Cycling to Vancouver when brothers meet.

Manning Park

Breaking camp, it was time to traverse the river again. It was moving with more fury this time and we were ready for the challenge. Slipping and dropping a panier, Andrew reached out with panther-like dexterity and quickness. Grabbing my arm, allowing me to lunge forward to regain my precious parcel. We were half expecting the constable from the night before would be waiting for us. BC’s most wanted! The bikes packed, we continued cycling to Vancouver on “the wings of the crow.”where the brothers meet. Ducking into a roadside diner, we had brunch, no champagne. Less than 2 km later we pulled over we stopped to chat with a fellow traveler, a hitchhiker. We struck up a brief conversation, smoked a joint, everyone was ready for the day ahead.

Climbing out of Princeton in the hot sun was not unique. We pushed hard for the next couple of hours. “The Wings of the Crow” guided us to the summit, and we leaned the bikes along the available rock facing to try to get out of the sun. Now in the Cascade Mountain range. An eagle flew above our heads as if gliding on musical notes. Looking back, the landscape was breathtaking. Snow-capped mountain peaks were glimmering against the bright blue sky. It seemed that every time you put in the hard work, the pay off was immense- life lesson, not sure. Yet mother nature has her way of repaying you. Helmets on tightly

All downhill from here

We did not always agree on the daily routines. We did agree that going down these mountain roads was a fantastic and exhilarating experience. The rest of the journey was downhill. It was time to enjoy the speed of a well-maintained and dry mountain highway. Maximizing your momentum,  the mule that you rode climbing now transformed itself into the thoroughbred. Looking over the side, the view of the gorge was breathtaking, as it seemed bottomless, thankfully there was a well-placed guard rail. Mesmerized from the perspective, I had to remind myself that at these speeds and that gorge, nothing good could happen if there was a sudden interaction. 

Everything seemed perfect, I was out of my seat to allow my knees to absorb and bumps, in complete unison with my bicycle. Like a jockey crossing the finish line at the Queen’s Plate. There was a slight mishap on loose gravel, a shutter, a light pull of the break to scrub off some speed, and I was at top-flight again.  I could have stopped, but what fun would that have been. Now at the bottom of the mountain, I realized that I had a flat. Repairing the tire,  Andrew rode ahead to secure the evening provisions and secure a campsite- Not Athletes.

Magnificent park

Meeting at the rangers station, the park fees today had been waived, we were directed to a small camping only site. It was situated by a small stream nestled between two large trees that created a great deal of shade. It was truly ideal. The only potential problem was that because of its narrowness, it would have made a perfect place for animals to cross, especially large ones. They seem to want to take the path of least resistance.

Our camp was set up, and as we sat down for dinner, the leaves began to cast their long early evening shadows over our site while the fire broke into its amber charm. A group of fellow tourists passed by our camp. We invited them to join us, after all, we did have beer and weed. A group from Australia were also enjoying the evening in this magnificent park. We spent the evening together. It was great having people to talk to and share experiences. Beautiful women made the evening more enchanting. Fortunately, like many good things, memories do prevail.

There is Always Hope.

While the sun rose, I went for a bit of exploration, perhaps believing I could rekindle something from the previous night. They, too, were on the road after an early breakfast. Andrew was beginning to clear the morning breakfast plates as I started to break camp and pack my bike. With this beautiful campsite forever etched into our memory, it was time to say goodbye to Manning Park. We arrived back through the main gate along a dusty road to meet our guide, “the Crow.” Cycling to Vancouver with Hope in mind by days end.

Now at the top of the Alison pass, the climb was slow, and the weather cooperated. Like many mountain passes, the spirit is wholly engaged, and the goal of the peak is to break that character. The view from the pass was magnificent as the range was subdued by the light blues and oranges, hanging over the mountain range like a cloudless watercolour painted by the deft strokes of a master. A whimsy to behold. At 1700 meters above sea level, it was all downhill to Hope. The highway was fast, and we were making significant progress. Stopping briefly, we enjoyed a snack. Soon back “on the wings of the Crow.” We were surprised at the pace we were making then the inevitable happened Andrew got a puncture and needed to stop. Looking for the repair kit it was nowhere to be found. I can only guess it was left when I last repaired my tire. 

What took you so long

Standing to the side of the road with the wheel in hand (an international cyclist distress signal). Soon someone stopped and helped the broken down cyclist. We made arrangements that he go ahead into Hope and I would continue down the mountain and meet him there. Off he went. Me, ready to continue. It was all downhill, and the riding was amazing, as I placed myself into a tuck position to maximize the speed, I was in the town of Hope in what seemed like minutes. Andrew was having a snack sitting by a tree waiting for me. Purchasing a repair kit and buying a six-pack, we found a secluded area to relax and mend the tire.

Two younger guys came by, we offered them a beer and told them of our saga- they could not believe it, they were almost paralyzed with disbelief. They had a stash, and we smoked a joint with them. We had got an early start, and our progress was terrific. It was just after lunch and decided we would continue riding further. As we were about to leave, a former tour cyclist dropped by to say hello, and we started a conversation with her. She invited us back to her place, where we smoked and drank some more. The day was going very well. She fed us and regaled us with her touring stories. We asked if we could use her shower, and it was not an imposition. Fed, clean and somewhat intoxicated. We thanked her, she wished us luck, and off we went cycling to Vancouver.

A little Night cycle

We decided to do some early evening cycling. This probably was not the best idea- hmm alcohol. Reflective vests on we met up with our brother from kilometres back, “The trans-Canada highway.” Taking a few minutes to thank “The Crow” for its guidance, kindness, lessons and wisdom, we bid farewell. We were now in the Fraser Valley, and the night had descended upon us like a solemn vision. Storm clouds began to rise from beyond the lower laying mountain top, as the light from the full moon disappeared the rain started to fall- the last absolution. Realizing that it was time to pull off the road. We located a campground near Bridal rock. The main office was vacant when we arrived so we set up camp in the area near the playground, spending the rest of the night there. No fire tonight, just a can of Ravioli that we purchased in Hope heated over our camp stove.

That was a short sleep.

Abruptly woken from a light sleep. There he was, the angry campground owner, coffee still in hand and shirt not fully tucked into his pants. It took a few minutes to fully understand why this level of turmoil. Why was this overweight and balding man on the verge of a coronary at 7 in the morning? We explained what happened, he didn’t seem to care. Giving us grief for being on the property, he  demanded payment. Either way, he was getting no money. I guess this was the first sign that we were no longer in the pleasant rural mountainous area of British Columbia. We were entering the urban civilization-We knew it too.

Today was the day.

The day was dry, and with few options left we decided that we would cycle to Vancouver today. It would be a long ride, perhaps 12 hours or more. We were determined to make this the last day of riding. To meet new friends, shower, and tell them our tale as it has been described to you. As we continued along Highway 1 (TCH), the traffic increased, and roads began to expand. Arriving at Chilliwack, we pulled off to the side of the expressway, we had a drink of water. Thinking it may be illegal to continue along this section of the highway, we decided that we would stay on Hwy 1 until Abbotsford and reevaluate our situation. We had been riding for almost 4 hours, it was getting hot. Although the climbing was at a minimal. We were running very low on personal fuel.

Making exceptional time,  we pulled off at a supermarket. Buying meagre supplies for lunch and dinner. Resting in a park, we could sense that urbanization was slowly encroaching on our almost perfect wilderness adventure. Pointing our wheels in the correct direction, we veered onto the Simon Fraser Highway. The farther we rode, the closer the destination became. Our proverbial pot of gold. It was there but somehow always unattainable on the road.

Smelling Urban 

As we approached the Fraser River, we stopped on the bridge, we didn’t speak and gazed at the river below us. Knowing that this adventure was coming to an end and that it could never be duplicated. It was bittersweet, the freedom of the road gone. We had changed, we would never be the same Andrew and Jon ever again. The smell of the metropolis, was ready to inhale us.

Now within a location that required more defined instructions, other than “go left.” Passing through Burnaby, hungry, yet not willing to stop. We worked so hard to get here, and  brimming with anticipation. The final crossroad passed, we stopped for the last time as two cross country cyclists before we reached our definitive destination.

“Fuck, Jon, we made it!” Andrew said with pride.

“What a ride it has been, what an adventure, I could use a beer,” I replied with a hint of sadness and sarcasm that it was ending.

Getting back on the machines that had been so kind to us and rode that final kilometre down a residential street. Coming to a complete stop. Andrew said: “This is it, we are here.”

Placing the bikes against the fence that stood perpendicular to the curb Andrew without hesitation galloped up the stairs and knocked on our new friend’s door.

“You Guys made it, we didn’t expect you for another few days, c’mon in.”

“Jon, this is it,” yelled Andrew. “Let’s unpack the bikes.”

Not athletes.

One story ends, another chapter begins

I hope you have enjoyed reading about this trip and all the emotions that a journey of this duration carries with it. From Lake Superior, across the Prairie Provinces through British Columbia and eventually Vancouver and the Pacific ocean. I hope you have been following us across this great country. If you enjoyed this chapter, there are many others to revel in.

I would be remiss if I didn’t say thank you for all the people that helped in our lowest moments, and enhanced our “highs” you would never know how grateful we are.

Travelling across Canada by bicycle is such a nuanced experience as the country’s vastness creates it naturally. I am grateful to have had the opportunity to have had such an adventure. Most importantly, to share it with you, the reader.

I can not conclude this without thanking my “Accomplice and great friend.” Without him, none of this would have been possible- Andrew, thank you.

Have you considered bicycling across Canada, perhaps you have even extended your experience into the Yukon or Newfoundland? If you have, we would love to hear from you to share with other readers and riders. Drop a note in the comment section below or contact us through our Contacts page.

If this is something that you would like to try, please let us know and perhaps we can help move your adventure along. Leave a comment below or contact us through our Contacts page.

As always, it has been our privilege to bring this to you.

It is Your Vacation, Your Escape.

VTE.