impossiblebones

Day 12: Saturday, August 23. Yoho Pass/Moraine Lake

Wed, 27 May 2009 23:56:59 GMT

I couldn't bring myself to pay for a second night at Lake Louise. Couldn't do it. But last night's experience of coming and going several times late at night taught me something...it taught me that this is a big hostel, and you don't need a key to get inside. Why not just curl up on one of the sofas in the upstairs lounge? Worth a shot...

But first, I had a lot to see today. Priority one was, of course, straightening things out with the gas station in Field. So I rode down and very humbly explained that I was an idiot. They were nice about it. In fact, they didn't even bother charging me for the gas.

After the exhausting hike up Burgess Pass on Day Three, there was something that bothered me. In his book about the Burgess Shale, 'Wonderful Life,' Stephen Jay Gould goes on at great length about how amazing and unique this fossil deposit is. And he mentioned that, in addition to its scientific and historic value, it was special for how easy it was to get to. An easy drive along a paved road, and then a pleasant stroll, is basically how he described it. That didn't really square with my experience. Burgess Pass was a six hour grind, not a 'pleasant stroll,' and if you've ever seen Gould, you'll see that he's not exactly a rugged outdoorsman. Guy's pudgier than I am!

But it occurred to me that perhaps he didn't take the route over Burgess Pass. Perhaps he was talking about the other way up to the Shale, over Yoho Pass, instead. I had decided that today I was going to do the Yoho Pass for myself, and see if it was, in fact, a 'pleasant stroll' rather than the 'hellacious deathmarch' of the Burgess Pass.

And that's pretty much how it turned out to be. It was a steep uphill climb at the start, but it was only about an hour later that I reached the campsite at Yoho Lake at the top of the pass. From there, you have several choices of direction; one trail heads north deeper into the wilderness, one descends to Emerald Lake, and a third runs along the shoulder of Mt. Wapta and eventually joins up with the Burgess Pass trail. That's the path I took next.

The views of Michael Peak were spectacular, and Mt. Wapta was a sheer face on my left side. I saw and photographed a creature that I found out later was a marmot. Nasty looking bugger, and it made the most extraordinary sound! Sort of like a referee's whistle. In fact, I'd heard the sound several times before I actually saw what was making it, and I assumed that it was the sounds of human excavation going on at the Shale deposit; like a warning of explosives about to be detonated. When I saw the marmot, I started photographing it -- and that's when it made the sound again. "Wow..." I thought, "so THAT'S what that noise was!"

Then I saw butterflies fucking.

I was hoping for a view of Emerald Lake, but again, it never materialized. I guess you have to be higher up. Eventually, I headed back the way I'd come, satisfied with the shots I'd gotten.

------

Back to Lake Louise; it was time to see Moraine Lake. The lake is named for the huge mound of boulders (called a 'moraine' by geologists) that dams the valley and let the lake form. Debate is split over how the moraine formed: either it was piled up by the edge of a glacier, or it was the result of a landslide. But it now forms a spectacular platform from which to view the lake below.

The lake drains via a narrow strip of water, which you must cross to get from the parking lot to the moraine. It's clogged with floating logs, and while trying to walk across, I slipped and went in up to my waist, and then clambered over the boulders to reach the top. I felt incredibly stupid when I later learned of the existence of a bridge, and a staired trail, but hey...live and learn.

Moraine Lake is well worth the effort. It's an amazing color, and is surrounded by huge peaks. It's the view that used to be on the back of the Canadian twenty dollar bill. And after carrying my old broken tripod all the way over the Rockies, across the prairie to Regina and back, I finally found a worthy setting for the proper burial. I set it up, took a picture, and left it behind.

Afterwards, I made a brief run up to Lake Louise itself, and took a couple of pics while the sun was going down, but it was really more of an afterthought. Like Emerald Lake, I haven't really gotten a good picture of Lake Louise yet.

Around eight, I did in fact go to the dance, but just did the wallflower thing for a while before getting bored and leaving. I killed the rest of evening hanging around the hostel. Later, I went back to the bar, and found three girls who had been stranded by a taxi that was supposed to take them up to the Lake Louise chateau. Now they were standing there without coats, waiting for another cab to arrive. I felt I had to keep them company and make sure they got their ride ok.

Then it was time to head back to Moraine Lake for more night shots. Fortunately, I now knew of the existence of the bridge and trail...although warning signs of bears in the area put a little fear into me. I set up, opened the shutter for twenty minute exposures, then sat and enjoyed the absolute tranquillity. The magnificent peaks, lit by moonlight, led my thoughts in the direction of why we are drawn to views like this; so drawn that we'll spend money building roads that allow us to go and look at them. My theory is that it's a way we tweak evolutionary instincts; much like rollercoasters tweak our fear of falling, and horror movies tweak other fears, we find mountains beautiful precisely because they are hostile. There's an awful lot of mythology depicting mountains as places of power and danger. Gods and monsters both live here.

Eventually, I felt I'd gotten as much as I could and I rode back to the hostel. My plan worked; nobody questioned me as I went in, and I found an out-of-the-way couch to curl up on.

------

There remains little left to tell. I had to be back to work in a few days, and I headed towards home. I toyed with the idea of stopping in Revelstoke and taking advantage of their kitchen to cook chili for everybody staying there, but when I got there, my bike felt no particular urge to stop, and I followed that instinct. It wouldn't be the first time my bike knew better than I did what I should do. I ended up stopping in Vernon for the night. I've got a soft spot for Vernon. I thought about further camping around Hope, but in the end, it simply felt like the trip was over. It was time to go home, and relax for a couple of days before I had to start work again.

Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it....

A different view of Takakkaw Falls, as I climb the trail to Yoho Lake.

I bypassed a short trail that led to Hidden Lake, but I did at least get a brief view of it.

The Yoho Lake campsite, complete with anti-bear poles for food storage.

Magnificent views of Michael Peak as I walk along the base of Mt. Wapta's sheer cliffs.

Marmot, that I mistook for a referee's whistle.

Birds do it, bees do it...butterfly secks!

Some views of Yoho Lake

And as I arrive at Moraine Lake, I get a quick shot of a canoer (canoe-er?)

Wide shot of the moraine that gives Moraine Lake its name.

The tripod version of the Viking burial. Thank you for your service....

Awwww....chipmunk!

Possibly my favorite picture of the entire trip.

Lake Louise...not a great pic, but I didn't put much effort into it either.

And finally, several starscapes of Moraine Lake. Enjoy!

Day 11: Friday, August 22. Icefields Parkway/Lake Louise

Wed, 27 May 2009 23:56:14 GMT

Ah, the Icefields Parkway. At last I have returned.

I've waited a long time to ride the Icefields again. I'd been here once before, but forest fires filled the area with haze that made decent photos impossible. Besides, I'd only had a 130 megapixel camera back then (this was back when digital cameras were just beginning to penetrate the market, but it was low-end even for the time). Last time I rode it south-to-north, Lake Louise to Jasper. This time I was going the opposite direction.

There's not much I can say about the ride that isn't communicated much better by the pictures, so I won't try to describe awesome peak after awesome peak. The Athabasca Glacier was a high point -- I believe it's the only glacier in the world you can access from a major highway. Last time I was here, I took the time to actually go walk on it (up close, it resembled the dirty snow you find piled in the corners of parking lots, lingering until spring). You can't venture very far though...even just a few feet from the lip, you can fall into a crack and get wedged tighter and tighter until you freeze to death.

Spookily, the glacier has visibly retreated in the few years since I've been. Anyway, I didn't walk on it this time, but I did get a great panorama.

On to Peyto Lake, a favorite of postcards and calendars. Peyto Lake is a photographer's gimme. Seriously, it's the best possible reward for the least possible effort: pull into the parking lot, walk fifty feet down a level trail, and you get this:

Took me ten minutes. Would have been less, but a busload of elderly tourists had arrived just before me, and I was stuck behind a pack of shuffle-upaguses on the trail. I didn't feel guilty about rushing past these natural wonders. I had plenty more to look forward to.

There's no services on the parkway until you reach Saskatchewan Crossing, about 200km. I ran out of fuel about two thirds of the way there, so it was a good thing I'd brought the extra jerrycan with me. I'd hoped that I might not have to use it, but I was sure glad to have it.

Then my Zune crapped out on me. I'd been so impressed with its longevity! It had lasted the whole two day ride from Field to Regina without running dry. Now it just froze up, and after rebooting, it showed as empty. Twelve thousand songs in its memory, and it insisted that they didn't exist. Fuck! I was to be without tuneage until I got home again.

I got back to Field around four, stopped at the gas station to fill up again. Like every station in BC now, it's prepay; and since they didn't have pay-at-the-pump, I went in and gave them my drivers' license as collateral. After filling my tank, I got distracted by a monster-sized raven on the gas station roof, and realized only after I'd gotten to Lake Louise much later that I'd both forgotten my license, and neglected to pay for my gas.

Lake Louise wasn't my original plan though. What I wanted to do was to stay at the Whiskey Jack Hostel, right next to Takkakaw Falls, so I headed back up the Yoho Valley Road (see map).

Found the hostel. It's a tiny little cottage set back among the trees, and it's supposed to be very minimal. No electricity, running water, plumbing etc. Perfect. A note on the door said that the owner wouldn't be on duty until five, don't bother knocking until then. In so many words. So I just sort of hung around, eating peanuts. At 4:58 I knocked on the door. It cracked open, and it was Angus Filch at the door.

"We don't open until five"

I checked my watch. "It's 4:58"

"So come back in two minutes." He slammed the door in my face.

FUCK YOU buddy! I'll be damned if I knock on your door again, if that's your attitude! I got right back on the bike, and headed to Lake Louise. I'd heard there was a hostel there, maybe they'd be more interested in my business. It was a temper tantrum that I would come to (slightly) regret.

The Lake Louise hostel is HUGE. Three kitchens, and an attached restaurant where you get lousy service by backpacking slackers. TV room with more remote controls than I have shoes. And the only rooms they had available were private. For 100 dollars a night. I really couldn't believe it. For 100 dollars, I got room as spare as a monk's cell -- one bed, one table, one lamp -- and I thought to myself "hostelling is dead." And after thinking it, I wrote it, in capital letters, on the guest feedback form they'd left so suggestively on the table. But better this than set foot in the Whiskey Jack!

Spent a long lazy evening alternately hanging around the hostel and wandering around the village. As I said before, it's hard for me to really think of Lake Louise as a village, because I'm not sure anybody actually LIVES here, but there is a mall of touristy shops (I bought a bra made of candy because honestly, how could I not?), a supermarket, several bars and restaurants, and a buttload of inns. I'm sure the hostel was the cheapest room in town. It still blew my mind. I paid less at the Athabasca Inn in Jasper, which is just as touristy as Lake Louise is.

I was out shooting as the sun went down, then I went to the supermarket for something to eat. I can't remember for sure, but I think it was pizza pops. I surfed the Internet for a while, went out wandering some more. I kept seeing people and wishing I had the nerve to start conversations, but tonight it was not to be. However, I saw fliers advertising a dance at the bar across the street tomorrow night, I decided I would go.

My plans for tomorrow were to visit Moraine Lake, which is basically the next lake up the road from Lake Louise, and around midnight or so I got it into my head that I'd go up and take a quick look. A nice nighttime ride might be just the thing to clear my head and help me sleep. That ride was a lot of fun; a twisty road, dark, scary, full moon...beautiful.

I took a couple of long exposures from the parking lot. There is a viewpoint up at the top of a pile of boulders (the "moraine" that gives the lake its name) but to get to it you have to cross a narrow strip of water on floating logs, and I wasn't crazy enough to try it in the dark.

I was looking forward to seeing the lake in daytime.

I'd barely gotten started along the Icefields Parkway before I saw yet another row of parked cars that can only mean wildlife. The pics aren't great...damn bear never wanted to turn towards me.

This is pretty typical of Icefields scenery.

That is one dirty bike.

The Athabasca Glacier.

Special buses are available to take tourists farther up the glacier than they would be wise to venture on foot. One day I'll do that.

See that big bowl-shaped depression behind the roadsign? That marks where the glacier used to be. You can sort of see how the gravel has been pushed up into a ridge by the ice. Also note my missing left mirror.

An even wider panorama. This one is a complete 360.

Peyto Lake, the photographer's gimme.

This raven distracted me from thoughts of paying for my gas. I'll have to come back tomorrow for my license.

Whiskey Jack hostel, where I was treated rudely.

Lake Louise hostel, where I was appallingly overcharged.

Moraine Lake from the parking lot.

Day 10: Thursday, August 21. Jasper

Wed, 27 May 2009 23:55:44 GMT

Malign Canyon Hostel's cabins are each divided into two rooms, with six bunks per room. I was awoken early by the gung-ho crowd, out to seize as much of the day as they could. In the background, I could hear the sound I'd been dreading -- the patter of rain on the cabin roof. I groaned and burrowed deeper into the blankets, waiting for everybody to finish dressing and leave.

I slept as late as I was allowed to (check out is at 11AM). The rain had eased a bit by that time, but the skies clearly showed the potential for further drenchery.

First thing, I went the 4km into Jasper itself. I wanted to explore Jasper's night life tonight, and for that I'd need a room in the town itself. A private room, in case I got lucky. Cheapest place was the Athabasca Inn, at 90 dollars. The room was incredibly tiny, yet luxurious. Hardly enough room for the bed, and no private bath. But it had a TV.

Next, I rode back along the Malign Canyon road, going the whole 40km to Malign Lake. It was pretty much a wasted effort. Everything was grey and foggy, and there didn't seem to be much point in taking pictures. Shit -- probably the most beautiful lake in the Rockies, and nothing to show for it.

Every guide book or map you read makes a point of telling you that Maligne Lake comes from the French word for 'wicked.' Every time I read that, a little smart-ass voice inside piped up "It also comes from the English word for 'malign.' It was named, coincidentally, by Father Pierre-Jean De Smet, who was the source of the name for the town of De Smet where Laura Ingalls lived.

Why is the lake 'wicked'? The entire system (Malign Lake, River, Canyon) has a bad reputation. Medicine Lake, also on the Maligne River, comes to a dead end as the river goes underground. Water flows in, but doesn't seem to flow out. It freaked out the natives. And Maligne Canyon...well, it's just unbelievable. That's where I was headed next.

On the way, I saw a bunch of cars parked along the side of the road, which could mean only one thing. Sure enough, a deer was wandering along, ignoring his paparazzi. I took many pics.

I hadn't really expected to be impressed by Malign Canyon, but I was. Incredibly narrow and deep, it's like something Wil. E. Coyote would fall into. A trail runs along the top, criss-crossing the canyon over several bridges, and each one has an amazing view...straight down. Forever. Sunlight barely even reaches the bottom. In winter, I hear that you can walk along the canyon floor, and I can only imagine what that must be like.

After the canyon, it was time to take the gondola up to Whistler's Peak. I had toyed with the idea of camping up there, but it's not allowed. And for good reason, as the weather was cold, windy and unpredictable. The view of Jasper was great, and there was a rainbow over the town. In fact, every time I've been up here, there's been a rainbow over Jasper.

I hiked the short trail to the actual peak. There were inukshuks everywhere, put up by previous hikers, and I really am starting to hate the damn things. I saw one at Takakkaw Falls, and thought 'oh, that's cool'. Now I'm thinking 'enough already'. It's like a meme; one person does it, so everybody else has to do it too. It stops being cool pretty quick, and starts to feel more like a form of vandalism. What part of 'national park' do people not understand? You're not supposed to start rearranging the local landscape! "Look at me, I just piled six rocks on top of each other, I'm 'spirichul'." I hate shallow spirituality, and I hate the mainstreaming of Native cultural symbols by people trying to prove that they're 'in touch' with other cultures; especially when it's not even historically accurate. Inukshuks are Arctic, not British Columbian. I knocked over as many as I could.

The weather began deteriorating by that point. Cloud came down like a curtain, eliminating visibility. It was lucky I'd dressed for rain, because the intermittent drizzle now steadied into a persistent soak. Without being able to see the gondola, I got disoriented and lost the trail, but fortunately, the cloud thinned enough for me to get my bearings and I made it down alive.

There wasn't much more to the day. I was cold and wet, so I had a shower at the Inn. Then I hung out in the hotel bar for a while, watching the Beijing Olympics. Worked up the nerve to chat with an Asian girl, but nothing really came of that. After midnight, I wandered the streets, hung out in a 24hr convenience store reading magazines, then followed the sound of music to a nightclub above the street. Went in, looked around, went right back out again. Not my scene at all, and I didn't see the point of sipping a Coke for twenty minutes just to figure that out.

Really really comfy beds at the Athabasca Inn though. Mmmmmm.

Only two more days left to write up!

Maligne Canyon Hostel. And my bike :)

This is the common room. I sat at that table until 4AM, writing and trying to photograph mice.

The weather improved, but was still threatening.

The end of Medicine Lake, where the river passes underground. Gave the entire area a reputation for bad mojo.

Heading along Medicine Lake, towards the end of the road at Maligne Lake.

These were taken in the Maligne Lake parking lot. The actual lake itself was too blah to photograph.

Deer!

Maligne Canyon is deeper than it looks in these pictures.

So, I tried vertical panoramas to get the full effect.

The road to the gondola, and rainbow over Jasper!

Oxbow lake in the process of forming. Extreme telephoto!

Heading up the trail to the peak.

This pretty much captures the spooky weather and desolate peak.

Goddam inukshuks are everywhere.

Cloud falls over the mountaintop like a blanket.

Panorama Joy Frenzy!!!

Day 9: Wednesday, August 20. Jasper

Wed, 27 May 2009 23:55:08 GMT

Two major highways cross the Canadian Rockies: the Transcanada to the south, and the Yellowhead further north. Both pass through quaint touristy towns: the Transcanada goes through Banff and Lake Louise, the Yellowhead passes through Jasper. And both spill out onto the prairie and immediately hit a major metropolis. I'd gone out of my way to avoid Calgary on my way out, now as I headed north towards Jasper, I made the same effort to avoid Edmonton.

I staircased my way around the city, passing through rolling hill country. My bike was apparently just fine for a night's rest, and showed no sign of yesterday's lethargy. Good thing too, because the bike shop I'd located in Drumheller had gone out of business.

Poor ol' bike did get one further blow though. Adjusting the left mirror, it snapped right off in my hand. Suddenly I was rushing along at 100kph holding a mirror and not sure what to do about it. I couldn't stop safely unless I could get both hands on the handlebars, but I didn't want to throw the mirror away either. Fortunately, I managed to work it into a pocket.

Stopped for lunch at a place called the Wagon Wheel, or the Wooden Shoe, or something like that. It was a Dutchy sounding name, anyway. Nastiest, greasiest burger I've ever had in my life. It is apparently possible to have too much cheese on a cheeseburger. Who knew?

I didn't take any pictures on the way. When I entered the national park, I had to pay a fee. They don't stop you when you take the Transcanada, presumably because they know most people are just passing through. But if you're on the Yellowhead, they assume you're coming to enjoy the park.

There's two hostels in Jasper, and the first one was full. It was full the last time I came here too. But the Maligne Canyon hostel had a bunk available. I like it better anyway...it's got less frills.

After getting a bed, it was about 7 o'clock and I rode to the gondola to the top of Whistler's Peak to see if it was worth taking the trip up. Last trip down the mountain was at 8, so I decided there was no point.

Wandered around Jasper for a bit, eventually headed back to the hostel, which consists of several cabins a few miles into the woods. Watched an exciting game of Scrabble!

I sat in the common room of the hostel late into the night, writing. And jumped when a mouse ran across the floor. Then I spent an hour luring him with peanuts, trying to get a picture. It was the only picture I have from that day.

Yeah, just one photo today. I'll make up for it tomorrow.

Day 8: Tuesday, August 19. Drumheller Again

Wed, 27 May 2009 23:53:18 GMT

Something is wrong with my bike.

Things were fine at first. I headed back towards Drumheller the way I came, and I was making great time. Until I passed Kenaston. Maybe it was the wind direction; it was mostly behind me as I headed north, but as soon as I turned west, it was hitting me on my left side, creating the unsettling impression that I was going to fall over if I didn't lean into it.

It was blisteringly hot today, and after running into roadwork on the way to Rosewood, I was not happy. How hot was it? When I filled up in the town of Alsask, my kickstand sank into the asphalt.

I again got confused by Oyen, and I didn't even actually go through it.

Anyway, as I continued my endless way west, my bike started to lose juice. It just got slower and slower and slower, and I had no idea why. From a top speed of 140 at the start of the day, I was soon lucky if I could keep it over 100. Maybe it was the heat, or the humidity, or some other atmospheric condition. Or maybe my bike was just plain tired. It was unbelievably frustrating as the day wore on, because it felt like Drumheller was actually receding into the distance as I drove toward it. The farther I went, the slower my bike got, and the longer it was going to take me to get there. PISS ME OFF!

On top of that, the weather was getting scary. Hot and humid during the day was giving way to ominous clouds in the distance. Things felt unstable...threatening. I could see rain, and could only hope that none of it would hit me.

Before long, I was crawling along at 80 and it seemed like I was never going to reach the drop into the Badlands. But, finally I did, having only been rained on a little bit.

It was after dark when I got to Drumheller. I wanted a motel and damn the cost, so I checked back into the Drumheller Inn. I resolved that I would get my bike checked out in the morning.

That night, lightning flickered constantly just over the horizon. If I hadn't been worried about my bike, I'd have taken it back up onto the open prairie and tried for a better view, but instead I just shot from my window.

Soft asphalt. Check out monster bug stuck to my pipes.

I told you I was obsessed with hay bales...

The weather looks so lovely here, doesn't it? Don't be fooled...

...it soon turned into this.

And this...

Unstable weather makes for dramatic skies.

The road drops into the Badlands.

From the valley floor, the actual lightning wasn't really visible, but I was too concerned for my bike to go hunting. Damn the missed opportunity!

Day 7: Monday, August 18. Regina/Rouleau

Wed, 27 May 2009 23:52:39 GMT

So...Regina. I spent most of the day here, and honestly...wasn't really that excited about it. I'm glad that I didn't actually end up staying here after my bike trip ended.

Although my bike trip officially ended in Winnipeg when I ran out of money, the real ending really came when I got stuck in Regina for two months. It was just one thing after another: first I decided to wait a couple of days for the winds to die down, then I had a breakdown on the way out of town that took a couple of days to get fixed, then I figured I'd wait until the end of the week so I could catch the final episode of 'Boot Camp' (still one of my favorite reality shows...I wonder why it never caught on?). THEN my bike got stolen and I had to buy a new one and get it properly outfitted, and then it got stolen AGAIN...

By that time, it was really just too damn easy to tell the hostel "Sure, another night" first thing in the morning. It's kind of a miracle that I ever continued on at all.

By Winnipeg, of course, I'd figured that there was no way I could afford to continue; and the truth is I'd had enough anyway. I went back to Regina, thinking I'd get a job there. Then, during an interview, I was telling my story and the guy interviewing me asked "Why don't you just go home?" I couldn't really think of a good answer.

Now that I'm back, I'm glad I never stayed. Although those two months were among the most tranquil of my life due to the complete absense of responsibility, there really wasn't a lot for me to relive. Saw the library, wandered around the park, hung out in the convenience store by the hostel.

Fortunately, I wasn't just here to relive the past. They were currently filming the final season of Corner Gas in the nearby town of Rouleau, and I wanted to see the set while it was still there. I went first around noon. It's about sixty km by the major roads; Hwy 6 overshoots it, then Hwy 39 angles back north towards it. But I cut off a large chunk of the trip by taking a gravel farm road. Twenty kms on a gravel road, on a motorcycle. Not as bad as some roads I've been on, but gravel on a motorcycle is always a tense experience.

Main Street, Rouleau is like being right in the middle of the TV show. Most exterior shots are done on a single two-block stretch, and I saw all the familiar landmarks: the Howler, the Food Market with the missing letters, the Dog River Hotel, Town Hall, Memorial Rink, and the Dog River Police Department. Foo Mart is actually an insurance office, and there's a sign in the door that says 'This Is NOT A Grocery Store.' The Hotel has a sign saying that 'just looking' doesn't pay the bills. So I had a drink there. There's not much reason to go inside anyway...interior shots are done on a soundstage. And then the Police Dept. is actually a coffee-shop/gift-shop called The Stoop. Walls are covered floor to ceiling with the comments of well-wishers from around the world. I bought a Corner Gas T-shirt.

A handdrawn map on the bulletin board gave directions to Oscar and Emma's house, so I went there next.

Finally, it was time for Corner Gas and The Ruby themselves. I had ridden right past it when I arrived in town, and nobody had stopped me; it turned out that it was because I'd arrived during a lunch break. Now there was traffic control turning people back. I chatted a bit with the flagperson, took her picture. She told me I could head across the tracks and take pictures from there, so I did. She also said there'd be no problem with coming back in the evening when everyone was gone.

There's really not much more to tell about my day in Regina. I had a blast riding around in the sun with just a t-shirt. I'm getting a hell of a tan. I came back shortly before sunset and took more pictures. Guards were still hanging around, naturally, and I heard one of them say into his walkie-talkie that Brent Butt was leaving. I caught a glimpse of him waving as he drove off.

It wasn't until I was back at home that it occurred to me that I should have tried to get permission to go up to the top of the grain elevator, and get a view of the town from above! Oh well, I guess I can always come back...

Oscar and Emma's place.

Now HERE's a place I definitely should have stayed the night in!

The Howler building has some dummy newspapers in the window. Pay special attention to the slogan of Chuck Dragner's pre-owned farm equipment.

Oh flag girl, your sign stops my bike, but your spirit stops my heart :)

Shot from a distance across the train tracks.

Ummm, a couple of shots of Regina's downtown center. That's supposed to be a buffalo.

And here I am, later that evening, headed back towards Rouleau on a dusty gravel road.

Bye-bye, Corner Gas :)

Day 6: Sunday, August 17. Regina

Wed, 27 May 2009 23:52:00 GMT

This was a day for making some serious distance. Drumheller to Regina -- on a bicycle, it took me five days. I wanted to make it in one. Doable, but I wouldn't have a lot of time for lingering.

I headed east from Drumheller along the Red River. Damn...I forgot to take advantage of the buffet breakfast.

Passed East Coulee without stopping. Passed Dorothy without stopping. The road climbed out of the Badlands valley and I was back up on the open prairie. In 2001, that climb wiped me out, and once at the top, I camped for the night in the backyard of a farmer who was the uncle of one of the guys in Nickelback. But on a motorcycle, I laugh at long climbs, and continued on. Tried to identify the house, but my memory wasn't clear enough.

I headed east along Hwy 570, a long, flat secondary-road stretch of not much at all. I had forgotten just how unpopulated this part of Alberta is. Not that it's desolate -- far from it -- but it's all farmland and you can go for miles between houses. And after about an hour, I suddenly realized that I was running low on gas and finding a gas station might be harder than I thought.

I got out the map, and started looking around. Oyen, the next major town on my route, was still eighty kilometers away. The closest dot-with-a-name was Big Stone, a couple of miles north on an intersecting road, and I headed for it with no guarantee that it would have a gas station, or that there was even a town there (some of these dots seem to exist on maps for no apparent reason). As it happened, Big Stone wasn't a town, but a camping resort. But it DID have a general store and gas station, and with my fuel tank on it's last reserve, I pulled up to the pump.

Cute store, by the way. Sold a lot of fishing gear; and fireworks too, which seems to be one of those little cultural differences between Alberta and BC. It had a leghold trap hanging by the door with a sign "To register complaints, press red button." (see below). I want a sign like that for the restaurant. I paid for the gas and continued on to Oyen.

Oyen was an oasis for me eight years ago (I had run out of water halfway there. Try cycling eighty kilos with no water sometime) and I was looking forward to seeing it again. I remembered there was a bar called "The Library," so named because that's where all the kids told their parents they were anyway. And there was a restaurant where I'd had some of the best fries ever.

But there's something funny about that place, topographically. The main street was pretty much exactly how I remembered it, but I had no memory at all of how to get there. The town is tucked into the corner of two major roads, and the roads seem to do some sort of weird, disorienting Moebius-strip half-twist or something. You turn left, sure that you'll be heading north, then find you're actually heading south...it's like the Bermuda Triangle of the prairie. And getting out and headed the right way was even harder. As I write this, I'm staring at Oyen on Google Earth and I'm still not exactly sure how I finally entered the town, but however I got there, I got there.

Lots of deja-vu here. The Library was still there. I poked my head in, it seemed about the same. Nothing going on. Strolled down a truly classic Main Street. Took some pictures of the grain elevator. Orange. Nice. Self-portrait of myself (redundant much?) in the reflection of a window. Got someone else to take a shot of me.

The best-fries-ever restaurant was now a Chinese-food place. Fail. Chatted with the waitress a bit, and her Asian grandson. That was pretty much Oyen.

I stared back and forth from my map to the road signs for several minutes, trying to make them agree with each other, but finally got headed east again after a brief jog north. Passed Sibbald, where I'd slept on Night Two. Crossed the border into Saskatchewan. Got gas at Kindsersley, was amazed at the huge bugs welded to my frame. Then again at Rosewood, where I'd slept for Night Three. Neither place inspired me to linger, although the deja-vu remained strong. I'd met some nice people in Rosewood.

Night Four had been spent in the town of Kenaston (the Blizzard Capital of Saskatchewan!), and with the shadows growing long, I had an especially vivid sense of repetition. After a long long day of cycling, I had been trying unsuccessfully to find a place to camp, and was getting desperate to reach Kenaston before the sun went down. I made it in time, found a park to camp in, and went on to take my favorite photo from the entire bike trip -- a grain elevator silhouetted by the setting sun.

Now here I was, again racing the setting sun as I pushed for Kenaston, trying to make it there in time to try to recreate that shot. I did take a little time-out to try an idea for a self-portrait -- me on my bike looking stalwartly into the distance (see below). It didn't work out as well as I'd hoped. God I looked goofy! But I made it to Kenaston, and stopped at the local tavern I'd eaten at in 2001. It was also a hotel, and I toyed with the idea of staying there, but decided I would push for Regina.

Met a guy named Greg, who was cycling to Moose Jaw. We took pictures of each other. And I took a bunch of sunset photos. None of them had the same sort of clouds that the 2001 picture had, but on the other hand, I had a telephoto lens this time which allowed for a totally different type of photo.

Finally, one last push (and two tanks of gas) to Regina. It was a pretty miserable experience, not least because it was the end of the day's journey and I was tired and sore from riding. The sun was set, it was fully dark, and surprisingly cold too. I had a hell of a time trying to keep my visor from fogging up. And the bugs were just outrageous. They'd hit my visor, I'd try to brush them off, but would only smear their guts around, reducing my visibility even more. I'd feel big fat juicy ones hitting my legs and bursting, and they felt cold and wet like drops of rain, except that they weren't raindrops THEY WERE BUGS! Gross. Had to clean my visor in the sink of the gas station or I'd have been blind.

I was worried about the time too. I was planning to stay at the Turgeon Hostel like I did last time, but wasn't sure if their check-in desk would be open. So I was racing to get there before ten, when I was pretty sure they closed, and I wasn't at all sure that I was going to make it.

As it happened, it was almost eleven before I pulled up at the hostel, having passed through most of the length of Regina. The front door was unlocked, and I went in. It was dark. The deja-vu was suffocating. It looked EXACTLY like I remembered, except that there was now an internet station in the library. Nobody was around, and I headed up the stairs to the common room, except that it wasn't the common room anymore. It had been converted into a bedroom. And I wondered...did I dare to just go to sleep and hope nobody noticed? Apparently not. I finally found someone who could take my money for a room. I splurged on a private one...the very one I had just poked my nose into, as it happened.

It was late, I was tired. Which meant that it was time to wander the streets again, check out some old haunts, get a bite to eat, before returning to the hostel and watching a little TV. I have a lot of fondness for Regina. There was a possibility I might have ended up living here. But that's a long story, at least too long for right now.

How about some pictures instead?

-----------
An interesting example of the passage of time: The first shot was taken in 2001...

...and this is the same scene eight years later. I can't believe the hat is still there.

-----------

I want that sign...

More hay bales...and more...and more...

My bike, in front of the Library pub.

Main Street, Oyen

Two pics of me.

The waitress in the Chinese restaurant. I forgot her name.

MORE hay bales. Evening's getting late...

But, still time for a little self-portrait. I look silly, but I like it anyway. :)

Everybody on this trip has been commenting on my necklace. It is pretty cool...

I made it to Kenaston.

---------------
The original 2001 Kenaston elevator sunset.

---------------

And, my best shot at a recreation.

Greg...and a giant snowman. I never even noticed before, but it seems to be made from a cement-truck mixer!

It looks like such an inconsequential building...but it brought back a flood of memories.

I was lucky to get this shot...the settings on my camera were all wrong.

Day 5: Saturday, August 16. Drumheller

Wed, 27 May 2009 23:51:27 GMT

First thing I had to do today was pack up and move operations to the Drumheller Inn. It cost me 100 dollars; not the most I've ever paid for a room, but more than I like. I've stayed in 40 dollar motels, and 140 dollar motels, and there's really not that much difference between them. I've never found a place where the added amenities were worth the extra money. A bed, a shower, a TV...that's really all I need.

I love motel rooms. First thing I always do is turn on the TV and find the following three channels: CNN, Discovery, and the Comedy Network. I love staying up late and flipping back and forth. And one nice thing about this room was the fifth-floor view.

They offered a breakfast buffet too. I made a mental note to take advantage of it the next morning.

-----

Today was devoted to the Royal Tyrell museum north of town. 'Royal' because it is one of only three museums in Canada to be granted that appellage by the Queen. Hopefully she never loses her mind and starts handing out the honour at random. "I hereby declare this to be the Royal Burger King! Fetch me a Royal Whopper! Put that thing AWAY, Phillip!"

I stopped briefly at the World's Smallest Church, which is not as interesting as it sounds. Then again, I've never actually attended one of the services held there. At the Tyrell, I found out that tripods were not permitted, which doesn't make sense to me. It meant that I ended up with a relatively low 'success' rate. The best pics are below, but they're an unusually small fraction of the pictures actually taken.

The place was packed. I lingered in the gift shop for a while, but didn't buy anything. I noticed a small girl who seemed to be trying to squeeze her way behind the ATM. I thought she was playing hide-and-seek or something, and feeling playful, I peeked in from the other side, said 'hello.' And I saw that she was crying. Lost her parents. I took her to the information desk so they could make an announcement, then hung around until her mother showed up. The girl didn't seem terribly thrilled at the reunion as her mother berated her, but I figured I'd fulfilled my obligation to Kayla to 'pay it forward' for the lift to Field.

Time for dinosaurs. I toured the galleries for a couple of hours, then saw a short film about 'Dinosaurs And Hollywood' that wasn't half as interesting as you might think.

-----

The afternoon was spent hiking a short way into the hills above town. I started from the parking lot of a small industrial complex, and was quickly among tall grasses and cacti. I didn't go too far; just high up enough to get a nice view of the city. I found out later that there were rattlesnakes in the area, something I'm sort of glad I didn't know at the time. Back at my bike, I became fascinated with my own reflection in my helmet and spent really far too much time trying to photograph it -- hehe. I wandered Drumheller for a while, ended up back at the World's Biggest Dinosaur. It's fun to shoot.

-----

The sun had gone down. I was back at the motel. I'd watched a Kathy Griffin special, 'Strong Black Woman,' but now, as is usual come nightfall, I was feeling bored, restless and lonely. I decided to go check out Drumheller after hours, see what was going on.

Answer: not much. Which isn't all that surprising. I stopped at one bar, went inside, saw it was mostly empty and left again. I don't drink, so there's not much for me to do in a bar anyway. So I just rode around the downtown area aimlessly for a while.

Then I saw this girl walking down the street, about twenty or so, and she's got that aimless sort of "I'm not just standing here" walk that says 'hooker.' My first reaction was surprise to see a prostitute in a town this size. And I couldn't help noticing that she was beautiful too. And I thought to myself "I could pick her up." That in itself isn't unusual -- it's what I always think when I see a hooker. But usually it's an idle thought, there and gone, right up there with "I should get a new job" or "I should sell all my stuff and move to Tibet," and then it passes and I keep driving. But this time I thought 'well, why not?" I mean, I'm in a strange town, nobody knows me, I've got a room, so besides the obvious moral and safety concerns, why not seize the day for a change? And I knew at that moment that the decision had already been made. I'd do it.

So now I've got a major dilemma. I've never done this before, and I have no idea how exactly one goes about picking up a hooker. Is there protocol involved? What on Earth do you say? Somehow, "Excuse me ma'am, I would like to exchange sexual favors for money" doesn't seem quite right. Are you supposed to ask if she's a cop first, or is that just something they do on TV? Plus, I'm still not completely convinced that she even IS a hooker, and I'd hate to make an embarrassing mistake like that. So I take another swing around the town, to give her a chance to get to wherever she's going (or to give some other guy the chance to pick her up and take the decision out of my hands), but when I get back, there she is...still just sort of wandering without really going anywhere. Eventually I came up with a solution.

I pulled up alongside her and asked if she needed a lift. I figured that would give both of us sufficient plausible deniability if she were not in fact a hooker. She said "No thanks." I said "OK, have a good night," and drove away. I figured that was that, and went back to the motel. Story over, I thought.

Couple hours go by. I feel like a drink. I walk out of the motel and cross the train tracks to the 7-Eleven. Then, out of some persistent nagging curiosity, I go walk two blocks towards the bar I passed before, and the girl is STILL wandering around. Now I'm wondering 'Is it possible that I wasn't sufficiently clear before? Did she think I was just a nice guy offering a ride? Does she expect people to come right out and say what they're after?' So I walked up and asked her if she was looking for company.

"No."

"So just to be totally clear, you're not a prostitute?" Yeah, smooth.

She said no. I apologized as courteously as I could, explaining that I was from Vancouver, and seeing her wandering around at night led me to the wrong conclusion. Then I REALLY threw a Hail Mary, and asked if she'd like some company anyway, Real company I mean, not 'company.' To my surprise, she said OK.

So we hung out for about an hour. Her name was Candace, and she was quite cool. She wasn't terribly offended at being mistaken for a hooker; mostly she was just sort of quietly alarmed that she might have been dressed sluttier than she'd intended. She'd been wandering around because she was waiting for her boyfriend to get off work at midnight. I suppose it should have occurred to me, wandering around Drumheller bored and lonely, that she might have been wandering around for the exact same reason.

Anyway, that's my story about the time I mistook a girl for a prostitute and still ended up hitting it off with her.

------

I got my Super Big Gulp from 7-Eleven (I'd almost forgotten my original reason for going out), and headed back to the motel. Crossed the highway, entered the lobby, got in the elevator, went into my room, turned on the TV. It took several minutes for it to sink in, but then I wondered 'What the heck is all that screaming outside?'

When I looked out the window, I couldn't believe what I saw. Two smashed and mangled SUVs spread across the highway I'd crossed not five minutes ago. The accident must have happened while I was in the elevator.

I went down again and joined the crowd that was beginning to gather. It didn't take long to absorb the story of what had happened: drunk guy with no headlights was going down the highway in the wrong direction. First car sees him, dodges just in time. Second car behind first car has no chance, and gets hit head on. (I got the story from the driver of the first car).

The car that got hit had three people in it; a middle-aged guy, his extremely attractive adult daughter, and his 12-year-old daughter. The daughters had gotten out of the van and were sitting on the flatbed of someone's pickup. The father was still trapped inside the van until the paramedics could arrive to cut him free. And as awful as the scene was, here's the part that I couldn't help but be amused by: the way that every single guy in the crowd was hovering around the adult daughter, trying to be as helpful as possible. Comforting her, amusing her, doing whatever rudimentary first-aid they happened to know on her..."How many fingers am I holding up? Can you count backwards from ten?" Honestly, it was comedy of the highest order, and I can't even look down on them too much, because I was right there with them. Don't remember everything I said, but I know there was something about how her dad would be fine, he needed her to be strong right now, etc. Gawd, men are pathetic.

I'm sure that most of us felt pretty damn useless -- I know I did -- and the feeling was really only compounded when the paramedics showed up and demonstrated just how ridiculous we really were. They were efficient, comforting, and just oozed competence. They got the father out in short order -- he had suffered a crushed pelvis -- and took everybody to the hospital. The scene was left to the police. The crowd started to disperse. I figured I'd go get my camera and take some shots of the wreckage.

World's smallest church: seats six.

Dinosaurs!

Can you believe that I knew just by looking that this diorama depicted Anomalocaris devouring Canadespis? I TOLD you I read 'Wonderful Life' very closely!

Ammonite fossil, about a meter across.

This skull is about the size of my fist. I had a really HARD TIME getting it sharp without a TRIPOD, u bastards.

Cacti in the hills above Drumheller.

HUGE panorama. Almost a complete 360 degrees.

One of those happy accidents that sometimes catches the eye...

Self portrait in my helmet. I'm every bit as hot, sweaty and dirty as I look. I didn't have to edit the picture to make the background white...it's overexposed so the dark reflection would show up.

Another panorama, this time from my motel window. Note the 7-Eleven across the tracks, about 3/4 of the way to the right. (above the two yellow sheds)

The accident from my window. Silver car was hit head on by idiot black car.

Day 4: Friday, August 15. Drumheller

Wed, 27 May 2009 23:50:35 GMT

I was up early, and headed east towards Alberta. My goal today was the city of Drumheller, in the Alberta badlands. Known mostly for dinosaurs, coal mining and hoodoos. I was little stiff from the epic hike yesterday, but not too bad. I mostly felt it in the back of my knees when walking down stairs, which just goes to show that down is not necessarily easier than up.

Stopped briefly in the village of Lake Louise, which is essentially a collection of inns, gas stations and gift shops. I'm not sure I'd even call it a village, because I'm not sure anybody actually lives here...it's more a place to dump your stuff while you're out enjoying the wilderness. But it does have a mall, which included a photography shop, where I was able to replace my tripod. I still carried all the pieces of my old one; with the romantic notion that I would leave it in some spot of exceptional natural beauty, and take a picture of it. Sort of the tripod version of a Viking burial. I was to end up carrying those pieces halfway across the country and back, like Joseph's bones, before they received the send-off they deserved.

Passed by the exit for Banff without stopping. Banff doesn't do much for me for some reason.

The day was to be defined by one overriding impression of deja-vu. I was deliberately retracing my 2001 bicycle route, with one exception, which I'll get to in due course.

When I'd been on that bicycle trip, tunes had been courtesy of a Sony Walkman that played cassettes. I had exactly two tapes for it: one mix of about twenty favorites, and U2's 'All That You Can't Leave Behind', which had just been released, and which I'd picked up in a gas station in Salmon Arm. I listened to that album a hundred times on that trip, and to this day, every time I listen to it again, it evokes powerful impressions of sun, wind, vast expanses of prairie, and the endless pumping of the pedals. Technology has come a long way since then; I was carrying a Zune with over a thousand albums. Mostly I listened to a blend of U2 and Avril Lavigne. Whenever a song from ATYCLB played, I had the extraordinary experience of having the deja-vu of an event at the same time that I was actually reliving the event. It was like time catching its own tail in its jaws.

I left my previous route just west of Calgary. I'd ridden a bicycle through that city, and had no desire to repeat the experience on a motorcycle. So I headed north a safe distance, then east, reconnecting to my former path at the town of Beiseker.

The prairies themselves were gloriously monotonous. Meaning, that they were beautiful in the same way over and over. Two things in particular caught my eye over and over again, constantly tempting me to stop and shoot: the circular bales of hay strewn across most of the fields, and the shimmering mirages rising from the road ahead. Mirages and haybales -- I saw a lot of both, and never got tired of them. I indulged myself a couple of times.

The leg between Beiseker and Drumheller stood out in my memory because of the killer headwind that stopped me in 2001 from making the journey in one day. Today it stood out for a different reason: road construction. I ended up waiting in line for what seemed like forever, sun beating down on me and my black leather jacket, the smell of hot tar in my nose, and an engine threatening to overheat.

Got past that, then stopped for a rest at the overlook for Horsethief Canyon. Helicopter tours were being offered, but on reflection I decided I couldn't afford it (180 dollars). Finally, the road dropped down into the canyon carved by the Red River, and I was in Drumheller.

It was bloody hot. As long as I could keep moving, it wasn't too bad; but as soon as I had to return to the start-and-stop of city traffic, it got pretty uncomfortable pretty quick. I HATE city riding after a long day in the saddle!

First thing I did was stop at the local 7-eleven. Not just because I needed a cool drink either -- this place had a special significance to me. It was here, in 2001, that I first learned of the death of Douglas Adams, and I wanted to revisit the spot that I had received one of the most heartbreaking jolts of bad news of my life. If the idea of a 7-eleven as a shrine seems odd to you, what can I say? The mind assigns significance where it will.

I wanted a motel. In some tourist information center, I found a map that listed tourist services, and I called several to find the cheapest. Best I could find was a place on the outskirts, and they only had a room for one night. Damn, I planned on spending two in Drumheller. But I was tired of hunting, and the price was right, so I took it and trusted that I'd find something else tomorrow. I dropped off most of my gear and my jacket, and feeling much improved, headed off to the world-famous Hoodoos for some photog!

Memory played me false in a strange way. Drumheller lies to the south of the Red River, and there's a bridge that crosses that river, and leads to the Tyrell Museum. I could have sworn that the road that heads east towards the Hoodoos also lay on the other side of that bridge. I headed that way, but couldn't make sense of the roadsigns. I was sure that this was how I'd come on my bicycle, but the road I wanted didn't seem to exist. Finally checking a map, I found that the road was actually to the south of the river. But I could have sworn...oh well. Set right finally, I headed east towards the hoodoos. A sign warned of a dip in the road as it crossed the traintracks. I stopped briefly to take pictures of some horses.

It was shortly after noon and the sun was hot when I arrived at the hoodoos. I didn't stay long. I was more interested in returning later in the evening to shoot when the sun was low in the sky. Photographers call it 'magic hour' for good reason.

Back in Drumheller, I was annoyed by a mural on the wall of some storefront museum of a dinosaur throwing a snowball. It seemed familiar the first time I saw it, and I later put my finger on where I'd seen it before...in a Calvin and Hobbes strip. The 'artists' had simply traced it on the wall and painted it in. When I returned home, I looked it up:

I hate thieves.

I visited the World's Largest Dinosaur, a hollow statue that you can climb up for a view of the city. Famous for dinosaurs, Drumheller has statues of them everywhere, but this one sort of sticks out. Then I arranged a room for tomorrow night at the Drumheller Inn. A bit more expensive, but not as much as I would have thought. All set, I was free to return to the Hoodoos. I headed east again, feeling good...

...I forgot about the dip before the train tracks. I hit it at over 80km/hr, and went completely airborne for the first time in my life. Scared the shit out of myself, but no harm done. I happily explored the Hoodoos for the next two hours until the sun went down.

One last little photo project I had planned for the Hoodoos. I wanted to try a star-trail shot; a long exposure that captures stars wheeling in a circle. I relaxed in my motel room for the evening, then after midnight headed out again. Remembered the dip. The moon was annoyingly bright, and I worried that it would drown out the stars. The site was deserted -- not a sound or hint of another person. I set up my tripod in a likely spot, left the shutter open for twenty minutes and sang U2 songs out loud to pass the time. The results were OK.

---

I felt really good about the Hoodoo shots. It felt, in a very real way, like I had 'finished' the Hoodoos; that I'd gotten pretty much every shot I wanted, and they were as good as I was capable of making them. So it's like I don't need to come back here again, at least not until I've made another quantum leap in my skills/equipment. The only thing I'd kind of like to take another crack at is the star-wheel. That didn't turn out as good as I wanted. Otherwise, I was pretty damn pleased with myself.

Hay bales...

...and mirages.

Several close-ups from Horsethief Canyon, followed by a panoramic overview.

Locust!

The view from inside the World's Largest Dinosaur.

Horses!

I only took a couple of photos during the daytime shoot. This was the only one that really turned out...the others were washed out by the harsh light.

Now I'm just getting silly.

Overview of the Hoodoo site.

I love this one.

Self-portrait, sort of, on the right.

For some reason, I like taking pictures of people taking pictures. They're always more interesting when their attention is elsewhere.

This is why magic hour is worth waiting for.

And...that's the end of that shoot.

Except for one more back in Drumheller.

And the star-trail shot. I want to try this again on a night with no moon.

Day 3: Thursday, August 14. Field

Wed, 27 May 2009 23:49:43 GMT

Without having had a bit of sleep, I set off around 7AM. The plan was to hike from Field to Emerald Lake, over the Burgess Pass trail, with a side trip to see how close I could get to the Burgess Shale. For the uninitiated, the Burgess Shale is one of the most important fossil sites in the world, recording one of the earliest stages in multicellular life -- a period known as the Cambrian Explosion. I'd read about it in great detail in Stephen Jay Gould's book 'Wonderful Life.'

The trail moved steadily upward, but I felt pretty good. The guides say that the trail to the top of the pass has 48 -- count em, 48 -- switchbacks, and a total elevation gain of a little over a kilometer...about the same as the Grouse Grind. I'd tried and failed to do the Grind back home. But the Grind packs that climb into a mere three kilometers, while the Burgess stretches more than eight, so it's not as steep. For the first few hours, I felt I was managing pretty well.

I used my Zune to turn the day into the ultimate comedy festival. Albums by Bill Cosby, Christopher Titus, Maria Bamford, Joe Rogan, David Cross.

Then, a couple of hours had gone by, and I started to wonder...just when the fuck was I going to get to the top? Ten o'clock passed. Then eleven. I was getting some nice views of the Kicking Horse valley below me, and Mt. Burgess kept getting closer and closer above me, and the trees kept thinning, but the promise of the top just seemed to keep tantalizingly out of reach.

At one point, the trail was washed out by some sort of landslide that had carried part of the mountanside away. I looked out across a gully of huge, jagged boulders and fallen trees, and had no choice but to scramble my way across it. The thing was...it wasn't immediately obvious where the trail resumed on the other side. I had to cast up and down the slope a bit to find it again. Then, twenty minutes later after another switchback, I had to cross the same gully all over again. "Fuck it," I thought, "I'm not going to go straight across, just to have to cross this thing a third time. I'm going up." Someone, who had presumably had the same thought, had left a pile of stones on a log as a marker. I made for that marker, and eventually found the trail again, having chopped off a small leg of the trail. It was time-consuming though.

Up, up, up. I was nearing the end of my endurance, resting for ten minutes to walk five. But, shortly after noon, I finally crested the top, to spectacular views of Michael Peak.

I headed east, along the trail that eventually leads to Yoho Pass, and got close enough to see the Shale. Unfortunately, I knew I didn't have the energy to climb up to it, even assuming that it would be allowed. I didn't SEE anyone around, but the fossils are protected by international law, and I've read that there are sensors in place. I didn't like the idea of black helicopters swooping down on me, so I satisfied myself with a view from a distance. Then I headed back, and started descending to Emerald Lake.

Disappointingly, the lake was at no point visible from the top.

It had turned very hot, and water was starting to become an issue. I'd brought two bottles, and was using them sparingly, but was getting thirstier and thirstier. And the path down was, if anything harder than the path up, because I was tired. I also had a blister on the top of my big toe from my foot jamming into the front of my boot with every step down the hill. And it seemed to go downhill forever.

It was shortly after five o'clock before I stumbled and staggered out of the bush onto the ring trail around Emerald Lake. I rewarded myself with the last of my water, and was almost immediately as thirsty as before. But at least the trail was level. Before long, I was passing cabins and resorts, and finally reached the general store at the end of Emerald Lake road, and went in to buy an ice-cold Coke. They didn't sell Coke. Or anything cold. But I drank a whole bottle of water anyway.

I hadn't really thought in great detail how I was going to get back to Field. I vaguely assumed that someone would offer me a ride, and I was right. The lady who ran the general store thought I looked so pitiful that she volunteered her daughter to give me a lift.

Her name was Kayla, and on the fifteen minute drive back to Field, we played "Whose Life Sucks Worse?" I think she won...she had come up there to live, but now had to move because the boyfriend she came up there for had just dumped her. I told her my tripod story, and about losing a big chunk of my exhaust system last year when I rode to Burning Man, and she came back with a story about her car breaking down and some guy in a Lexus offering to pay for repairs.

When she dropped me off in Field, she waved aside any offer of compensation. The guy in the Lexus had told her to 'pay it forward,' and she told me to do the same. I would get an opportunity sooner than I thought.

-----

I honestly don't remember much about the rest of the evening. I did the same thing as last night; waited until the hostel closed, then slept in the common-room, but I don't know how I could have possibly stayed awake until then. I was completely exhausted. I do remember sitting in the foyer of the hostel, rubbing my feet, and the woman who ran the place was telling two guests about how the hostel in Revelstoke attracted a bad element, and -- get this -- that it TENDED TO BE NOISY. I bit my lip to avoid causing a scene. I'd recommend the Revelstoke hostel to anybody over that place!

Come eleven, I slept the sleep of the just. Or at least, the just exhausted. It was an incredibly satisfying day. Almost twenty kilometers in all.

The trail started out in thick forest, but soon I was getting views of Field in the early morning light...

...and the Kicking Horse Valley.

Finally! The view over the other side of the pass. Michael Peak across the way, and to my left, the sheer back face of Mt. Burgess.

The board basically reads "Don't touch the freakin' fossils or we will end you!"

I was able, once I got home, to stitch many photos into big panoramas. I used a program called Autostitch to do this.

Finally, I reached the shores of Emerald Lake. It's one of the most beautiful lakes in the Rockies, but I've never had much luck photographing it. This shot is ok, but it was sort of an afterthought...I was too damn tired to put much effort into it.

Day 2: Wednesday, August 13. Field

Wed, 27 May 2009 23:40:27 GMT

Remember Day 1? Sorry, I know that it's been forever since I started this. Processing the photos took a long time, but they're all done now. Writing is step two, and Day 2 was hard to write, because it ended up being pretty intensely personal. I kept finding it easy to put off, and I've been putting it off for months now. But it's finally done.

My destination today was Field, a tiny little town in the Rockies just a hop, skip and jump from the Alberta border (and the Continental Divide). I like Field, and I always make a point of stopping there when I pass through. It's a relatively short ride from Revelstoke, which was part of the plan...I wanted time to do my first serious hiking today.

Before even getting to the Rockies though, I had another mountain range to cross: the Purcell Range runs roughly parallel to the Rockies, with a long straight trench running between them. I left Revelstoke early, entering Glacier National Park, and the road immediately started climbing. About an hour later, I reached the summit at Rogers Pass, where I stopped briefly for a rest. It was a good chance to take the camera out; the day was incredibly beautiful, and there's a lot of stuff at the summit to photograph. Especially the groundsquirrels, who prowl around mooching from the tourists.

About halfway between Rogers Pass and Field, snugly between the two mountain ranges, is Golden. Golden is odd in that it seems designed to keep you passing through; it has the usual strip of gas stations, fast food and motels, but if you want to wander around in the town proper, it's not immediately obvious how to find it. I wandered a bit at random, crossed some train tracks and a bridge, before stumbling onto Main Street. I wanted to find a supermarket and buy some trailmix.

From Golden, the road climbs again, through some of the most rugged sections of the Trans-Canada Highway. This path through the Rockies is called the Kicking Horse Pass. I reached Field shortly after noon.

I would be spending a fair amount of time, and covering a fair amount of terrain, in this area, so it's worth including a rough map of the geography:

As you can see, heading along the highway, Field is on your right side, and to your left, there are several smaller valleys off the main Pass. Black lines are roads, brown lines are trails.

There's something pretty cool in Field, a little general store with a kitchen in the back that serves gourmet meals, which you then eat at rough little tables. It's called Truffle Pigs, and it's very cute, very rustic...and apparently, also very successful, because the first thing I discovered when I arrived was that Truffle Pigs had moved across the street to shiny new digs in Field's one big hotel.

The general store was still there, and still had a kitchen serving meals, but it wasn't anything special anymore. Meanwhile, Truffle Pigs had lost its rustic charm, and appeared like a typical upscale restaurant. I tried a tomato, fennel and dill soup, which was good, and also had a burger, which cost 26 dollars and was nothing special. I left feeling vaguely annoyed and disappointed.

Time for hiking! My plan was to hike to the top of the Sherbrook Lake trail, and then once above the treeline, leave the trail and try striking out cross-country, over the saddle that would lead to the head of Takakkaw Falls. It's very very easy to get to the base of the falls -- park on the side of the road and take a five minute walk along a paved trail -- but I wanted to go where most people never went. I rode from Field to the trailhead, and started getting ready. I had my tent and sleeping bag in a backpack, along with warm clothes and trailmix, my camera gear (including tripod) in a bag slung to the side, and some heavy socks under my new boots to stave off blisters. Now all I had to do was walk to the nearby resort to fill my water bottles, and I'd be set.

In the ten minutes that it took to walk there and back, I realized that it simply wasn't going to happen. There was just no way I was going to be able to walk any significant distance with that much gear. Discouraged, I put everything back on the bike, and headed back to Field; I had some reassessing to do.

I started thinking about where to spend the night, since I just didn't feel like camping anymore. A new hostel opened here since the last time I visited, so I decided I'd stay there. But when I went in, I was told by the lady at the counter that it was 40 dollars a night for a dorm-style bed, and they didn't have any available anyway. I couldn't believe it. Someone somewhere is unclear on the concept of hostels -- they're cheap and they ALWAYS have space! But she said I could pitch my tent in the yard...for 15 dollars. Whatever.

So, they gave me a key that would let me into the building after hours, I grabbed a quick shower, dropped my stuff in a corner, and set out to try to salvage something out of this day. I rode the Yoho Valley road to spend a little time at Takakkaw Falls.

The Falls are spectacular, I took lots of pictures. Climbed up to the very base of the cliff, close enough to feel the mist in my face.

You know those zen riddles -- I think they're called koans -- which are intended to break old patterns of thought? Things like "What is the sound of one hand clapping," or "If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?" Well, here's a question for you: "How many hands does God have?"

Think about it for a while, and when I'm done telling this story, you may find that it sheds some light on the answer.

I got back to my bike, and thought that I'd take a picture of me and the bike with the falls in the background. But when I went to unstrap my tripod from the back of the bike, I saw that the top part, where the camera sits, had fallen off. My own fault; I knew before I left that the screw holding it on was missing, but I figured I could just lash it on with a strip of rawhide, and it'd be fine. Well, the rawhide had unravelled, and the head of my tripod was now somewhere in the 14 kilometers between here and the hostel.

As I rode back to town, I scanned the sides of the road. I didn't really have a lot of hope. Even assuming that it had landed on the road and not flown into the bushes, even assuming that I'd be able to spot it while riding by at 40 km/hr, it would probably have been run over by a car by now. So I knew the odds were against me. But hey, it couldn't hurt to keep my eyes open, right?

And I found it! There it was, lying on the side of the road...where a car had run over it.

I gathered up the pieces sadly, and tucked them away for a decent burial later.

So. Back to the original question: how many hands does God have? Three. He giveth with one hand, taketh away with the other, and slappeth you around with the other.

-----

Back at the hostel, I found out why they didn't have any beds. A busload of middle-aged woman-warriors had taken possession, and were planning to hike the Yoho Pass the next day. There were about fifteen of them, and they were sitting in the common-room playing Pictionary, or Scattergories, or some variation thereof. And they were LOUD!

I probably should have set up my tent about now, but I had developed another plan: since I had a key that gave me access all night, I'd wait until everybody had gone to bed, then crash on one of the common-room sofas. But first I'd have to wait for the women to pack it in.

It was frustrating. I was tired and annoyed, and really needed a quiet, relaxing evening to decompress. But I couldn't stay in that room for very long, so I kept getting up, wandering around Field, which takes maybe fifteen minutes, so I'd head back again to find them still going. I killed a little time photographing the remains of my tripod, then wandered through Field again. Went to the general store...more than once. Bought some soup for later.

EVENTUALLY they quit, went to bed, the managers shut the place down, and left for the night to wherever they actually lived. I had the place to myself. Cooked my soup, watched The Daily Show (quietly), then stretched out on a very comfy sofa.

What followed can only be described as a long dark night of the soul.

I couldn't sleep. I tried and tried. It wasn't from being uncomfortable, it was from being pissed off, frustrated, and unable to shut my mind off. Bad thoughts going round and round.

I can even remember exactly how it started. I thought to myself that if God were real, and I ever met him, the first question I'd ask would be if I was alone all the time because I rejected others, or because others rejected me. I can make a decent case either way, and I could go on for hours about it...and that night, I did. All sorts of self-examination, all kinds of self-recrimination, everything about myself I don't like, going round and round, over and over...and I couldn't get it to stop.

I got up several times during the night, walked the streets of Field alone. It still took about fifteen minutes. I thought about not fitting in at work, even after years. I thought about how it felt listening to others talking about how much fun they'd had getting together on their days off, feeling jealous and hurt not to be included, then remembering that when I AM included, I feel uncomfortable and out of place and just try to get away as quick as possible so I can be alone again and feel normal.

Or consider these trips I go on. I spend all year waiting for the chance to get away from everything, and spend some time by myself. Then when I get here, what do I end up doing? Wandering around looking for some group to try to join. Sometimes I even find one; but it doesn't take long before it becomes apparent that I don't really fit in, and I wander away again, feeling frustrated. How damaged is that?

Is it learned? Or is it something inborn in me? I feel stuck in a negative feedback loop, where the less positive social interaction I have, the less likely I am to seek it out; and the less I seek it out, the less likely I am to have positive social interactions. How it started, who knows. I just know that I can't break the cycle.

It occurred to me that what I wanted, when I saw others enjoying each others' company, wasn't to be included so much as to feel normal. I don't have much need for company (or maybe I've just had to learn to do without it), but I thought that it would be nice if there was just one person -- one person who was easy to be with, one person that I could be myself with and still be accepted, one person that I didn't have to put up any walls with, that I could be intimate with mentally, physically and emotionally...one person, in short, who knew me like I knew myself and could still stand to be around me.

And from there, inevitably, my thoughts turned to Chelsea and Ashleigh.

I'd been friends with both of them for a long time...and then I wasn't. It's not that I thought that either one of them was that one perfect person, but they were the closest I'd ever come, and when it all suddenly fell apart, it felt like the end of the world for a long time. I was angry about it too. I sat under a Field street lamp at 4AM, going over everything that had happened, and feeling that I hadn't deserved it. I had a dozen imaginary arguments with them both, each angrier than the last, saying all the most hateful things I could think of...

And then...something gave.

All at once. I could almsot feel it physically, like something loosening in my chest. Like imaginary conversations were every bit as cathartic as real ones would have been. Some little hard lump in what I like to think of as my soul, melted away, and I felt...not forgiveness exactly, but closure. Like it was finally over, and I could let it go. I felt peaceful.

The sky was turning light in the east. A new day was starting. I hadn't slept a wink.

-edit- POSTSCRIPT: I'm happy to report that Chelsea and I recently rebuilt our bridges. I hope that in the long run, the experience has changed us both for the better. I think it has.

Rogers Pass, looking ahead...

...and back the way I came. The sign reads 'Rogers Pass Summit 1330m.'

Pretty, right? This is the monument marking Rogers Pass, which was also the point where the TransCanada Highway was finally completed. The next pic is a panoramic closeup of the jagged peaks.

Details of the peaks from the previous pic

Groundsquirrels!

Takakkaw Falls, from the Cree word meaning "Holy fuck, I wish someone would invent a camera!"

I climbed up to the very base of the falls. Spray was hitting me in the face, so I could only take a few shots. I'm looking almost straight up here.

The eastern wall of Yoho Valley. I'd hoped to be on the other side, hiking up the Sherbrook Lake trail to the top of the falls, but it was not to be.

I wanted to be in this pic, but unfortunately, I was tripodless.

This is why campers and trailers are not allowed on Yoho Valley Road. Buses have to drive BACKWARDS on the middle dogleg.

If you're ever in Field and need a place to sleep free, this church never locks its doors. I slept here in 2000 when I came through on a bicycle.

Field's general store and cafe, formerly the site of the Truffle Pigs restaurant, now in the inn just behind me.

Panorama of downtown Field.

Grasses growing along the train tracks.

I love this shot! My first calendar-worthy pic.

Field in the light of sunset. I'm right in front of the hostel, looking across the street.

Sigh. God has three hands. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.

Day 1: Tuesday, August 12. Revelstoke

Wed, 27 May 2009 23:39:20 GMT

I'm finally off! Good thing too...I REALLY need this trip!

I was originally planning to leave yesterday, but I'm glad I took the extra day. It gave me a chance to pick up a few more supplies. But tonight's the night.

Yes, tonight. I left at 12:30 in the morning, and planned to ride through the night until I got to Revelstoke. This is something I don't feel like explaining; you're just going to have to accept that I am a night-creature, and I feel more comfortable after dark. Less traffic too.

Doing the final pack-up, I had the usual moment of panic that I wouldn't be able to actually get everything onto the bike, but eventually I found a good system. My backpack, containing my sleeping bag, tent, and several changes of clothing, I lashed on top of the back seat. In the left saddlebag, my hiking boots, maps, journal and a couple of water bags (I'll definitely be wanting them later). Right saddlebag has a five-liter gas can. I've never actually run out of gas on a road trip, but I've come frighteningly close often enough that this time I want to have some insurance. And of course, my camera bag with all my equipment goes over my shoulder. As a final whimsical touch, I drew up a sign reading "No Sleep Till Revelstoke" and stuck it on the back of my bike.

I felt a little unbalanced at first, but quickly realized that it was more comfortable to let the camera bag rest on my lap instead of to the side. After a quick stop at the nearest gas station to fill up the reserve can, it's finally time to travel!

By 2AM I was in Hope, the Gateway to BC's Interior.

This is the point where you leave the farmland country of the Fraser Valley and enter the mountains. If you're heading east from Vancouver, you have to pass through Hope. It's always my first stop on any trip, because it just happens to be almost exactly one full tank of gas from my front door. So the Chevron station here is a familiar sight. Even at 2AM.

Hope's a pretty little town. Its biggest claim to fame is probably the fact that the movie "First Blood" was filmed here. As you pass through, the highway splits into three: the Hope-Princeton highway heads east to...well, Princeton, en route to the vineyards of the Okanagan; the Trans-Canada takes the scenic route to Kamloops, north through the Fraser Canyon; and the Coquihalla Highway, the newest and most modern road, takes the more direct route to Kamloops, straight over the mountains. The Coquihalla, by the way, was the road that nearly destroyed my mom's car. This was the road I was taking tonight.

I knew I'd have to warm up first. Under the comfortingly bright lights of the Chevron station, I traded my sneakers for hiking boots, put the heaviest pair of thermal socks I had over the socks I was wearing, tucked my pant legs into the tops, and basically zipped, snapped and buttoned everything I possibly could. I had a thick woolen hoodie on under my leather jacket, and was again glad of the fact that I'd just lost 40 pounds, or I'd never have been able to wear the two together. As it was, wearing both felt comfortably snug. Then it was off into the land of zero electrical lights.

I wish I could say that this part of the trip was the coldest I'd ever been in my life, but honestly, it wasn't even in the top five. See, I'd made this midnight trip over the Coquihalla before, only in April. THAT was fuckin' cold. This was just...friggin' cold. Cold enough at least that involuntary shaking sometimes threatened my control of the bike. I stopped for gas in Merritt (home of the Merritt Mountain Music Festival)

But what I remember best about this leg of the trip isn't the cold, but the absolute clarity of the sky, and the shooting stars. I'd rarely ever even seen shooting stars before; now I was seeing them every few minutes. One left a trail of particles that lingered for a couple of seconds. Between that and the stars in general, the greatest danger to me was that my eyes kept drifting upwards, and off the road.

I passed several emergency vehicles, spreading something over the road. I thought, "Hmmm, I wonder what they're doing that for?" Two seconds later, I passed some sort of large animal, smeared over a substantial distance of highway, like it had been passed over a giant cheese-grater. I can't be sure -- I think it was a moose.

I didn't make very good time. Originally, I had hoped that I'd be in Revelstoke shortly after sunrise, maybe in time to grab some good pics. But I wasn't even in Kamloops yet as the sky began to lighten. I stopped briefly to take my first pics of the trip.

It was around six when I finally crested the hills and started the descent into Kamloops. I took a few more pictures, as there was an amazing pink light to everything, and then had an exceptionally disgusting breakfast at Denny's (the only place I could find open). I was pretty sleepy by now, and thought about just getting a room and crashing, but decided to stick to the spirit of the sign.

East from Kamloops heads into farming country first, where I was distracted by irrigation pumps with the rising sun shining through them. Then it was the lake country of the Shuswap, where Dad took us camping all those times. I had a lot of deja-vu.

But then, that really was the whole point. One of my goals on this trip is to revisit a lot of places I've been before. I'm like that; I'm the sort of person who draws comfort from repetition, and I like to compare places with my memories of them. In a way, every trip I take is sort of a scouting mission for future trips. Plus, whenever my photography skills or equipment takes a leap forward, I like to have a chance to revisit the sites of some of my favorite photos.

For instance, I've been through the Rocky Mountains twice before (not counting a train trip in 1996). The first time was in 2000, when I tried riding a bicycle across Canada. On that trip, I just followed the Trans-Canada, and my camera was a 35mm point-and-shoot. I got some nice shots, but I couldn't really take a lot, because I was using film and on a budget. The second time was in 2004 (I think) when my cousin got married in Kamloops. I figured as long as I had the time off work, I might as well explore the Rockies for a while. That time I took the Icefields Parkway from Banff to Jasper, and I had my first digital camera...a 1.3 megapixel point-and-shoot that would barely qualify as a toy today. Even celphones nowadays have more beef. That trip was also marred by a persistent haze caused by particularly widespread fires that year. I didn't get much of anything worth keeping.

So I'm REALLY looking forward to doing the Rockies right, with the best camera I've ever owned.

I gassed up in Salmon Arm -- the last tank before Revelstoke!

I stopped briefly at the Last Spike exhibit at Creigellachie, but it wasn't worth it...a gift shop and a caboose that you used to be able to go inside, but today was locked up. It was around 9:30AM when I crossed the bridge into Revelstoke.

I went first to one of the coolest things in town; Revelstoke is apparently one of the only places in the world where a modern highway goes all the way to the top of a mountain. They call it the Meadows-in-the-Sky Parkway, and it goes to the top of Mt. Revelstoke. I wasn't planning on driving it right away -- I was pretty beat by this time -- but I wanted to check it out. There's a kiosk there, where they collect the national park fee that you have to pay to enter, and they told me that they were only letting people go partway up because there had been reports of grizzlies at the top.

So now it was time to think about lodging. I rode to the Same Sun hostel, one of my favorites, and wobbled my way indoors after first taking a quick pic of my bike. I thought about doing a pic with myself sleeping on the ground next to it, but was too tired to even think about hauling out the tripod. I left everything on the bike, and went inside. The check-in desk was closed until 2, so I wandered into the TV room where some fellow travellers were hanging out, sat down...and crashed. Hard.

A few hours later, I woke up and arranged for a bunk.

------

I spent the evening wandering. I drove up to the Revelstoke Dam, which has a great view, but the lighting was all wrong for good photos. The road to the dam fascinates me...it heads north, about 140km, to the town of Mica Creek, and then stops. You know those signs you'll often see on remote highways, that say something like "Check fuel -- next service 140km"? Well, this road has a sign saying "Check fuel, no services." Get it? Once past this point, there's NOTHING. So if you're going to Mica Creek, better have enough gas to get back. Naturally, this makes me want to go to Mica Creek one day. Apparently, there's an even bigger dam up there. I'd have to carry more than a full tank's worth of gas to do it though...

Then it was time to do the Meadows parkway. I went up as far as I could, then went down slowly looking for the best viewpoints. The sun was setting, and I was in no hurry because I wanted night-shots of Revelstoke. Finally, I was satisfied, and headed back down the mountain.

I was almost back at the bottom, and was thinking idly that it would be nice to have some company on this trip. Then I thought that they'd have to have their own bike because I couldn't have a passenger with all my gear back there. And the second that I thought the word "gear" it hit me that I'D LEFT ALL MY CAMERA GEAR UP ON THE MOUNTAIN! God, I can be idiotic sometimes. Had to drive all the way back up, then all the way back down again.

Feeling bored and restless, I walked the streets of Revelstoke after dark. I just missed seeing live music played in the main plaza. Had some OK pizza in one of the last places still open.

Two more photo projects before I called it a night: First, Revelstoke has these two monuments placed at the entry to town that had caught my attention in the past. At night, they shine a brilliant beam of light straight up in the air, and I wanted to try capturing it. I had to get my tripod from the hostel, but eventually I was successful.

Then I had the thought of going back to the dam, and trying a long-exposure shot. I couldn't work the actual dam into a shot that I thought would work, but I liked how the cliffs were lit up by the dam's lights, and went with that instead. I set up by the side of the road, opened the shutter, and spent 20 minutes just enjoying the tranquillity of the night. Not another soul anywhere to be seen. The photo was acceptable :)

I wasn't really sleepy. I sat in the hostel kitchen for an hour or so, looking through the pics I'd taken and paging through truly the lamest book of alternative remedies I'd ever seen. Sample: "Honey absorbs water. So take a spoonful of honey before bed to prevent bed-wetting." I mean, jesus christ....

First light, first photo. From the Coquihalla Highway outside Kamloops.

Kamloops in the morning.

Pretty farmhouse. No, I don't know what the star means. 'Wiccans Live Here?'

The Last Spike. This marks the place where the Canadian Pacific Railway was officially completed. Now that's the only reason anybody would ever bother to stop here.

I made it...must sleep now...
PS, yes, that's a hatchet on the back. And my tripod.

Revelstoke!

The bridge you cross to get into Revelstoke! Whee! Bridges! I'm sleepy!

Sunset begins...didn't get much of anything worth showing.

But Revelstoke by night was pretty cool.

You can't see it, but those suckers attract LOTS of bugs!

Star tracks = luv. :)