Cycling Canada to the Crowsnest Highway

After spending the last few days in Winnipeg, it was terrific, and our friends Patricia and Heather were great hosts. They showed us many of the more exciting and enticing locations of Winnipeg and to be honest,  I was surprised at how cosmopolitan it was. We had a great time and more importantly, we had some companionship, a few great meals and a shower—a real 30-minute shower with hot water. A great time was had by all, at least so I thought. I was getting rather comfortable, the notion of getting back on the bike and doing some riding, was not the most appealing idea. We knew what we had to do. Like Willie Nelson once sang: “it was time to get back on that road again.”

The “Peg” to Portage 

Leaving Winnipeg was similar to entering it, and it did take an hour or so meandering through the side streets until we met up with our old family member, the trans-Canada highway. Heading west with today’s destination of Portage La Prairie. The summer heat was upon us, and it was early July just after Canada day. The prairies are not as flat as one would have believed, and they rolled on ceaselessly. We know we could do this as we had traveled this far.

Then Bart said:

The mind was willing, and the heart was well not as anxious. We were about halfway through our day as we pulled off to the side of the road for a drink and a bite to eat when Andrew said: “Are we there yet?” we laughed choked on the water. Remounting for what would be the continuation of our midwestern leg along highway 1 on the hot Manitoba road. Cycling Canada to the Crowsnest Highway. We had plenty of time to spare at the end of the day. This was unexpected as it was the first day back after a riding absence. Locating a campground, we set up for the night just out Portage la Praire.

We were in excellent spirits. The terrains moved under the wheels swiftly, and the picturesque scenery allowed us to believe that this is how the prairies would treat us. We would-be conquerors of the territory as it bowed down to its master. Riding through Brandon, we set up camp in a farmers’ field, cracked a beer and basked in our good fortune.

Brandon to Virden Manitoba

The sun was up before us today. Yesterday’s heat was excruciating. We doubled back to Brandon to find breakfast, but as importantly, a shower. During breakfast, we asked a woman to use her shower. I am not sure how the conversation occurred other than our stench. She was obliging, and after showering, it was time to tackle the ground ships that would take us to our days’ end destination of Virden.

Bitch and Whine 

Similar to the day before the heat was stifling. We pulled off the road at a campground to gain some shade and to cool down. It was a “bitch and whine stop” and then back on the road. Progress was adequate, and we anticipated that we would be able to reach our destination. The kilometres rolled on. In the distance, the skies were turning into black ink. The darkest clouds we had ever encountered, like a solar eclipse or the dawning of the apocalypse. Foolishly we continued to move west into the storm. 

The Lineman 

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a figure off into the distance flailing their arms. He was a lineman for Manitoba telecom. He ran up to us very animated and told us that there was a severe weather statement and that we needed to get off the road. Now! Recognizing his concern and the ominous black sky, we took his advice and got off of the highway. But where?

Oz or Odd 

There are not many hiding spots on the trans-Canada highway, in the middle of the prairies. Hurriedly we took the first exit, went down a side road. We found a shed, enclosed on three sides with a steel roof. It was not great, and there were no other options. Hunkered down and hoping that the storm would not hurl us around like a scene from the “Wizard of OZ.” Rolled a joint and waited while the rain pelted our shelter like a target, the sound was deafening, like being at a rifle range or worse.

The brightest lights shine at night 

The storm passed, and the hot Manitoba sunshine mixed with the blue skies were once again trying to deplete our strength. We were on the outskirts of Virden and asked a farmer if we could camp in his field. Later that night, we were woken by the dazzling blue, white and green shimmering of the “Northern lights.” The Aura Borealis. It is no wonder that our indigenous people could recognize this as a sign from beyond this world. In nature, there is pure beauty.

Virden To Moosomin

After yesterday’s storm, we knew not to take anything for granted. Packing up and thanking our host for his hospitality, we found the asphalt river and started our journey the Moosomin Saskatchewan. Today was going to be exciting, as we would cross another provincial boundary  into Saskatchewan. We had many kilometres to go before we could reach that milestone. It seemed hotter than yesterday, and you could also feel your self melt. We were making exceptional time. Being hydrated was paramount, and we carried 4 litres with us each. They dissipated quickly, and we were in constant water refresh emergency mode. Stopping at Elkhorn, we refilled and took refuge under an enormous, beautiful Oak tree. There was not a cloud in sight.

The Kings of the road 

We could see far off onto the horizon, and it seemed that the view never ended. Saskatchewan was out there somewhere, and after that, our final destination for that day. The riding was excellent, and the trucks very accommodating- they would change lanes when they could. Thank you. On the horizon, we spied something big and stationary after we passed by Kirkell. It had to be what we were waiting for, the “Welcome to” sign. Inspired, we continued west, not noticing that the sun had disappeared, and the sky grew dark. 

When a sign is more than a sign 

As if on cue, the skies opened up, pelting us with hail the size of golf balls. Abandoning our journey for a few minutes, we frantically searched for shelter. There was nothing except for the sign itself. We were prepping our self on the east side of the monument. The hail unleashed its fury. Huddled beside the sign, helmets on and using our bicycles as shields, we had no alternative but to wait out the storm. The wind rocking the structure like a tethered ball, and it seemed to last for an eternity, but it did subside. 

Enemy

Suitably soaked, this was not the welcome we were anticipating. The day was still young, and the destination was within our reach. We hit our stride and beginning to warm up, and the westerly winds began to increase as well. We were riding straight into a 30-kilometre headwind. Making the remainder of the days ride far from what we had hoped for when we left Virden that morning. Head down, wet clothes rippling in the wind, we managed to crawl our way into Moosomin Sask. We now understood who the enemy might be on the prairie leg. Cycling Canada to the Crowsnest Highway. Now it was time for some C and C- camping and cocktails.

Moosomin to Whitewood Then the winds came

We met some  incredible people that allowed us to set up our tent on their front lawn, which was surrounded by a white picket fence. We set up camp under a hundred-year-old tree, attached to it was a hammock. After days of sleeping on the ground, this was beyond ideal. In the morning, they invited us into their home for breakfast. They took a genuine interest in what we were doing. I guess this is what is meant by western hospitality.

Camping hell 

Fueled up and ready to go, it was time to sing the old familiar Willie Nelson song and make our way slowly westward. The winds that we encountered the previous day had gotten stronger. We were riding directly into a 40-kilometre per hour headwind for the entire duration of the day. Our schedule, if we had one, was destroyed. We crept, we swore, we crept and swore some more. Our destination today was the town of Grenfeld. We were making no progress. With less than 50 kilometres completed and our will to continue all but extinguished we settled into a campground at Whitewood.

Setting up camp was a nightmare; the wind created confusion even on the campsite. The tents were dreadful going up and starting a fire was all but impossible, yet we still managed. We retired early to our dwellings and sat there in quiet contemplation as the tent rattled under the pervasive wind.

Whitewood to Grenfeld. Wind not wheat

Tearing down the camp and trying to get breakfast was impossible. The wind from the west was as aggressive as ever, and we knew what was in our future-more misery. We made it to a local truck stop, slowly drinking a coffee and eating eggs and toast. Overhearing the trucker saying the next couple of days would be more of the same. Again we considered taking the day off, knowing  our progress would be laborious. Paying the tab and walking through the glass chimed door. We hesitantly through a leg over our machines. 

Time for the Pipe 

The wind ripped across our face and shoulder while our rainwear fluttered in the wind. The music in our headphones, silenced from the noise. Pushing hard and not getting anywhere, it was soul searching time. We were determined to make up the lost time, but at what cost? Using precious energy and resources to move across the planet as if you were standing still. The white line was the focus as you peddled, rarely looking up to “enjoy” the scenery, after 7 hours, we covered very little distance.

Exhausted and angry, it was another quiet night on the campground. This time we flanked the tents around the fire so we could stay warm and still communicate with each other. The hash pipe came out, and the disappointment of the day finally had come to an end.

Down But Not Out

Truck drivers have much insight. They were correct, the wind continued. They did leave out one crucial fact, rain. We woke to a wet tent and the blustery wind. How far was Toronto anyways? We needed to make up time. We rode through the trestled archway onto a dirt road, potholes filled with water. At the end of the roadway, the Trans-Canada highway, spirits and morale were low. We didn’t fuel up that morning it was too wet, we would get something while on the road. Nothing. Riding was slow, slower than what it had been the two previous days. Discouraged and demoralized, we took shelter near a small bridge. Stopped and seemingly directionless, we searched for the strength and courage to continue our journey. Nothing. Nothing. Wondering why we would consider Cycling Canada to the Crowsnest Highway.

What is that sound? 

Honk! Honk! The loud noise blared from a pickup truck, a family of three in the cabin. The woman on the passenger side asked if we were alright, did we have a breakdown- we were close (emotional bitch and whine session) but replied. “No,” we explained what we’re doing and that the last three days had “beaten us down!” The driver yelled across the cab, “We can take you to Moose Jaw, throw your bikes in the back of the truck. You will have to stay back there with them, there is no room for you up here, but we have a tarp.” We simply looked at each other like we had just been “saved by the bell.” Bikes locked down, and the two of us huddled under a tarp, it was off to Moose Jaw. Down but not out. Guardian Angel? 

The Sask. family Shelton

The Sheltons were the ideal family, and they restored our confidence. They were heading home to Limerick Sask. after a family vacation. Honestly, we were fortunate. As we removed our gear from there truck, we were in their debt. Exchanging addresses, the black Ford F150 disappeared down the road. Revitalized we continued west.

Crossing the storm 

The wind that had been testing us for the past few days had dissipated. We sat on the trans-Canada highway, ready to continue riding. It was barely noon, and the days that we had lost, were now restored, back on schedule if we had one. We estimated that a vehicle travels in an hour what we do in a day. The ride in the truck was unexpected, and we were determined to continue. Opening the map, we notice a town called Chaplin. It was 90 kilometres away and would take the rest of the day to get there. We resigned ourselves to do so.

Feeling Like Athletes

The road was broad and had an ample shoulder, the heat had decreased, and the riding was pleasant. The endless Kilometres of virtually flat pavement passed underneath us quickly. The fields that flanked each side of the road were the colours of amber and green, looking like the surging tide as the breeze blew across them. It was cycling Utopia. Midway through we pulled off to the side of the road, laid the bikes against a fence and devoured a couple of power bars, we had not eaten anything except what the Sheltons provided in the truck. A good supply of water and the legs ready to propel us further, we continued to Chaplin. 

It was only …day

The sun had practically set when we rode into town. The glare was unbearable for the last two hours, the sun now just a speck on the distant horizon. We set up camp at the Chaplin campground. Other than a few trailers, the grounds were empty. The facility had washrooms, a shower and free firewood—camping bliss. Stomach full, the stench washed away and a big spliff. It is incredible what can happen over a day. Today we were glad that we are Cycling Canada to the Crowsnest Highway.

A swift ride to Swift Current

The night’s rest was as good as I could remember. We seem to find the routine that we had in Ontario, instants coffee, and pancakes. Break camp, load up the equipment on the bicycles and head back out on the world of adventure, never knowing what was going to come along the next bend in the road. Now out on the “stream of passage,” known as highway 1, the day was as pleasant and the air fresh. The crops on either side of the road danced to their natural rhythm. The breeze was perfect from keeping the sweat dripping into your eyes. 

R and R. Rest and Rehydration

Pulling off at Herbert, we sat in a public rest area to give the legs and bum a break, refill the water bottles and continue on your way towards Swift Current. It would be a full days ride, our spirits high. The town names peeled off before our eyes, there seem to be more of them in succession than there had been in previous days. Rush Lake and then Waldeck. We were making good progress, and we knew the day was coming to its close when the sun began to interfere with our vision. We just passed a sign indicating that we were “Welcome to Swift Current,” and soon we arrived at the Trail campground to set up the nights camp.

Aerial Silence

No birds were singing as we broke camp that morning. Indicating that it was going be a sweltering day, or there was a hawk in the area- I think the birds were hiding. One thing may have nothing to do with the other-it was quiet. We wanted to get on the road a quickly as possible. The camp dismantled, and bikes ready to go; it was time to head out on that often lonely highway that we called “brother.” Feet clipped in; it was time to ride. The day would take us to Tompkin. Cycling the surrounding terrain had been transitioning from arid farmland to the harder, more rustic landscape. We were not on the road for more than an hour, and we know that we were in for a scorcher of a day. As the thermometer reached 38 degrees Celcius, we knew we were going to need to conserve as much water over this unforgiving barren land.

Welcome to the dust bowl

As the day extended, our water supply soon became depleted. Where the map designated, a town, there was none to be found only derelict buildings from a previous time. No water. Where there was supposed to be a river or creek, all that remained was a dry gulch. Dry. In this hostile area and without water, our day would be over very quickly or worse. Dehydration is not something you want to be concerned with, athletes or not.

Snakeskin Got one? 

Crossing another dry creek, the last of our water gone, we tried to suck the sweat out of our clothing like Bear Grylls may have done. The fabric was dry. I may have tried to kill a snake and use its skin as a bladder for my urine. There were no snakes and my bladder barren of any moisture-thankfully. Was this how the journey was going to end, two dehydrates corpse slowly vanishing in the prairie wind under the hot Saskatchewan sun? Ashes to ashes dust to dust.

It was bleak. Sharing the last drop of water, we continued to ride to the next dried creek. Beaten, we dropped the bikes off to the side of the road and grabbed refuge under a tiny and thirsty tree. Silence. Time. Then a miracle. 

The Watering home

A Winnebago going to British Columbia pulled off to the side of the road and asked if we need assistance. We uttered the word “water” from our parched throats. They had drums of it, litres of fresh cold water. We drank merrily and filled up our bottles. They said they have driven through here many times, and being so desolate they always stocked up in the event of a personal emergency. We thanked them, and they drove off. Us, rehydrated, and with time in our day, we recommitted to our destination of Tompkin. Arriving, we went to an off-license and purchased some malted beverages to celebrate our survival (and rehydrate) while having a dinner of pasta and meat sauce- a gourmet meal.

Chatting over beer and a joint, we were so lucky today. We knew it- not athletes. 

It all starts at Pai Pot

Packing up earlier than usual, we got to the road, and there was not a soul in sight. We rode about an hour and stopped in at a small diner in Pai Pot first Nations. It was only just 8 am, and they were just opening. The saloon/ guest house was very rustic with animal skulls and first nations memorabilia adorning the walls. The waitress was young and very friendly. We needed to take on more calories and extra bottles of water. After yesterday we needed to be as prepared as possible. Riding up the barely paved road, making a left, we were back with “brother” highway 1.

Drier Than sand 

The riding was great in the early part of the morning. The plan was to put in the most distance possible, rest during the hottest part of the day and then continue. The distance goal was to try and reach the Alberta border at Maple Creek, which was about 100 kilometres away. We knew we had this in us if we did not fry in the hot sun. The scenery here was very rugged and very dry. If not the badlands, it is very tough land. We rode through abandoned towns or towns with meager inhabitants, and it was humbling to think that these were once thriving communities and now just memories held by a few people. The heat was stifling, and we pulled over as we had hoped. We were in the middle of a desolate part of the highway with no shade, no rivers or creeks. We decided that the best way to use our provisions was to keep going, although it was the heat of the day. After a quick leg stretch, it was time to mount up and continue. Beyond the tormenting broil, the riding was good.

Bronzed Helstorm 

Andrew decided to remove his shirt to get some “rays.” He felt that the breeze would keep him cool, and I advised him against it. Horse to water, lambs to the slaughter, pick your cliche. Progress was excellent, and we felt that our destination was attainable, perhaps even further into Alberta. I like to go one kilometre at a time. Suddenly I felt a slight roughness emanating from my crank area. I didn’t think much of, but as we went on, the friction in the crank began to increase. There was nothing we could do. We did not carry the tools necessary to perform this type of operation, so we went on. Me, with a suspect crank and my accomplice, basking in the hot Saskatchewan sun.

Alberta Stopped 

There it was on the horizon not more than 500 meters ahead. The “Welcome to Alberta sign.” This time we were not pelted by hail or having a deluge of precipitation cascading down on us. Bright sunny skies as we passed into the “wild rose country.” I heard a crunching sound from my crank, and then it ceased to turn. I yelled to Andrew: “I am fucked!” Our first significant breakdown.

Remarkably there was a man with a truck at the rest area. He noticed that we were not in good spirits and asked if we needed a ride. He said he could take us as far as Medicine Hat. Knowing that it is a more populated center, they would have a bike shop to fix my crank. We took him up on his offer, and we drove with him for 60 Kilometers to “the Hat.” Dropping us off at the nearest campsite, we set up and thought how lucky we have been on this trip. Let’s hope the luck holds out. Does anyone have a beer? Not athletes.

Medicine hat and Beaver (Cleaver)

Today did not go as intended. My bicycle was severely in need of repair. As I looked around our campsite, there was no sign of Andrew. Assuming that he went to take a shower or to explore this massive park site. Sitting back at the picnic bench, I gathered my belonging to escort my bike for its operation. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied something very odd, a leg sticking out from under the caravan next to us. Andrew, while bronzing himself the day before, came down with an extreme case of sunstroke complete with nausea and vomiting, it was not a pretty sight. I set him up with some liquids, leaving him to fend for himself. My bicycle needed to get repaired. 

Bicycle and a TV 

Walking with my bike into town, I had to ask around for a bike shop. I found a couple but they could not fix a bottom bracket problem. It took some time, but I finally found one. The work would take a couple of days -I think the shop owner recognized the back east accent. I told him about our journey and after a little pleading and expressing how we were on a schedule. He said he could have it done by the end of the day. 

I spent the day wandering the streets of Medicine Hat, peering into a few interesting shops. Most of the items were souvenirs that I would like to purchase; however, there is no place for such trinkets on a bicycle tour like ours. It was still sweltering, and my thirst and hunger were starting to grow. I found a place called Hells basement- a brewpub. A friendly place with board games and food and, most importantly, a TV. I had not seen one for what seemed like a lifetime. With a beer in one hand and fries in my mouth, I forgot about my bike and Andrew-some friend. 

Side note: I did bring him back some food.

It’s alive, I think

With my bike now fixed and my wallet a little lighter- express service tends to cost a bit more. I rode back to our campsite, and I was happy to see that Andrew now had a more human tone about him, well at least he was sitting upright. As the day segued into the night, it was as peaceful although still hot. The rest day was good. Being on the road since Winnipeg and were exhausted, more then any of us would admit. We chatted, had dinner of hamburgers and fries and retired for the remainder of the night.

Farewell my brother

We charted another couple of weeks to make it to the Pacific Ocean and Vancouver. Our trek through Alberta was only commencing and we’re looking forward to the Rocky mountains. Changing course, it was time to stay farewell to our “brother” the Trans Canada Highway. We paid homage to our friend, we smoked a joint at the side of the road where Highway 1 and the Crowsnest Highway 3 go in their separate directions. The smoke slowly wafted east from where we had been. It was now time to embark on the last and perhaps the most challenging section of the journey the Crowsnest Route Highway 3- the shortest passage to fulfill our quest to the Pacific ocean. Cycling Canada to the Crowsnest Highway.

Highway 3 whatever will be will be

Soon we would be back on the road moving towards the Rocky mountains. With all the majesty and intrigue that the lush rivers and the high country can create. The adventure was just beginning…

“The journey with a 1000 miles begins with one step.” 

-Confucius 

We had encountered some of the most hostile lands that either of us thought we could overcome. On many occasions, we almost did not make it. We would like to thank all of the people that helped propel us along the trans-Canada highway and allowing us to continue this excursion. Without you, we may now be living in Moosomin. (Nothing personal)

Have you taken on the Prairie Provinces by two wheels, naturally aspirated east to west? I have had the pleasure of meeting some of those that have. Is this you? Please let us know your thoughts and insight into the Trans Canada highway and the Prairie provinces by leaving a comment below. If you are considering taking this type of challenge, please leave your queries in the comments section below. We would be happy to answer any questions.

As always, it is our privilege.

Its Your Vacation, Your Escape.

VTE