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Prelude and Day 1

Page history last edited by Jlunam 15 years, 6 months ago

May 20


Lionel’s condo on 8th St. in Vancouver was the first assembly point.  Steven was picked up by Ian at the Airport’s South Terminal after his one day visit to Lund, Peter arrived from Sequim where he’d just moved his mother from New York City to a nursing home, Murray arrived by Ferry from Nanaimo and Rob drove in from Burnaby.  Gear was packed into Rob’s Honda and Peters Tracker.  The rainy Spring made the Fraser Valley vibrant green, swelled the muddy river and produced dozens of spectacular waterfalls. Along the Hope-Princeton highway through Manning Park trees were just coming into light green leaf.  Steven and Peter stopped at an unnamed serpentine canyon to admire the cascade.


Two carloads reunited at the Cedars Motel in Princeton, where gear and food were distributed.  A Greek Taverna in this unprepossessing town served up dinners and beer excellent by any standard.  We were joined at the table by Gregory Archambault who was biking solo all the way across Canada during a five month leave from his transportation company in Quebec. After dinner our group agreed to start out at the eastern end of the preplanned route and head back toward Princeton. 


courtenay – princeton

tuesday, may 20




four twenty am rise

gives ferry rush

that says goodbye

with tensions of what will come


mixing plans of constnt change

with waiting to start

and horrors of yesterday

with joys of tomorrow

and lemon merange moments today


to arrive at starting point

gives time for sorting out

before it all begins

with reversed plans

packed as tight as can be

found before crossing paths

with real peddler

from world away

just starting out

as well




May 21


At Backroads Bikeshop we rented bikes and panniers from Jim Harrison, as prearranged by Lionel, and met up with Andy, who’d driven from Edmonton in his red sportster, and with John, whose Mom drove him down from Kelowna. She brought us fresh grapes, wide smiles and grandmotherly blessings, and took our picture in front of the trailer being loaded by Neil Allison, our driver.   On the way to our starting point through the beautiful Similkameen Valley, Neil was a bottomless source of local information.  Steven recognized his name as that of the founder of Princeton, from whom he was directly descended by way of one native wife.  We passed through exploding Osoyoos and its vast outlying subdivisions, a sign of the real estate boom in this border region, over a pass to the quiet Kettle Valley.  Eager to get on the bikes, we decided to start at Rock Creek and Neil unloaded us at the Gold Pan café, where we paid him $50 each and ate borscht for lunch.


After a short shakedown in the parking lot to get used to the unfamiliar 35 pound loads that made the bikes rear backward, we crossed the lovely Kettle River and followed an untraveled road upstream looking for the railroad trail, while enjoying the smooth pavement.  Two rare mountain bluebirds sitting on a fence as we passed provided an auspicious portent.  But as the road ascended away from the river at a much steeper slope than the three percent maximum of a railroad right of way it became evident that we had already lost the trail.  Some pressed on, others doubled back, and another group left the road, crossing fences and barriers, heading for the river.  Robert went off on his own and Andy went looking for him.  After an hour of somewhat anxious waiting, our swarm reassembled, and we continued confidently up the slightly sloping dirt path that bordered and then recrossed the river on a refurbished old railroad bridge.


Though one could occasionally hear the traffic on highway 33, the trail passed idyllically along the meandering river and through undisturbed farmland and forest, meadow and outcrop.  After several kilometers the valley split and our branch narrowed.  The surface occasionally softened, slowing travel and requiring more effort, but then hardened again, the slight grade hardly noticeable as the momentum of the loaded bikes carried us forward.  At times the trail felt like a tunnel through woods on either side, then opened suddenly to broad vistas of mountain and valley as we left and returned to the riverbank.  At one opening, at the base of the forested mountainside, we saw a brightly painted caboose and a sign, “Rest Stop for Cyclists. Come on in it's free.”  We pulled up to it and found a shelter with picnic tables and a hammock. As we leaned our bikes on railings conveniently placed to support the panniers, an ATV barreled down the hillside toward us driven by a spry old man carrying several gallon containers of water.


Paul Lautard's gray T-shirt said, “At 85, I’m Deaf, Blind and Cranky.” Although unsmiling, he was extremely friendly. He welcomed us to “Rhone,” a former station on the old railway and led us into the caboose, which it turned out on closer look, was a simulated caboose build out of wood with painted wheels.  It was neatly outfitted with bunks and cooking facilities and displays about the KVR. Paul Lautard was born and raised in Rhone. His working career was spent as a heavy construction carpenter in Vancouver, and building this caboose was a retirement hobby for him. He delights in hosting all the cyclists coming thru, and regaled us with the history of the railroad. His father and his brother both worked on the railroad. This section from Midway to Merrit was built by the CPR around 1914 -1916  Outside he showed us his museum collection of railroad equipment and explained the uses of the switch, the jack, and the different gauge rails.  In front of the memorial he’d built, he paid tribute to the relatives and townspeople who served in WWII, including himself.  For all this hospitality, he’d take no payment, and directed us to the Little Dipper campsite up the trail owned by his nephew. 


We were greeted there by George and his wife Frauke, in front of an immense new log mansion surrounded by antique cabins, a well preserved old car, and more museum displays about local logging and forest management.  All the logs and lumber at this establishment was harvested on their woodlot and cut on their mill.  The cost for camping was fifteen dollars.  “Each?” asked John.  “No, for all of you,” he answered.


Here and there one sees a display that George has put up contrasting the diameter that trees attained over similar time periods from small to large, presumably primarily related to the density of the tree spacing in the forest.


The campground also had racks for packed bikes, a children’s playground made of old tires and culvert and RV sites on the bank of the rushing river, but we had the place to ourselves.  The weekenders have hung many hummingbird feeders, and it was a delight to be buzzed by them, and to catch glimpses of their brilliant irridescence. John cooked the dinner out of ingredients he’d brought: brown rice and dried vegetables, supplemented by envelops of curried, ginger, pickled cabbage and other exotics. It started to rain and we all sat snug at a picnic bench under a roofed canopy and then crashed in our tents before it got dark.


old and blind


not to be away

without toilet paper

is to be loaded in eleven passenger historic allison van

with eight bikes following before two  hundred clicks away

starting point

at rock creek gold pan café

gives ready and willing beginning

with more available merange

and real portions once again


to be in three separate groups

going four different directions

is scrambled way to start

before kettle caboose rest stop

makes all settle

into peddled rhythms

at little dipper hummingbird haven final stop

where skies open

and refuge is taken

with gourmet vegetable melange

sore crotches

and satisfied beginning


Day 2


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