Escaping along the Crowsnest to the Coast

Grasshoppers are not a cocktail

Saying a fond farewell to the trans-Canada highway, we were prepared to continue our journey on a road that we had never heard of. We were escaping on the Crowsnest Highway to the coast. It was the shortest distance to Vancouver British Columbia. With this new stretch of road came much optimism, and we were ready to live up to the challenge.

Underway, the trans-Canada Highway was now a memory. The Crowsnest was new, and the pavement soft. As we rolled along, the route was now covered with grasshoppers, it was if a plague had descended upon us. The persistent crunching sound as one-kilometre became the next. They would hop into your bike, striking you occasionally as they ricocheted off of your face and sunglasses. The popping sounds of their hard shell went on for hours. The temperature was still oppressive, we would pull off onto the shoulder to rest in the shade of an overpass or tree. It was a great way to cool off and enjoy your day and forget about the thousands of ‘hoppers you were killing. The day was going well, and we took a leisurely amount of time as we knew we could make our destination very comfortably.

Landing Strips

Arriving at Taber Alberta, the familiar obstacles would present themselves-primarily where to sleep. We spent more money than anticipated in Ontario. Making a pact, we would economize where we could, which primarily meant accommodations. We happened across a vast farm, something that you would only see in a movie on the “W” network. Expensive cars, a beautiful house, an airplane runway and a hangar. This was, in my humble estimation, something sublime.  

Cautiously we rode up- for fear of dogs. Being outside of Taber and there was very little around, and there are always dogs. We were hot and exasperated. Knocking on the door, we asked if we could camp somewhere on the property. A tall man with a crooked nose, wearing a white shirt, jeans and cowboy boots answered the door. Asking if we could camp on the property, he was obliging and indicated a location near the hangar. We set the tents to the right of the runway. From here, we could see the planes land in the early evening as the sunset trailed off behind them. After dinner of sandwiches and soup, we slipped into our sleeping bags. It had been another long and sweltering day in the saddle.

To Coalhurst, I think.

The sound of the airplane throttle was our wake up call. It was only just after 7 am and the airstrip was alive as the first Cessna ascended to the sky. We were slightly surprised. Forgetting that we had spent the night near a runway in the middle of a multi-acre farm. We did get some odd looks, yet no one came by to ask any questions, assuming they were told of us in advance.

Breaking down camp, and having our breakfast, we packed up and waved goodbye to our hosts. Back on the Crownests tarmac, the air was calm and ideal for riding. The fields on either side of us, full of long green grass, magnificent oak and maple trees, could be seen far off onto the horizon. The road was still very compliant, and the time passed quickly. We had passed the sign saying welcome to Lethbridge quicker than we would have imagined. The day was young, so we decided to offload our equipment at the bus terminals lockers and secure the bicycles.

Feet were made for walking.

Cleaning up the best we could after a few hours of riding, we walked through the city core. We roamed up and down 5th and 6th streets. It had been a while since we went for a walk together. Our time was spent riding and camping and then repeat. Although funds were getting lower than we would have liked, we did allow ourselves the luxury of finding a restaurant. Getting a counter-side meal was the best we had in a very long time. I wish I could remember the name, it was on fifth.

We realized that we still had some energy. In fact, getting away from the cycles rejuvenated us. Going back to the bus stop, we retrieved the bikes and equipment. The bikes now loaded up, we headed back out onto the road. It was late afternoon, and we felt if the weather remained exceptional, we could continue for a while yet. We landed in Coalhurst, Alberta.

The little big Cottage

Looking for the nearest accommodations, we asked a couple if they could direct us to a nearby campground. They were an older couple and seemed interested in what we were doing. Before we knew it, they had invited us to their home, where Wendy created a meal for us. Later, they directed us to the cottage adjacent to the house. 

The cottage had two rooms and a bathroom, where we could take a shower. Although it was sparsely furnished, it was very comfortable. The floor had a yellow and blue oval patterned rug while the walls were imitation wood panels. It reminded us of rental cottages in Ontario. We flipped for the bed, I got the couch. We could not believe their hospitality and our luck. Wendy and Steve couldn’t have been more pleasant.  

We woke to the sound of birds chirping. While the sun cascaded through the draped windows on to the patterned rug. The smell of fresh coffee and bacon (yes bacon) wafted in from the main house. Bacon and eggs, this must have been a dream. They insisted that we eat as much as we wanted. It would be impossible to continue doing an excursion like this on our self imposed alcohol and pancake diet. This was an ideal way to begin our day. Saddling up, we were so grateful for their hospitality.

So long, and thanks for bacon.

We were in the perfect frame of mind to put some severe km’s behind us. Well fueled, and another ideal day for riding, we were on our way to Fort MacLeod Alberta. The pace was incredible, and we made the distance in the quickest time ever. Amazed, the Canadian Rocky Mountains were now coming into view. Never seeing such a geographical spectacle like this before I was salivating at the opportunity. Andrew had been to the mountains before, and he too was excited. Close enough to touch, yet far enough in the distance that there would be some significant work necessary to attain this once elusive goal.

We knew that we could continue, why not everything was going our way. The roadway wound its way through the foothills of the mountains, with its lush vegetation surrounding you- we were up to the task. At the end of a steep right-handed curve, we were blitzed with a headwind coming from the west. The once warm and pleasant afternoon turned into a late November storm. Pulling off to the side of the road, we dug deep into our panniers for some warmer riding wear- essentially putting on everything we had. 

Riches to rags

Pulling hesitantly back on to the Crowsnest Highway, we put our heads down and dug in deep. Knowing that if we were going any further today, we would need to rely on all of our reserves. We had become no strangers to sharp and aggressive weather. Always breaking the wind for one another, allowing the lead person to get a break from the physical impact this was causing. We did not realize how far or how long we had been on the road since Fort MacLeod. Noticing that headlights coming towards us were now reflecting off of the wet pavement. We lost track of time, just surviving. 

We pulled off the road as the intensity of the rain increased-searching for any type of shelter. Huddled together like two testicles in a scrotum, we were becoming demoralized from a day that had begun so well. We were now thoroughly in the Rocky Mountains, and that took some of the sting out of the situation. Not much, though.

Divine Intervention…Again

To be frank, we were near the town of Frank. We were considering our next move, “drenched to the bone,” as the freezing rain showed no signs of ceasing. An SUV (sports utility vehicle) stopped and asked if we were alright and if we needed assistance. Shivering, they offered us a ride, we immediately took them up the kind offer. We crossed the Alberta/British Columbia provincial border. To be honest, I was looking forward to passing that on two wheels as we had the previous three. Here was no time to reach for sentimental objectives. Being dry is of paramount importance. Our goal was to get to the coast, and becoming ill was an option that we could not afford. 

Feeling the pressure build in our ears, as the elevation changed, we sat in the back seat of the luxury Grand Cherokee. Acquainting ourselves with Louise and Brian, we arrived at their home. They invited us to stay with them at their home in Sparwood, British Columbia. Actually, it was more on Louise’s insistence. 

The Brady bunch or religious zealots

We pulled into the driveway. In front of us was an expansive home that may have been designed in the 1970s. It reminded me of the “Brady Bunch house”- a 70’s sitcom. Walking through the foyer, it had many layers with intertwining wood beams, impressionist paintings, that adorned the walls and a sunken carpeted living area with a wood stove in the middle- it was enormous and cozy. Their yard was as large as an urban housing development. A home owned by professional people. They showed us a place to change and to warm up and indicated we should position the tents near to the pool in case we wanted to swim.

Welcome to the Town

It was only 7pm, it did seem later. Louise introduced her daughter Dawn, and her friend Kim. We got the impression that we were not the first wayward strangers brought into their home, by the way the daughters reacted to us. They both had pleasant features very tall and blonde. They insisted that we come into town to see the sights. The village was small and friendly, as expected. A general store, gas station and not much else. All very quaint. 

Minutes later, we were in the middle of a house party. We would have preferred to relax the evening away; still, we did not want to insult our hosts. It seemed the whole community was blonde and tall. Are they all related? Perhaps. The night was going well, we laughed and joked, enduring some humour at our expense, nothing we could not handle. Then an aura of hostility began to penetrate the joviality, with much of it directed at us. I would suspect that corresponded with the level of alcohol being consumed, we too were feeling the glow of inebriation. This was no longer the friendly environment that it was two hours before. We left hastily, to retire to the yard and the tents. Exhausted, resting was the most crucial part of our equation.

Wasn’t that a party

Waking up to a breakfast of pancakes and coffee. They informed us as to what happened after we had left the night’s festivities, and it was as we suspected. The gauntlets came off, and a brawl ensued. They wondered if we were involved in any way, we had left long before that occurred. Honestly, I think the people from “Bountiful” were looking to accost the newcomers, and when that was no longer an option, they resigned themselves to do what came naturally after a few cocktails.

We were confident that we could have stayed another night. However, we thought it would be prudent of us to continue or journey. We packed our bicycles slowly, taking as much time as possible as it was still raining. Thanking Louise and Brian for their generosity, we saddled up, and rode further into the B.C. interior. Heading south on the Crowsnest Highway to the town of Fernie. 

Now we are three

As the journey continued, the intrigue had just stared to build. Highway three still had many mysteries and adventures in the days ahead. Indulge in the enchanting forests and boundless wilderness. It truly is Beautiful British Columbia. The adventure was just beginning. A non stop force of misadventure. Join us.

“The first condition of understanding a foreign county is to smell it”

-Rudyard Kipling

Have you taken on BC by bicycle? Rode through along the rivers and climbed its glorious mountains? As with most travel it is the people that you meet that make each experience so rewarding. We met many people along this route, perhaps you are one of them? Is this you? The Crowsnest Pass could be your tonic for adventure.  Please leave a comment below. If you are considering taking this type of challenge, please leave your queries in the comments section too. We would be happy to answer any questions.

As always, it is our privilege.

Its Your Vacation, Your Escape.

VTE

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