White Rock, BC to Coupeville, WA

border crossing

I woke up outside on the futon looking up at a clear, blue sky.  I went inside for 10 minutes and came back out to an overcast, gray sky.  What just happened?  Mike and Michelle told me it was normal for the area.

I said goodbye to the crew and headed for the border a few miles away.  People told me that getting into Canada was easy…getting back was another story.  US border agents at the Canadian border were infamous for being huge jerks.  I wondered if I would encounter an asshole.

I cycled up to the pedestrian entrance at the border and went inside the office.  A border agent went outside and searched my bags.  He came back in and called me back up with a menacing look in his face.  His superior was standing next to him.  I looked down at his hand.  Shit.  My bag of fruit.  I forgot I was carrying it.  You can’t bring fruit and vegetables across the border.  If you are carrying fruits or veggies without informing the border agent, it’s an automatic $300 fine.  No no no.  I had butterflies.  I couldn’t afford that.

His superior asked, “You know you can’t bring this stuff across the border?”

Gulp.  “Sorry about that,” I said in a meek voice.

“Well don’t be sorry!  Know the rules,” he forcibly said to me as he walked off.  Luckily, I received no fine since it was my first time crossing the border back into the US.  Whew.

back to cheap food

I was happy to be back in the US.  I was getting sick of getting ripped off in BC by restaurants and grocery stores.  30% instant markdown as soon as I crossed the border.  I celebrated by stopping at a Little Caesar’s 20 miles into Washington in the town of Ferndale.  I ordered a large pepperoni pizza and ate it in about 5 minutes.

My first day of riding in Washington was fantastic.  All of the buildings in the small coastal towns were uniform and made of brick.  Everyone was out walking around town, and the towns were void of any huge chains.  I rode along Chuckanut Ridge, a hilly highway in a forest southwest of Bellingham.

racing the sun

I stopped to call some cyclist contacts I had in Mt. Vernon, 25 miles away.  Failure.  I had been calling them for a few days and kept having trouble reaching them.  Oh well.  I’ll leap frog my destination and give Elizabeth a call.  She was a friend that I grew up with in Georgia.  Elizabeth had contacted me a few days ago letting me know that her couch in Coupeville, WA was open to ugly, tired cyclists from Georgia.  She also said I could help out around the organic farm she lived/worked on.

I was happy that she picked up the phone.  She told me to come on by.  I looked at my map.  I would have to do 50+ miles before it got dark.  I was up for the challenge.

Before I left the Chuckanut area, I ran into two tourists enjoying the view at a cliff overlook.  I talked to them a while about my travels and shared a few of the stories.  They were really appreciative that I took the time to talk to them even though I had a pretty tough goal before sundown.  Mary and Jim gave me a few snacks, including the coolest chocolate bar ever.

Coupeville was located on Whidbey Island.  I would have to cycle out to a peninsula on the coast and cross over the water through Deception Pass State Park.  A very cool area.  Unfortunately, all of my electronics were dead or near-dead.  GPS.  Phone.  Camera.  Sorry…no beautiful picture of the sun setting on the Pacific.

I got to the farmhouse just as the remaining ambient light was fading.  I can’t believe I made it in such a short time.  I had pushed hard for the past 4.5 hours without a break longer than 10 seconds.

willowood farm

I was pumped to see a familiar face from Georgia.  I felt a little bit more grounded as I spent time talking to Elizabeth and her boyfriend Kevin that night.  Both of them had hiked the entire Appalachian Trail in six months consecutively.  It was a huge accomplishment, and I was eager to hear some of their stories about the trail and how it changed them.

They told me about a few of the good things people did for them along the way and all of the characters they encountered.  Their story was awfully similar to mine.  Kevin said, “We found out that we really enjoyed meeting the people…that’s what defined the places moreso than the geography.”  Sounded familiar.  I have been telling people the same thing.  Eoin summed it up nicely by saying this in one of his previous posts:

The fun and memorable part of travel is the experiences you have along the way – the people, the problems, and the challenges.

farm tour

Kevin and Elizabeth had the day off, so they took the time to give me a tour of the farm.  Georgie, the farm owner, lets interns stay in the upstairs portion of the farmhouse, which happens to be a ‘historic structure’ of the Ebey Land’s area.  Ebey’s Landing is the nation’s first historical reserve, created in 1978 to protect a rural working landscape and community on Central Whidbey Island.  It’s home to Washington’s second oldest town, Coupeville.

Not long into the tour, I met Bill, the master of farming machinery.  Kevin warned me that Bill would invite me to go sailing.  Sure enough, Bill asked if I was up for sailing.  It was an invitation I openly welcomed.  We made plans to go the next day around 5 PM and grill up some food on the boat.

garlic party…throw your hands up in the air

Georgie was throwing a huge garlic cleaning party that night for any volunteers that would come.  Beer and pizza were provided.  Kevin did the manliest thing a farmer could do:  bake brownies.

We watched possibly one of the worst movies I have seen on this trip.  Trust me…I’ve seen some terrible movies along the way.  Charles, Georgie’s husband, wanted to watch it pretty badly.  No one had the heart to step up and tell him it was not very entertaining.  The name of the movie was The Commitments, an early 90s comedy about the formation of an Irish soul group.  I’m surprised I even remember the plot line without having to google it.  I think I enjoyed cleaning garlic more.

After this huge cinematic letdown, Run Fat Boy Run was placed into the DVD player.  I voted for Flight of the Navigator.  Willow, Elizabeth and Kevin’s roommate, was the only one who had my back.  We were both shut down.  Run Fat Boy Run ended up being pretty good though.

intern for a day

I decided to help out around the farm for the day and try to learn a few things about working on a big organic farm.  The day’s chores included weeding all the onion rows and planting a bunch of seedlings.  It was a pretty tough day, but the weather was quite nice.

We all passed the time by reminescing about really bad 90s bands and singing their lyrics.  Third Eye Blind killed about 30 minutes for us.

I’m packed and I’m holding,
I’m smiling, she’s living, she’s golden and
she lives for me, She says she lives for me,
Ovation, She’s got her own motivation,
she comes round and she goes down on me…
I want something else, to get me through this,
Semi-charmed kind of life,
I want something else,
I’m not listening when you say, Good-bye.

And then Smash Mouth killed another 30 minutes.  It was the same song Eoin and I obsessed over during our ride in east Texas, and now it was haunting me again.  I couldn’t remember the tune or the lyrics until Willow saved me.

And then we made a really stupid rap about broccoli.  Kevin was wrapping a row of broccoli seedlings back toward the ‘planters’ (Elizabeth, Willow, and I), and it spawned the worst rap song of all time:

Do the broccoli wrap, wrap, wrap, wrap,
Don’t put them on the map, map, map, map
Put them in the soil to make them feel royal,
So they will not boil, cook them in oil,
Do not toil, do the broccoli wrap, wrap, wrap, wrap.

captain ryan

I was pretty excited to get to Bill’s sailboat which was docked in Coupeville.  After working a few more hours outside, we made our way to the docks.  His boat was pretty incredible…43 feet with well-maintained wooden structure.  Willow got started on the salmon while the rest of us drank beer.

Eventually Bill got drunk and wanted to go sit inside.  He appointed me as Captain.  I appointed a farm day-worker, Eric, to be my first mate.  Tucker was my second mate.  Kevin wanted to commit mutiny.  I think he was jealous of my position.  I sent him towards the front to swab the deck.  I would have no dissent on my boat.  To speak in such a way was treason.

I became cocky in my Captain position and yelled, “TACK! TAAAAAAAAACK!”  Bill came up wondering what the hell we were doing.  I didn’t know, so I blamed Kevin, the true experienced sailor.  We told Bill we were tacking to change our direction, and he showed us idiots how to change the sail.  We tacked successfully, and I felt like a new man.

After relaxing in the hull of the boat for a while, Bill came up and asked, “OK, what idiot wants to steer the boat now?”  I volunteered Elizabeth for the job, for I was no idiot.

Another guy named Nate that had worked on the farm that day was also hanging out on the boat with us.  We told him about our broccoli song, and out of nowhere he shared a long rap song that he wrote about parsley.  Weird, creepy coincidence.  His rap was definitely cooler.

We eventually got back to the docks and left Bill at the docks with the boat.  He went out to anchor in the water and fell asleep.

Vancouver, BC to White Rock, BC

lots of bridges

I wasn’t looking forward to getting out of Vancouver.  It was a pain to get out of New Orleans, and that only involved one big waterway.  To leave this city, I’d have to cross multiple bridges.  I started out on a fairly busy road until someone yelled at me to get on a bike route.  In Vancouver, they have ‘bicycle friendly’ roads.  You know this because the street signs have green bicycle logos.

Crossing the bridges actually turned out to be pretty easy.  Most of the smaller bridges were cyclist-friendly and had sidewalks dedicated to bicycles.  I’m confident in saying that the roadways in Vancouver are much more superior to any of those in any Southern city.  Traffic was always flowing, and public transit was efficient.  It also helped that the city supported bicycling.  You’d have a hard time finding a sign with a bicycle logo imploring people to ’share the road’ in Atlanta.

white rock

My destination for the day was White Rock, a town that sat near the US/Canada border.  I would be staying with Dave Cutts’ friend Mike.  I guess I was milking Dave for all the contacts he had.  I rolled up in the early afternoon and hung out with Mike, his girl Michelle, and his two roommates, Corey and Dave.  We hung out for a while talking.  Corey was a fellow southerner from Kentucky, and Dave used to be a pro kite surfer.  Mike worked for the guy who owned the house they lived in.  Cutts had told that Mike worked in the ‘motion picture business’.  Oh, OK.  Wink, wink.  The porn industry.  They probably film really hot, erotic movies upstairs.  Maybe Corey and Dave were the actors.

I awkwardly asked him, “So, the porn industry, right?”  I was wrong.  Mike did camera and special effects stuff for movies.  The huge tale I had created in my head was way off.  Oh well.

Mike, Michelle, and I went to the White Rock docks to get a picture of me with my bike board.  I didn’t ride with a message that day because I couldn’t think of anything.  Mike, however, had this vision of me jumping on the dock with people walking in the background.  I gave the board and a marker to Corey and let him have his way with it.  This was the result.

Later that evening, Corey and I went to a beach bar.  We left Dave, tired from the previous weekend’s big camping trip, snoring loudly with Terminator blaring on the TV.  I felt ridiculous going to a bar with Corey.  He had cool hair and clothes.  I had stupid looking clothes and unkempt facial hair.  The bar had pitchers for $16.  OK…the beer was probably a good micro-brew.  Wrong.  It was Budweiser.  Watered down beer was ridiculously expensive in Canada.  Corey paid for two pitchers, and we partied all night long…dancing the night away.

Chilliwack, BC to Vancouver, BC

am i supposed to be on this road?

Peter and I left the house at 5 AM.  He told me he’d drop me off near his workplace, which is close to Highway 1.  I asked him if it was OK to cycle to Vancouver the entire way on the highway, and he said, “Yeah, I don’t see why not.  I see people do it all the time.  I used to.”

He bought me McDonald’s for breakfast and sent me on my way.  I wanted to give him a big slobbery kiss goodbye, but I was scared that he’d pound me into the ground.  I settled for a big man hug.

My route would take me on 40 miles of freeway into Vancouver…during rush hour.  I was getting a lot of draft due to the amount of traffic flying by me.  When the cars started getting packed in, I started questioning whether I was permitted to cycle on this highway.  I kept going anyways.  I had no other option.  It was this highway or the US/Canada border.

saved by the DOT

I pulled up to Port Mann Bridge and looked on with horror.  How the hell was this going to happen?  There was no shoulder.  The side view mirrors of passing cars were nearly scraping the cement walls.  Plus there was a bumper to bumper traffic.  Certain death.

I walked backwards over my bike as cars continued to fly by.  I had no room to turn around and walk forwards.  I caught a glimpse of the sidewalk.  It was 12 inches wide, used only as an emergency bridge crossing.  Nope.  Not happening.  I stood over my bike once more and stared at the bridge in horror.  This was the only option I had.  I was about to pedal forward towards the bridge when I heard a honk.

A big Department of Transportation truck drove up from the access ramp to the bridge and blared its horn.  A bearded, burly driver hopped out of the truck.  I walked up to him with fear in my eyes.

“Do you want to die today?” he forcibly asked.  Does this man want to kill me, or is he saying this because crossing the bridge is suicide?  It was the latter I assumed.

“No,” I stuttered with a quivering voice.   “A f-f-few cyclists told me it was OK.”  It was true.  I heard it from a few other cyclists along the way.

“Well, it’s not.  You can get a $150 fine from the RCMP [Royal Canadian Mounted Police] for riding on this freeway,” he said.  “Plus, you would probably end up in a body bag crossing that bridge.  Throw your stuff in the back of the truck and I’ll take you over to Lougheed.  You can ride that into the city.”

He drove me across the bridge to Lougheed Highway and dropped me off at an interesting spot.  Some stupid looking white guy was getting arrested by four police officers.  I pictured myself in this poor guy’s predicament…getting arrested for crossing the Port Mann Bridge.

vancouver

I cycled Lougheed Highway about 10 miles into the city.  I soon found out drivers gave you no room here.  I also learned that other cyclists don’t take the time to talk to one another.  I actually felt stupid trying to talk to a fellow cyclist…

I pulled up to a stoplight alongside another cyclist.  I removed my iPod earbuds, turned my head, and started to speak.  I was mid-sentence when the light turned green.  He took off.  I looked stupid.  I had gotten used to stopping on the road and talking to other cyclists.  I was a country mouse in the big city.  A stupid country mouse.  Evidently cyclists were a normal sight.

My bike board might have scared the cyclist off.  I replaced ‘Carmen San Diego’ with ‘Waldo’.  I got zero reactions from people.  Did no one remember trying to find Waldo and screaming out loud in frustration as your eyes stared for two hours at a ridiculous scenario with knights battling little green aliens?

I met up with Dave Cutts’ cousin Ryan who lived in Vancouver.  I’d be staying with him for a few nights while exploring the city.

t-rex in a kayak

Ryan and his girlfriend Beth were planning on going out to Granville Island and kayaking around the strait.  He said I should come along…his treat.  What hospitality.  Kayaking was expensive, but without hesitation he offered to pay.

After renting the kayaks, I clumsily climbed into the kayak.  Beth and Ryan took off no problem.  They kayaked regularly.  I bumped into the dock a few times and nearly planted the nose of the kayak into an expensive, docked boat.  I forgot I had foot pedals to control the rudder.  I was a dunderhead.

We got out into open water, and Ryan and Beth darted forward.  My arms have gotten little exercise since this bike trip.  With my scrawny, useless arms, I felt like a T-rex in a kayak.  I was struggling to stay within 50 yards of them.  Ryan and Beth would often stretch out and rest far ahead of me.  Damnit.  I was never able to do that.

My arms were burning.  There was no way in hell I could continue at this pace, but I didn’t want to complain.  Ryan was a tattoo artist, and he had just given himself a tattoo on his leg a few days ago.  He was tough.  Beth was tough too.  I was tired.  I had been cycling since 5 AM, but I didn’t want to cry in front of Ryan and Beth.

After two hours of kayaking, I burrowed my head into my life jacket and cried.  Cried and cried and cried.  And cried.  Ryan and Beth laughed and enjoyed the views.  They had their love to keep them strong.  Meanwhile, I had no arm strength.

biking, beaches, and babes

Ryan and I cycled in Stanley Park and formed an emo band on the beach.

I worked on my tan at the beach.  A group of girls were near us on the beach.  They were looking at me.  I momentarily thought I was attractive…until they started laughing.  I looked down.  Right.  My terrible tan line.  I stupidly smiled at them.  It happened a lot after that.  I think these girls were alerting all other girls on the beach.

I was suffering from a bruised ego, but Ryan and Beth convinced me to go to The Cambie, a dive bar in the downtown area.  At least I would have a shirt on.

Beth told me that she got really angry when she drank booz.  After a few beers, I agreed with her assessment.  She didn’t like a hipster girl in the patio section.  “I just don’t like her face,” she kept saying.

Ryan and I egged her on, stengthening her disdain for this poor, lonely hipster.  The girl was texting on her phone for what seemed like hours.  I didn’t mind her, but I dared not say that to Beth.  Poor, lonely girl.

Merritt, BC to Chilliwack, BC

more hills, more wind

I woke up 6:30 AM and felt good.  I had a full night’s sleep, which was occasionally interrupted by the hard flapping of my tent in the wind.  I looked on my GPS to see how far I’d have to go that day.  96 miles to Chilliwack.  Great.  And that wasn’t even a confirmed place to stay.  I would have to call Peter in the next town to see if it was OK if I could crash at his place.

The next town was 50 miles away.  There goes my morning poop in a toilet.  I made a makeshift toilet out of some rocks, read a bit of the funny paper, and went on my way.  That little spot had been good to me.  Absolutely no bugs.

I was eager to find out if there would be wind on my ride that morning.  Yes.  There was wind.  A lot of it.  During the ride, I saw signs that warned me of intense cross winds.  I wish.  They were intense head winds…all morning long.

It seemed like this road kept crawling uphill.  I wondered if it would ever end.  I was struggling to keep a decent pace, and when I didn’t think it could get any worse, it started to rain.  I was not happy, but I tried to keep positive.

coquihalla summit

I stopped at a rest station to regain my composure and eat lunch.  Nutella and bagels.  I saw a few familiar faces at this rest station.  One family that stopped to talk to me had previously stopped to say hello at a roadside spring in Jasper.  This made me happy, but what made me happier was a guy telling me that the Coquihalla summit was only 10 miles away.  After that, it’s a huge descent to  sea level.  I called Peter, and it went straight to voicemail.  I might make it to Chilliwack, but I still didn’t have a place secured.  Worse comes to worst, I’d just camp on the side of the highway again.

I killed off the remaining 10 miles to the summit pretty quickly.  At the top, I took a few pictures in the middle of a busy freeway.  Yayyyyy.

The next 25 miles were great, as I hardly had to pedal down the 10% declines.  The landscape quickly changes, and the fauna changed to that of a coastal rain forest.

peter should wear a cape

The decline eventually went flat.  It was 4:30  PM, and I was 15 miles out from Chilliwack.  I still didn’t know if Peter was cool with me crashing at his place.  I imagined him driving out to meet me on the highway to pick me up in his Lilydale truck.

There was no Lilydale truck.  But a small Subaru charged ahead of me and pulled off onto the shoulder.  Hmm.  I began braking to see if the driver was OK.  As I approached the back of the car, a big burly man popped out of the car.  It was Peter.  I had never been so happy to see such a big man on the side of the highway in my life.  We embraced, or I should say I embraced him.  Evidently Peter got my voicemail and realized how pathetic I sounded.  He decided to just drive out from Chilliwack to see how I was doing.

Peter popped on the bike rack and offered to give me a ride the rest of the way.  I accepted.  As I got into the car, Peter gave me a bag from Tim Horton’s.  Sandwich and a hot cup of soup.  Damn.  If I could fall in love with any man, it would be Peter.

Peter lived with his girlfriend Christine.  I asked if she was cool with me staying there that night, and he told me that she was a little uneasy upon telling her about me.  But Peter reassured her by telling her I was a good guy and said, “If he’s a psycho, we’ll just let him know he won’t be able to stay.”  Hmm.  I’ll try not to be a psycho.

Christine got home from work, and I put on my good ole boy from Georgia charm.  It worked.  She didn’t think I was a psycho, and she showed me where I’d be sleeping.  A bed.  Success!  Meanwhile, Peter was cooking up some steaks and preparing huge bowls of salad.  In the kitchen, he told me, “I love cooking!”

I laughed and said, “Well, I love eating your cooking.”  I laughed to myself.  Peter didn’t laugh.  I thought about it after I said it.  It didn’t make sense.  I haven’t eaten his cooking yet.  Plus the joke was stupid.  I guess that’s why I was laughing alone.

After dinner, Christine’s friend from Georgia came by.  She was a farm vet who liked to hunt, and she showed me a few pictures of her most recent kill:  a black bear.  I didn’t want to look at it.  Although I had just eaten a steak, I didn’t want to look at a dead, bloody bear.  I was a huge weeny.  She was more man than I could ever hope to be.  Oh well.

Kamloops, BC to Merritt, BC

wyoming in canada

I wanted to make it to Vancouver in three days, so I decided to change my route to cut off 50 miles.  This still meant three big days of riding.  I said goodbye to Lenard and Deanna, who loaded me up with fiber-rich cookies and trail mix.

The ride out of Kamloops was a pain in the ass.  I think I was standing up for a good four miles just to get out of the city.  It probably didn’t help that I chose to ride out of the city on a road called Summit Drive.  I was praying that I’d have the wind at my back for the rest of the day.  The last thing I’d want would be a head wind coming at me through the Nicola Valley.

There was a two mile stretch where I thought I had a tail wind.  Wrong.  I descended into the valley and got hit hard by the wind.  Everything changed on that descent.  The wind.  The fauna.  The landscape.  I thought I was back in Wyoming.  The rolling hills were covered with high, yellow grasses and sage brush.  The wind was also incredibly strong.  So strong, in fact, that I struggled to keep my bike going above 8 mph.

There was no shoulder at all, and when there was one, it was covered in sand and rocks. Useless.  The traffic on this road was mostly big trucks.  I was not having fun, and I would be riding in this hellish valley all day long.  I was haunted by flashbacks of Wyoming.

“oh, you definitely won’t make it…there’s no way”

I turned past a sharp corner in the valley and over the horizon I saw a slow-moving, bumbling object coming at me.  It was a fellow touring cyclist.  I envied his situation.  He had a great tail wind.  I didn’t.

I have tried my best to remember this guy’s name.  Cliff.  Peter.  Mike.  David.  It could be any of these name.  This guy owned his own business, which he insisted on telling me twice, and took off three weeks to do this huge cycling trip.  He was wearing combat boots, camo pants, and a big denim overcoat.  He looked ridiculous, as if he was dressed for World War 3…Bugle Boy vs. Levi.  He was pulling a big bike trailer with this orange flag sticking out of the back, like something off of Chunk’s bike from The Goonies. He was all man in the front…all boy in the back.

The cyclist was from Boston Bar, a two day’s ride from Nicola Valley.  He expected a huge “wow” from me, but I didn’t give it to him.  I just said ‘cool’ and asked him where he camped.  He told me I should camp 6 miles up the road.  I told him I was shooting for at least Merritt that day, and he quickly interrupting me saying, “No, no.  You’ll never make it to Merritt.  That’s not possible.  You’re going to have to camp up the road.”  Merritt was only 40 miles away, and it was just 2 PM.  Of course I could make it, but this guy insisted I could not.  In fact, he said it a few times during our conversation.  He asked me about the upcoming hill behind me that climbs out of the valley.  He said he’d just walk it.  And this guy was telling me I couldn’t make it somewhere…

I pedaled off inspired by this guy.  I wanted to prove him wrong, even though he’d never find out how far I would go that day.  He didn’t believe in me, but I wanted him to believe.

The rest of the day was spent cycling into a strong wind along the lakes in the valley.  The above picture was taken next to the largest lake in the valley, Nicola Lake.  Thanks to Marlboro for sponsoring my ride that day.

more climbing into a god awful wind

It was 6 PM as I rolled into Merritt.  I went into the Walmart and bought cookies, chocolate milk, and a huge container of Nutella.  I sat in front of the store by all the patio furniture and sadly ate my meal.  I had another 20 miles to go, and it was getting late.

I finished my pathetic meal and got back on the bicycle.  The rest of the ride to Vancouver would put me on the Coquihalla Highway, a road dominated by constant ups and downs.  I was not looking forward to it, especially in this wind.  The ride out of Merritt put me on a huge 5 mile climb.  The wind hadn’t let up.  The incline was so long and harsh that trucks crawled by me at a pace of 15 mph.  The shoulder at times was only 3 feet wide, and the traffic was that of a busy interstate in Atlanta.

I was trying to cycle to this spot Lenard had camped at on one of his Vancouver tours.  It was a ’stealth camping’ spot at the side of the Kingsvale bridge, which went across Coldwater Creek.  All I knew was that it was south of Merritt within a range of 20-30 miles.  I had only gone 12 miles out of the city, and it was close to 9:30 PM.  I told myself that if I don’t hit the bridge within another 3 miles, I was going to start scouting for other spots.

Needless to say, I went 3 miles and didn’t come across the bridge.  However, I found a great spot on the side of the highway beside a barbed wire fence.  There was a big mound of asphalt to the side, hiding my tent and bike from all would-be sexually frustrated truckers.  Good enough for me.

Barrier, BC to Kamloops, BC

the three plagues

I woke up at first light…a little before 5 AM.  I just sat in my tent looking and listening to the horror happening just outside.  Dozens and dozens of birds.  Eventually, the bird activity subsided, but it gave way to something even more horrific.  Mosquitoes came to my tent in the millions.  They were waiting for me to make my exit, so I just sat there staring in fear.  An hour or so later, the sun started baking my tent.  I thought it was over.

The buzzing.  You could hear it everywhere.  Flies.  Enormous horseflies.  Small black flies.  Every species of fly was by my tent.  It seemed like the turn of each hour had something different in store for me…a different Hitchcock plot or plague sent by God to destroy the ugly cyclist.  I finally made my dash to Peter’s truck where I sat for what seemed like an eternity.

Were Peter, Peggy, and Shawn sitting inside enjoying my suffering while eating pancakes and drinking coffee?  Were they still sleeping?  I wanted them to come outside and invite me in.

And they did.  Peggy was making pancakes.  I had changed clothes, no longer wearing my ripped bicycle jersey.  I guess they figured I was OK since they were still alive.  Their daughters showed off their dragon drawings and piano playing skills.  I sat there, jobless and without any skills of my own, wondering if I’d measure up to them.

truck stories

Peter offered to drive me about 20-30 miles to Kamloops.  I happily accepted the offer, as I was still very sore and tired.  On the way, he shared with me some of his stories as a truck driver.  “Truckers are some of the most unhealthy people you’ll ever meet,” he said.  “A sedentary life ruled by junk food, drugs, and prostitutes.”  I was happy to hear that he never succumbed to the woes of a prostitute.  He also stayed fit by working out.  And then he laid some gross story on me.  He was quite descriptive.

“I walked into this truck station and this lady was sitting on the top of a washing machine…spin cycle getting her pleasure on.  Gross lady with flabby skin, pasty and veiny legs, and missing teeth.  She asked if I wanted a good time,” he told me.  I think the description was even grosser than what I can remember.  He went on to tell me that the lady continued to have her way with the washing machine turbo cycle.

Peter was full of stories, most of which I had to pry out of him.  He told me another story about the time he worked as a machinist and really butted heads with a German engineer.  One day, the German engineer put his hand on Peter in an aggressive way.  “You can say bad things to me, spit on me, but never lay a hand on me,” Peter said.  Needless to say, Peter crushed this German guy with his fists, stormed into the bathroom, and tore the whole place to shreds.  Of course he was fired.  He became blacklisted from the industry, and that’s why he now drives a truck for a living.

I didn’t know what to say.  “Whoah.  Wow.  Jeez.  Jeepers,” I kept repeating while staring at his hands.  I probably shouldn’t make him mad.  Would he get offended when I hug him goodbye?  After getting to Kamloops, Peter unloaded my bike and gave me a big, bearish man-hug goodbye.  He offered me a place to stay if I decided to go through Chilliwack, BC.  Unfortunately, I’d be riding into Vancouver from the north.  I liked Peter, and I wanted to hang out with him a bit more.

fiber and the green party

I had been communicating with two cyclists, Lenard and Deanna, through email for a week or two.  They offered to open their home to me while I was in Kamloops.  I rode up to their house and knocked on their door.  They opened the door half-asleep.  Shit.  I started off on the wrong foot.  I tried giving them a call but couldn’t get through for some reason.

Lenard and Deanna told me they had a Green Party meeting to attend that evening.  Pretty cool.  I looked on their refrigerator, and the note on the door said something about a self-sustainable lifestyle through gardening.  Happily surprised, I asked them if everything they ate was from their backyard garden.  They laughed and said it was their goal.  Pretty good goal.

Lenard and Deanna offered my aching body some organic foods rich with veggies and fiber.  Training for her upcoming camp cook position, Deanna used me as a Guinea pig to test healthy recipes for the young campers.  She was trying to be stealthy by sneaking in good nutrients into what would normally be unhealthy food.  Very crafty she was with her cookie recipe.

And Lenard baked his head off.

Their son Sam was able to communicate with them by using American Sign Language.  Evidently a kid’s dexterity with their hands is much better than that with their tongue.  I think Sam was actually smarter than me.

Blue River, BC to Barrier, BC

happy 4th of july

It was a weird feeling to be alone and out of the country on the 4th of July.  Lonely feeling.  I got out of my tent at about 6:30 AM and got the hell out of that spot.  The mosquitoes were waiting for me.

I found a restaurant in town and treated myself to a big breakfast.  I ordered two entrees and coffee.  I ended up dropping $20, which was a tough thing to do.  But I had 200 miles left, and I wanted my spirits to be high.  Plus it was a reward for achieving my biggest mileage of the trip in one day just yesterday.  I did feel a little guilty spending that much, nonetheless.

a rude gas station owner, negative energy, and a life lesson

The sun was beaming down on me through clear skies.  It was hot.  Very hot.  I was going through my water quickly and decided to stop in the town of Avola to refill my water bottles at a gas station.  I didn’t have much of a selection for gas stations.  There was only one in town.

I pulled up to the gas station and grabbed two of my water bottles.  Inside I went.

“Hi, do you mind if -” I said as I was cut off mid-sentence by the gas station employee.

“Water is bad,” he said without any emotion.  He looked eastern European and definitely wasn’t a native to Canada.  He was wearing a stupid, circular brimmed hat with a big t-shirt covering his pudgy body.

“Oh, so your tap water is bad then?” I asked, trying to get a bit more detail.  A guy next to him, probably some friend of his, told me that a pipe had busted.  OK.  I immediately smelled bullshit, but I just stood there.

“Do you need anything else then?” the rude employee asked.

“Well, I guess I will get a Coke then.  Where are those?” I asked.  He pointed behind me without saying a word.  I walked to the beverage area and thought about what had just happened.  This guy knew what I was going to say and selfishly didn’t’ want me to use his tap water to drink.  Oh shit.  I forgot about the three German cyclists that I had bumped into earlier that day that told me about an asshole gas station employee that was incredibly rude to them.  They told me to stay away from the town.  I became angry.  I walked out without buying anything.

The rude guy’s friend came out and talked to me about getting water from mountain springs.  He was trying to cover for his friend’s rude attitude.  The rude guy came out, stood next to him, and interrupted our conversation.  “Is there anything else?  Then goodbye,” he said.  He didn’t even let me answer.  I became red hot.  I wanted to rip his fat little head off his big fat body.  I cycled away.

Half a mile down the road I stopped and stood over my bike.  Man.  Fuck that guy.  I wasn’t ready to let him cloud my entire ride with negative energy.  I stood over my bike for 5 minutes thinking about what to do.  He can’t get away with treating people like that.  You just can’t be rude and walk all over people.  But I wasn’t going to turn around and just throw negative energy his way.  I knew better because flicking people off makes you succumb to a shitty situation.  That is why I just wave to drivers.  Assholes love it when you flick them off.  They feed off the negative energy.

I wanted this rude guy to learn something.  I was going to ask him why he was rude and confront him about it.  People can’t logically explain why are were assholes, and when confronted, they’ll either own up to it or act like cowards.  I looked back and saw a nearby restaurant with an employee doing some chores out front.

“Excuse me.  Do you know that guy that runs the gas station?” I asked the girl.

“Yeah.  He’s an asshole.  No one likes him, and everyone in town avoids going there,” she said.  It didn’t surprise me.  I told her I was thinking about going back and saying something to him.  “You should,” she said.

I cycled down to the gas station.  There were three customers in line.  I went to the back of the line and waited for the customers to leave.  I didn’t want this to be a huge spectacle.  But this guy didn’t give a shit.  He was entirely unprofessional, but I was prepared.

“Yes?” he said rudely in front of his two customers. They looked back at me.  OK…here goes.

“Yeah, I was going to ask why you are rude to your customers,” I said in a non-aggressive tone.

“What?” he said.  He was shocked I confronted him.

Pointing to the snack section, I said, “I was going to buy a Coke and a snack, but you were rude to me.  You know, you would probably increase your sales if you were actually polite and courteous to your customers.”

His customers were in shock.  One guy, a burly motorcycle driver, was quiet.  Big tough guy was shocked that a cyclist was standing up to someone.

“I’m going to ask you to leave,” the rude employee said.

“I’m going to ask you to cheer up and be in a positive mood.  And you know, everyone I’ve talked to said you’re a real jerk.  I passed someone on the road that even told me about you,” I said as he was trying to interrupt me.  “You know, good things happen to people who are in good spirits, and you just need to be happy.”

That bothered him, and he was evidently affected by what I said.  No longer was he a broken record.  “Why don’t you take a shower?”

I didn’t understand what that had to do with anything.  “I took a shower last night,” I said as I laughed.  I didn’t, but that was beside the point.  I didn’t want him to feel bigger from a stupid, irrelevant jab.  “Cheer up and be positive,” I said as I walked towards the door.

“Sure.  Come on in and fill your water bottles and spill it all over the floor!” he exclaimed.  He was getting emotional now, and I had struck a nerve.  That’s exactly what I intended to do, but in a constructive way.  I wanted him to think about this conversation later…maybe in a week, a month, a year….and possibly self-reflect.

“You know.  I’m really courteous and respectful to everyone I meet.  Everyone has been great to me in this country except for you,” I stated as I got on my bike and left.  That was that and I was happy I went back.

I took an extra step to elevate my mood for the day and started waving at passing motorists.  There was not going to be any way in hell I would let this guy ruin my ride.  And he didn’t.

the ebb and flow of positive energy

After about 20 miles, I stopped at a rest station.  I went inside to fill up my water bottles.  Shit.  The water was not ‘potable’, as the sign said.  I only had one water bottle left, and it was incredibly hot.  I sat down next to the side of the building to try to lower my body temperature.

A lady walked by, so I smiled and said hello.  She asked me how I was doing and if I needed water.  I laughed and told her I did.  Was this really happening?  I had just gotten asked to leave a gas station because I needed water.  Now a complete stranger, one that I just smiled to and greeted, was offering me water.  She asked me to follow her to the car.

Her name was Marilynn.  She was traveling with a man named Will, who happened to know the area pretty well.  I told them both the story of the gas station employee.  Will told me that the rude guy got the gas station from his father who had passed away a few years ago.  He evidently hated the gas station and was working 24/7.  This made me feel better about how I confronted him.  I could have said hundreds of mean, negative things, but I chose to question his actual behavior and tried to be constructive.

Marilynn and Will enjoyed my tale, and I told them what I learned from the experience.  She pulled out tons of snacks, a Coke, and gave me frozen water.  I was floored by this.  The smallest things go a long ways.  And then she pulled out a $20 bill and dropped it on the table, insisting I take it.  Pretty spectacular.  I was smiling and said to them both, “You guys just elevated my day in a huge way.”  I gave them hugs and couldn’t stop smiling as they left.

I could have been negative and let that gas station employee sap me dry of my energy, but I chose to think positively by smiling and waving at people.  Doing this brought me a hugely positive experience with Marilynn and Will.  It was a pretty big life lesson for me.

I cycled another 40 miles to Clearwater to stop at Dairy Queen.  I was starving, and I was quickly approaching 100 miles.  I order a chicken finger combo and a blizzard.  Stupid.  I told myself in Jackson, WY that I wouldn’t do fast food again.  Empty calories with good taste makes for an expensive meal which is never filling.  I couldn’t help it.  There had been nothing else.  DQ was my option, save a bagel and peanut butter.

flowing like water with peter, the truck driver

I pulled into a rest station in the town of Little Fort.  I figured it would be a good place to camp until I saw ‘NO CAMPING’ signs everywhere.  Damnit.  Oh well.  I was getting swarmed by mosquitoes anyways.

I continued down the road and decided to pull into a gas station to fill up my water bottles.  When I came back out, a truck driver named Peter was checking out my bags.  We talked for about 30 minutes about bicycle touring.  I asked him if he knew of any good spots to camp just south along the road.  He told me he was going south to a friend’s house, and he could offer me a lift.  I would only be cheating by about 20 miles, and it would be a new experience.  I went with it.

“Do you think your friend would mind me pitching a tent in their yard?” I asked.  “If not, I can always find a spot along the road.”

“Yeah, I bet they’d be fine with that,” he said.  “If not, there’s a lake nearby that you can camp at.”

Awesome.  I was pumped.  I wheeled my bike back to his delivery truck and loaded it up.  Peter came back out of the gas station.  He bought me a Subway sandwich and a beer.  Could this day have gotten any better?  I was pumped once again.

hi. i’m the weird guy with peter.  can i camp on your lawn?

We pulled up to the house.  Out came Shawn, the husband of Peter’s friend.  I introduced myself and explained my situation.  Peter asked him if I’d be able to pitch a tent on the lawn.  I sat there awkwardly waiting for a reply.  I could see what was running through Shawn’s head as he had one hand on his chin.  “I have two girls in the house.  I don’t know who the hell he is.  He’s wearing a bike jersey with two huge holes.  He’s filthy.”

“All I need is a small patch of grass,” I mentioned.  “If not, I can probably head over to the lake and find something over there.  No big deal.”

I think that was the seller.  The words ’small patch of grass’ help a lot.  I wasn’t going to be starting a fire or grilling hot dogs.  Shawn said it was cool, and I was happy.  I set up my tent and said good night.

And the mosquitoes were just as bad as the previous night.

Jasper, AB to Blue River, BC

morning paranoia

I woke up at 6:30 AM.  Garth had made me paranoid that the lodge police were going to bust in and throw me in jail for squatting in a vacant room.  I packed up my bike quickly and went to meet Gaby for breakfast.  We caught Corey sleeping on the job, so we demanded two egg white omelets.

Gaby, like the sweet young lady she was, picked up my breakfast.  Later, I unloaded a lot of the groceries I bought in town a few days ago on her.  I didn’t want to carry the extra weight, and I figured she would probably use the food.

long, long day ahead

In order to get to Kamloops in three days, I would need to do three 100 mile days.  This was big.  I had never done something like this before.

The sky was clear that day and the winds were calm.  I had an early start and looked forward to about 13 hours of daylight.  I was sure I could get 100 miles that day.  I was making pretty good time so I decided to stop for some brownies and yogurt at a natural spring.

“oh, sitting in that car kills my legs”

I was enjoying the view of Moose Lake in the shade until this huge RV pulled up in front of me and blocked my view.  Out popped a lady who looked at me and said in a whiny, complaining tone, “Oh, sitting in that car kills my legs.”  I guess she couldn’t see my loaded bicycle in front of her.  Riding in an air-conditioned vehicle must be so hard.  How could you do it?

“Where are you coming from?” I asked her.

“We left Edmonton around 8 AM,” she proudly said.  Uh.  8 AM?  My ass has been on that bike since then, and you’re complaining about sitting on a cushion in a comfortable truck.  Please leave.

She walked into her RV.  Her husband didn’t say a word to me and wasn’t impressed with my trip.  He quickly got into his big metal contraption and locked the door behind him.  So evidently the lady’s ass hurt so much she had to stop, get out of the truck, and go sit in a similarly uncomfortable seat in her RV.  How does that solve anything?  Do you have a massage therapist tucked away in that RV?

bike troubles and awkward goodbyes…again

I was riding with the bike message ‘Will Bike for Beer’.  When I rode with the message ‘I miss my shower’, the ride ended with a shower.  Maybe the same thing will happen with this message.  I got a lot of honks, elbow pumps from motorcyclists, and laughter.  I don’t want your laughter.  Pull over and give me your beer!

I took a picture at Mount Robson.  No one gave me beer there.

Soon, my good spirits started to go sour.  When shifting gears, I felt a sharp sting on my pinkie.  I looked at the bar end shifter and saw that the gear cable was about to snap.  It was held together by just one metal strand.  No no no no no.  I was on an incredibly remote ride and doubted I would hit any bike shops before the cable would snap.  That would leave me with only three gears. I had sent back all my spare parts with Ashley because I didn’t think I’d need them.  Stupid movie.

I tried not to shift gears that much for about 50 miles.  I kept my head down and cycled hard to Valemount.  I ended up finding a bike shop in town, and they had derailleur cables.  Yay!

I wasn’t excited for long.  The cable didn’t reach my derailleur.  No no no no no.  I sat there and pouted while Ross, the shop employee, tried to lift my spirits.  He went inside and I finally figured out a solution.  I trimmed down the cable housing as much as I could.  Yes.  The cable reached…barely.  I had a centimeter to spare.

I was pumped to correct the problem for only $2.  I didn’t want this to turn into another huge problem.  I gave Ross a celebratory handshake.  I went in for a handshake with the shop owner.  Disaster.

The shop owner went in with a ‘cool guy’ handshake…his thumb pointing towards his body.  Smiling and stupid, I went in with a regular handshake.  He also did the yank back afterward.  Man.  I totally fudged it.  The handshake ended up being this weird bumbling of hands knocking against one another.  It wasn’t even worth a re-do.  I didn’t expect a cool guy handshake because the shop owner was older and had a mustache.  I expected a firm, regular handshake.  I guess Canadians like to mix it up.

bear encounter

I was riding south from Valemount in good spirits.  I was closing in on 100 miles and had a few hours of daylight left.  Suddenly, this huge black dog darted across the road just 75 feet ahead of me.  This dog ran with stiff front legs and its head really high.  Shit.  That was a bear.  I was in shock.  Did that just happen?  I slammed on the brakes.

Ross had just shared a recent bear experience with me before I left.  He had encountered a grizzly when clearing brush for mountain bike trails.  It was just a few feet above him on a cliff, snarling and showing its teeth.  I complained to him that I wanted to see a bear.  I had been in the Rockies for nearly 2 months and had yet to see a bear.  I encountered two cyclists earlier that day that saw a bear jump into a river.  On my last day of cycling the Rockies, the mountains gave me a bit of a going-away present.

The bear had run into a patch of brush on the side of the road and had not exited.  He knew I was there, and I was not going to take my chances.  I didn’t want my first bear experience to end with my legs severed from my body.  A tractor trailer passed by.  As it passed the area where the bear was sitting, it honked three or four times.  The trucker was either trying to scare it off or warn me about the bear just sitting there.  Shit.

I remembered Doug from Jasper National Park and his stories about drivers running ‘bear interference’.  I knew there was a reason I ran into him.  I tried waving down a few people.  No one would stop.  I was even flailing my arms wildly about.  They just kept driving.  I didn’t even want to hitchhike.  I just wanted them to slow down so I could bike alongside them.

Eventually, a guy with a truck and testicles dangling from his rear license plate stopped and asked if I needed help.  I told him about the situation, so I followed his truck by the patch of brush.

I would live to tell about my first bear experience.

bushwhacking it

I refused to pay $20 to camp when my budget had just been drained due to bike problems.  I was at 120 miles when I decided to just pull over and throw the tent down.  It had been a long day of cycling…about 12 hours.  I was ready to pitch my tent and fall asleep.

I ate three pieces of bread and set up my tent next to a fuel storage container.  I had no clue why it was there or who was going to be using it.  All I knew was that the mosquitoes were feasting on my sweaty body.  I hadn’t had a problem with bugs until this point.  It was hell.  I can’t describe the amount of bugs that were swarming me.  I was rushing to get my tent into position but I had to keep swatting my legs, arms, face, and neck in an effort to squash the insects.  It was a losing battle.  The mosquitoes seemed to have sent out a radio signal once my position was found out.

I threw my pad, sleeping bag, and clothes into the tent.  I would take care of all that inside the netted portion of the tent.  I looked outside my tent.  They were all hovering outside of the screen, sitting there waiting on me to make my exit.  They knew I was trapped.

A few minutes later, a car pulls out up to my tent.  I darted out.

“Shit!  You scared the hell out of me!” this lady screamed.  She saw my bike and calmed down.  “Or I scared the hell out of you.”

I waved and said, “Yeah, I couldn’t make it to town.”  I was shirtless and in my underwear.  I didn’t care.  The lady with her yelled out ‘nice boxers’.  I laughed while swarms of mosquitoes were enjoying the awkward situation.

“Just so you know, I was just trying to find a spot for my son to pee.  I’m not just driving around,” she yelled out the window as she drove off.  I don’t know why she felt the need to explain herself to someone who was camping next to a fuel storage container.  And in his underwear.

Jasper, Alberta

posing as an employee

Jasper Park Lodge employees aren’t really supposed to have guests for extended visits.  Garth wasn’t even supposed to be staying in his room since he wasn’t technically an employee, so that meant I had to find another room to crash.  Through a few connections, we found out there was a room that had been vacant for two months.  It had a private bathroom, mattress, and sink.  Awesome.  The only thing was I couldn’t be caught.  I couldn’t lock the door, and I had to keep a low profile.  All the guys staying in the same cabin knew that the room was supposed to be vacant, so if they saw me enter/exit, it was over.  I was a guy living on the edge.

Garth didn’t want to be seen with me around the room.  He was paranoid.  Once I found out he was paranoid, I became paranoid.  I felt like I was in a highschool cafeteria all the time…all eyes on me.  I fantasized about the Park Lodge police busting in and confiscating all my stuff in the middle of the night.  Maybe they would throw me in the lodge’s squatter jail.

Garth introduced me to the employee cafeteria, which I took full advantage of during the next few days.  Employees had access to a full meal with incredible food for only $2.  For instance, breakfast consisted of unlimited juice and coffee, cereal, fruit, bacon, sausage, pancakes, omelets, hash browns, and pastries.

canada day

I was going to be in Jasper for Canada Day, the nation’s ‘independence day’.  The plan was to go town and ‘fag out’, as Garth called it.  He was quite an interesting character.  He was from South Africa, so he had a great accent.  He always wore his flannel cap from Ireland and walked around with his ‘traveling cup’.  The cup actually came in handy because we used it to drink water right out of the river when walking to town.

I was introduced to Corey and Gaby, two lodge employees and friends of Garth.  We hit the town hard, guzzling expensive beer and being boisterous.  After a few beers, we went to a bar called the ‘Dead Dog’.  The bartender told us to be sure to have our IDs.  Shit.  Corey didn’t have his ID.  The waitress walked up, and I mentioned Corey didn’t have his ID.  “My friend here doesn’t have his ID but…” I started to explain.

“OK.  I can’t serve you,” she snapped as she walked away.  Uh.  We could have ordered food or non-alcoholic beverages you jerk.  Garth was pissed, but he didn’t have the opportunity to snap back at her because she just walked away.  I wanted to go back and take her picture, but I decided to move on.  We went to another bar and ordered poutine, Canada’s world-famous slop food.  It’s pretty much french fries with gravy and cheese curds.  Very good.

corey…i like you…a lot

During dinner, I broke the news to Corey.  I liked men.  Corey immediately closed up.  His smiling face turned blank.  As I told him, I rubbed his leg.  I didn’t expect him to believe me, but he did.  I decided to go with it, as did Garth and Gaby.

Garth started arguing with Corey about gay marriage, playing the part of devil’s advocate.  Corey wanted to prove that he was tolerant and open-minded, so he stuck up for me and all the gay men across the world.  I watched him talk and creepily stared at him, moistening my lips with my tongue.  I could tell he was uneasy.  I shifted my body towards his so that our legs would bump into one another.  He would slowly inch away from me, and I would slowly inch towards him.  He was uncomfortable, and I was loving every minute of it.

Garth and I made him hop up on the goat.  Corey wanted to be in the back.

I celebrated with Canadians.

On the walk back, Garth insisted on hopping on my bike.  In a stupor, he stumbled and kicked my fender.  Snap.  He shattered a big chunk of it.  Ugh.  I felt bad for my bike.  It had gone through so much already.

the send off

I had spent a few days hanging out with Garth and had developed a solid friendship.  I really enjoyed hanging out with him, but all good things must come to an end.  Jason, a friend of his from the restaurant, met up with us to see him off.  I caught Jason rubbing his crotch near a tree.  Really weird guy.

Gaby met up with us too.  We all went to town to pack Garth’s bike up and put it on the bus.  We embraced each other in front of Jasper the Bear before Garth treated us all to ice cream.

mean little boy

I dedicated the rest of the afternoon to bike cleanup, maintenance, and fender replacement.  What was meant to be a one hour job turned into a four hour job.  A lot of the screws were hard to get off the bike, and they were close to being stripped.  Rusted screws weren’t the only thing I suffered through…

I was working on my bike next to the tennis courts.  A mom decked out in tennis gear walked onto the court with her son.  “OK, are you ready?” she energetically asked.  She served it to him.  Swing and a miss.  This happened over and over until the boy started beating his racket onto the ground.

Excuses started pouring out of his mouth.  “The ball is messed up,” he angrily yelled.  “And this game is so stupid.  Why am I playing this anyways?”  He continued to blame the ball and the game for being bad.  It didn’t cross his mind that he just sucked.  I felt bad for the mother, who was trying to remain positive.

His dad eventually walked onto the court and took his place.  The boy had thrown his racket onto the ground and stormed off.  I found out his mother was just as annoying as he was.  She kept apologizing for every single mis-hit on the ball.  “I’m sorry.  Oops.  Sorry.  I’m sorry.  Oh no.  Sorry.”  This went on for 30 minutes as I was busy stripping the screws on my bike in the blazing sun.

Meanwhile, the boy and his younger brother were playing mini-golf.  The brat boy was picking on his younger brother, making fun of him because of his inability to make par or birdie.  “Oh, I can’t stand to watch this.  Bogey.  Double bogey.  Triple bogey!!! You should just quit!” he yelled.  This kid was picking on his brother because he just got stomped on by his mom at tennis.  This little boy was going to grow up to be a monster.  I wanted to run over there and tell him shut the hell up, but instead I creepily hung my camera over the fence and grabbed a picture.  You can see the older brother yelling at his younger brother on the right.

In frustration, the younger brother eventually took his club to his older brother’s ball and knocked it far away.  I didn’t blame him.  I would have done the same thing, except to the kid’s teeth.  The dad saw that I had been watching what was going on, and the dad lost it.  “Put down those clubs!” he yelled at his kids.  “No,” the older boy said.  These kids controlled their parents.

I guess these parents could afford $400+ per night rooms but couldn’t afford to punish their children properly.

browned in alberta

I was leaving Alberta the next day and had yet to brown anyone.  Corey and Gaby were my targets that night.  Corey helped me get an egg from the kitchen along with some oil.

Yo, Corey and Gaby!  You got BROWNED!

Afterward, we watched Selena.  Brownies and Selena.  That was a first.

Jasper National Park

loaded once more

I wasn’t looking forward to the ride through Jasper National Park.  Alex had decided that he’d ride east towards Red Deer, Alberta.  That meant he’d exit Banff before entering Jasper park.  Our camp was 106 miles from the town of Jasper, so I decided to make that my goal for the day’’s ride.  I didn’t want to drop $30 to camp in the park, and I was tired of my bland food.  100+ mile days aren’t a usual target of mine, but when a shower/food awaits me at my endpoint, it makes it a hell of a lot easier.

I said my goodbyes to Jim, Alex, and Anouk…now good friends of mine.  We had overcome hardship together:  numerous mountain passes, Alex’s bad knee, my bad bike, and my bad smell.  I am happy to say that my hugs with them were unhindered by my ‘awkward’ karma.

doug the bear man

After leaving Waterfowl Lake, I encountered a cyclist named Doug.  He was riding from Alaska and shared a few of his experiences with me.  It’s pretty common for touring cyclists to pull over and give some info on what lies ahead, anything from road conditions to animals.

Doug was telling me about his bear encounters in Alaska and how he had to flag down cars to run ‘interference’ while he cycled by them.  Pretty awesome.  I bookmarked that bit of info.  The universe might be bringing me Doug’s experience for a reason.  It was only a few days later that I’d be using his advice…

terrible comedian

After cycling past the Howse River, I made my gradual climb to Sunwapta Pass.

I wanted to conquer Sunwapta before noon, but that seemed unlikely because I was stopping to speak to cyclists.  I met a huge group of Vancouver cyclists going from Jasper to Banff unloaded.  They were being supported by their RV.

They offered me hot chocolate and cookies after I told them my story.  “Wow, now I feel like a big weeny,” one of them said.  It made me feel good.  They were all crowded around.  All eyes were on me.  Damn.  There was a lot of pressure to be interesting.

“What is that sign on the back of your bike?” one of them asked.

A few thoughts ran through my mind.  Should I tell them a few examples of my messages?  Should I just laugh and say it’s for stupid sayings?  Will they think I’m an idiot?

“I just write messages on the back…just to liven up the ride,” I said with a stupid grin on my face.  “For instance, the other day when crossing into Canada I was riding with the message ‘I heart Canadian Bacon’.”

No laughter.  Nothing.  Blank stares by all of them.  I started panicking.  What do I say now?  Did I offend them?  Is this some weird offensive thing to say?  Dave Cutts, my dear Canadian friend, joked about it before with ne.  Why didn’t they think it was funny?  Aren’t all Canadians the same?????  My face was turning the color of Ronald McDonald’s hair.  Quick…say something else.

“Yesterday, I rode with ‘Don’t feed bears, feed us’ written on the back,” I said quickly.

There was laughter.  I saved my ego from being destroyed.  Why did this great moment have to be ruined by a bad joke?  Everything was going so well up until that point.

sunwapta pass

40 miles into the day, I started to hit the huge climb up to Sunwapta Pass.  I didn’t realize this was going to be a 5 mile constant climb.  You can see it in the middle of the picture here.  Yeah.  It’s the big one.

And this was the biggest switchback I had encountered on the entire tour.  This was not a good sign.

I got close to the top and decided to grab a few good pictures with the bike board message for the day.  Jared Forkner, my dear friend with a beautiful face, wanted to motivate my ride with ‘Go Rygai’ (Ry-guy) with his signature ‘Rydia’…his video game persona.  I have to explain it here because Japanese people kept looking at me thinking it was some sort of ‘Engrish’.

Right after taking a few pictures, it started snowing pretty hard.  No no no no no.  This couldn’t be happening.  I had 60 more miles left, and it was already 1 PM.  All I had eaten was a bagel.  My spirits were being weakened.

After getting out of the snow system, I crossed into Jasper National Park and headed towards the Columbia Icefields.  No good.  I encountered hundred of tourists at the lodge area.  I wanted a cup of coffee, but that went sour when I saw that the place looked like a mall.  It was very frustrating for me at the time.  I went back outside in the snow to eat a bagel.

lying, apathetic, sleeping driver

The moment I left the Columbia Icefields lodge, the snow started to come down hard.  I was not happy.  Snow kept getting into my eyes, and the hand-me-down gloves I got from Yellowstone were soaked.  I was cold and wet.  I didn’t know how long this snow system went on for.  It could have lasted the next 35-40 miles for all I knew.  There was no way I was getting to Jasper in these conditions.  My wheel had also gotten worse.  I looked down at it while riding.  The wobble was bad and the spokes looked like they were ready to go at any given second.  I didn’t want to get stuck in this.

I stopped and decided to thumb it.  No one stopped.  No one.  There were plenty of trucks that could have given me a lift, but they drove right on by.  This further dampened my spirits.  I cycled a few more miles and saw a truck pulled over just ahead.  I recognized this truck.  He had blown right by me while I had my thumb out.  I set my bike down and walked up to the driver’s side window.

His head was back on the head of the seat and his eyes were closed.  He was faking being asleep to avoid contact with me.  I knocked on his window and waved to try to get his attention.  He didn’t movie.  This bastard knew I needed help and was going out of his way to ignore me.  I wasn’t panhandling.  If I was, he should have given me $20 just because I worked my ass off to get into such a pathetic situation.

I walked to the passenger’s side window and tried again.  He didn’t move.  I wanted to bust through the window and put my freezing, icy fingers around his neck.  How could someone be this apathetic to someone in need of help?

I walked away pissed off.  I sat down in front of my bike.  I looked back at the truck and saw the driver moving around, once again fiddling with his stuff.  I took a picture of him just because I was so angry.

He sped off once I did this.  He knew I knew what he was doing.  I hope he felt foolish.  I continued to sit there in the snow.  I erased Jared’s message and wrote ‘Need Ride, Wheel Busted’.  I pulled myself off the wet asphalt and look down the road.  Nothing.  Not a sound.  I was desperate.

Two park rangers eventually drove by and gave me a lift to the ranger station.  There, I dried off and thought about what to do.  There was a hostel a few miles away, but I had little food and no cash.  I had to get out of the park.  I decided to get back on the bike and keep trying to thumb it while cycling.  Not good hitchhiking etiquette, but I couldn’t waste time standing on the road.

a dad and his two bored sons

My eyes were fixed on my sideview mirror.  If a truck came up behind me, I’d turn my torso and stick my thumb out, making eye contact with the driver.  Eventually, a truck with a camper in tow pulled over.  Out popped Andy, a government worker who was on a road trip with his two sons to Alaska.

Michael and Jordan were in the back.  They were bored.  I could tell Jordan had no interest in the trip.  Andy kept telling me that he hated those video games and movies his kids were always watching, and he wanted to give them a real experience while spending time with them.  I don’t blame him, and I admired his passion.  Unfortunately, his kids didn’t.  Andy’s wife had just passed away, and he felt it would do the family good to do a trip like this.  I kept telling his sons they’d appreciate the trip later in life, but they weren’t having it.

Before dropping me off in Jasper, Andy bought me a Snickers bar.  Andy was a good guy.

budget concerns

I took my bike over to the shop in town.  After speaking to them a while, I found out the repair was going to be about $140.  Ugh.  I had mentally prepared myself for this, but it was still hard to swallow.  I’d have to leave my bike with them, which meant I had to take a taxi to the Jasper Park Lodge.  This meant another $20.  I walked over to the grocery store to buy some food before heading to the lodge.  I dropped $22 and only came away with pasta, chips, and two onions.  Spending this much money in one place made me very anxious.

I eventually got to the lodge that evening.  I would be crashing in the staff cabin with Garth, a fellow touring cyclist.  I had arranged to bike tour with him from Jasper to Vancouver.  He had quit working for the Jasper Park Lodge and was planning on moving to Vancouver to live with his girlfriend.  I was very excited to be sharing the road with another cyclist.

Later that evening, he told me that he wanted to take the bus to Vancouver.  He wanted to see his sweetheart badly and couldn’t stomach a two week ride.  He estimated two weeks because he likes to take his time while cycling.  I had planned for the ride to be 8 days, but I could deal with a slower pace for the sake of company.  Well, I didn’t have to worry about that now.  He was pretty set on taking the Greyhound.  I was pretty bummed, but I tried to mask it.  I didn’t want to guilt him into riding with me, and I could relate to his desire to see his girl.  After all, I went through it daily.

Banff National Park

where am i?????????????

That night I had woken up and freaked out inside my tent.  It was the first time that had happened in my tent.  I’ll often wake up in the middle of the night and freak out when I sleep in someone’s house in a bed…but never in a tent.  That night I sat straight up and started banging on the sides of the tent.  “Where the hell am I, and why am I inside a coffin?” I thought.  I went for the zippers.  They wouldn’t budge.  I started freaking out even more.  Where was I?  Why couldn’t I get out?  Did some ugly man kidnap me?  Was I stuck in some incubator?  It finally came to me.  Stupid Ryan.  I was camping.

i’m a weeny. sorry.

I found out I was riding with morning people.  Except for Alex.  He was slow to get out of the tent like me, but Jim and Anouk were up and at it around 7 AM.  I didn’t want to get up.  It was too cold.  I was a big weeny.  I could tell Anouk was a little annoyed.  Shit.  The birds come out in the morning, I guess.  She missed prime time bird hour because of me being a weeny.

I packed up quickly and ate a crappy breakfast.  Plain bagels with butter.

We were en route to Lake Louise, the thing to see in Banff National Park.  On the way, we saw a couple from Australia.  They were loaded.  We weren’t.  I felt like a weeny again.  We passed other touring cyclists.  A lot of them passed us by.  They had no respect for cyclists without bags.  I could understand.  They were suffering.  I was not.

lake louise…another old faithful

Jim, Alex, and I finally pulled up to Lake Louise Village around noon.  Jim had been there numerous times, so he told Alex and I to go ahead.  I felt obligated to see the lake because it was like Banff National Park’s centerfold.

I rode up the hill to Lake Louise.  It felt like 11-12% at certain points.  This better be worth it.  Alex and I were standing on the pedals for what felt like 20 minutes.

I was riding with the message “Don’t feed the bears, Feed us”.  I was hoping someone would think it was funny and give me food.  My groceries were pathetic.  Bagels, macaroni, butter, two apples, and chocolate spread.  I wasn’t looking forward to resupplying my bagel stash at the village.  Food in Canada is at least 30% higher than in the US.  Well.  We were in Banff National Park.  Food prices were going to be double that at the village.

Lake Louise was tourist-packed.  I felt like leaving the minute I saw what seemed like thousands of people.  Ugh.  This was Old Faithful all over again.  Too bad Lake Louise wasn’t accessible only to hikers and bikers like Lone Star Geyser.  For some reason, I felt robbed of all my hard work.

The lake was great, but I was ready to leave.  Alex had been talking to a large woman who refused to eat her food before talking.  She had a huge sandwich in her hand and an even bigger sandwich in her mouth…while talking.  Gross.  It was like listening to a cow munch on grass while miraculously speaking English.

We left Lake Louise.  Things started to go downhill for me.  Literally.

falling apart

A few days ago, Merick had mentioned that my rear wheel had a wobble in it.  I didn’t think much of it.  It probably just had to be trued.  I’ll take care of it at a bike shop for $15.  That day, Alex had mentioned that the wobble was pretty bad.  I took it to the bike shop in Lake Louise to get it fixed.

Having it true wasn’t the solution.  My wheel had 9 different cracks in it.  The spokes were getting ready to rip out of the rim.  My guess was that it was probably due to the weight.  Ugh.  I wonder what this was going to cost.  I found out the most cost-effective solution would be $180, and that was for parts.  Who knows what they would have charged for labor.  After much thought, I decided to ride it out to Jasper.  The bike shop there should have a bigger selection of rims and maybe they’d help me out with the pricing.

A few miles down the road, my chain kept slipping out of first gear.  Jim and Alex noticed that my derailleur was bent.  Shit.  I had no clue how to fix it.  I could force it back, but I’d probably break something.  There went my granny gear for the mountain passes.

I was stressed out.  I kept thinking about the cost of repair.  Would my budget last me to San Francisco?  Would I have to cut it short?  I cycled ahead of Jim and Alex for about 15 miles to take out some of the stress on the road.  I stopped for a bagel and a picture.

My bike fell on me after putting my camera away.

The cog had dug down into my shin.  What the hell was going on with my karma?  I was falling apart.  My bike was falling apart.

Whatever.  I’m going to think positive.  I cycled on to the top of Bow Pass, and there I enjoyed a great view of Crowfoot Mountain and Crowfoot Glacier.

Notice the shape of what looks like a crow’s foot.  The lower toe has melted throughout the years, but at least the top two toes were still there.

japanese tourists

I found that watching Japanese tourists was almost as interesting as looking at the landscape.  Many of them don’t like getting out of their cars to take pictures.  They just take them through their car windows.  And they’ll take pictures of anything.  Many of them sneaked pictures of me while I wasn’t looking.  I wasn’t even that interesting.  Maybe it’s because I have pretty eyes.

This guy had Crowfoot Glacier in front of him, but here he was taking pictures of a very common bird…a raven.

Jim and Alex caught up to me, and we rode together to our campground for the nite:  Waterfowl Lake.  Along the way, we enjoyed some incredible views of glacial lakes and glaciers.  I wish the Japanese man was following me, taking pictures of the ugly cyclist outside of his car window.

i dub thee, sir ryan of harwell

Anouk, Jim, and Alex had been giving me a hard time for using a spork for everything.  If I wanted to butter my bagel, I’d use my spork.  If I wanted to cut up some bread, I’d use my spork.  If I wanted to find a pretty girl to marry, I’d use my spork.

Alex wanted to give me a ’send-off’ gift.  I didn’t know what to expect when he said this.  And then he pulled out a glorious plastic knife.  I was honored.

He dubbed me Sir Ryan of Harwell.

Kootenay National Park

another awkward hug

After eating breakfast with Dave and Donna, Dave drove me up to Radium Hot Springs, where I’d be meeting Jim and Alex.  Donna sent me off with brownies and Gatorade mix.  Oh, and she sprinted like a cheetah 300 yards through tall grass and woods to give me the handlebar bag I had forgotten.  I felt like an asshole and an idiot.  At the same time, I was incredibly impressed with Donna’s speed and agility to catch Dave’s car.  I figured she had some freak ability to turn into a werewolf, jumping over huge obstacles and sniffing my disgusting cyclist scent down.

Dave dropped me off near a coffee shop in Radium.  Jim and Alex pulled up, and after introductions and goodbyes, I gave Dave a hug goodbye.  I was anxious about this one.  I had messed up the past few hugs.  I didn’t want this one to go awkward.

It did.  I knew it would.  Why?  There were two other male cyclists standing right next to me while I’d be giving another guy a hug goodbye.  It was the perfect recipe for disaster.

I think Dave was hesitant to give me a hug goodbye…possibly because two other males were in our midst.  Or maybe I was just imaging it.  Regardless, Dave is much taller than I am, so my face would probably be buried in his chest if the hug went through.  Stupid…I should have thought about that.  Hugging similar height people always works out OK, but it doesn’t go so well when you hug someone taller.

I came out of the hug wondering what Alex and Jim were thinking.  “Would they notice my head being buried in the pectoral region of another man’s?” I thought.  I found out seconds later that the height issue wasn’t the problem.

I had heard a crack sound when going in for the hug.  Shit.  Dave was wearing sunglasses that were dangling on a strap across his chest.  You idiot, Ryan.  You crushed his lenses.  I was worrying about it, but I didn’t want to bring it up.  That would have made it worse.  Dave was fiddling with his sunglasses trying to pop the lenses back into place.  I just stood there.  Did Jim and Alex notice?  Would they just cycle away in disgust?

Dave said goodbye and drove off to a meeting.  Alex introduced me to his wife Anouk, who would be carrying our panniers throughout the park to each campsite.  She was there to visit with Alex and check out birds.  I was excited to ride without my 70 pound load, but I was still internally obsessing over the sunglasses.

kootenay national park

We got coffee outside the park entrance in preparation for Sinclair Pass.  I was pumped about riding unloaded.

Off we went into the park.  I was talkative and happy to be riding with Jim and Alex.  I was chatting their heads off.  Would they be annoyed after just 10 minutes with me?  I tried to regulate the amount of talking I did, but I couldn’t help myself.  Jim and Alex were great guys and very easy to talk to.  I was happy with the company and happy with the scenery.

On the way up, we rode by a few bighorn sheep.

I really enjoyed going up Sinclair Pass.  Although it was a 10% grade in many sections, I was riding unloaded and conquering it with ease.  I’m sure the route would punish me later that day.

We conquered the pass together.  Jim and Alex were happy.  I was happy.  We smiled a lot at a lake.

Lots of good views of the Rockies.

And glacial lakes.

We rode along Vermilion River all the way up to Vermilion Pass.  Along the way, Alex gave me all the dirt on Canada, including some pretty scandalous stories about Prime Minister Mulroney.  He was involved in a lot of sleezy stuff.  Maybe Mulroney could sponsor my tour.

Just after Vermilion Pass, we crossed into Banff National Park.

And Alberta.

Banff National Park gave us a glorious view of Castle Mountain.

We camped at Johnston Canyon that night.  Jim fired up his stove and almost blew up the entire campsite.

Other than that, we were all in good spirits from our ride that day.  Alex was in a great mood, saying that “this day was one of the best days of his life.”  I was happy to be a part of it.  Alex worked at a software development company, so he was blown away by the landscape.  I guess it was a huge change from staring at Windows all day.  “I’ve got beer, great company, and my lady,” he said smiling.  I looked at Jim.  Maybe Jim could be ‘my lady’ that night.

Cranbrook, BC to Fairmont Hot Springs, BC

riding out with a partner

Merick and I said goodbye to Emmy and her parents, Paul and Debbie.  I was sad to say goodbye, but I was once again well rested and eager to get to Banff and Jasper National Parks.  Debbie filled our stomachs with cereal, and she baked us cookies for our journey.

Merick and I rode out of town north for about 6 miles.  There, we made our split.  He was headed east to do the Trans-Canada tour to Newfoundland…a pretty big bike tour and one that I’m considering doing in the future.  We hugged and held hands before parting ways.

the huntdown

I was cycling hard and fast that day.  I had a tailwind and was averaging 16-17 mph, so I figured I’d be punished for such a fantastic tailwind in the coming days.  I was pushing hard in order to catch Jim and Alex, the two cyclists I ran into with Emmy at the pub in Cranbrook.  Riding with them and camping would be awesome.  I had been riding alone for so long that I was eager to have company while on the saddle.  I knew Jim and Alex had camped the previous night just 30 miles north, so I figured I might have a chance to catch them on the road.

I stopped by campground in the town of Skookumchuck.  Shit.  They had left a few hours ago.  The lady told me they’d be stopping for lunch around 1 PM in an area called Canal Flats.  Off I wet.

I felt like a bounty hunter.  A really slow-moving bounty hunter.  With stupid, tight padded shorts.  Eventually I got to the only restaurant in Canal Flats.  It was 2 PM.  They weren’t there.  They were probably only 10-15 miles ahead, but I was 6 miles from my destination:  Fairmont Hot Springs.  The hunt would have to be finished tomorrow, for a shower and two cyclists were awaiting my visit.

dave and donna

I was excited to meet Dave and Donna.  I had been talking to them through email for a few weeks.  Dave and Donna had done tours of Europe and were really into the outdoors.  They moved to a nice cabin in Fairmont only a few months ago for Donna’s job at the hospital.  Dave worked at a nearby campground called Dry Gulch.

As soon as they opened the door, I was offered me a place to sit, Gatorade, shower, washing machine, and watermelon.  Oh, and the steaks were being marinated.  What a welcome, eh?  It came with a price.  I was riding with this message:

Donna put me to work.  Dave sat on the porch laughing at me sadistically.  They later chained me up and fed me slop.  I begged and pleaded for them to let me go.  I pulled out my only secret weapon.

Yo Dave and Donna…YOU GOT BROWNED!

We took a walk down to Columbia Lake, which was right next to their neighborhood.  It was a romantic evening for Donna and Dave.  The sun was setting on the mountains, and they had an ugly cyclist getting in between the romance of the evening.

After hanging out at the lake, I told Dave about my intent to catch up to Jim and Alex in the morning.  I would have to leave at 6:30 AM to get to Radium Hot Springs, where they were camping that night (Alex had sent me an email informing me of their location).  Dave offered to drop me off at Radium on his way to work the next morning.  Dave was my hero.

Eureka, MT to Cranbrook, BC

mr. awkward guy

This morning was jam-packed with awkward occurrences.  It wasn’t Marina and Chad’s fault.  I’ll totally take the blame for them, just because the universe has placed some weird karmic burden of awkward incidents on my shoulders.  Maybe it’s for everyone’s amusement when I recant the stories.

That morning, I had been taking care of a few things before crossing the border.  This included getting a prepaid phone card, setting up my Skype account, transferring all my phone contacts onto my computer, and paying my health insurance.  The health insurance bit was the one that got me into the awkward circumstance.

After getting off the phone with Aetna, I said out loud, “God, that damn robot.”  I had trouble getting to a human employee for about 20 minutes while on the phone.  “Press 1.   Press 3.  Press 4,” I said with a complaining, whiny tone in my voice.

Chad was reading a book in the living room and probably had no clue what I was talking about.  Suddenly, I heard Marina say from the next room, “Hello.  How are you?  Hello.”  Her voice was somewhat monotone and figured she was making fun of the robot automated voice system.  I went along with it and laughed.

“Greetings human.  What is your favorite color?  Press 1,” I said in a robot voice, joking back.  Marina said something else, but I didn’t hear it so I just laughed.  I walked towards the other room in Marina’s direction.  The door closed.

Marina was on a business call.  I had been talking out loud to myself the whole time.  How embarrassing.  And Chad was right there to take it all in.  Did he notice the whole thing go down?  Was he playing it cool by keeping his eyes on the book?  I couldn’t even play it off.  It was just a pathetic situation.  I continued packing up my crap.

We took a few parting photographs.  This was our sad attempt to recreate the Beatles walk on Abbey Road.

I hugged Marina goodbye.  Chad stuck his hand out while I was going in for a hug.  I crushed his hand.  He stood strong with his back unshaken.  Awkward stiff hug.  What was wrong with me that morning?  Maybe the awkward stuff will subside in Canada.  No.  Probably not.

border crossing

Their house was only a few miles from the border.

That morning, I decided write ‘I <3 Canadian Bacon’ on my bike board.  Surely Canadians will love it.  I thought about it later that day.  If I saw a Canadian with ‘I <3 American Cheese’ on a bike board, I’d question what the hell it meant.  It was probably the same thing for the Canadians.

I pulled up to the border crossing.  A blonde Canadian girl looked at my passport and asked me if I was carrying anything dangerous.  All the routine questions were asked.  She told me I’d need to go inside since this was my first time into Canada.  Ugh.  I didn’t want them pulling out all my neatly packed equipment from my panniers.

Oh shit.  Maybe they saw my bike board sign.  Perhaps they didn’t like it and would keep me there for hours.  All of these retarded fantasies ran through my head.  Will they mock me and call me a stupid American?  Will they de-clothe me of all my ugly cyclist gear and laugh at me?

None of this happened.  I was out of there in about 30 minutes.  They didn’t give a shit about my message.  I had told them I quit my job, so they were concerned I was ducking out of the US and moving to Canada.  Yep.  I have all my belongings on this bicycle.  You got me, border crossing people.

I celebrated my entrance into Canada.

ride to cranbrook

The ride to Cranbrook was a lot of off and on headwinds/tailwinds.  However, I did get some awesome views of the rivers and mountains.

Elk River.

Kootenay Mountain Range.

More Kootenays.

The roads in Canada have this great setup for drivers.  Their road systems are laid out on big signs that you can pull over and look at.

ugliest town in bc

Someone from Fernie had told me that Cranbrook was voted ugliest town in British Columbia.  I soon found out why.  Riding into town, I found that it was littered with strip malls and big chains.  There was a small road that had 5 fast-food restaurants right next to each other.  So much for escaping the fat.  I found that Canadians were just as fat as us.  I stopped next to a bank to get some Canadian dollars and counted 5 obese people walking into a KFC.  I wanted to steal their food from them.  Not for their benefit but for mine.

cyclists and karaoke at a pub

Emmy, my couchsurfing host in Cranbrook, was working at a place called Dewey’s Pub that night.  I walked in with a plan to play an elaborate joke I had drummed up in my head while riding that day.  I walked in, and she immediately knew who I was.  Crap.  I changed shirts and everything.  Did I suck that bad at pranks?

She hooked me up with a burger, fries, and pepsi…all on her tab.  Emmy didn’t even really know me yet.  I could be some really crappy guy, but her hospitality was immediate.  Really kind person.  After a few hours of hanging out, we were getting ready to go when I heard over my shoulder, “Whose bike is that over in the corner?”

Jim, Alex, and Merrick, three Canadian touring cyclists, had walked into the pub to grab some grub.  They had bumped into each other on the road, and they asked us if they wanted to join them.  Of course.

During dinner, I got made fun by all of the Canadians because of my inability to speak in metric terms.  I didn’t think twice about saying feet, inches, miles, etc., so I got ragged on every time I said something in the imperial system.  Damn you dirty Canadians.  You got me this time…

We all got to talking about our destinations, and Jim and Alex asked if I’d like to ride with them to Jasper.  I had been talking about the inflated cost of camping in Jasper and Banff, which was much higher than the camping costs in the US.  If we were all riding together, we could split the cost of campsites.  Unfortunately, our schedules were off by a day, but I exchanged contact info in hopes I’d be able to catch up with them later on the road.

Emmy parents, Paul and Debbie, even came out to join us at the pub.  A bunch of Canadians partied it up with a fat ugly American.

After everyone left, I pleaded with Emmy to do some karaoke with me.  This was my first night in Canada, and I wanted to do it up big by singing Third Eye Blind’s Jumper. After a few more beers, she caved.  We got up and rocked it out.  After the first lyric, I found out she had turned off her mic.  No wonder all you could hear was my screeching, terrible voice.  I imagine it was very painful for everyone at the bar.

To celebrate my victory over karaoke, I treated Emmy to a grilled cheese at Denny’s.  My food was pretty gross.

canadian clown

Merrick stayed an extra day in Cranbrook, so we all hung out that day.  Emmy had to work at Dewey’s Pub, so after chatting it up with her parents, we headed down to the pub.  We shot a few games of pool and took some emo band photos with a huge plasma TV in the background.   Soon enough, the biggest clown in BC walked in.

“Oh, hey you guys!” Emmy said out loud, looking at the door.  Three young people walked in.  They all had baby faces…not a day over 19.  They plopped down and ordered water.  Uh.

I only remember one of their names, which happened to be the only normal person.  Her name was Asia, and she had a nose ring and a lip ring.  She did soil tests for mineral exploration companies.  She had some pretty interesting stories.  Conversation was flowing between Merrick, Asia, and I when suddenly it all went to shit really quickly.

I can’t remember the name of the guy who destroyed the mood for the night.  His name was forgettable, as were all the stupid things he said.  I’ll call him Rob.

Rob was dressed in some stupid prom-looking outfit.  He had on a purple tie, black slacks, and a black button-up shirt.  The top few buttons were undone, revealing his pasty, white skin.  I guess he was trying to show that he had a really tough day of…nothing.  After all, he was drinking water.

“I’m going to law school and hope to be a politician,” Rob said.  OK…cool.  I wasn’t interested, especially since his aspirations were to be a career politician.  Stupid career.  It’s not even meant to be a career but rather a temporary public service.  He soon found out I was from the United States and started complaining about Barrack Obama.  Dude, who the hell do you think you are?

I played devil’s advocate just because I was annoyed by him.  He started talking about the economy and threw all these shitty facts and statistics around.  Cranbrook’s unemployment is ‘blah blah blah’, which has decreased GDP ‘blah blah blah’.  I can’t quote him because I tuned him out off and on.  I was actually counting the number of facial hairs he had.  One…Two…Three…No, no.  That’s an eyelash.  Two.

“The United States used to be the greatest nation in the world from 1900 to 1960, but it’s gone to shit and they have nothing now,” he arrogantly claimed.  “You’re standing in the greatest nation of the world,” he proclaimed.  I asked him if he’s lived in the US or ever visited.  He visited Disney World with his grandmother in Florida.  If that was the extent of his personal knowledge of the US, then I would rather be talking to Mickey Mouse about the current state of Yemen’s economy.  This guy was an idiot, but I wanted to see what other stupid shit he’d say.

Then he got into the war in Afghanisan.  What did this kid know about war?  I’ve never served, but I’m not making stupid, blanket statements.  He sounded like a sound byte from the O’Reilly Factor.  “How can you fight against guys that believe they’re going to have 70 virgins when they die?” he shouted.  I laughed and called him out on how stupid that sounded.  He went silent.  I had shut him up…for two seconds.

I was getting frustrated.  Merrick had exited the converstion a long time ago by just walking away.  I should have done the same thing.  In the end, I told him that he should travel and open his mind before making silly blanket statements about war, Africa, Iraq, Afghanistan, and the current state of the US and its economy.  He agreed.  I wanted to punch him in the head.