Before I begin my story; I would like to pay particular acknowledgement to the Young Life Riders who, on my second day of travels, I met up with in Oliver on a break between legs in their annual journey around the Similkameen terrain of the southern interior. These are hero’s of mine; each one riding for the single cause of raising money for our youth and it was fitting that we crossed paths, I felt, as I was at one time, a beneficiary to their cause; they made a world of difference when raising my eldest son Dylan and I am forever grateful to them. Godspeed Young Life riders! My thoughts were with you continually on my little adventure.

The Ride.

“What have I got myself into?” I think to myself as I curve right at the junction onto Highway 3a. I have just ascended the first leg of my trip; straddling sections of the 97 which yield only 18 inches of shoulder between my bike and whatever monstrous vehicle has whizzed by me. Most of these drivers are courteous and extend a wide birth as they pass but others, it seems, deliberately lean into the shoulder and accelerate; sucking me into their draft, causing my already precarious load to shudder slightly off balance. I worried a little about this portion of my ride and how my bike would respond with the weight of my knapsack. All it would take is one piece of poorly placed road debris and my tires would slip out from under my bike; causing me to tumble into traffic and that would be the end of my trip; and perhaps even me. I’ve never heard it happen on the 97, but, then again, few riders traverse this section of road with their bikes overloaded with camping gear.

I made it to the junction, thank God, but with highway 97 now behind me, something else began to worry me: I was beginning to develop an acute case saddle pain. I haven’t done many long rides this summer as I have mainly focused my training on graduating hills, but the longer rides I did partake in, I noticed a small pain in the left side of my groin area, perhaps a pinched nerve or something. I didn’t think much of it at the time as I thought the pain would subside as I progressed through my ride, but here I was, not even an hour in and the pain was there, and it seemed to be getting worse, not better. I purchased a saddle cover at Value Village yesterday, thinking this would alleviate the problem, and although it made a slight difference, it did little to subdue the pain. My groin was beginning to throb and I still had a 775 meter slope to ascend before I passed Twin Lakes and then into Keremeos where I could rest a little, but that was still 25 kilometers away. I then had a 22 kilometer stretch along the Crowsnest highway, capped off by a 10 km climb up the formidable Richters pass. I began to doubt my decision to embark on this little personal challenge and I wondered if I’d be forced to bow out early. What a crushing blow that would be to my ego; a defeat here on the road would put a nail in the coffin of a very important part of my identity. I can’t quit now. I won’t quit….

And that was my mantra as I struggled up highway 3a; at each turn appeared a steeper and longer climb. An endless series of grades which seemed to have no end. I do not remember this section of road being so long and arduous and how many times have I driven it? Seventeen winters and summers, at least, I have navigated this route on my way to the Hope-Princeton and never did I pay attention to the nature of the road. I suppose that would be a lesson on how disconnected we are from our environment as we zip through countryside’s within the safety of our modern vehicles and one of the reasons why I wanted to go on this trip so badly. There is no better way to experience the road then from a human powered bicycle; every crack and bump in the asphalt, every hill, every curve and even the smell. I never knew what the highway smelled like! Whiffs of cedar and burnt grass mixed with lingering smoke residue from summer fires entered my nostrils each time I inhaled deeply, panting rhythmically as I pumped my pedals in unison to my breathing pattern. This is one discipline I have mastered; through the hills of my summer rides, my lung capacity, despite the poor air quality, had improved exponentially.

By around 1:00 pm I drifted into Bears Fruit stand, just a little outside of Keremeos, and stocked up on water; there were a lot of kilometers between here and the next store and it was important for me to keep up my hydration. I had almost a full bottle of Gatorade, which I was conserving for the final push up Richters pass along with a cliff bar, a fruit squeeze and some Waterbridge sours for immediate energy; I will be needing all of the help I can get during my 10 kilometer ride up the mountain. This is the 75 km mark on the Ironman course which athletes do not look forward too. Approaching it from the other side, I will be ascending a section which triathletes are usually descending: feet off the pedals, full out, tucked in reaching speeds up to 70 km/hr. With certain parts of the incline reaching a back breaking 9% grade and with my heavy knapsack, I will be taking my time up this monster; I plan to stop for breaks at intervals and work my way up gradually; my only opponent being the mental enemy in my head that will want to dismount and walk the bike up. It’ll be a good spar I am sure; but I plan on winning that fight, I am determined to ride every last inch of this slog even if it kills me.

After a lunch consisting of an Almond butter and banana sandwich and an overly tart apple which wasn’t so appealing; I checked my phone for the weather forecast and my spirit dropped when I saw rain beginning at 2:00 pm and then continuing, pretty much all night! “SHIT, seriously...?!” That would be around the time when I would be ascending the mountain. “Well, I’d better get on with it! Perhaps I can beat some of the storm if I ride fast enough.” Wishful thinking.

My cadence alternated from medium to high as I traversed against the wind along the highway; the sun slowly disappearing behind an overcast sky sending a slight chill through my body. I stopped a little ways up and put on my long sleeve thermal shirt in preparation for the cool rain and then the next few kilometers were a struggle exploring various seat positions in order to take some of the pressure off my derriere. The pain was beginning to refer down through my left leg and my foot would lose feeling on the occasion. I found the best position was leaning far back so that my center of gravity focused my pubis bones against the back of the seat. I looked pretty foolish sitting upright with my arms stretched out and my fingers tips barely touching my handle bars on a road bike, but, I didn’t care. My goal was to get to Haynes point as quick as I could so I could lay in my tent and nurse my sore body with a cider and a bag of kettle chips. A treat I had packed; reserved for the end of the day.

In the weeks before my ride, as I prepared my body and mind for the grueling task that lay ahead, I envisioned this long section of relatively flat highway as being the most enjoyable. It would be a time where I could pedal along without much effort and enjoy the landscape; while I let my mind freely ponder the universe and it’s serene connection to my surroundings. How wrong I was! I was so damned uncomfortable, all I could think about was adjusting my hand and saddle positions and how long it would be until my next break. The hills, at least, offered some distraction from the throbbing ache in my left buttocks and leg. The long highway that stretched before me, with the latest sign stating 32 km to Osoyoos, only brought more cusses and gasps as I struggled along at my snails pace. And then the rain started. It started and stopped and then 15 km down the road, it started up again once I’d arrived at the sign that read “Osoyoos 18 km”.

“Headway, finally!” I yelled out loud into an empty field.

I dismounted my bike and took a well earned swig of Gatorade, breathed in my surroundings and snapped a couple of photos of myself with the sign in the background. I noticed now, since the rain had dampened the landscape, a new scent filled my senses. It reminded me of wet fur as if I were sniffing the Hyde of a smelly wild animal; which then brought me to a disturbing thought: Through the miles of road already travelled along this, somewhat, isolated section of highway, there were intervals when line’s of vehicles would swoosh by, spraying fresh rain off the asphalt into my bare shins. Then there would be an unearthly pause of dead silence, as the traffic disappeared, with not even the gentle rustling sound of a light breeze through the grass. It was in this silence that I found myself completely and entirely alone. Alone and vulnerable. My mind began to play tricks on me: What if a bear would now saunter out of the woods at this very moment, or worse, a cougar leapt from the rocky face of the mountainside to my left? It would not be unreasonable to think that wild predators do reside in these rocks and that you, yes you, solitary travelling man, might make an easy catch for a hungry animal, now perched high on a rock, observing you, waiting for just the right time to pounce…

I shivered at such thoughts, and so I quickly mounted my saddle, longing for the company of another line of cars to come racing down the road. I ignored the pain in my groin and sped away as fast as I could, realizing how futile my attempt would be to escape from a predator in chase, with my cumbersome cargo on my thin wheels, rain pelting toward me and now, at the foot of a long climb. I noticed, not far in the pastures, a couple of healthy bulls grazing in the dry grass and thought: Okay, those cows look a hell of a lot tastier than me; surely any sane predator would pass up the bike man for those tasty morsels. Suddenly I was very grateful for the cows; truly the more robust and healthy of our differing species. And thankfully so.

The beginning of Richters pass is a rollercoaster of hills and It tantalizes the rider with the false feeling that he is gaining altitude, only to lose it again as he descends back into the valley, peering up again at another formidable slope. Finally he comes to the foot of the real antagonizer and by then he is already tired. And here it was that I wrapped my brain around the formidable task in front of me. The final push before I could descend into the promised land where I can finally rest in the safe confines of my small tent. I longed for it; it’s the only thing I cared about at this particular moment in time.

After another swig of warm Gatorade, a banana fruit squeeze and half a cliff bar, I stretched my limbs against a dilapidated wooden fence and then mounted my bike, understanding full well that I was in for a long, painful climb. Mentally I was prepared and if mind over matter were the essence of determination, then my body would follow, I knew that, and so I pushed hard down on my left pedal and attacked the mountain in front of me…

It was 3:44 pm when I began my ascent and by 4:32 I’d made it past Spotted lake before finally summitting the pass. Red faced and gasping for air, I took a moment to breath it all in before I began the 7 km free fall to the bottom. I let out a weak victory cry, and then off I went, pulsing my brakes on the way down so I didn’t pick up too much speed on the wet pavement. At one point my sun shades fell off my chest strap, so, I had to brake hard, turn back up and fetch them before they were crushed by oncoming traffic. By the time I had reached the bottom of the hill, my legs were aching unbearably and everything on me was soaked through from driving rain. At 4:47 pm I rested on a rock next to the “Welcome to Osoyoos” sign. I was almost there; the most difficult part of my trip was behind me. All I had to do now was locate Haynes point, set up camp, eat, sleep and make sure my tires stayed healthy for the remaining distance to camp and then for the 70 kilometer trip home tomorrow. Raw determination would help push me through the pain of my next leg and by tomorrow afternoon, I would be home. My 170 km bike loop in the bag. Or so I’d thought…

I checked the GPS on my phone and it gave me clear coordinates to Haynes point: 6 kilometers south; a 19 minute trip by bicycle and a note at the bottom of the screen which read: mainly flat terrain “Oh YES!!” I yelled, catching myself a little off-guard with my impromptu outburst. Flat is good right about now! But first, I needed to find a place where I could purchase a foam mat for sleeping and a bottle of water. I coasted my bike a little ways down and to my left I spotted, what looked like a new Home Hardware store. I pulled in, docked up to a bike rack and then fastened my brand new combination lock through my rear wheel and into the rack. I released the Velcro straps from my handlebar satchel, which carried my phone and my wallet and entered the store. As one would assume, it was all nails, hammers, wood and one employee wearing an apron and a checkered shirt. Nope. Nothing I need here, as I glanced down the isles.

I exited the store and squinted in disbelief as I approached my bike: Is that a freeking flat!? What the…How could it be that I could ride 96 kilometers, covering some of the toughest road bike terrain in the Southern Interior and here, with only a few kilometers to go, parked, I get a flat!? And then I realized how fortunate I probably was that it didn’t happen earlier, while I was speeding down the mountain pushing 50-60 km/hour. Perhaps I should lighten up and be a little more grateful that I am here and in one piece. Still, I was in no mood for this.

I proceeded to unlock my bike, flip it on it’s back and then went to work replacing the inner tube just as the rain began to come down. Of course, it would rain now! Luckily, that morning I had purchased a new tube from a bike shop in Penticton, so I was in business. Unluckily, it was the incorrect tube with the wrong sized valve, so I reached into my handy cache of repair equipment and pulled out another one. This one I’d purchased at Canadian Tire before the summer and I prayed the clerk on duty at that time knew what they were doing. Sure enough, they did. It fit- THANK GOD! I successfully replaced my tube, refit my wheel back onto my bike and headed for camp. I’ll go without a sleeping pad tonight and figure out the water thing when I get there.

The campsite was beautiful, although in all honesty, it could have been a city dump and I wouldn’t have cared; I just wanted to set up my tent and get off my legs, lay flat and stare at the tent ceiling all night. All but 30 minutes later, I was there; laying stretched out on top of my sleeping bag using my empty knapsack as a pillow, inside of my tent, happy as bliss. I could not believe what I had accomplished that day: over a 100 km of cycling over two mountain ranges in the rain while wearing an 18lb knapsack, solo. I felt like I had gotten a proverbial monkey off my back and I know now what it feels like to be set free with a destination in mind, to move forward across a broad variety of landscapes, entirely reliant on my own muscles with everything I needed to survive tucked into a knapsack and a small satchel. How great explorers such as Colin and Julie Angus, Tori Holmes and Paul Gleeson and even the remarkable 70 year old John Crouch did it, day after day for as long as they did, I will never know. This was the hardest, yet most exhilarating experience I have ever had and I don’t know, apart from my 70 kilometer trip home tomorrow, if I will ever need to test these waters again.

As the daylight faded and the rain pattered down on the walls of my tent, I set up my little stove on the ground just outside of the door zipper. I boiled my noodles and cracked open my Naramata Pear cider along with my potato chips. Sitting in that tent, I realized I had found what I set out for: Just a small moment of time away from the chaotic division of todays world where nothing mattered except for what was occurring now. I was pleased with myself; a happy and accomplished man, fully at ease and ready to let the experiences of the day fade into a memory now registering into my subconscious for a later time. A day, perhaps when things may not be as rosy, where I will extract it, like I was pulling a dusty old book off of a library shelf, and It will inspire me to press heavily down on the pedal of life and attack whatever mountain may be in front of me.

To be continued….