Home

Stories

Trip Reports
Bike Trip - TCT Across BC:

1.Vancouver Island
2.West Vancouver to Coquitlam
3.Coquitlam to Albion Ferry
4.Albion Ferry to Cultus Lake
5.Keith Wilson Bridge to Hope
6.Hope to Princeton
7.Princeton to Penticton
8.Penticton to Creston
9.Creston to Alberta border

Poetry

Pictures

Links

Email

9. Creston to Elk Pass (Alberta border) (Aug 16 - 20)

Day 1 - August 16, 2001

Rocky Mountains My final bike trip from Creston to Elk Pass was quite challenging. I carried with me two panniers, a daypack and a few small bike attachments for maps and repair work. The guidebook describes this section as the largest region of the TCT in British Columbia. I anticipated some hills, but probably not the thigh burners I encountered in the Kootenays. I was very excited to be on the final leg of my journey. Naturally, I was also worried about my bike breaking down, or suffering an injury. These were typical concerns of mine at the beginning of each trip.

Creston Visitor Info Center (5) to Moyie Lake Provincial Park (10): 5.5 hours
(#5 refers to checkpoint in TCT guidebook)

I arrived at Creston around lunchtime and started biking in the noonday sun. As my bike was fully loaded with gear, I slogged along at a much slower pace than the previous section. The sky was clear and I looked in vain for shade. This part of the TCT is still being worked out. There is an abandoned rail bed leading east out of Creston, but it is overgrown. Trails BC is still looking to build a local volunteer group to take up the challenge of constructing an off-road route.

In the meantime, the route out of Creston follows the shoulder of the highway to Moyie Lake Provincial Park. Rolling hills marks this section. I would recommend carrying some extra water, as I did not find any place to refill my water bottle until Kid Creek Rest Area, just outside of Kitchener. There were some public toilets here and a few picnic tables, one of which proved to be an excellent mattress for an afternoon snooze.

When I reached the small town of Yahk, I stopped at the local gas station and inhaled one cold drink after another. The sun was frying my brain. After another short break, I went in search of the post office. Eight years ago while on foot I stayed with the town Post Master, a man by the name of Paul Mc Cartney. No, he wasn't from Liverpool, but he did share a passion for horses like his famous namesake. One of the highlights of my trip back then was riding bare back on one of his magnificent steeds under a full moon with a group of local horse riders.

It was quite an interesting experience staying at Paul's house. His passion for horses and the mail did not spill over to his home. It was by far the filthiest place I have ever stayed in. Animals of all kinds competed with one another for space in his kitchen. Waking up in the middle of the night I had to tip toe through a minefield of dog feces to cross the floor. I also have a distinct memory of easing my weary body into his dirt-stained bathtub and turning a pair of pliers attached to the hot water tap. As the tepid liquid began to fill up around me, I couldn't help but wonder if I would be leaving any cleaner than when I entered. In any event, Paul was one of the most fascinating people I met crossing the province. I had hoped to stop in and say hello, but unfortunately the post office was closed.

Further along the highway I came across one of those large 18 wheel rigs. The driver had lost part of his load of black tar paper. Rolls of the stuff lay strewn across the pavement. I along with a few others helped to get the stuff safely off the road. He told us that another driver had cut him off and he had to swerve. One young woman who had stopped to help yelled at the passing motorists, "Hey folks, we're Canadians! C'mon and help us!" After everything was safely out of the way I continued cycling only to find more of the stuff further up the road. That truck driver was going to have a very long day I think.

The section of Highway along the two halves of Moyie Lake had a very narrow shoulder. I felt a bit nervous as weekend travelers raced by me. I kept thinking that they must be in a hurry to get to their destination so that they can slow down and relax. A couple of kilometers before the north end of the lake I came across a small gas station and store. I was in the small village of Moyie. There are no restaurants, but there is a pub located across the road and up about a hundred meters. I wasn't really into pub food that night so I pushed on to the Provincial Campground.

The Campground is quite large and I was very fortunate to be given the very last site. I felt a bit naked with only my tarp as shelter. Cycling through the camp I was treated to the latest in modern camping. I saw some families eating under army size bug shelters that fit right over their picnic table. Others had hooked up elaborate lighting systems. It was like bringing the lights of Broadway right into your campsite.

My favorites were the recreational vehicles. They needed every square centimeter of available space simply to park their monstrosities. And in many cases these mobile motels were pulling smaller vehicles in behind. On my bike I carry a spare inner tube in case I get a flat. But these folks had gone many steps further. If they suffer a puncture, they just pull off the road, unhitch their 'spare car' and keep driving. Yes, camping has come along way since the canvas tent.

Moyie Lake Provincial Campground was $18 per night. That seemed kind of steep for someone like me used to camping for free, but it did include a hot shower.

Day 2 - August 17, 2001

Moyie Lake Provincial Park (10) to Cranbrook (12): 2.5 hours

I left very early in the morning. All the other campers were still snug in their beds as I made my along the Peavine Valley route. The air was cool, but I was soon sweating from the exertion of grunting up Peavine Road. The dirt track begins flat but soon becomes miserably steep. Fortunately, it leveled off soon after I gained the height of land. Along the way there are a few TCT signs that directed me onto the correct dirt road.

The paved Cranbrook Trail begins at Idlewild Park. It is a great little trail that winds its way along streets, beside streams and eventually spits you out in the middle of town. By following the TCT guidebook, I reached the start of the Isisdore Canyon route.

Near the trailhead I stopped at the Wildland Fire Service main headquarters. I was down to a half liter of water and thought it would be a good idea to top up. The grounds are arranged with annex style buildings and I made my way to the main building. I knocked and went in to find a man of very large proportions, crowned with a thick mop of black hair staring at me. I introduced my self and asked if I could fill up my water bottle.

He looked at me and asked, "Who are you?"

"Nobody", I replied.

"Well", he said, "We don't do that kind of thing here."

His response stopped me in my tracks. I couldn't believe he would not allow me to have some water. I had refilled my bottle at countless places across the province and no one had ever refused me a few cups of water below. I sarcastically thanked him for his kind assistance and quietly shut the door behind me. I cycled out of the yard and over to his neighbor, a retailer of industrial products. The fellow in there invited me to take as much water as I needed. Thanking him, I splashed some water onto my face, drank my fill and left with a full one liter strapped to my bike. I felt rejuvenated.

Cranbrook (12) to Fort Steele (14): 1.5 hours

The Isadore Canyon Trail follows an abandoned CPR rail bed. The route is fairly easy to follow. It is dry with no opportunities to find water, so it is a good idea to bring a little extra. Along the way I passed another rock oven similar to ones I saw around Chute Lake in the Okanagan.

The rail bed is marked with kilometer signs and near the 8km sign, the TCT branches off through a gate to follow a great single-track path northward. The trail is TCT signed through portions of this section and is easy to follow. There are a few hills here and there, but nothing serious. Again, the countryside is quite arid. At one point I reached the top of an open grass covered hill that afforded me a terrific view of the surrounding landscape.

By the time I reached Fort Steele, I was quite thirsty and hungry. Rather than tour the actual Fort Steele historic sight, I opted instead for a short break at a general store / gas station just at the junction of Wardner-Fort Steele Road and the highway. It was here that I met a cycling couple, John & Marie Elsner from the United States. They were cycling across North America as part of a fund raising tour for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. They had biked from Alaska and were heading to Waterton Lakes. From there, the two intrepid cyclists were going to bike west to Seattle, then south to San Diego, and finally east along the US / Mexico border to Florida. Their hope was to stay ahead of the weather and finish by Christmas time. I have to say they looked quite fresh after being on the road for over a month. I asked them about their preparation and they told me they really didn't do much. They let the trip get them into shape. You can read about their epic journey at www.uwm.edu/people/zjen/biketrip.html

Fort Steele (14) to Trout Hatchery (16): 2 hours

It was on this stretch of TCT that I began to wonder about the sanity of the TCT route planners. Up to this point, I was quite pleased with the diversity of trail, the diverse landscape and obvious consideration being given to the self-propelled traveler.

The route begins simple enough with a quick cycle over paved road for a few kilometers. I turned off onto Fenwick Road, which follows the old Southern Kootenay Railway. Unfortunately, the TCT takes a hellish route ironically called #2 Picture Valley Forest Service Road. This road begins almost immediately after leaving Fenwick Road. I don't think my words can adequately describe how I felt cycling this ugly section. The road surface was covered in a 4" base of fine dust, about the consistency of sugar. Biking uphill through this was definitely not a picnic. To make matters worse, the road was heavily rutted so I found myself sliding into these miniature crevasses of dry mud and earth. As I tried my best to pedal forward, my bike did it's best to slide horizontally. It was rather ridiculous. Of course my efforts to pedal through this stuff ensured that I was engulfed in a cloud of dust the entire time.

This ordeal went on for what seemed like forever. Many times, I just had no choice but to push my bike through this brown 'sugar'. It didn't help that I kept thinking of the relatively flat, hard packed road with views of Kootenay River that lied just a few hundred meters away to the West of me.

There are a couple of small lakes or water tanks, but I think even a thirsty cow would think twice before drinking from it. Finally I reached the end of this official TCT section and returned to Fenwick Road. I was out of water so I looked for the first available spot I could refill. I came upon a number of homesteads and cycled up to the closest one. On the front door of this tiny shack was a posted sign that warned all potential solicitors, government agents, beggars, and a long list of other unwanted guests not to even knock on the door. "You've been warned", it read. There was a moment when my thirst almost got the better of me and I was about to throw caution to the wind when I heard a scraping sound coming from inside. It sounded like someone dragging something, perhaps a loaded rifle across a wooden floor. I knew if I asked for a cup of water I would be considered most likely a 'beggar', and since no one really knew where I was, I decided to turn my bike back to the road and look elsewhere. Down the road was a trout hatchery. I thought to myself that they must have lots of fresh water.

Trout Hatchery (16) to Suzanne Lake Rec. Site: 5 hours (includes a break at Jaffray Pub)

The trout hatchery was great. The place was clean, cool and I was treated to a delicious refill of fresh water, chilled to 6.79 degrees Celsius exactly. The staff member who gave me the water was himself an avid biker, and had cycled lots of trail in the local area.

At Bull River there was a pub, but I was determined to make 'K' so I continued on following another ugly route called the Pickering Hills Road. It meandered up and down over dry and dusty trails, leaving me once again to push my fully loaded bike through 'sugar'. The hills were laced with unmarked cart tracks or multiple flagged routes, making it very hard to navigate the correct path. TCT signs are quite rare along this section so I relied upon my navigating technique of 'ennee meenee minee mo' when selecting my route.

Eventually I found my way back to the highway, but it turned out I was about a kilometer from the correct access point. I biked along Highway #3 looking for some indication of the TCT route. When I found it I stopped dead in my tracks and had to laugh out loud. The TCT at this point traverses over a barb wire fence that continues on through open county to I guess Shellbourne Road. I stood there and wondered how a horseback rider would manage. I suppose a horse rider would be expected to leap the fence, and then go back for all of their gear and ferry it across somehow. I had no intention of carrying my bike over this fence and then slogging through the countryside looking for Shellbourne Road. I was low on water and baking in the midday sun. I opted for the only sensible route and continued down the highway to Jaffray. The route between Fort Steele and Jaffray was one of the ugliest sections of TCT I had yet encountered. Little did I know that the 'fun' was not over yet?

I entered the darkened, slightly cooler confines of the Jaffray Pub and felt a dozen pair of eyes on me. I was surprised at the number of folks inside on what was really a very hot summer day. I thought with all the lakes in the area, people would be swimming. Only fools like myself would take refuge in a bar in the middle of the afternoon. Anyway, I dusted myself off, sat down and ordered a 'veggie burger' and a couple of iced coolers. After lunch I headed back out into the frying pan of heat and made my way for North Star Lake Site.

When I reached the lake I started looking for the road, as clearly marked in my TCT guidebook that led to Suzanne Lake. I cycled around but could not find anything. It looked like the road ended at North Star Lake. I was told by various people of a couple of routes, one which resembled my map and another that followed the transmission line southward before heading east along a dirt road to Suzanne Lake. I decided to follow the Transmission Line route, as the fellow who told me about it generously offered to lead me part of the way using his ATV.

There may be a southerly route along the lake leading to Suzanne Lake, but not many locals know about it and even less have ever tried it. By following the directions of the ATV user I was able to find my way back along to a main dirt road that ran along a tiny pond that shows up on the map. It was at this pond that I found a TCT trail sign. My guess it there is a route that runs between these two lakes in a more direct approach, but I have no idea what the conditions of this route are. I would recommend checking with Trails BC for any updates on this particular section.

I reached Suzanne Lake Recreation Site by early evening. I dropped my bike, stripped down to my cycling shorts and plunged into the water. It was pure bliss. Hours of dust and heat just peeled off my body as I floated and splashed about. The lake itself is beautiful, nestled as it is amongst the mountains. I met a wonderful couple of women, Michele and Cindy from Calgary who revived me with beer, cold bottled water, and cheesies.

There was a fire ban in effect, which suited me just fine, as I had no energy to collect any wood for such an undertaking. I was feeling a bit of nausea caused by too much heat; too much activity and not enough water and rest. The evening slipped by and I was treated to a brilliant display of stars. I was really enjoying the peace and quiet until the teenagers arrived. Parents anxious to rid themselves of their responsibility for the weekend dropped off hordes of them. Unfortunately for me, I had no desire to pack up and leave. So, instead, I lay awake half the night listening to the hoots and hollering of 15 year olds as they ran wild around camp.

There was an off duty police officer next to me. But he was just as loud. It seemed that his favorite activity when being off duty and camping was to listen to his police radio at full volume. Good grief, I thought to myself. I am never going to get any sleep. I didn't do anything. I just closed my eyes and waited for the noise to subside. Eventually the cop got tired of his fun and roared down the road. The teenagers, however, kept their youthful energy fired up all night. When I left at 7 am the next morning some of them were still awake.

Day 3 - August 18, 2001

Suzanne Lake Rec. Site to Fernie: 5.5 hours

I relished the cool solitude of biking so early in the morning. I passed Kikomun Creek Rec Site and made note of its smaller number of campers. One couple back at North Star Lake told me that this place is a great area to see Grizzlies in early Fall. The bears are beginning the hypophagia stage of their feeding where they are gorging themselves on anything they can find, especially the protein rich fish that are found in Kikomun Creek.

After crossing Kikomun-Newgate Road I made my waty to Baynes lake Dump Road. It is this section that I also found very confusing. There are TCT signs, but I noticed a strange thing. I was cycling along looking for Fusee Lake Road and came across a TCT sign, which directed me to travel east along a smaller, less defined dirt road. I followed this for about ten minutes, but gave up and turned around. I did not find any more TCT signs and I just had the feeling I was not on the correct route. I went back to Baynes Lake Dump Road and continued southward scanning the area for another TCT marker or sign for Fusee Lake Road. I ended up at a crossroads near Baynes Lake and found a TCT marker, but it did not really lead anywhere. Very confused I continued onward down the road a little way and came upon a community market being set up. I asked around, but none of the locals had heard of Fusee Lake Road. Feeling frustrated, I decided to cycle down to Highway 93 and make my way northward to the town of Elko.

The TCT does intersect Highway 93 on this side. I don't really know if it was the East Side of Fusee Lake Road, as it was not marked, except for a single TCT sign. The route to Elko along this section is not signed, as far as I could tell, so I recommend once again checking with Trails BC for current information about this area. The trail is still being built and I knew that signage would be a problem in some areas. It was frustrating at times, but did add to the adventure. If everything were neatly laid out and straightforward, I personally would not be interested in doing it.

I reached Elko and refilled my water bottle at a local store / gas station. I arrived just as a group of cyclists were leaving. They were made up entirely of women ranging in ages from early twenties to 'mature' and told me they were just beginning a trip that would take them down to Waterton Lakes Park in the southeast corner of BC.

Once I left Elko, I had no trouble finding the River Road Route. This is a main logging access route, which is very wide, with a rolling series of hills. The road follows the Elk River along the East Side of its banks.

The number of small creeks that were completely dry along the way surprised me. This had definitely been a very dry summer. I arrived in Fernie in the middle of the day, feeling quite overheated. I checked into the Raging Elk Hostel near the north side of town. It is a great place to stay. They offer private rooms (around $25 Canadian and complete with my own bathroom!) and dorm style sleeping. The recreation room in the blissfully cool basement is equipped with kitchen (pancake breakfast is free each morning to all guests), Internet service, pool table, big screen TV and public telephones. Joe, who runs the place, was a very interesting guy, as I was to find out.

Fernie itself is a wonderful town with bike shops, restaurants, bus service, and a large trail network. The weekend I was there, the town was hosting a mountain biking race on the local ski hill. During the winter, the place is hopping with skiers and snow boarders. During the summer, it is pretty quiet, but that suited me just fine.

I ran into an Australian whom I had met in Nelson. He was very funny and entertained all the guests in the evening at the BBQ with stories from home. I hired Joe from the Raging Elk to pick me up at Elk Lakes Provincial Park, which is where I would end my trip. It is an isolated area and I did not relish the idea of biking the 140 km back to Fernie to catch my bus. Everything was arranged and I went to bed that night feeling pretty good about about my final push to the border. Little did I know . . ?

Day 4 - August 19, 2001

Fernie Visitor Info Center (24) to Elkford (27): 4 hours

I skipped the free pancake breakfast and hit the road early once again. The route to Elkford is very straightforward and I made good time. It is mostly flat as I traveled up the Elk Valley. I had been warned about forest fires in Peter Lougheed Provincial Park in Alberta. Logging crews were being pulled out of the 'bush' and I was worried that access to the border might be blocked.

I started with a good tail wind taking advantage of the wide shoulder alongside the highway. The TCT mostly follows highway #3 through this area. Along the way I stopped in Sparwood at the Visitor Information Center. I have mentioned in another trip report that each town seems to be known for something. Sometimes it's the quirkiness of the locals; or an historical event linked to the town, or perhaps a natural landmark. With Sparwood it's the big green truck. That's right, a great big, towering monster of metal and rubber and green paint. It is so large in fact that I easily fit onto one of the truck's immense tire rims. Locals told me that everybody loves to have their picture taken next to the truck. I was no exception. You see, Sparwood is home to many mining operations and trucks like the one parked at the visitor center and are used daily to haul rock. Locals will confide in you that they think all the "fuss is a bit silly", but they don't mind the extra business generated by tourists stopping who otherwise would probably just zoom by.

I reached Elkford and the last town before the border. The pavement stops at the North end of town and I was anxious to continue. Both Sparwood and Elkford are small Rocky Mountain towns with a few stores, motels, campgrounds, etc. Like Sparwood, Elkford also supports mining and I saw evidence of that along the East Side of the highway. Let's not forget logging. Large areas of the Rocky Mountains outside park boundaries are under the chainsaw these days. The area north of Elkford to the border was being logged. When I arrived however, the crews had been pulled out of the bush due to the forest fire hazard.

Elkford (27) to Elk Lakes Provincial Park (28): 5.5 hours

Leaving Elkford I followed a large dirt forest service road that heads up the Elk River Valley. The elevation change for the most part is gradual, with a few 'grunt hills' along the way. I was surprised to run into another cyclist heading to Fernie. This fellow was towing a bike trailer and had started his trip in Calgary a few days before. I have forgotten his name, but let's just call him 'Alberta Bob' . . . bob being the kind of bike trailer he was hauling. He was heading to Vernon he told me. We chatted for a while about trail conditions; equipment and solo travel in general. It turned out that Alberta Bob had done some amazing cycling adventures over the years including a 1,200 km ride through the Baja.
He said, "You know, there probably isn't a highway pass in this country I haven't ridden over". He did not say it to boast, just as a statement of fact. I have met outdoor travelers like him in the past. They have a 'look', which is kind of hard to explain if you have never seen it. It is a combination of childlike wonder and hardened determination all wrapped up together. I was relieved to find out from Bob that the road was open all the way to Elk Lakes Provincial Park.

About five kilometers further down the road I ran into a second biker. A friend accompanied him just over the next hill. This place is getting crowded I thought to myself. I had not expected to see anyone along this section because of its remoteness. It turned out that lots of mountain bikers like to come through Peter Lougheed Park from Canmore and cross Elk Pass to get into BC. It was also heartening to see a cyclist who was easily over fifty. I am not saying this age means a person is old, but I have usually only seen younger people out and about on their bikes.

As the day wore on my rear rack kept rubbing against my back wheel on its right side. I got off my bike many times to try and bend my rack so that it wouldn't rub. I could not figure out how the rack came to being bent. I did not suffer any falls, and was always careful wherever I stopped and parked my bike. As it turned out I was to 'daff' to notice that two spokes had broken throwing my rear wheel completely out of alignment. It wasn't until I returned to Vancouver and had my wheel on a truing stand that I realized the cause of the problem. Good grief!

There are many places to camp along the way, and there are a few places where the road meets the Elk River or crosses one of its tributaries. Just before the provincial park at Tobermory Creek I came upon a cabin right along the road. It would make a fine shelter, as it is near water, and has a few basic amenities such as a table, chair, and bed.

Being that I was so close to the park I decided to push on, reaching the ranger station by early evening. I set up my tarp and bug shelter next to an old dilapidated cabin next to the parking lot. Cyclists are not allowed to bike down to the lakes, though I did take a stroll there in search of the park warden. There were a few other campers, but they had very loud dogs, so I stayed near the park entrance.

I signed the registry and chatted with the park warden. He generously allowed me use of his satellite telephone to make a quick call to Joe at the Raging Elk Hostel. I confirmed with Joe to pick me up at noon the next day in the parking lot. I went to bed that night listening to wind whistling through the trees and my bug shelter. As a precaution against grizzlies, I left my food inside the ranger cabin. The one other creature I was warned to be weary of was the precocious porcupine that inhabits the woods throughout the Rockies. They love to chew through leather, so I hung my boots up on a nail inside the old cabin. I was camping at 1,735 meters in elevation, and felt the chill of the night air for the first time on my trip. I crawled into my cozy nest of feathers and rip-stop nylon and fell blissfully to sleep.

Day 5 - August 20, 2001 (The last day!)

Elk Lakes Provincial Park (28) to Elk Pass (29) (Alberta border): 30 minutes

I slept in to 8 am feeling confident that my bike trip would be over with a short ride to the pass. I dressed and retrieved my gear from the ranger’s cabin. As a precaution, I hung up all the things I wouldn’t be taking with me to the flagpole. The ranger was leaving for a short hike to a nearby lake, so I new I would be gone by the time he returned.

About 100 meters south of the parking lot is a large metal gate, which is the access point to Elk Pass. The dirt road winds upward roughly following the transmission lines. There were a couple of steeper sections that I pushed my bike up, but for the most part the ride was pretty easy.

Cresting a hill I reached the height of elevation and found myself in a large open area. The spectacular granite crags and peaks surrounding me were shrouded in cloud and smoke. I passed through a gate marking the beginning of Peter Lougheed Park and new I had finally reached the Alberta border. I was definitely at Elk Pass. After 2,000 plus kilometers of trail, rail bed, dikes, FSR, highway, single-track I was done.

A few pics of me with my bike, thanks to my camera's cool remote feature, and I was off down the hill. It felt great to be finished, but now I was eager to make tracks for home. I found myself back in the parking lot, changed into clean clothes, patiently waiting for the ride that would never come. That's right. Joe, whom I had arranged and confirmed not once, not twice, not three times, but four times, had decided not to pick me up.

After waiting close to three hours, it became clear even to a silly optimist like myself that he wasn't going to show. So off came the clean clothes and back on went the sweaty, grimy, dirty cycling attire. I as trudged off down the dusty road, I felt completely drained. It was 3 pm in the afternoon and I really did not have any interest in biking the 140 km back to Fernie. I just hoped that I would meet a vehicle and perhaps catch a lift back some how.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, my trusted friend Bill Archibald and Sherman Olson were driving to the same location. In fact, if I had called him in advance, rather than try surprise him with the news of reaching the border, I could have had a luxurious ride all the way back to Creston where my car was parked. I found out later that he arrived the following day with Sherman Olson (Past President of Trans Canada Trails) and read my name in the park registry. He was very surprised, but not as shocked as I was when we exchanged stories back in Vancouver a week later.

In any case, I cycled and cycled and cycled some more. I never did see another vehicle, but I did run into a lot more evidence of the forest fires raging in the woods to the east. The air became laced with acrid wisps of smoke. I was also biking into a strong head wind and consequently wind burned my lips quite badly.

By the time I reached the gas station / grocery store in Elkford I was beat. I was lucky to pick up a lift with two local miners who gave me a lift to Sparwood. At Sparwood I wasn't so fortunate. Nobody seemed to be going to Fernie. I even tried hitchhiking, but without any success. Thinking back I must have looked a bit silly standing next to my bicycle along the side of the highway trying to hitch a ride.
My last hope was an old man who was chatting with some tourists at the infamous green monster truck. I approached him and noticed he was wearing a tag that read, "Sparwood Ambassador".

I asked him if he was heading to Fernie, but he just smile and said, "No, I'm with the truck".

It turned out he held an honorary position with the town to chat with tourists about the green truck's history. I smiled back and wished him well. Turning my bike in the direction of Fernie I pushed on. Daylight was fading, but I was committed to reaching Fernie and most importantly, Joe of the Raging Elk Hostel.

I wasn't sure what I was going to say or how I was going to act. I just new I had to confront Joe and that alone gave me the energy to keep on cranking the pedals. I arrived in Fernie and the Raging Elk Hostel around 9 pm. Like a zombie I just climbed off my bike and shuffled into the reception area. No one was around so I used the hostel phone and dialed Joe's number.

"Raging Elk Hostel, Joe speaking", came the voice on the other side of the telephone.

I paused a moment and said, "Joe, it's Kelly".

I waited for a reply and then heard Joe's anxious reply, "Kelly, I’ll be right there."

I sank into the comfortable bench and wiped some of the dust from my eyelids. A minute later Joe appeared and the apologies started flowing. He told me he really did not have a valid reason for ' blowin' me off' the way he did and I agreed. He paid for my stay that night and bought me a couple of drinks from the vending machine. I knew I could not stay angry with him. He was a nice fellow and I'm just not the kind of person that can stay angry for very long. We shook hands and I would still recommend the Raging Elk Hostel to anyone adventuring in Fernie . . . with one caveat. Just to be on the safe side, make your travel arrangements with one of the local taxis services.

Epilogue

I arrived back in Coquitlam a couple of days later and began dreaming about my next adventure. I maintain a regular regime of exercising but I know I have lost most of my 'treasured' cycling fitness since returning. However, I am confident that I will be able to regain it with my next trip. As far as trips go, this was a unique one. It was not one continuous long journey, but a series of smaller ones. It was a great project for the spring and summer and gave me a unique goal to focus on.

As with all trips, there are lots of people to thank. I have to start off with my partner, Christine who encouraged me the entire way. She gave up numerous weekends to pick me up or drop me off and I could not have done the trip without her support.

Then, of course, there is Bill Archibald who has followed my wacky adventures for the last eight years. Bill is known throughout BC for his energy, his commitment to the outdoors, and his encyclopedic knowledge of trails. Throughout the months, Bill supplied me with endless trail information, bike touring resources, and contacts. I have said it before and I'll say it again, he's the best.

I also want to thank all the crazy riders like John and Ted who cycled with me along the way. They have convinced me that those who travel on two wheels are not really sane.

And then there are the countless Trails BC volunteers who have built this amazing multi-purpose path across our province. It goes without saying that the trail exists today because of their dedication and hard work.

PICS

Senior cyclist enjoying the Rotary Way Trail in Cranbrook.

Struggling through 'brown sugar' in Picture Valley.

Suzanne Lake

Another dry creek bed. I passed many this summer.

Deer just outside of Sparwood.

The 'Green Monster' . . . I am curled up in the middle tire.

My final campsite at Elk Lakes Provincial Park was over 1,700 meters in elevation.
Notice the bug netting. This shelter has kept me warm and dry on numerous camping trips.

Elk Pass (1,964 meters) at the entrance to Peter Lougheed Park
marks the end of the BC portion of the Trans Canada Trail.

More than 1,600 km later, I finally reach Elk Pass.
Yahoo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!