep. Within minutes, the wind had reached an angry howl, and our tent was pushed down over our faces, rain spraying through the tough fabric and soaking ourselves and everything else inside. Realizing that this was more than just a minor downpour, we began to hold the tent up against crazy winds like I've never seen before. Cold and terrified, we sat for over 20 minutes in puddles, our tent seeming close to being blown into pieces. We feared for our lives - tornadoes can kill, and this was definitely something close. As the wind and rain died down, so did our hearts. We gradually emerged from our tents to find that, miraculously, our panniers and bikes had not blown away. Besides a tree that had fallen a few meters away from our site, everything seemed to have survived. All our gear was wet, and we had to carry it for the day, but it didn't matter. We were happy just to be alive.
A few days later, in Ignace, we read in the newspaper that the storm was as close to a tornado as you can get without a funnel hitting the ground, with winds reaching up to 150km/hr. We no longer take a calm, warm and dry night for granted. Sleeping under a roof has become a luxury, and often a necessary precaution to avoid the storms that seem to be characteristic of Ontario. But the past couple days have been sunny, and Northern Ontario, with its bounty of lakes and trees, is beautiful. It's good to be home.
It continues to amaze me how vulnerable we are to nature. Spending all our days on the bike and at a campsite, we are constantly victim to its unpredictable whims. It makes one feel powerless, but adds apprehension and excitement to every day. I wonder which direction the winds will be going tomorrow? Here's to praying that it may be at our backs. Peace out, y'all!
Amazing clouds riding into Winnipeg.
Every town seems to have its over sized mascot to greet you, things like prairie chickens, dinosaurs, muskies, but Upsala, Ontario had this mosquito to greet us. It was actually the black flies that were really bad though.
The four of us enjoying our almost rest day in Winnipeg.
Finally home! Our salute to the mountains and prairies, a huge chunk of the trip behind us.
Kakabeka Falls outside of Thunder Bay.
Since our last post, our four legs have got us through Manitoba, across a border into familiar territory, and into Thunder Bay, where we are now taking a much needed rest day. My hips, quads, back, chest and arms have been telling me to get off the bike, and I finally surrender. Ontario has been a rollercoaster of emotions, due to extreme weather conditions - the good, the bad, and the very, very bad. But before I go into that, here's a breakdown of our past 2 weeks on the bike:
Dauphin to Neepawa, 150km - rode through Riding Mountain National Park; stunning, with more hills than I ever imagined there could be in Manitoba.
Neepawa to Portage la Prairie, 102km Portage to Winnipeg, 75km (cool city)
Winnipeg to Elma, 96km
Elma to Kenora, 130km (crossed into Ontario, and lakes and hills became more prominent)
Kenora to Vermillion Bay, 92km
Vermillion Bay to Ignace, 153km
Ignace to Upsala, 102km
Upsala to Thunder Bay, 143km. Thunder Bay is a fairly large town of 120,000 situated on North Superior, and has a high Native population.
I'll admit, there were various occasions during this past leg when I felt like getting off my bike and catching the next flight home to Toronto. Thunderstorms and near-tornadoes have been slowing us down, both physically and mentally. But spirits are never low for longer than a day, for once the sun comes out, our stuff dries, and the winds change their course, riding becomes enjoyable again. We have also been passing other bikers daily, as there is only one route to take across Northern Ontario. It is an uplifting reminder that we are not alone in this journey; there are others who are equally determined to get across the country. Their conviction strengthens our own, especially if they're doing it for a cause (like Mitch and Matt, who are riding west to east for cancer research).
While camping in Vermillion Bay, at a deserted site by the water, we were woken at 7am by strong winds and rain. Having gotten used to such conditions in Ontario, Rob and I tried to tune it out and go back to sleep. Within minutes, the wind had reached an angry howl, and our tent was pushed down over our faces, rain spraying through the tough fabric and soaking ourselves and everything else inside. Realizing that this was more than just a minor downpour, we began to hold the tent up against crazy winds like I've never seen before. Cold and terrified, we sat for over 20 minutes in puddles, our tent seeming close to being blown into pieces. We feared for our lives - tornadoes can kill, and this was definitely something close. As the wind and rain died down, so did our hearts. We gradually emerged from our tents to find that, miraculously, our panniers and bikes had not blown away. Besides a tree that had fallen a few meters away from our site, everything seemed to have survived. All our gear was wet, and we had to carry it for the day, but it didn't matter. We were happy just to be alive.
A few days later, in Ignace, we read in the newspaper that the storm was as close to a tornado as you can get without a funnel hitting the ground, with winds reaching up to 150km/hr. We no longer take a calm, warm and dry night for granted. Sleeping under a roof has become a luxury, and often a necessary precaution to avoid the storms that seem to be characteristic of Ontario. But the past couple days have been sunny, and Northern Ontario, with its bounty of lakes and trees, is beautiful. It's good to be home.
It continues to amaze me how vulnerable we are to nature. Spending all our days on the bike and at a campsite, we are constantly victim to its unpredictable whims. It makes one feel powerless, but adds apprehension and excitement to every day. I wonder which direction the winds will be going tomorrow? Here's to praying that it may be at our backs. Peace out, y'all!
Amazing clouds riding into Winnipeg.
Every town seems to have its over sized mascot to greet you, things like prairie chickens, dinosaurs, muskies, but Upsala, Ontario had this mosquito to greet us. It was actually the black flies that were really bad though.
The four of us enjoying our almost rest day in Winnipeg.
Finally home! Our salute to the mountains and prairies, a huge chunk of the trip behind us.
Kakabeka Falls outside of Thunder Bay.Monday, June 18, 2007
The in-between places
Three down, baby! After having left Vancouver exactly a month yesterday, we have biked about 3000km, and are approximately a third of the way through Canada. After five days of riding through Saskatchewan, the landscape changed rather suddenly from flat, open farmland to rolling, aspen-covered hills. As coniferous trees, larger hills, and even a lake came into view, I didn't need the Manitoba sign by the side of the road to affirm that we were approaching the hundredth meridian, where the great plains begin. As we left Saskatchewan, I learned that provincial borders are largely decided by the shifting landscape.
We are now in Dauphin, Manitoba, a medium-sized town of population 8000, 110km east of the Manitoba/Saskatchewan border. Like pretty much every town we've passed through, it has an A&W, Subway, and Safeway; but unlike all the smaller towns, it also has a newspaper, library and crime. It was a real battle getting here, with a ridiculous head wind that required some strategic drafting to get through. (I guess we had it coming, after the strong tailwind that pushed us to Saskatoon. But we are here now, eating homemade meals and sleeping in real beds, one thing I've come to really appreciate.
I've decided that biking across Canada isn't about seeing famous sites or towns, although there has been a bit of that. It's more about exploring the in-between places: the stretches of highway and towns that, although marked on maps, are forgotten to all but those who live there. It's the in-between places, where no one goes except in a vehicle and in passing, that we are getting to know the best. Having been born in raised in Toronto does not give one a good indication of what Canada is like, because most of the country is unpopulated.
On the really long days, with the strongest winds, I remind myself what I'm pedalling for: a school in rural Kenya, and a group of children who wish for nothing more than to complete their education. As I have the privilege of eating, sleeping and biking all day, these kids have to worry about whether they will be in school next month. I don't mean to make their lives sound miserable, because I can tell you with certainty that they are not, but only to remind you of the reality of these individual lives. So far, we have raised about $1700 for SEED. We encourage you to continue supporting us as we strive to reach our goal of $10,000. Thankyou to all who have donated so far.
Farewell from Dauphin, Manitoba!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Land of the living skies
Welcome to the Great Canadian Praries, where the skies come alive, grass fields reach out to the horizon, and the cows roam unfree. Nine days ago, we waved goodbye to the mountains, and within a day found ourselves in a landscape of fields, farms, infrequent towns (if you can call a convenience store, campsite, church and a few houses a "town"), and not much else. The praries are consistent, flat, open, windy, and after full days of riding with nothing around us having changed, they seem to never end.
Here's a summary of our travels since we left Canmore over a week ago:
Canmore to Camp Chief Hector, where we visited Brad's sister who is working there as a counsellor - 40km
Camp Chief Hector to Okotoks, where we stayed with Brad's second cousin and managed to avoid the ferocious storm that swept through much of Alberta, causing family and friends back home to worry - 140km
Okotoks to Drumheller, where we visited the Royal Tyrell Museum and the hoodoos in the Alberta "badlands" - 170km (we were tired)
Drumheller to Big Stone - 120km
Big Stone to Alsask, which as the name suggests, is basically on the border of Alberta and Saskatchewan - 110km
Alsask to Rosetown, featuring government-subsidized dollar ice creams, which has become a staple food in our diet - 150km
Rosetown to Saskatoon - 115km (although it felt like 30, as a strong tailwind pushed us all the way in under 4 hours, with an average speed of 30km/hr). We are currently taking a rest day in Saskatoon, where we are staying with Steph's cousin, a PhD student at the University of Saskatchewan.
This is my first visit to Saskatchewan, and so far I have no complaints to speak of. The people are friendly and extremely talkative, which doesn't surprise me, given that most people we have met live in towns with populations around 100, and seeing a new face doesn't happen everyday. Populations above 3000 are rare around here, with numbers dropping as more and more people leave the calm rural life for the hustle-bustle of the city. (As a side note, I missed the excitement of the city until we arrived in Saskatoon and found ourselves amongst swarms of cars, people, buildings and lights, and then I didn't miss it so much anymore). Just recently, it was announced that over 50% of the worlds population now lives in cities, and I fear that this number will only go up with time. But the rural life will always prevail in Saskatchewan, where the economy and society is centered around agriculture. Seriously, that's even all the radio talks about.
I'd like to write a bit about moods, a strange human phenomena that has been a significant part of our trip, and one that I have spent some time contemplating. Moods are funny. They can change so quickly, but once you're in a mood, you find yourself stuck there, and even if you want to get out of it, something prevents you from doing so. (I'm trying to figure out what this something is. If you have any ideas, please post a comment.) Being in a group affects your mood alot. Some days, we are all grumpy, for no reason except that everyone else is grumpy. Our moods change with the wind, hunger levels, time of day, or when we reach or miss a goal. Our moods vary more than anything you can find in the prairies. As my bad moods are highlighted, while the good moods are taken for granted, I attempt to realize the root cause of each, and gain some self-awareness as to how these can be more controlled.
That's all for now. Please add comments on Saskatchewan, moods, or whatever else your heart desires - we love reading them. Tomorrow, we start inching towards our next goal: Dauphin, Manitoba, where we will stay with a friend's mother. From there will reach Winnipeg and into Ontario, a monster of a province that we are all dreading and looking forward to at the same time. Thank you to all who are supporting us back home. All your thoughts are keeping us going.
Peace,
Meg and Rob
In Drumheller, the 'badlands' were carved by a huge river which formed at the end of the last ice age.
Meg and I at the hoodoo's, slightly upset as the pictures made them look about ten times taller than they are.
Yeah, two down!
Here's a summary of our travels since we left Canmore over a week ago:
Canmore to Camp Chief Hector, where we visited Brad's sister who is working there as a counsellor - 40km
Camp Chief Hector to Okotoks, where we stayed with Brad's second cousin and managed to avoid the ferocious storm that swept through much of Alberta, causing family and friends back home to worry - 140km
Okotoks to Drumheller, where we visited the Royal Tyrell Museum and the hoodoos in the Alberta "badlands" - 170km (we were tired)
Drumheller to Big Stone - 120km
Big Stone to Alsask, which as the name suggests, is basically on the border of Alberta and Saskatchewan - 110km
Alsask to Rosetown, featuring government-subsidized dollar ice creams, which has become a staple food in our diet - 150km
Rosetown to Saskatoon - 115km (although it felt like 30, as a strong tailwind pushed us all the way in under 4 hours, with an average speed of 30km/hr). We are currently taking a rest day in Saskatoon, where we are staying with Steph's cousin, a PhD student at the University of Saskatchewan.
This is my first visit to Saskatchewan, and so far I have no complaints to speak of. The people are friendly and extremely talkative, which doesn't surprise me, given that most people we have met live in towns with populations around 100, and seeing a new face doesn't happen everyday. Populations above 3000 are rare around here, with numbers dropping as more and more people leave the calm rural life for the hustle-bustle of the city. (As a side note, I missed the excitement of the city until we arrived in Saskatoon and found ourselves amongst swarms of cars, people, buildings and lights, and then I didn't miss it so much anymore). Just recently, it was announced that over 50% of the worlds population now lives in cities, and I fear that this number will only go up with time. But the rural life will always prevail in Saskatchewan, where the economy and society is centered around agriculture. Seriously, that's even all the radio talks about.
I'd like to write a bit about moods, a strange human phenomena that has been a significant part of our trip, and one that I have spent some time contemplating. Moods are funny. They can change so quickly, but once you're in a mood, you find yourself stuck there, and even if you want to get out of it, something prevents you from doing so. (I'm trying to figure out what this something is. If you have any ideas, please post a comment.) Being in a group affects your mood alot. Some days, we are all grumpy, for no reason except that everyone else is grumpy. Our moods change with the wind, hunger levels, time of day, or when we reach or miss a goal. Our moods vary more than anything you can find in the prairies. As my bad moods are highlighted, while the good moods are taken for granted, I attempt to realize the root cause of each, and gain some self-awareness as to how these can be more controlled.
That's all for now. Please add comments on Saskatchewan, moods, or whatever else your heart desires - we love reading them. Tomorrow, we start inching towards our next goal: Dauphin, Manitoba, where we will stay with a friend's mother. From there will reach Winnipeg and into Ontario, a monster of a province that we are all dreading and looking forward to at the same time. Thank you to all who are supporting us back home. All your thoughts are keeping us going.
Peace,
Meg and Rob
In Drumheller, the 'badlands' were carved by a huge river which formed at the end of the last ice age.
Meg and I at the hoodoo's, slightly upset as the pictures made them look about ten times taller than they are.
Yeah, two down!
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Pictures!!
Biking above the Okanagan valley, with Kelowna below (we took the loooong route there...but ended up getting a great view).
One province down, baby! (Check out Brad's height on that jump!)
Lake Louise was still partially frozen when we visited it on May 28th after crossing the Continental Divide.
Rob biking the Bow Valley Trail, from Lake Louise to Canmore, May 29th.
Meghan swinging over the Bow valley on a giant swing hidden in the forest.
The sheer bliss of the mountains...
The grizzly that spent some time outside our campite in Lake Louise. An electric fence seen in the foreground is the only thing that kept us safe.
Elk seen on the Bow Valley Trail, where wildlife sightings are frequent. Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Over the great divide
We're through B.C. It's been eleven days since we left Vancouver, and we've cycled across one of the most physically challenging provinces of the country.
Ah, the mountains. So exciting, so dramatic, so unforgiving. A couple days ago, as I was grinding up yet another monstrous hill (only to reach the top, enjoy a brief downhill, and start up again), I became fully aware of where I was situated in space. To my right was a cliff, dropping prehaps 300m to the Colombia river, forming the base of the valley below. To my left was another cliff, this one looming straight up to a peak beyond my vision. A net-like wire contraption covered the rock surface to prevent tumbling shale from falling onto the road, and it was a good thing too, as I happened to witness a minor avalache during my ascent.
Such are the mountains. I have developed a love/hate relationship with their mysterious, powerful character: every climb I loathe, until I reach the top, when I realize that it was all worth it as I bask in the exhilaration of the downhill. But until yesterday, when we waved goodbye to B.C., the ups and downs didn't balance out. Since my last blog, our days have primarily been composed of ascents, as we got closer and closer to (literally) the highest point of our trip: the top of Kicking Horse Pass, the point where the streams either turn towards the Atlantic or the Pacific, and the border between B.C. and Alberta: the Continental Divide.
It was pretty anti-climatic, to tell you the truth. There was nothing to mark the great divide, to my dismay. Not even the passes did it for us - after so many horror stories of Rogers Pass, we were surprised to find a climb minor in comparison to others that receive no recognition. But as we rode past the sign that marked our entry into Alberta, I felt a kind of melancholy towards B.C. So sparsely-populated and full of wilderness, B.C. is a reminder of what Canada used to be, before humans came along, and what it can still be, if we remember what it means to live in harmony with nature.
Alberta is pretty cool, too, but just not the same. Almost instantly upon entering, you arrive in Lake Louise, a town built for tourists, and every town or city since than has seemed to be centered around the same thing. Nevertheless, we are still in wild country: already we have seen numerous mountain goat, elk, deer, and last night, a grizzly and two cubs, in frighteningly close proximity to our campsite.
After almost two weeks of riding, we have fallen into a daily rhythm that naturally carries us through our days. It goes like this: wake up, put away sleeping bags, pads, and tent; dress, eat, pack up bike. Ride for 5-8 hours, stopping periodically to eat, buy groceries, use toilet facilities. Begin to look for a campsite. Ride to get to campsite. Unpack, set up tent, eat. Cook if it's your night to do so, otherwise stretch, read, talk, wander. When dinner is ready, eat, drink tea, chat, read, go to bed. Get up, and do the same thing all over again.
It's the simplicity of our daily routine that I love the most. We spend all day, every day outside. I have a short, glove, t-shirt and sunglasses tan already, and they will only get darker as the summer goes on, a full body tattoo to prove our journey. As my legs get stronger, riding is getting easier. Hills are no longer the struggle they once were, and although I am still exhausted at the end of the day, I am always ready to get on the bike again in the morning, after sleep restores my energy...the deepest sleeps of my life.
Ah, the mountains. So exciting, so dramatic, so unforgiving. A couple days ago, as I was grinding up yet another monstrous hill (only to reach the top, enjoy a brief downhill, and start up again), I became fully aware of where I was situated in space. To my right was a cliff, dropping prehaps 300m to the Colombia river, forming the base of the valley below. To my left was another cliff, this one looming straight up to a peak beyond my vision. A net-like wire contraption covered the rock surface to prevent tumbling shale from falling onto the road, and it was a good thing too, as I happened to witness a minor avalache during my ascent.
Such are the mountains. I have developed a love/hate relationship with their mysterious, powerful character: every climb I loathe, until I reach the top, when I realize that it was all worth it as I bask in the exhilaration of the downhill. But until yesterday, when we waved goodbye to B.C., the ups and downs didn't balance out. Since my last blog, our days have primarily been composed of ascents, as we got closer and closer to (literally) the highest point of our trip: the top of Kicking Horse Pass, the point where the streams either turn towards the Atlantic or the Pacific, and the border between B.C. and Alberta: the Continental Divide.
It was pretty anti-climatic, to tell you the truth. There was nothing to mark the great divide, to my dismay. Not even the passes did it for us - after so many horror stories of Rogers Pass, we were surprised to find a climb minor in comparison to others that receive no recognition. But as we rode past the sign that marked our entry into Alberta, I felt a kind of melancholy towards B.C. So sparsely-populated and full of wilderness, B.C. is a reminder of what Canada used to be, before humans came along, and what it can still be, if we remember what it means to live in harmony with nature.
Alberta is pretty cool, too, but just not the same. Almost instantly upon entering, you arrive in Lake Louise, a town built for tourists, and every town or city since than has seemed to be centered around the same thing. Nevertheless, we are still in wild country: already we have seen numerous mountain goat, elk, deer, and last night, a grizzly and two cubs, in frighteningly close proximity to our campsite.
After almost two weeks of riding, we have fallen into a daily rhythm that naturally carries us through our days. It goes like this: wake up, put away sleeping bags, pads, and tent; dress, eat, pack up bike. Ride for 5-8 hours, stopping periodically to eat, buy groceries, use toilet facilities. Begin to look for a campsite. Ride to get to campsite. Unpack, set up tent, eat. Cook if it's your night to do so, otherwise stretch, read, talk, wander. When dinner is ready, eat, drink tea, chat, read, go to bed. Get up, and do the same thing all over again.
It's the simplicity of our daily routine that I love the most. We spend all day, every day outside. I have a short, glove, t-shirt and sunglasses tan already, and they will only get darker as the summer goes on, a full body tattoo to prove our journey. As my legs get stronger, riding is getting easier. Hills are no longer the struggle they once were, and although I am still exhausted at the end of the day, I am always ready to get on the bike again in the morning, after sleep restores my energy...the deepest sleeps of my life.
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