Traveling the Wings of the Crow

With everything we had encountered in Sparwood we were happy to be heading south. The hospitality there was exceptional and they were very supportive. However you know when it was time to leave. Triumphantly we were now riding south on the Crowsnest highway. We called it riding “The Crow.” Life is full of mysteries as is the road. So please join us as the saga continues into Fernie, British Columbia.

The Road to Utopia

Soon the sun began to enhance the mountain backdrop as we rode along. Now we could see the landscape clearly for the first time since we arrived in B.C. While droplets of rain barely clinging onto the green leaves refracted the sunlight. The mountains were more impressive than I could have imagined; it felt as if you were encompassed into natural menagerie. On either side of the pavement were massive trees of many varieties. The lushness of the forest made it impossible to see deep beyond the immediate foliage. Although it was only a two-way road with a tiny shoulder, the traffic volume was minimal, allowing you to be absorbed into the scenery and enjoy the riding. 

A gift from Tommy Chong

As we crossed a green-grey iron bridge at Hosmer, we sat and gazed at the Kootenay river as it rushed underneath. Stretching and looking around, I noticed something very peculiar on the ground- it was a significant “joint,” like a cigar. How, here on the side of a riverbank? Andrew sprung into action and immediately, like a jaguar pouncing on prey and started to re-roll it. Lighting one of the three “gifts” that it yielded, we sat to behold the spectacles that surrounded us. The ominous presence of the mountains looming above us shrouded in a forest of green. We had only just begun our trek into the interior of B.C. 

The day moved by quickly while we ingested our surroundings. The rich forests, pristine rivers, and waterfalls at every turn. Passing a beautiful church that was nestled in front of a broad mountain peak. An image so serene and so gentle, we were compelled to stop and pondered our location. 

Our campsite was not too far along the road. We stopped briefly to purchase a six-pack and groceries for the evening meal. Setting up camp seemed to be a new experience, it did not seem like the same old drudgery. Like entering the “emerald forest.” The small fire created the amber glow while looking into a blanket of stars, in an otherwise black forest. The sound of the cicadas, crackling wood and the opening of a beer can, was the only sound interrupting the evening silence. Not Athletes.

A road full of mystery

The grass was filled with the due of a new day. The pace of the world suggested changes around us. Packing our kit onto our velocipede’s, we were once again on the “The Crow.” The morning with its fresh cool air made the riding ideal. The km’s passed underneath our wheels with little effort, allowing us to consider how far we had come over a relatively short time. The Kootenay river that the “The Crow” followed continued to inspire with its eternal and whimsical tune. 

Cycling towards Cranbrook, and we were beyond halfway as the sun loomed high in the sky, bringing with it the summer’s warmth. Taking a snack break, we pulled into an old abandoned mine. This was certainly something that we had to explore. The entrance to the tunnels was obscured by large rotting wood beams, we ventured in as far as we dared. We thought it could collapse or be the home of a wild animal or perhaps worse. Surrounded by exhausted, broken down buildings and other mining equipment, it was a find too satisfying. We enjoyed the exploration while eating our meagre lunch. Once again, we were back on the road. We began to call it “Riding the wings of the Crow.” The pay tribute to our aboriginal peoples.

The wisest Bird

 “ According to Native American legends and mythology, some tribes believed that the Crow had the power to talk and was therefore considered to be one of the wisest of birds.” 

As we anticipated, we arrived in Cranbrook just as the sun was setting- or slightly later. A town that was just settling down for the evening. Looking around, the shops too had cozied down for the night-nothing was open. In search of accommodations, there was none to be had, and it was now the dark of night. Cranbrook was the largest town we had been to since Medicine hat. Although I would not say cosmopolitan, it was an attractive community. Still, we had no place to stay. 

The Town Square

Noticing a house of worship in the middle of a square. It was non-denominational, none-the-less we were hoping for “ Christian Charity.” Andrew went in to find someone that may be associated with the church. A few minutes later, he came out with a gentleman with long hair and sandals- yes, it does sound stereotypical. He simply called himself Craig. Not the Reverend Craig, just Craig and a founding member of this congregation. He was just locking the doors after the days’ last sermon, and although he did not let us have use of the interior-he allowed us to use the bathroom and to get water. Recommending that we could set camp on the church grounds- which we did. 

As we settled in for a night’s sleep, we realized that we were camping in the middle of the community and in a church ground as the odd car passed by.

Removing one of the “gifts” from his front pouch, we relaxed and thought how bizarre this situation seemed.  

Yakking in Yahk

Craig came back the next morning as we were saddling up and about to leave. He gave us his blessing for a safe trip, and we were soon traveling on “the wings of The Crow” once again. It was another perfect day, perhaps a little chilly. With no suitable food last night nor breakfast this morning, we were forced to stop a restaurant chain with a large “M.” As expected, it had that old familiar taste, and we used whatever nutritional value it had very rapidly. The body felt hollow, and the legs had no drive. This had happened before. However, this time we had a “supplement” that ensured that we would be able to continue our ride with the level of vigour that we had grown accustomed to. Or so we thought.

The riding was sluggish, and although it was beautiful, the day seemed to linger, the journey difficult. Hours on the road felt like days, and although we were “energized,” it did not seem to help very much. Like so many days before, we plodded on. Entering Yahk, we were exhausted. Finding the general store, the long-awaited six-packs were on the horizon. Tonight’s accommodations were close at hand.

Always room for one more or three.

We were fortunate to find a spot, it was summer and the sites were all taken by trailers and other vehicles- we were the only cyclists. With no other options, we paid for a vehicle site to set up camp. The grounds were teeming with people, and we were hoping for some human interaction. Most of the guests were families that kept to themselves with no interest in interacting with two sweaty vagabonds. Cooking dinner and sitting under the shade of a tree, we had many hours to rejuvenate with a frosty cold one in hand.

The sun was just setting over the mountain peaks. The facilities manager came to us and asked if we could share our site with a young family. Maneuvering his small camper into our spot, he set up dinner for his two young daughters on the picnic table. Eventually, he put them down for the evening. Going to his cooler, he pulled a “round” of beers, and the three of us chatted late into the evening. One could say we were yakking in Yahk.

Joe’s garage.

The trailer park was nearly empty when we woke, and our guests from the previous night were also gone. Eating our ‘breakfast of champions”- pancakes and instant coffee, we dismantled our camp. We were starting traveling on the “wings of the The Crow,” just as the sun was ready to unleash its full fury. After days of moderate weather, today the temperature escalated- feeling like our prairie adventure again. We were in desperate need of hydration, and the day was only just starting. A direct result of too many beers, supplements still lingering in the body and the hot sunshine.

Moving along the roads, the best we could under the circumstances. We were about halfway to Creston. The once-dynamic surface was now laden with potholes, various crevices and virtually no shoulder. Riding was far more demanding as the concentration level needed to increase. Riding to the rhythm of the music in my headphones, we were making progress- so I thought. As I looked behind me, there was no Andrew. Riding back around the last bend, there he was doubled over at the side of the road.

Kermit not Hermit

His bike was on the ground in a distressed position. I thought we may have been hit by a car. He was looking “green.” I handed him some of my water and what I had left of my power bar. He accepted the water, but not the food. The combination of the heat and dehydration had gotten the better of him-it was very hot. We needed to get going; we were on a small soft shoulder of a mountain road with the forest encroaching on either side. I went into the ravine and soaked a T-shirt with cold water to help him cool off. We sat there until he was well enough to ride.

Starting the day late and the km’s passing slowly, we did not progress as far as we would have liked to. Still, we were moving in the right direction, albeit slowly. We had hoped to get further than Creston. There were no accommodations anywhere. We rode into a gas station that had been long disregarded. The sun was low in the sky, and we decided that this once vibrant Texaco would be our abode for the evening.

Not Luxurious

It was clear that no one had stopped here in a very long time. Surprisingly the back door was unlocked, and we had to push hard against it to convince the rusty hinges to move. With a loud creaking noise, we gained entry. The room was now stripped clean, dust and spider webs adorned every corner on every wall. We did not see any rodents, it would be impossible for them not to inhabit a sanctuary such as this. It was out of the elements and dry, and most of the windows were intact. On the far wall, there was a section of a once full mirror. It made us wonder how many people looked back at themselves while sitting in the now desolate spot- the stories it could tell. Pulling out the air mattresses, we would get as comfortable as possible.

We slept very lightly that night. The gas station always creaked with strange sounds. In a tent, you became accustomed to random noises that you can isolate most times, here there was none of that. And the mirror with its stories would come to life each time the headlights of a passing vehicle reflected off of it. The entire situation reminded me of an episode of a paranormal TV show. We woke early and desperate to begin again. These were memorable accommodations. 

Uncertainty vs. Adventure

The only item I am convinced of is the uncertainty. Please come back and find out what new and sometimes interesting adventures that Andrew and Jon become involved in. The conclusion to the coast is still a dream. Our final destination. With help from “the wings of The Crow,” I am confident that there will be more adventures ahead.

Have you been through Fernie to Creston? If so, how did you feel about this part of the province? The scenery is fantastic and filled with friendly people. I would recommend it strongly. Please comment if you like to share some of your experiences. Perhaps you are considering a bicycle trip through the Rocky mountains? If so, drop us a line in the comments area, and we will be certain to pass on any wisdom we can impart…Which will not be much. 🙂

As always we appreciate the opportunity to bring this to you.

It’s Your Vacation, Your Escape.

VTE