Sunday, July 29, 2008
Campbell Rive to Victoria.
OK, so I rode, rode and rode til I got home. I didn't feel like another night in a tent and a motel isn't something I like to do 2 nights in a row. Besides, I was getting a bit worried about some rough idling with the bike and I wanted a day off to clean the chain, check everything over and get ready for part 2 of the trip.
I crashed in Patti's bed, but by myself ...sniff. Patti is on Pender Island with her ex ...I'm cool with it, really! She'll be back tomorrow with her tender arms around me.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Lazing About in Port Hardy
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Port Hardy to Campbell River.
The tent is soaked, yet I and my gear are bone dry. That's good camping as far as I'm concerned. I've now spent several hours at Guido's Cafe, complete with complimentary wireless Internet. All for the price of one $5.65 soya mocha. $5.65?? Well, it was worth every penny and not one single person came over to tell me that I've overstayed my welcome on their comfy sofa.
The forecast calls for cloudy skies today, some rain, and some more rain tomorrow down the entire island for Sunday. What to do? what to do? I will soon pack up the laptop and hit the road. Once I have the wind in my face my route will simply come to me. All I know is that I now have 2 1/2 days to make it back to Victoria.
Some dude came out of a monstrosity of a pickup truck and started sniffing around the bike. Out came his cellphone and he started taking pictures of the bike. Either he was very interested in the bike or the undercover cops have finally caught up to me for scaring all those bears in the backcountry. I think the bears are sacred spirits in the logger religion. I must have come across as quite the heretic and broken a few local religious laws by clattering along those roads in pure pickup truck country.
Well, in the end it was just pure riding for the rest of the day. The stretch between Port Hardy and Campbell River is basically all trees and not too much to see from the road. It would have put me to sleep if it hadn't been for the razor sharp raindrops hitting me in the knees at 110km/h during the ubiquitous 5 minute showers.
The motels in Campbell River were hurting for business even though it was a Saturday. The weather probably scared off the wimpy tourists. I pulled into an RV/Cottage type place and was told that the cottages normally rent for $250/night for 4 guests. But the Persian host graciously offered to let me have one for only $175 since I was by myself. I politely declined and told him I realized that he couldn't possibly rent me a full cottage for the price of the motel down the road. I actually had no intention of bargaining and was trying to leave. Before I knew it I was settled into one of the cottages for $75, no tax. It was one of those cash only deals :-)
Port Hardy to Campbell River.
The tent is soaked, yet I and my gear are bone dry. That's good camping as far as I'm concerned. I've now spent several hours at Guido's Cafe, complete with complimentary wireless Internet. All for the price of one $5.65 soya mocha. $5.65?? Well, it was worth every penny and not one single person came over to tell me that I've overstayed my welcome on their comfy sofa.
The forecast calls for cloudy skies today, some rain, and some more rain tomorrow down the entire island for Sunday. What to do? what to do? I will soon pack up the laptop and hit the road. Once I have the wind in my face my route will simply come to me. All I know is that I now have 2 1/2 days to make it back to Victoria.
Some dude came out of a monstrosity of a pickup truck and started sniffing around the bike. Out came his cellphone and he started taking pictures of the bike. Either he was very interested in the bike or the undercover cops have finally caught up to me for scaring all those bears in the backcountry. I think the bears are sacred spirits in the logger religion. I must have come across as quite the heretic and broken a few local religious laws by clattering along those roads in pure pickup truck country.
Well, in the end it was just pure riding for the rest of the day. The stretch between Port Hardy and Campbell River is basically all trees and not too much to see from the road. It would have put me to sleep if it hadn't been for the razor sharp raindrops hitting me in the knees at 110km/h during the ubiquitous 5 minute showers.
The motels in Campbell River were hurting for business even though it was a Saturday. The weather probably scared off the wimpy tourists. I pulled into an RV/Cottage type place and was told that the cottages normally rent for $250/night for 4 guests. But the Persian host graciously offered to let me have one for only $175 since I was by myself. I politely declined and told him I realized that he couldn't possibly rent me a full cottage for the price of the motel down the road. I actually had no intention of bargaining and was trying to leave. Before I knew it I was settled into one of the cottages for $75, no tax. It was one of those cash only deals :-)
Back to the "City"
Friday July 25, 2008
Cape Scott to Winter Harbour and back to Port Hardy.
All by gravel roads.
I'm now comfortably sitting by a campfire near Port Hardy as I'm typing. The camp is now quiet and everyone has gone to bed. The raindrops tap out a lullaby on the tarp I managed to set up before the skies opened up. All is dry and all is well ...until my laptop battery runs out.
Rewind to this morning ....
My tent neighbours offered me a cup of coffee and we had another little chat before all heading back to the parking lot. A nice group of 4 young Vancouverite friends on their first and only overnight hike together.
The tank bag was still where I hid it near the parking lot. I guess there aren't too many desperate junkies looking for easy drug money when you're 65km's away from the nearest town, along some bumpy logging road. It was now noon and decision time. I opted to head back towards Holberg. Come to think of it, it's the only way back out. But then I did another "whim" thing. I turned south at the sign for Winter Harbour. Since I'm up here I may as well check it out. The road became even more twisty, bumpy, potholey and dusty than before. There was even a little delay as a backhoe was trying to clear a beaver dam which had flooded the road. The backhoe driver insisted on no pictures. Something to with the logger's religion and it stealing their souls. I respected that and didn't even try to sneak a picture while no one was looking.
Waiting While a Beaver Dam is Cleared Away by the Wester Forest Products People.
So there it was, Winter Harbour. Summer population 400, winter population 25. Hardcore sport fishermen come here to catch big uns, sit around and drink beer and smoke their lungs out. The town is actually quite quaint and has a neat boardwalk along the water for a little stroll and access to some of the seasonal houses. There's even a federal government dock with sea otters frolicking in the water. Those teddy bears of the sea are simply adorable.
Fisherfolk Hard At Work, Winter Harbour.
Now some raindrops started falling and my thoughts were torn between "Yay! no more dust" and "Oi, slippery and muddy roads". The rain actually never really materialized in any substantial way all the way back to Port Hardy. I rounded a gentle curve in the road and had a passenger van catching up to me. Suddenly I saw the most wonderful sight on the road. A black bear stood ...literally stood on its' hind legs on the side of the road. I've seen too many bears to count but this one was quite special. I had never seen on stand right up. It went back down on all fours, like any self respecting black bear is supposed to do and ran into the bushes at the sight of this frightful two wheeled monstrosity coming at it. I stopped to let the van pass and waited for the dust to settle. The bear came back out of the bushes and trundled down the road. When I made a noise it once more ran off into the bushes. About 5 minutes later yet another black bear was on the road and beat a hasty retreat into the bushes as I approached.
Once past Holberg, the road improved and I opened the throttle a bit. I was now rolling along at a much nicer clip while still repeating my usual gravel road mantras. The rubber side stayed up once more but I was actually singing "Hallelujah" when I reached the pavement all dusty and my nose feeling clogged up in spite of the dust mask.
Holberg, Population 75. But Ya Gotta Have a Pub Anyway.
The cheapest hotel in Port Hardy is close to $100 and the rather nice local hostel had a seriously drunk guy, complete with open beer bottle in hand, staffing the front desk. I guess they have to make the most of their short tourist season to make up for the lack of business most of the year. So I once more opted for the Wildwood campground in spite of the impending rain. As I was waiting to ask the clerk some questions there were four women signing in. They were going to hike overnigth to the Cape Scott lighthouse. 22km's one way. There was something familiar about one of the women. I mentioned to her "you seem awfully familiar". She responded with "You know me". It turns out she's the ex girlfriend of someone I used to know in Vancouver. They and I happened to be gardeners in the same community garden in East Vancouver while I still lived there. I'm quite amazed at how small the world can be sometimes.
I managed to get my campsite all set up and a beautiful campfire going before the rain started coming down in earnest. Camping in the rain is actually great if you're set up before everything gets soaked. The other motorbiker at the campground came over for a chat and to share the fire. A young fellow from Victoria who rode the 500km's to Port Hardy in one day. Tomorrow he's riding it all back in one shot in the rain. Ah, to be young!
Good night all. I hope you're all feeling for me all alone in my tent. Bone dry, with my laptop, listening to my ipod while the fire still crackles outside. Tomorrow I start making my way back south. Which way I take remains a mystery, even to me. Such is the way of a Scrabblebiker. But even a Scrabblebiker must return to her lover and I'm looking more and more forward to having her in my arms Monday night.
Cape Scott to Winter Harbour and back to Port Hardy.
All by gravel roads.
I'm now comfortably sitting by a campfire near Port Hardy as I'm typing. The camp is now quiet and everyone has gone to bed. The raindrops tap out a lullaby on the tarp I managed to set up before the skies opened up. All is dry and all is well ...until my laptop battery runs out.
Rewind to this morning ....
My tent neighbours offered me a cup of coffee and we had another little chat before all heading back to the parking lot. A nice group of 4 young Vancouverite friends on their first and only overnight hike together.
The tank bag was still where I hid it near the parking lot. I guess there aren't too many desperate junkies looking for easy drug money when you're 65km's away from the nearest town, along some bumpy logging road. It was now noon and decision time. I opted to head back towards Holberg. Come to think of it, it's the only way back out. But then I did another "whim" thing. I turned south at the sign for Winter Harbour. Since I'm up here I may as well check it out. The road became even more twisty, bumpy, potholey and dusty than before. There was even a little delay as a backhoe was trying to clear a beaver dam which had flooded the road. The backhoe driver insisted on no pictures. Something to with the logger's religion and it stealing their souls. I respected that and didn't even try to sneak a picture while no one was looking.
Waiting While a Beaver Dam is Cleared Away by the Wester Forest Products People.
So there it was, Winter Harbour. Summer population 400, winter population 25. Hardcore sport fishermen come here to catch big uns, sit around and drink beer and smoke their lungs out. The town is actually quite quaint and has a neat boardwalk along the water for a little stroll and access to some of the seasonal houses. There's even a federal government dock with sea otters frolicking in the water. Those teddy bears of the sea are simply adorable.
Fisherfolk Hard At Work, Winter Harbour.
Now some raindrops started falling and my thoughts were torn between "Yay! no more dust" and "Oi, slippery and muddy roads". The rain actually never really materialized in any substantial way all the way back to Port Hardy. I rounded a gentle curve in the road and had a passenger van catching up to me. Suddenly I saw the most wonderful sight on the road. A black bear stood ...literally stood on its' hind legs on the side of the road. I've seen too many bears to count but this one was quite special. I had never seen on stand right up. It went back down on all fours, like any self respecting black bear is supposed to do and ran into the bushes at the sight of this frightful two wheeled monstrosity coming at it. I stopped to let the van pass and waited for the dust to settle. The bear came back out of the bushes and trundled down the road. When I made a noise it once more ran off into the bushes. About 5 minutes later yet another black bear was on the road and beat a hasty retreat into the bushes as I approached.
Once past Holberg, the road improved and I opened the throttle a bit. I was now rolling along at a much nicer clip while still repeating my usual gravel road mantras. The rubber side stayed up once more but I was actually singing "Hallelujah" when I reached the pavement all dusty and my nose feeling clogged up in spite of the dust mask.
Holberg, Population 75. But Ya Gotta Have a Pub Anyway.
The cheapest hotel in Port Hardy is close to $100 and the rather nice local hostel had a seriously drunk guy, complete with open beer bottle in hand, staffing the front desk. I guess they have to make the most of their short tourist season to make up for the lack of business most of the year. So I once more opted for the Wildwood campground in spite of the impending rain. As I was waiting to ask the clerk some questions there were four women signing in. They were going to hike overnigth to the Cape Scott lighthouse. 22km's one way. There was something familiar about one of the women. I mentioned to her "you seem awfully familiar". She responded with "You know me". It turns out she's the ex girlfriend of someone I used to know in Vancouver. They and I happened to be gardeners in the same community garden in East Vancouver while I still lived there. I'm quite amazed at how small the world can be sometimes.
I managed to get my campsite all set up and a beautiful campfire going before the rain started coming down in earnest. Camping in the rain is actually great if you're set up before everything gets soaked. The other motorbiker at the campground came over for a chat and to share the fire. A young fellow from Victoria who rode the 500km's to Port Hardy in one day. Tomorrow he's riding it all back in one shot in the rain. Ah, to be young!
Good night all. I hope you're all feeling for me all alone in my tent. Bone dry, with my laptop, listening to my ipod while the fire still crackles outside. Tomorrow I start making my way back south. Which way I take remains a mystery, even to me. Such is the way of a Scrabblebiker. But even a Scrabblebiker must return to her lover and I'm looking more and more forward to having her in my arms Monday night.
To The End Of The Road - Literally
Thursday, July 24, 2008.
Port Hardy to Cape Scott Provincial Park.
All on gravel roads.
The campsite at Wildwood on the way to the Prince Rupert ferry is one I'd reccomend to anyone. The downside is that you're away from town. The upside is that you're away from town and surrounded by trees. It truly resembles a forested provicial campsite. There's free firewood and 2 special little "semi-group" areas. One for hikers and cyclists and one for motorcycles. The showers are truly hot and will sweep you away in a wild torrent of oh so beautiful water if you're not careful. $10/person/night.
Today is the big day where I start heading offroad in earnest. I did manage to find a replacement compressor for emergencies. But no spare tube. I'll just take a chance and rely on my two patched tubes and hope for the best. A quick stop in town to stock up on some food and a wee bit a booze, and to make sure I have a full tank of gas before heading off into the wilds to the literal end of the road on Northwest Vancouver Island.
The pavement soon ended and the gravel road was wide but a little winding. I found myself crawling through the corners at a snails pace and kept repeating my newest mantras "When in doubt, power out"; "Don't look at the gravel, look at where you want to go"; "Put some weight on the outside peg, yes the outside peg". I managed to keep the rubber side down but there were times when I wasn't too sure about that either. 45km's along the dusty road (the $1.50 dust mask was sure coming in handy) the company town of Holberg appeared. Population 75 when Joe and his family aren't on vacation. There's a post office, general store run by Czech immigrants with an extremly cute young daughter ...ahem! she's only about 10 years old, what were you thinking?? There's even a pub and restaurant open in the afternoon and evening.
Free Loaner Bike at Brent Ronning's Garden.
The nice ladies at the post office pushed a brochure for Brent Ronning's Garden into my hands and suggested a visit might be in order. It's on the way to Cape Scott. Off I clattered into the dust, becoming more and more comfortable with the bike. It handles incredibly well on these roads. A grader was working along the way and that section was quite miserable for now.
The New Little "Homestead", Bernt Ronning's Garden
Brent Ronning's Garden is simply a little piece of paradise in the middle of nowhere. The area between Holberg and Cape Scott was once settled by up to 1000 people. Many of them immigrants who were promised a new life and a provincially funded road to the area. Like so many of today's political promises, it didn't come true. With no effective means to bring their farmed produce to market, the settlers soon abandoned their homesteads. Of course the generally foul weather didn't help much either. Brent Ronning was a trapper, camp cook and an avid horticulturalist. He cleared five acres out of the rain forest and ordered seeds and plants from all over the world to create his own little paradise. There are now monkey puzzle trees, rhododendrons, white walnut trees, roses, Japanese conifers, and many other plant species not found in this area. Especially not 60km's away from the nearest real town, in the middle of some rain forest.
Tractor Ride Anyone?, Bernt Ronning's Garden
The current owners are trying to identify and save the plants and have a newer cabin on the property. There's even a garden and a greenhouse where they grow lettuce and tomatoes. I spent about an hour there all by myself dreaming of having my own homestead somewhere. But really, I'd probably get bored after a few weeks or months.
Monkey Puzzle Tree In The Middle Of a Rainforest.
Bernt Ronning's Garden.
The road became even bumpier, narrower and very poorly kept. Still passable in an regular car but you need to take it easy. I pulled into the one commercial campground near the Cape Scott trailhead and a wild looking character with a beard and scraggly look emerged from the bushes waving. I waved back and kept going to the end of the road. On the way back out Doug, the scraggly owner of the campsite intercepted me and we had a nice chat. I opted to park at the trailhead and walk in 45 minutes to camp on the beach at San Josef Bay. My little climbing pack was bulging and the tent and sleeping back got strapped to the outside. Off I trundled on the easy and flat trail. 45 minutes later the traile alit onto the beach and it took my breath away.
Talk About a Paradise of a Campsite.
Beach at San Josef Bay, Cape Scott Provincial Park.
There was absolutely no one on the sandy beach at the end of the bay surrounded by low, tree covered hills. I set up and cooked a basic meal while listening to the waves lap against the sand. A few more people showed up a bit later and I managed to get some free gin out of them. I tried to be in the moment and even sat there for almost an hour watching the tide go out so I could walk around the headland to get to the second beach, just for the hell of it.
I could spend a few days here.
San Josef Bay, Cape Scott Provincial Park.
Sea Stacks.
San Josef Bay, Cape Scott Provincial Park.
Off to bed and hike out sometime during the day tomorrow. I'm really enjoying this unstructured, on a whim kind of travelling.
Port Hardy to Cape Scott Provincial Park.
All on gravel roads.
The campsite at Wildwood on the way to the Prince Rupert ferry is one I'd reccomend to anyone. The downside is that you're away from town. The upside is that you're away from town and surrounded by trees. It truly resembles a forested provicial campsite. There's free firewood and 2 special little "semi-group" areas. One for hikers and cyclists and one for motorcycles. The showers are truly hot and will sweep you away in a wild torrent of oh so beautiful water if you're not careful. $10/person/night.
Today is the big day where I start heading offroad in earnest. I did manage to find a replacement compressor for emergencies. But no spare tube. I'll just take a chance and rely on my two patched tubes and hope for the best. A quick stop in town to stock up on some food and a wee bit a booze, and to make sure I have a full tank of gas before heading off into the wilds to the literal end of the road on Northwest Vancouver Island.
The pavement soon ended and the gravel road was wide but a little winding. I found myself crawling through the corners at a snails pace and kept repeating my newest mantras "When in doubt, power out"; "Don't look at the gravel, look at where you want to go"; "Put some weight on the outside peg, yes the outside peg". I managed to keep the rubber side down but there were times when I wasn't too sure about that either. 45km's along the dusty road (the $1.50 dust mask was sure coming in handy) the company town of Holberg appeared. Population 75 when Joe and his family aren't on vacation. There's a post office, general store run by Czech immigrants with an extremly cute young daughter ...ahem! she's only about 10 years old, what were you thinking?? There's even a pub and restaurant open in the afternoon and evening.
Free Loaner Bike at Brent Ronning's Garden.
The nice ladies at the post office pushed a brochure for Brent Ronning's Garden into my hands and suggested a visit might be in order. It's on the way to Cape Scott. Off I clattered into the dust, becoming more and more comfortable with the bike. It handles incredibly well on these roads. A grader was working along the way and that section was quite miserable for now.
The New Little "Homestead", Bernt Ronning's Garden
Brent Ronning's Garden is simply a little piece of paradise in the middle of nowhere. The area between Holberg and Cape Scott was once settled by up to 1000 people. Many of them immigrants who were promised a new life and a provincially funded road to the area. Like so many of today's political promises, it didn't come true. With no effective means to bring their farmed produce to market, the settlers soon abandoned their homesteads. Of course the generally foul weather didn't help much either. Brent Ronning was a trapper, camp cook and an avid horticulturalist. He cleared five acres out of the rain forest and ordered seeds and plants from all over the world to create his own little paradise. There are now monkey puzzle trees, rhododendrons, white walnut trees, roses, Japanese conifers, and many other plant species not found in this area. Especially not 60km's away from the nearest real town, in the middle of some rain forest.
Tractor Ride Anyone?, Bernt Ronning's Garden
The current owners are trying to identify and save the plants and have a newer cabin on the property. There's even a garden and a greenhouse where they grow lettuce and tomatoes. I spent about an hour there all by myself dreaming of having my own homestead somewhere. But really, I'd probably get bored after a few weeks or months.
Monkey Puzzle Tree In The Middle Of a Rainforest.
Bernt Ronning's Garden.
The road became even bumpier, narrower and very poorly kept. Still passable in an regular car but you need to take it easy. I pulled into the one commercial campground near the Cape Scott trailhead and a wild looking character with a beard and scraggly look emerged from the bushes waving. I waved back and kept going to the end of the road. On the way back out Doug, the scraggly owner of the campsite intercepted me and we had a nice chat. I opted to park at the trailhead and walk in 45 minutes to camp on the beach at San Josef Bay. My little climbing pack was bulging and the tent and sleeping back got strapped to the outside. Off I trundled on the easy and flat trail. 45 minutes later the traile alit onto the beach and it took my breath away.
Talk About a Paradise of a Campsite.
Beach at San Josef Bay, Cape Scott Provincial Park.
There was absolutely no one on the sandy beach at the end of the bay surrounded by low, tree covered hills. I set up and cooked a basic meal while listening to the waves lap against the sand. A few more people showed up a bit later and I managed to get some free gin out of them. I tried to be in the moment and even sat there for almost an hour watching the tide go out so I could walk around the headland to get to the second beach, just for the hell of it.
I could spend a few days here.
San Josef Bay, Cape Scott Provincial Park.
Sea Stacks.
San Josef Bay, Cape Scott Provincial Park.
Off to bed and hike out sometime during the day tomorrow. I'm really enjoying this unstructured, on a whim kind of travelling.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Sointula to Port Hardy
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Sointula to Port Hardy
Today I decided to make it an easy riding day. Packed up and moved the bike to the "Beautiful Bay" trailhead. Strapped on the bear spray and 4" knife due to the sign warning of a grizzly sighting. Pretty interesting since Vancouver Island officially does not have any grizzlies.
Slugs Getting Intimate
The trail winds its way through mossy second growth forest with occasional glimpses of and access to the pebble beach below. The forest had a fairytale feel to it and I was almost expecting to see a leprechaun or pixie jumping out from behind a log. As the easy trail got me to the halfway point I sniggered at the suggestion that the round trip takes 5 hours. After all, I've only been going for 45 minutes. I smugly continued and was immediately greeted with steep stairs heading down into a gully. Not a problem I thought. But the laws of physics of hiking are "what goes down must come up". I huffed and puffed back up the other side and still made it to the end of the trail in 1 hour 45 minutes. I had seen no one else on the trail all the way but there were two people at the end with their dog. Waves were lapping against the driftwood lined shore, the sea was calm and the odd private fishing boat coasted by. The sun had burnt away the morning's thick cloud cover and this was simply a little piece of paradise.
The Beach Walk Back.
Then I decided to try and catch the 1:40pm ferry off the island. I still had to get to Port Hardy before the stores closed so I could buy a new compressor and hopefully find another tube as well. Without some kind of pump I'm not heading onto remote logging roads. I'm sure BMW Roadside Assistance would have a hard time locating me down some dusty little logging road.
Sointula, Malcolm Island
The walk back was along the beach. I started daydreaming and was just enjoying the walk, sunshine, absolute peacefulness and was back at the bike in just over an hour. Along the way I spotted a brown spot on the beach. A deer was calmly meandering along the beach. Out came the camera. If I could not see any Orcas then maybe a photo of a common deer would have to do. Then I realized that there was a fawn with the deer. I never got close enough to get any photos.
My Ride Back to Vancouver Island.
A short 50km ride into Port Hardy followed after going straight to the front of the ferry lineup. I simply love taking the ferries by bike ...no lineups :-) In Hardy, as they call it, I found a new compressor, stocked up for dinner and headed for the campsite. The only motorcycle store did not have my size of tube. I'll probably take a chance tomorrow and head to Cape Scott anyway. After all, I do have two patched tubes which seem to be holding for now.
Sointula to Port Hardy
Today I decided to make it an easy riding day. Packed up and moved the bike to the "Beautiful Bay" trailhead. Strapped on the bear spray and 4" knife due to the sign warning of a grizzly sighting. Pretty interesting since Vancouver Island officially does not have any grizzlies.
Slugs Getting Intimate
The trail winds its way through mossy second growth forest with occasional glimpses of and access to the pebble beach below. The forest had a fairytale feel to it and I was almost expecting to see a leprechaun or pixie jumping out from behind a log. As the easy trail got me to the halfway point I sniggered at the suggestion that the round trip takes 5 hours. After all, I've only been going for 45 minutes. I smugly continued and was immediately greeted with steep stairs heading down into a gully. Not a problem I thought. But the laws of physics of hiking are "what goes down must come up". I huffed and puffed back up the other side and still made it to the end of the trail in 1 hour 45 minutes. I had seen no one else on the trail all the way but there were two people at the end with their dog. Waves were lapping against the driftwood lined shore, the sea was calm and the odd private fishing boat coasted by. The sun had burnt away the morning's thick cloud cover and this was simply a little piece of paradise.
The Beach Walk Back.
Then I decided to try and catch the 1:40pm ferry off the island. I still had to get to Port Hardy before the stores closed so I could buy a new compressor and hopefully find another tube as well. Without some kind of pump I'm not heading onto remote logging roads. I'm sure BMW Roadside Assistance would have a hard time locating me down some dusty little logging road.
Sointula, Malcolm Island
The walk back was along the beach. I started daydreaming and was just enjoying the walk, sunshine, absolute peacefulness and was back at the bike in just over an hour. Along the way I spotted a brown spot on the beach. A deer was calmly meandering along the beach. Out came the camera. If I could not see any Orcas then maybe a photo of a common deer would have to do. Then I realized that there was a fawn with the deer. I never got close enough to get any photos.
My Ride Back to Vancouver Island.
A short 50km ride into Port Hardy followed after going straight to the front of the ferry lineup. I simply love taking the ferries by bike ...no lineups :-) In Hardy, as they call it, I found a new compressor, stocked up for dinner and headed for the campsite. The only motorcycle store did not have my size of tube. I'll probably take a chance tomorrow and head to Cape Scott anyway. After all, I do have two patched tubes which seem to be holding for now.
Opportunity Knocks
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Zeballos to Sointula, Malcolm Island
I decided to pop into the local restaurant for some breakfast and was immediately greeted in Spanish by Rafael, the same Mexican who was working at the store the night before. $5.00 later and some free Internet time and I was on my way out of town. My heart almost stopped when the pavement turned to gravel. I have no problems with dirt roads but this was deep gravel and I was beginning to dread the 40 km's to the highway. Undaunted I motored into the gravel at 40km/h and my front wheel started wildly swinging in all directions. Everything now happened in slow motion to my accelerated panic thinking and I was slowly thinking about the upcoming crash as I kept going at the same speed and not reacting much to the situation. Not reacting was the best thing for me to do. The bike just powered through the gravel, no crash took place and the deep gravel ended about 300 metres down the road. It gave way to a nice gravel road suitable for novices like me. As usual, all the stories of the "horrible road" out of Zeballos were quite exagerated.
Emboldened by my first dicey offroad encounter and my ability to keep the rubber side down, I decided to follow the 100km's, or so, of logging roads through the backcountry to cut down into Port Alice. A black bear's comically waddling back end was disappearing up the road ahead of the clatter of the bike approaching. I made it as far as Atluck Lake, a few kilometres from the main Zeballos logging road, when opportunity came knocking. The handling of the bike simply didn't feel right and the back end felt like it was wobbling back and forth. A quick check confirmed my fears. My first ever flat tire on a motorbike. "Oh S...!" I thought. Then I immediately realized that this was a great opportunity to learn something new. I had never fixed a motorbike flat, let alone taken off a wheel. But I did have the tools and spare tube with me. With great enthusiasm I unloaded the bike and went to it.
Getting the wheel off was suprisingly easy.
It took me an hour to change the tube, including a little rest for lunch. I was somehow not feeling any rush to finish the job. It was mid day, the sun was out, there was no one else around and all I could hear was the wind and the flies buzzing by. Atluck lake shimmered a deep blue and amazingly steep mountains with snowfiels on top rose straight out of the lake. I was now without a spare tube and decided to head back to the main Zeballos road rather than take the risk of having another flat even further away from civilization. About 3 minutes down the road I had that sinking feeling that things weren't quite right. Yup! another flat. I had neglected to check the inside of the tire. There was a needle embedded inside and not visible from the outside. So I slowly limped into a wilderness campsite, set myself up at one of the tables and went back to work. Now I actually had to patch the two tubes but I could not for the life of me get the tire's bead to pop back in. Then the compressor decided to blow up on me. Now I had a tire with less than 30psi, no pump and a tire whose bead hadn't popped back onto the rim properly. There was no one around so I decided to ride very slowly back out onto the highway. Before the pavement started I checked the tire once more and was delighted to find that the bead had nicely popped into place while I was riding. Problem solved.
Lonely Beach on Malcolm Island
Once in Port McNeil I just acted on a whim and took the ferry across to Sointula on Malcolm Island. There is a 10km return hike on the Island which has a small chance of offering orca sightings. I took one of the last 2 available camping spots, polished down my two little bottles of cheap red wine and fell asleep after talking to my camp neighbours about their travels to Argentina.
Sailor's Delight
Zeballos to Sointula, Malcolm Island
I decided to pop into the local restaurant for some breakfast and was immediately greeted in Spanish by Rafael, the same Mexican who was working at the store the night before. $5.00 later and some free Internet time and I was on my way out of town. My heart almost stopped when the pavement turned to gravel. I have no problems with dirt roads but this was deep gravel and I was beginning to dread the 40 km's to the highway. Undaunted I motored into the gravel at 40km/h and my front wheel started wildly swinging in all directions. Everything now happened in slow motion to my accelerated panic thinking and I was slowly thinking about the upcoming crash as I kept going at the same speed and not reacting much to the situation. Not reacting was the best thing for me to do. The bike just powered through the gravel, no crash took place and the deep gravel ended about 300 metres down the road. It gave way to a nice gravel road suitable for novices like me. As usual, all the stories of the "horrible road" out of Zeballos were quite exagerated.
Emboldened by my first dicey offroad encounter and my ability to keep the rubber side down, I decided to follow the 100km's, or so, of logging roads through the backcountry to cut down into Port Alice. A black bear's comically waddling back end was disappearing up the road ahead of the clatter of the bike approaching. I made it as far as Atluck Lake, a few kilometres from the main Zeballos logging road, when opportunity came knocking. The handling of the bike simply didn't feel right and the back end felt like it was wobbling back and forth. A quick check confirmed my fears. My first ever flat tire on a motorbike. "Oh S...!" I thought. Then I immediately realized that this was a great opportunity to learn something new. I had never fixed a motorbike flat, let alone taken off a wheel. But I did have the tools and spare tube with me. With great enthusiasm I unloaded the bike and went to it.
Getting the wheel off was suprisingly easy.
It took me an hour to change the tube, including a little rest for lunch. I was somehow not feeling any rush to finish the job. It was mid day, the sun was out, there was no one else around and all I could hear was the wind and the flies buzzing by. Atluck lake shimmered a deep blue and amazingly steep mountains with snowfiels on top rose straight out of the lake. I was now without a spare tube and decided to head back to the main Zeballos road rather than take the risk of having another flat even further away from civilization. About 3 minutes down the road I had that sinking feeling that things weren't quite right. Yup! another flat. I had neglected to check the inside of the tire. There was a needle embedded inside and not visible from the outside. So I slowly limped into a wilderness campsite, set myself up at one of the tables and went back to work. Now I actually had to patch the two tubes but I could not for the life of me get the tire's bead to pop back in. Then the compressor decided to blow up on me. Now I had a tire with less than 30psi, no pump and a tire whose bead hadn't popped back onto the rim properly. There was no one around so I decided to ride very slowly back out onto the highway. Before the pavement started I checked the tire once more and was delighted to find that the bead had nicely popped into place while I was riding. Problem solved.
Lonely Beach on Malcolm Island
Once in Port McNeil I just acted on a whim and took the ferry across to Sointula on Malcolm Island. There is a 10km return hike on the Island which has a small chance of offering orca sightings. I took one of the last 2 available camping spots, polished down my two little bottles of cheap red wine and fell asleep after talking to my camp neighbours about their travels to Argentina.
Sailor's Delight
Monday, July 21, 2008
Gold River to Zeballos
Monday, July 21, 2008
Gold River to Zeballos
Mostly by boat
The morning starts off grey and drab, in sharp contrast to my sunny mood. Low clouds shroud the nearby hills as I take down camp, eagerly anticipating the MV Uchuck III. I rode up to the dock and a forklift driver drove over and immediately said "Zeballos bound I presume?". "Just take your personal stuff with you and leave the bike right here" he said matter of factly. 45 minutes later the bike was suspended mid air on a pallet with two deck hands hanging on for balance. 2 minutes later is was tucked away on the side of the boat with a bunch of incredulous tourists gawking away. The kayakers and I are becoming a bit of a sideshow for them.
Working Tug near Gold River
I had a little chat with the eight kayakers from the Vancouver area. None of them were willing to entertain me by falling off the pallets while being hoisted overboard near Bligh Island. Yup! they put the kayak on a pallet, with the paddler sitting inside, and the crane hoists them overboard. Then the heavy pallet is submerged and the paddler just goes on her merry way. And yup! the island is named after Captain Bligh of Bounty fame/infamy. The kayakers suggested instead that I should maybe try the falling off the pallet thing with my bike instead. My argument about kayaks belonging in the water and motorbikes belonging on solid ground did nothing to sway their resolve at staying dry.
The Bike Being Loaded onto The Uchuck
As the kayakers, "or plastic boaters" as the deckhand called them, were lowered the sun started peeking through. The sea is calm and we're making stops at fish farms ...don't get me started on those!, fishing lodges were we picked up their garbage and gave them some propane and a fresh garbage bin in exchange.
Not one of them fell off the platform
Waiting at yet another fish farm.
Bald eagles majestically sit on treetops along the shore, waiting for some unlucky fish to swim by. A sea otter lazily floats by lying on his back, as though he had not a care in the world. The mountains rise straight out of the water and pictures don't do the area any justice. One needs to be here in the moment.
And They're Off.
Now even the fish farms and fishing lodges have disappeared as we're heading up the inlet towards Tahsis. It's a wonderfully relaxing trip. No traffic, no obvious junkies hanging about, no buses to drive back and forth and nothing but the wind, hills, water and sunshine to melt away the stress. Not even a single cigarette toting junkie on board ...talk about a double bonus!!!
A short while later, as I was trying to nap on the aft deck, one of those junkies did show up and I had to move elsewhere. I should have just kept my big blog mouth shut and not jinx the situation ..sigh!
Safely Tucked Away.
This is definitely major logging country and has been for about a century. One can see the new clearcuts, albeit a lot smaller than they used to be. Most of the hillsides are also obviously covered in relatively new growth. Some obvious horizontal lines covered in different growth crisscross the hills where the old logging spur roads used to be. It gives the area a strange look of semi wild and not so wild. A large seal bobs along the water as we motor through the very narrow and incredibly picturesque Tahsis Narrows enroute to Esperanza Inlet. The only sings of human settlements are the few fish farms, a lodge or two, and of course the numerous small private fishing boats. Not a single boom box to be heard, not a single car to be seen ...no roads, heehee.
We are now docked at another fish farm to deliver more supplies. My attempt to connect to their unsecured wireless network is in vain. I can connect but they have no outside connection to the Internet. Sheesh! you'd think that they could at least provide free sattelite Internet to passing boaters :-)
Nearing Zeballos.
Zeballos is a sleepy little town with not much happening. A nice little place to walk around and do some bird watching. I popped into a store and was greeted with "hola senora" by the Mexican employee Rafael. He's from Mazatlan and he graciously allowed me to butcher his native tongue for a while. I finally managed to steal someone's unsecured wireless signal and finished the blog entry before my battery ran out.
Tomorrow it's off towards Port Hardy or Port Alice. It'll all depend on how sick and tired I become of the dust and flying gravel on these roads.
Gold River to Zeballos
Mostly by boat
The morning starts off grey and drab, in sharp contrast to my sunny mood. Low clouds shroud the nearby hills as I take down camp, eagerly anticipating the MV Uchuck III. I rode up to the dock and a forklift driver drove over and immediately said "Zeballos bound I presume?". "Just take your personal stuff with you and leave the bike right here" he said matter of factly. 45 minutes later the bike was suspended mid air on a pallet with two deck hands hanging on for balance. 2 minutes later is was tucked away on the side of the boat with a bunch of incredulous tourists gawking away. The kayakers and I are becoming a bit of a sideshow for them.
Working Tug near Gold River
I had a little chat with the eight kayakers from the Vancouver area. None of them were willing to entertain me by falling off the pallets while being hoisted overboard near Bligh Island. Yup! they put the kayak on a pallet, with the paddler sitting inside, and the crane hoists them overboard. Then the heavy pallet is submerged and the paddler just goes on her merry way. And yup! the island is named after Captain Bligh of Bounty fame/infamy. The kayakers suggested instead that I should maybe try the falling off the pallet thing with my bike instead. My argument about kayaks belonging in the water and motorbikes belonging on solid ground did nothing to sway their resolve at staying dry.
The Bike Being Loaded onto The Uchuck
As the kayakers, "or plastic boaters" as the deckhand called them, were lowered the sun started peeking through. The sea is calm and we're making stops at fish farms ...don't get me started on those!, fishing lodges were we picked up their garbage and gave them some propane and a fresh garbage bin in exchange.
Not one of them fell off the platform
Waiting at yet another fish farm.
Bald eagles majestically sit on treetops along the shore, waiting for some unlucky fish to swim by. A sea otter lazily floats by lying on his back, as though he had not a care in the world. The mountains rise straight out of the water and pictures don't do the area any justice. One needs to be here in the moment.
And They're Off.
Now even the fish farms and fishing lodges have disappeared as we're heading up the inlet towards Tahsis. It's a wonderfully relaxing trip. No traffic, no obvious junkies hanging about, no buses to drive back and forth and nothing but the wind, hills, water and sunshine to melt away the stress. Not even a single cigarette toting junkie on board ...talk about a double bonus!!!
A short while later, as I was trying to nap on the aft deck, one of those junkies did show up and I had to move elsewhere. I should have just kept my big blog mouth shut and not jinx the situation ..sigh!
Safely Tucked Away.
This is definitely major logging country and has been for about a century. One can see the new clearcuts, albeit a lot smaller than they used to be. Most of the hillsides are also obviously covered in relatively new growth. Some obvious horizontal lines covered in different growth crisscross the hills where the old logging spur roads used to be. It gives the area a strange look of semi wild and not so wild. A large seal bobs along the water as we motor through the very narrow and incredibly picturesque Tahsis Narrows enroute to Esperanza Inlet. The only sings of human settlements are the few fish farms, a lodge or two, and of course the numerous small private fishing boats. Not a single boom box to be heard, not a single car to be seen ...no roads, heehee.
We are now docked at another fish farm to deliver more supplies. My attempt to connect to their unsecured wireless network is in vain. I can connect but they have no outside connection to the Internet. Sheesh! you'd think that they could at least provide free sattelite Internet to passing boaters :-)
Nearing Zeballos.
Zeballos is a sleepy little town with not much happening. A nice little place to walk around and do some bird watching. I popped into a store and was greeted with "hola senora" by the Mexican employee Rafael. He's from Mazatlan and he graciously allowed me to butcher his native tongue for a while. I finally managed to steal someone's unsecured wireless signal and finished the blog entry before my battery ran out.
Tomorrow it's off towards Port Hardy or Port Alice. It'll all depend on how sick and tired I become of the dust and flying gravel on these roads.
Bowser to Gold River
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Bowser to Gold River
My excitement rose as I thought more and more of my upcoming trip on the Uchuck tomorrow. I was actually on the road by 8:30am. That's quite a feat for someone like me who likes to sleep in. More quiet roads greeted me along the way through Courtenay and Campbell River. Campbell River happened to have a Driftwood Chainsaw Carving contest and all their artwork was displayed on the way into town. That's where I met my new love, the Wild Man Of the Woods. He and I will run off together and live in the woods. Still not sure how that's going to work, with me being lesbian. But we'll figure it out as we go along.
Bookworm sculpture. Campbell River
Pretty interesting stuff one can do with a chainsaw
As luck would have it there was a Sunday market so I stocked up on some produce for the long arduous voyage to Gold River and beyond ...I love being dramatic, don't I? Campbell River has become a bit of an overused tourist town with the usual tourist oriented shops, but it does have a certain charm right beside the water. It even has aggressive and idiotic drivers, including one who gunned it to run a red light as I was finishing my left turn. I managed to yell "red light"!!! as she smacked on her brakes with a dumbfounded look on her face. After I was out of the way she proceeded to continue running the red light ...oh well, must be a Vancouverite visiting for the weekend.
My New Love. The Wild Man of the Woods
Now came the really enjoyable part. I was once more in an area with no towns, houses or cell phones. The road to Strathcona Provincial Park and Gold River is an absolutely fantastic motorcycle road. A bit bumpy at times but nice and twisty, like all good roads should be :-) Strathcona Provincial Park is one of the oldest provincial parks in BC. But for some reason they manage to have an open pit mine right smack dab in the middle of it. Buttle Lake is downright peaceful and stretches on forever and ever as the narrown two lane road twists along the east shore. At the tip came Myra falls. Such an Idyllic little spot to sit and reflect on life with very few tourists hanging around on a Sunday afternoon.
Buttle Lake. Strathcona Provincial Park
I hadn't seen any wildlife since Victoria but suddenly there were three deer on the road within 5 minutes of each other. Since deer and motorcycles don't particularly enjoy smacking into each other, I brought the speed right down to way below the speed limit. I would like to keep the rubber side down so I can ride another day.
Myra Falls. Strathcona Provincial Park.
Gold River hasn't changed since the last time I visited about 15 years ago. If anything, it's shrunk and some stores are sitting empty since the mine shut down. The whole town only came into existence because of the mine. Like so many company towns it has suffered with the loss of their main employer. But logging and tourism continue to support its' economy for now.
Camping in Gold River is 6km's south of town right by the river. Aside from one teenaged yahoo speeding through the campground, choking everyone in a cloud of dust it was downright peaceful and I was able to relax to the sound of the river rushing by as it lulled me to sleep.
Bowser to Gold River
My excitement rose as I thought more and more of my upcoming trip on the Uchuck tomorrow. I was actually on the road by 8:30am. That's quite a feat for someone like me who likes to sleep in. More quiet roads greeted me along the way through Courtenay and Campbell River. Campbell River happened to have a Driftwood Chainsaw Carving contest and all their artwork was displayed on the way into town. That's where I met my new love, the Wild Man Of the Woods. He and I will run off together and live in the woods. Still not sure how that's going to work, with me being lesbian. But we'll figure it out as we go along.
Bookworm sculpture. Campbell River
Pretty interesting stuff one can do with a chainsaw
As luck would have it there was a Sunday market so I stocked up on some produce for the long arduous voyage to Gold River and beyond ...I love being dramatic, don't I? Campbell River has become a bit of an overused tourist town with the usual tourist oriented shops, but it does have a certain charm right beside the water. It even has aggressive and idiotic drivers, including one who gunned it to run a red light as I was finishing my left turn. I managed to yell "red light"!!! as she smacked on her brakes with a dumbfounded look on her face. After I was out of the way she proceeded to continue running the red light ...oh well, must be a Vancouverite visiting for the weekend.
My New Love. The Wild Man of the Woods
Now came the really enjoyable part. I was once more in an area with no towns, houses or cell phones. The road to Strathcona Provincial Park and Gold River is an absolutely fantastic motorcycle road. A bit bumpy at times but nice and twisty, like all good roads should be :-) Strathcona Provincial Park is one of the oldest provincial parks in BC. But for some reason they manage to have an open pit mine right smack dab in the middle of it. Buttle Lake is downright peaceful and stretches on forever and ever as the narrown two lane road twists along the east shore. At the tip came Myra falls. Such an Idyllic little spot to sit and reflect on life with very few tourists hanging around on a Sunday afternoon.
Buttle Lake. Strathcona Provincial Park
I hadn't seen any wildlife since Victoria but suddenly there were three deer on the road within 5 minutes of each other. Since deer and motorcycles don't particularly enjoy smacking into each other, I brought the speed right down to way below the speed limit. I would like to keep the rubber side down so I can ride another day.
Myra Falls. Strathcona Provincial Park.
Gold River hasn't changed since the last time I visited about 15 years ago. If anything, it's shrunk and some stores are sitting empty since the mine shut down. The whole town only came into existence because of the mine. Like so many company towns it has suffered with the loss of their main employer. But logging and tourism continue to support its' economy for now.
Camping in Gold River is 6km's south of town right by the river. Aside from one teenaged yahoo speeding through the campground, choking everyone in a cloud of dust it was downright peaceful and I was able to relax to the sound of the river rushing by as it lulled me to sleep.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Vancouver Island
Well, the long awaited vacation time has arrived and I'm going to be off once more. This time on a motorbike. Yup, I can already hear the bicycle purists sighing. But hey! I'm a "biker" of more than one kind :-)
The plan is to take two days to get from Victoria to Gold River. Then hop on the MV Uchuck III for the 8 hour trip through supposedly amazing passes, narrows, etc to Zeballos. It's a working supply vessel which supplies the logging camps, settlements, fish camps along the northern Vancouver Island coast. Some very smart marketing person with this outfit came up with the idea of taking along passengers for extra revenue.
From there I'm hoping to explore some of the remote coastal areas near Port Hardy and Cape Scott, as well as many other places accessible by logging roads. Then slowly back down the island to be back in Victoria after 9 days. Of course, there will be some hikes happening along the way and my hiking gear is all crammed into my bike. Heck! I even have a folding chair with me :-)
Once back in Victoria I may have a day of, or not. Then Patti joins me for the next 4 or 5 days to head back up towards Parksville and Qualicum Beach. We'll head over to Lasqueti Island for 2 1/2 days. It's an island with no paved roads, no car ferry (but motorbikes are OK on the passenger ferry ...hehe). 2 nights in a local B&B at the remotest part of an already remoted island. Then back to Vancouver Island on Saturday, over to Vancouver to celebrate my 46th birthday with a small number of friends. Then we hope to ride with Dykes on Bikes in the Vancouver Pride Parade on Sunday, and then back to work on Monday while Patti flies off to Kitchener/Waterloo to spend time with her dad and sister and family.
Saturday, July 19th, 2008
Victoria to Bowser
I didn't really want to leave Victoria and I really wanted to leave Victoria. Sheesh! this being in a relationship thing sure puts a twist on travel plans, doesn't it?
Leaving Patti's Home
After spending as much time as possible with Patti I crept out of her driveway at the early hour of 12:30pm. After all, I do have two days to make it to Gold River. There I'll be hopping on the MV Uchuck III to head up to Zeballos. They'll even take the bike on board for only $25 extra. I wonder if they rename it the MV Upchuck III when the seas get rough?
An odd thing happened on the 50km trip from Victoria to Duncan. It took me about 90km's to get there. Too many tempting little side roads and logging roads heading into nowhere. It was hard to leave but once I was on that bike I didn't really understand what all the fuss was about. I was "home" once more as soon as I hit the road. From there I pretty much stuck to the highway and the secondary road along the coast just to make some good time. The stress was melting away and not one single work related thought entered my mind ...until that double decker bus from Victoria came rolling past in the other direction near Duncan. Are they now following me and spying on me? I damn well told them I wasn't doing any more overtime!! Leave me alone!! :-)
Deep Bay Camping near Bowser
So here I am in the hamlet of Bowser at some little campground right by the water, Deep Bay RV Park. The town of Bowser neighbourly types are having a little get together here, all 25 of them, and I managed to score a free beer ...yeah! Never mind that the camping costs almost $27. So I'll make up for that with a frugal dinner. Couscous and Zucchini from the garden it is. Now was a good time to open the little sample bottle of hot sauce I bought in Belize over a year ago. Might as well drizzle the stuff onto the couscous. Fire engulfed my mouth with the first bite and only beer kept the heat down. Now my sinuses are clear and I should be able to sleep well.
Now I'm sitting at the picnic table outside listening to the waves lapping against the shoreline and mooching off someone's unsecure wireless network. Sipping my tea I look up onto the dusk shrouded straight of Georgia and I get an amazing glimps of a reddish moon rising. What a nice way to finish the day. Motorbikes, travel, nice herbal tea waves and moonrises. What else could I want? ...except being independently wealthy.
Moonrise
The plan is to take two days to get from Victoria to Gold River. Then hop on the MV Uchuck III for the 8 hour trip through supposedly amazing passes, narrows, etc to Zeballos. It's a working supply vessel which supplies the logging camps, settlements, fish camps along the northern Vancouver Island coast. Some very smart marketing person with this outfit came up with the idea of taking along passengers for extra revenue.
From there I'm hoping to explore some of the remote coastal areas near Port Hardy and Cape Scott, as well as many other places accessible by logging roads. Then slowly back down the island to be back in Victoria after 9 days. Of course, there will be some hikes happening along the way and my hiking gear is all crammed into my bike. Heck! I even have a folding chair with me :-)
Once back in Victoria I may have a day of, or not. Then Patti joins me for the next 4 or 5 days to head back up towards Parksville and Qualicum Beach. We'll head over to Lasqueti Island for 2 1/2 days. It's an island with no paved roads, no car ferry (but motorbikes are OK on the passenger ferry ...hehe). 2 nights in a local B&B at the remotest part of an already remoted island. Then back to Vancouver Island on Saturday, over to Vancouver to celebrate my 46th birthday with a small number of friends. Then we hope to ride with Dykes on Bikes in the Vancouver Pride Parade on Sunday, and then back to work on Monday while Patti flies off to Kitchener/Waterloo to spend time with her dad and sister and family.
Saturday, July 19th, 2008
Victoria to Bowser
I didn't really want to leave Victoria and I really wanted to leave Victoria. Sheesh! this being in a relationship thing sure puts a twist on travel plans, doesn't it?
Leaving Patti's Home
After spending as much time as possible with Patti I crept out of her driveway at the early hour of 12:30pm. After all, I do have two days to make it to Gold River. There I'll be hopping on the MV Uchuck III to head up to Zeballos. They'll even take the bike on board for only $25 extra. I wonder if they rename it the MV Upchuck III when the seas get rough?
An odd thing happened on the 50km trip from Victoria to Duncan. It took me about 90km's to get there. Too many tempting little side roads and logging roads heading into nowhere. It was hard to leave but once I was on that bike I didn't really understand what all the fuss was about. I was "home" once more as soon as I hit the road. From there I pretty much stuck to the highway and the secondary road along the coast just to make some good time. The stress was melting away and not one single work related thought entered my mind ...until that double decker bus from Victoria came rolling past in the other direction near Duncan. Are they now following me and spying on me? I damn well told them I wasn't doing any more overtime!! Leave me alone!! :-)
Deep Bay Camping near Bowser
So here I am in the hamlet of Bowser at some little campground right by the water, Deep Bay RV Park. The town of Bowser neighbourly types are having a little get together here, all 25 of them, and I managed to score a free beer ...yeah! Never mind that the camping costs almost $27. So I'll make up for that with a frugal dinner. Couscous and Zucchini from the garden it is. Now was a good time to open the little sample bottle of hot sauce I bought in Belize over a year ago. Might as well drizzle the stuff onto the couscous. Fire engulfed my mouth with the first bite and only beer kept the heat down. Now my sinuses are clear and I should be able to sleep well.
Now I'm sitting at the picnic table outside listening to the waves lapping against the shoreline and mooching off someone's unsecure wireless network. Sipping my tea I look up onto the dusk shrouded straight of Georgia and I get an amazing glimps of a reddish moon rising. What a nice way to finish the day. Motorbikes, travel, nice herbal tea waves and moonrises. What else could I want? ...except being independently wealthy.
Moonrise
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Recharging in Los Barriles
Saturday, February 2nd, 2008
The cold and the hard work over the last few days has taken a bit out of me. My batteries are low, so I'm taking a rest day in Los Barriles. I once again ran into Kelly, the Canuck cyclist with Tanya, who I had run into earlier.
It's been a really lazy day with not much to write about. Just lolling about, drinking coffee and catching up on the blog.
The campground had a group of cobbers, camped away from the RV crowd. It's a workshop where people, mostly young folks from Canada and the USA, come to learn how to build cobb houses. That's basically straw and mud, in a nutshell. About half the group seemed to be from BC. I decided to invite myself over to their site, under the guise of inquiring about availability of vegetarian food in town. After all, there would certainly be some vegetarians and vegans with a group like this. Before I knew it I was invited to stay for beer and vegan food.
As it turns out, the organizers are from Mayne Island, not too far from Victoria. And to illustrate how small the world can be at times, it turns out that Pat and Kit, the organizers, know someone from my work. They have two abolutely adorable 4 year old twin boys, who insisted on hugging everyone in the group goodnight, including me, whom they had just met. Sure makes your heart melt.
Well, that's it for tonight. Depending on how I feel in the morning, and how much sleep the group allows me to get, I may hit the road early and try to keep up with Kelly and Tanya on the way down to San Jose Del Cabo. I've now decided not to go along the East Cape, via Cabo Pulmo. There isn't enough time unless I want to get into San Jose Del Cabo only the night before my flight.
The cold and the hard work over the last few days has taken a bit out of me. My batteries are low, so I'm taking a rest day in Los Barriles. I once again ran into Kelly, the Canuck cyclist with Tanya, who I had run into earlier.
It's been a really lazy day with not much to write about. Just lolling about, drinking coffee and catching up on the blog.
The campground had a group of cobbers, camped away from the RV crowd. It's a workshop where people, mostly young folks from Canada and the USA, come to learn how to build cobb houses. That's basically straw and mud, in a nutshell. About half the group seemed to be from BC. I decided to invite myself over to their site, under the guise of inquiring about availability of vegetarian food in town. After all, there would certainly be some vegetarians and vegans with a group like this. Before I knew it I was invited to stay for beer and vegan food.
As it turns out, the organizers are from Mayne Island, not too far from Victoria. And to illustrate how small the world can be at times, it turns out that Pat and Kit, the organizers, know someone from my work. They have two abolutely adorable 4 year old twin boys, who insisted on hugging everyone in the group goodnight, including me, whom they had just met. Sure makes your heart melt.
Well, that's it for tonight. Depending on how I feel in the morning, and how much sleep the group allows me to get, I may hit the road early and try to keep up with Kelly and Tanya on the way down to San Jose Del Cabo. I've now decided not to go along the East Cape, via Cabo Pulmo. There isn't enough time unless I want to get into San Jose Del Cabo only the night before my flight.
Friday, February 1, 2008
The Sand! The Damn Sand!!
Friday, February 1st, 2008
El Cardonal to Los Barriles.
20km's all on sand and dirt, by bicycle.
Since I was the only guest at the campground, nothing woke me up in the morning. That was a good thing, since I had to do several starlit nocturnal squats during the night. The sky was simply stupendous. There were so many stars that I had no idea what I was looking at. Not that I really know what I'm looking at if there's only one star in the sky. But it's the kind of sight a typical city person rarely ever gets to see. I could picture myself lying on the beach, with Patti by my side, musing about life in outer space. Of course, we'd be covered with a heavy blanket since it was freezing cold with a stiff wind blowing.
When I finally crawled out of my tent, feeling all groggy and still a bit bagged from yesterday's ride, it was 9:00am. Vicente Lucero, the substitute campground caretaker made me some free coffee and graciously allowed me to butcher his native tongue for my peronal practice. He's a fisherman/captain and takes gringos out on fishing tours.
My Yacht Heading Into Port ...yeah, right!
I debated hard about whether to take the new paved road inland or the old unpaved dirt road along the coast. I finally made the decision to take beauty over ease and went along the coast. The sand was as brutal as ever and I once more made a little crasheroo. This time it was my left knee that came away bloody. I didn't even bother washing off the blood this time.
As I rested in the shade, a few vehicles went by. At least I felt comfortable that someone could give me a ride if it got to be too much. Within minutes a Hummer driven by a young Mexican couple stopped and the pretty female passenger asked if I wanted a ride. I politely declined since I had only done 4km's so far.
Further along I ran into a few Americans who were developing parcels of land in a gated community. Very nice folks who gave me tons of info on the road ahead and San Jose Del Cabo. They also confirmed the nasty rumours I'd heard on the plane, about a Mallwart now open in Cabo San Lucas. When the man heard I had stayed at the Campground in El Cardonal he asked if I ran into the crazy manwoman who runs the place. "He's a guy who thinks he's a girl, you know!" he bellowed. "What a character". I debated for a split second whether I should educate him about transgender people, but decided not to waste my time. After all, I am on vacation and not really all that interested in setting ignorant people straight any more.
Only One Other Person on This Beach.
Had Nice Nap Here.
Time for a nice little nap on a deserted beach. A beer toting lone gringo walked by and said a few words before heading off into his own space. As I was having lunch, more stoked gringos appeared on four wheelers, and one bellowed out as he roared past "we could see your red arms from way up the hill". I made some comment about it being for safety reasons and better visibility for other road users.
The Lone Gringo.
So there I was pulling into Los Barriles, after only 20km's. I was glad to be getting off the sand and dirt road. But a large part of me was also already missing the solitude of the coastal stretch of road. Huge McMansions lined the dirt road heading into town. Kinda sad, kinda cool, kinda not me, kinda could get used to it. Time to find some food in town and go to bed.
Between El Cardonal and Los Barriles.
A Scrabblebiker needs food, lots of it. So off I went in the dark in search of sustenance. I had been told by savvy creatures in the RV park that the town was actually 3km's away. So I saddled up the old mountain mule and rode off into town with my trusty $4.99 MEC flashing light clenched between my teeth, since it was now dark.
As I happened into town, my sharp eye spotted a bunch of hungry looking gringos heading into some sort of restaurant. I inquired as to the place and was advised "It's as good as it gets". So I went in after tying up the old mule outside. I immediately ordered a margarita after inquiring about whether it was made with real lime juice. The annoyed bartender assured me that it was. The first one went down quickly and I ordered a second one. Only then did I learn that they were "margaritas locas". I'm not sure what they put in them but I did stumble out of the bar after only two of them. The rather good veggie burrito did little to absorb the alcohol either.
Throughout the night, a bunch of gringos and gringas were having an ass kicking kind of night by singing all kinds of karaoke songs. When the sad love songs came on, I found myself in tears and missing Patti so freakin' much. It was so unauthentically Mexican, yet so authentically fun for everyone that I simply had no choice but to concede that it was fun for me too.
The witching hour was nearing and I don't do too well late at night. So I paid up, and left the waitress a nice tip for complimenting my Spanish. She even asked if the English menu was OK for me, since she wasn't sure due to my good Spanish. Well, in my dreams I'm sure that would be true. But thanks anyway. Now I had to get back on the bike and pedal back to the campsite under the influence of two "margaritas locas". I only dropped the bike twice in the sandy arroyo. If you don't know what an arroyo is yet, then you obviously havent' been reading my entire blog ...back to the start, hoser!
Good night all and stay tuned for more Scrabblebiker (mis)adventures.
El Cardonal to Los Barriles.
20km's all on sand and dirt, by bicycle.
Since I was the only guest at the campground, nothing woke me up in the morning. That was a good thing, since I had to do several starlit nocturnal squats during the night. The sky was simply stupendous. There were so many stars that I had no idea what I was looking at. Not that I really know what I'm looking at if there's only one star in the sky. But it's the kind of sight a typical city person rarely ever gets to see. I could picture myself lying on the beach, with Patti by my side, musing about life in outer space. Of course, we'd be covered with a heavy blanket since it was freezing cold with a stiff wind blowing.
When I finally crawled out of my tent, feeling all groggy and still a bit bagged from yesterday's ride, it was 9:00am. Vicente Lucero, the substitute campground caretaker made me some free coffee and graciously allowed me to butcher his native tongue for my peronal practice. He's a fisherman/captain and takes gringos out on fishing tours.
My Yacht Heading Into Port ...yeah, right!
I debated hard about whether to take the new paved road inland or the old unpaved dirt road along the coast. I finally made the decision to take beauty over ease and went along the coast. The sand was as brutal as ever and I once more made a little crasheroo. This time it was my left knee that came away bloody. I didn't even bother washing off the blood this time.
As I rested in the shade, a few vehicles went by. At least I felt comfortable that someone could give me a ride if it got to be too much. Within minutes a Hummer driven by a young Mexican couple stopped and the pretty female passenger asked if I wanted a ride. I politely declined since I had only done 4km's so far.
Further along I ran into a few Americans who were developing parcels of land in a gated community. Very nice folks who gave me tons of info on the road ahead and San Jose Del Cabo. They also confirmed the nasty rumours I'd heard on the plane, about a Mallwart now open in Cabo San Lucas. When the man heard I had stayed at the Campground in El Cardonal he asked if I ran into the crazy manwoman who runs the place. "He's a guy who thinks he's a girl, you know!" he bellowed. "What a character". I debated for a split second whether I should educate him about transgender people, but decided not to waste my time. After all, I am on vacation and not really all that interested in setting ignorant people straight any more.
Only One Other Person on This Beach.
Had Nice Nap Here.
Time for a nice little nap on a deserted beach. A beer toting lone gringo walked by and said a few words before heading off into his own space. As I was having lunch, more stoked gringos appeared on four wheelers, and one bellowed out as he roared past "we could see your red arms from way up the hill". I made some comment about it being for safety reasons and better visibility for other road users.
The Lone Gringo.
So there I was pulling into Los Barriles, after only 20km's. I was glad to be getting off the sand and dirt road. But a large part of me was also already missing the solitude of the coastal stretch of road. Huge McMansions lined the dirt road heading into town. Kinda sad, kinda cool, kinda not me, kinda could get used to it. Time to find some food in town and go to bed.
Between El Cardonal and Los Barriles.
A Scrabblebiker needs food, lots of it. So off I went in the dark in search of sustenance. I had been told by savvy creatures in the RV park that the town was actually 3km's away. So I saddled up the old mountain mule and rode off into town with my trusty $4.99 MEC flashing light clenched between my teeth, since it was now dark.
As I happened into town, my sharp eye spotted a bunch of hungry looking gringos heading into some sort of restaurant. I inquired as to the place and was advised "It's as good as it gets". So I went in after tying up the old mule outside. I immediately ordered a margarita after inquiring about whether it was made with real lime juice. The annoyed bartender assured me that it was. The first one went down quickly and I ordered a second one. Only then did I learn that they were "margaritas locas". I'm not sure what they put in them but I did stumble out of the bar after only two of them. The rather good veggie burrito did little to absorb the alcohol either.
Throughout the night, a bunch of gringos and gringas were having an ass kicking kind of night by singing all kinds of karaoke songs. When the sad love songs came on, I found myself in tears and missing Patti so freakin' much. It was so unauthentically Mexican, yet so authentically fun for everyone that I simply had no choice but to concede that it was fun for me too.
The witching hour was nearing and I don't do too well late at night. So I paid up, and left the waitress a nice tip for complimenting my Spanish. She even asked if the English menu was OK for me, since she wasn't sure due to my good Spanish. Well, in my dreams I'm sure that would be true. But thanks anyway. Now I had to get back on the bike and pedal back to the campsite under the influence of two "margaritas locas". I only dropped the bike twice in the sandy arroyo. If you don't know what an arroyo is yet, then you obviously havent' been reading my entire blog ...back to the start, hoser!
Good night all and stay tuned for more Scrabblebiker (mis)adventures.
Grinding Along to El Cardonal
Thursday, January 31, 2008
La Ventana to El Cardonal
55km's by bicycle. Mostly on dirt and sand.
Today I had vowed to leave town by 9:00am. Much to my shock and surprise, I actually did. And that was after having a really good breakfast of Huevos Rancheros, orange juice and coffee. As I was getting ready to leave, a gringa turista walked up to the restaurant, took a look at my bike and me, and started quietly laughing uncontrolably. I wasn't quite sure what to make of that, so I hopped on the bike and pedalled off while hung over windsurfer dude types starting piling into the restaurant.
I already knew today would be tough, even though the book promised it would only be about 36km's to El Cardonal. As usual, "the book" was inaccurate. It was closer to 45km's. That may not seem like much, but it's a world of difference on a fully loaded bike after having to push the damn thing for 2km's due to too much sand on the road.
I was downright elated to be on a flat, sorta paved, road out of La Ventana. It's paved but so bumpy that I was sometimes whishing for some dirt instead. At least on the dirt you can often find some smooth tracks. I stopped into Los Planes to stock up on cheese, junk food and water ...it's a tough trip, I've been told. My crappy made in China front panniers kept bouncing off the rack and I had forgotten to bring bungy cords, my usual solution to the problem. I made a beeline for the first respectable looking ranchero alighting from a monstrous, shiny pickup truck. I used all my Spanish skills to convey the message that I was looking for a bungy cord in this small town of a few hundred people. It involved asking about "cuerdas elasticas" and many hand gestures attempting to convey the idea of hooks at the ends. He quickly knew what I was talking about and pointed me towards a "ferreteria" (hardware store) one block away. He headed off into the store where I had just bought the cheese.
While I was loading up the water, cheese, junk food, etc onto the bike, out came the butcher from the store and motioned with bloodstained hands to wait right there. A minute later he reappeared with a nice long bungy cord. I guess word had spread that some gringa was in need of some elastic cords with hooks. I asked him if he had another, after all I do have two crappy made in China panniers. He gave me a bit of an annoyed look and said "no, solo una". When I asked him how much I owed he just shook his head and made it clear that it was a gift. Now I felt like a complete dork for asking him for another one. It's a good thing I wasn't flying my Canadian flag, or I might have set Mexican Canadian relationships back a few years. Instead he probably just took me for some rude yank ...teehee. The one cord was long enough so I could stretch it over the forks and use it for both panniers. Secure in my knowledge that the panniers wouldn't bounce off, I set off down the road, awaiting with trepidation the end of the pavement and the beginning of a little adventure.
Peter, The Lone Cyclist From Calgary.
And there it was. Not really the end of the pavement, but a sign pointing onto an extremely sandy road. Unfortunately, the sing had the right town on it for me and I set off into the deep sand while the nicely paved road veered off to the left. Within minutes I almost keeled over and couldn't proceed in the sand. As I slowly tried to make my way forward, a strange sight greeted me from the other direction. That familiar lumbering shape of a fully loaded touring cyclist. Talk about good fortune!! This was someone who could tell me all about the road ahead. Peter, from Calgary, had camped in the desert the night before and reassured me that the sand would end just a little down the road. What he failed to mention was that just as you could sense El Cardonal at the other end, there would be km's upon km's of sandy roads to follow.
Yup! That's All Sand Down There.
Shortly After The Pavement Ends.
After leaving the pavement, the "road" climbs for about 6km's. A real cyclist might have been able to climb without pushing. But hey, I did a lot of walking and pushing and I don't care what anyone thinks ...phhttt!! The little one lane, rock strewn road twisted and wound its' way along the contours of every little nook and cranny. Once at the summit, a stunning view came into focus.
During the 6km Climb.
Once again, with every turn in the road, I found myself muttering "this is effing beautiful". Imagine something like northern California, take out all the people, the paved roads, the towns and villages, then add a bunch of cardon cacti. In the first 30km's of this ride I only saw one car. When stopped for lunch and numerous little breaks, all I could hear was the wind and the waves crashing against the shore way below me.
Typical Desert Landscape.
The road dipped into many an arroyo, filled with loose sand and other nasty bicyle unfriendly stuff. I did finally drop the bike, with me still on it. The front tire took on a mind of its' own, wildly twisted from side to side, and just as I managed to stop the bike, completely gave out from underneath me. I gracefully plopped to the ground and the bike on top of me. At least the buzzards told me it was pretty damn graceful, and they are discerning birds. Not being satisfied with only one little crash I made a repeat performance only minutes later. This time the gravel was a lot sharper. I thought only my ego was hurt, until I looked at the little dots of blood forming on my right leg. Precious drinking water was used up to wash out the dirt. Actually, nothing serious.
Looking Back North.
North End of Bahia de los Muertos (Bay of the Dead).
Desert Blooms.
This is What Greets You All Along The Way.
Between Los Planes and El Cardonal.
Stupendous Coastline For Kilometres on End.
Just like the day before, I pulled into my destination with the sun thinking about setting sometime soon. As I pulled onto a little stretch of pavement I was singing at the top of my voice "Hallelujah!, Hallelujah!". I'm now the only guest at the campground in El Cardonal. I feel a bit sorry for the people running it, it is a nice little campground. My little tent spot even has funky little home made light fixtures to illuminate the picnic table. It's so freaking cold, I can't believe it. The campground manager tells me he can't remember temperatures this low ...ever!
Cool Little Campsite In El Cardonal
I'm going to have to think hard about my plans for the next few days. I'm obviously not fit enough to cover long distances. The sand is also proving to be more of a challenge than I bargained for with my 1.5 inch touring tires. Well, at least tomorrow should be easier. There's a paved road leading out of El Cardonal to take me 23km's to Los Barilles, where I could just take the highway if I needed/wanted to. Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying this trip.
La Ventana to El Cardonal
55km's by bicycle. Mostly on dirt and sand.
Today I had vowed to leave town by 9:00am. Much to my shock and surprise, I actually did. And that was after having a really good breakfast of Huevos Rancheros, orange juice and coffee. As I was getting ready to leave, a gringa turista walked up to the restaurant, took a look at my bike and me, and started quietly laughing uncontrolably. I wasn't quite sure what to make of that, so I hopped on the bike and pedalled off while hung over windsurfer dude types starting piling into the restaurant.
I already knew today would be tough, even though the book promised it would only be about 36km's to El Cardonal. As usual, "the book" was inaccurate. It was closer to 45km's. That may not seem like much, but it's a world of difference on a fully loaded bike after having to push the damn thing for 2km's due to too much sand on the road.
I was downright elated to be on a flat, sorta paved, road out of La Ventana. It's paved but so bumpy that I was sometimes whishing for some dirt instead. At least on the dirt you can often find some smooth tracks. I stopped into Los Planes to stock up on cheese, junk food and water ...it's a tough trip, I've been told. My crappy made in China front panniers kept bouncing off the rack and I had forgotten to bring bungy cords, my usual solution to the problem. I made a beeline for the first respectable looking ranchero alighting from a monstrous, shiny pickup truck. I used all my Spanish skills to convey the message that I was looking for a bungy cord in this small town of a few hundred people. It involved asking about "cuerdas elasticas" and many hand gestures attempting to convey the idea of hooks at the ends. He quickly knew what I was talking about and pointed me towards a "ferreteria" (hardware store) one block away. He headed off into the store where I had just bought the cheese.
While I was loading up the water, cheese, junk food, etc onto the bike, out came the butcher from the store and motioned with bloodstained hands to wait right there. A minute later he reappeared with a nice long bungy cord. I guess word had spread that some gringa was in need of some elastic cords with hooks. I asked him if he had another, after all I do have two crappy made in China panniers. He gave me a bit of an annoyed look and said "no, solo una". When I asked him how much I owed he just shook his head and made it clear that it was a gift. Now I felt like a complete dork for asking him for another one. It's a good thing I wasn't flying my Canadian flag, or I might have set Mexican Canadian relationships back a few years. Instead he probably just took me for some rude yank ...teehee. The one cord was long enough so I could stretch it over the forks and use it for both panniers. Secure in my knowledge that the panniers wouldn't bounce off, I set off down the road, awaiting with trepidation the end of the pavement and the beginning of a little adventure.
Peter, The Lone Cyclist From Calgary.
And there it was. Not really the end of the pavement, but a sign pointing onto an extremely sandy road. Unfortunately, the sing had the right town on it for me and I set off into the deep sand while the nicely paved road veered off to the left. Within minutes I almost keeled over and couldn't proceed in the sand. As I slowly tried to make my way forward, a strange sight greeted me from the other direction. That familiar lumbering shape of a fully loaded touring cyclist. Talk about good fortune!! This was someone who could tell me all about the road ahead. Peter, from Calgary, had camped in the desert the night before and reassured me that the sand would end just a little down the road. What he failed to mention was that just as you could sense El Cardonal at the other end, there would be km's upon km's of sandy roads to follow.
Yup! That's All Sand Down There.
Shortly After The Pavement Ends.
After leaving the pavement, the "road" climbs for about 6km's. A real cyclist might have been able to climb without pushing. But hey, I did a lot of walking and pushing and I don't care what anyone thinks ...phhttt!! The little one lane, rock strewn road twisted and wound its' way along the contours of every little nook and cranny. Once at the summit, a stunning view came into focus.
During the 6km Climb.
Once again, with every turn in the road, I found myself muttering "this is effing beautiful". Imagine something like northern California, take out all the people, the paved roads, the towns and villages, then add a bunch of cardon cacti. In the first 30km's of this ride I only saw one car. When stopped for lunch and numerous little breaks, all I could hear was the wind and the waves crashing against the shore way below me.
Typical Desert Landscape.
The road dipped into many an arroyo, filled with loose sand and other nasty bicyle unfriendly stuff. I did finally drop the bike, with me still on it. The front tire took on a mind of its' own, wildly twisted from side to side, and just as I managed to stop the bike, completely gave out from underneath me. I gracefully plopped to the ground and the bike on top of me. At least the buzzards told me it was pretty damn graceful, and they are discerning birds. Not being satisfied with only one little crash I made a repeat performance only minutes later. This time the gravel was a lot sharper. I thought only my ego was hurt, until I looked at the little dots of blood forming on my right leg. Precious drinking water was used up to wash out the dirt. Actually, nothing serious.
Looking Back North.
North End of Bahia de los Muertos (Bay of the Dead).
Desert Blooms.
This is What Greets You All Along The Way.
Between Los Planes and El Cardonal.
Stupendous Coastline For Kilometres on End.
Just like the day before, I pulled into my destination with the sun thinking about setting sometime soon. As I pulled onto a little stretch of pavement I was singing at the top of my voice "Hallelujah!, Hallelujah!". I'm now the only guest at the campground in El Cardonal. I feel a bit sorry for the people running it, it is a nice little campground. My little tent spot even has funky little home made light fixtures to illuminate the picnic table. It's so freaking cold, I can't believe it. The campground manager tells me he can't remember temperatures this low ...ever!
Cool Little Campsite In El Cardonal
I'm going to have to think hard about my plans for the next few days. I'm obviously not fit enough to cover long distances. The sand is also proving to be more of a challenge than I bargained for with my 1.5 inch touring tires. Well, at least tomorrow should be easier. There's a paved road leading out of El Cardonal to take me 23km's to Los Barilles, where I could just take the highway if I needed/wanted to. Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying this trip.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Lugging My Big Butt to La Ventana
Wednesday, January 30th, 2008.
La Paz to La Ventana.
55km's on Pavement by Bicycle.
I just had to tear my butt off the bed to turn off the Bugs Bunny show in Spanish. It was time to finally hit the road by bicycle. I barely had anything to drink the night before, yet I was slow as molasses in getting my gear together. I finally made it out the door an hour later at the crack of 9:00am.
Getting Ready to Leave the Hotel Nuevo Pekin.
But of course I don't function without coffee, so I came to a screeching halt in front of the little cafe to get my wake up juice. I managed to talk to a nice retired Danish man, who used to do a lot of bicycle touring as well. I had to try and listen intently due to a loud American who was shouting a conversation to a German fellow at the next table. I had decided to be on the road by 10:00am and was very close to realizing my goal. That's when Kelly and Tanya walked past. The two Canuck cyclists I had been in contact with and who I ran into in Bahia Conception. I finally hit the road close to 11:00am.
What Can I Say! It's Everywhere!
Exporting America's Crap to Unsuspecting Nations.
Getting out of La Paz was a job and a half. It took 30 minutes to finally hit the country road for La Ventana. Mexican drivers seem to lack the hostility towards cyclists, which is so common back home. But they'll still mow you down, just without the hostility ...only half kidding :-)
I had once more chosen the road less travelled. This time it was a paved one. Little did I know that it would be an ass busting 22km uphill climb as soon as I left La Paz City limits. Oh sure, there were a few flat sections of about 200 metres each, as well as a few gentle downhills, perfectly designed to give you some hope just before the next hill comes into view around the corner. The road surface was downright crappy for cycling as well. In other words, major rolling resistance. I kept scanning the desert for a spot to camp, just in case I couldn't make it to La Ventana. The peaceful desert setting did make up for the grind.
Mexican drivers are such a mixed bunch of people. Many a friendly toot greeted me, and many drivers put their four way flashers on as they disappeared in the distance ...to warn other drivers up ahead or behind. Then of course there was one oncoming pendejo "asshole" who decided to pass another vehicle with me coming at him and no place for me to get off the road. I just hugged the gravel ditch, shook my head in disgust, but didn't have the time to give him the customary aerodynamic wave. He never once flinched as he sped by within about 12 inches of me.
Rest Stop Near La Ventana.
with one of Baja's fine camionetas in the foreground.
The landscape was downright beautiful once more. Looking back down, I could see the bay in which La Paz sits for hours on end. I finally made it to the top exhausted and then froze my butt off on the 12km downhill with the sun starting to hang quite low in the sky. Now I had no choice but to head to La Ventana, a slight detour, since that was the only place with accommodations nearby.
I tiredly stumbled into La Ventana and found a large colony of wind freaks. They're all camped out here to wait for that perfect wind for windsurfing, kiteboarding, and whatever else one does with wind. They're pretty much all Canucks and Yanks. So I set up my tent in an arroyo, hoping the fee collector wouldn't be around again tonight to collect the rather outrageous $8.00/night.
This is What Passes For a "Paved" Secondary Road.
Heading Into La Ventana.
The Main Highway is Actually Quite Good.
OK, we'll see how tomorrow goes. I'm not completely worn out from this little climb, so I should be able to do some more in the morning.
La Paz to La Ventana.
55km's on Pavement by Bicycle.
I just had to tear my butt off the bed to turn off the Bugs Bunny show in Spanish. It was time to finally hit the road by bicycle. I barely had anything to drink the night before, yet I was slow as molasses in getting my gear together. I finally made it out the door an hour later at the crack of 9:00am.
Getting Ready to Leave the Hotel Nuevo Pekin.
But of course I don't function without coffee, so I came to a screeching halt in front of the little cafe to get my wake up juice. I managed to talk to a nice retired Danish man, who used to do a lot of bicycle touring as well. I had to try and listen intently due to a loud American who was shouting a conversation to a German fellow at the next table. I had decided to be on the road by 10:00am and was very close to realizing my goal. That's when Kelly and Tanya walked past. The two Canuck cyclists I had been in contact with and who I ran into in Bahia Conception. I finally hit the road close to 11:00am.
What Can I Say! It's Everywhere!
Exporting America's Crap to Unsuspecting Nations.
Getting out of La Paz was a job and a half. It took 30 minutes to finally hit the country road for La Ventana. Mexican drivers seem to lack the hostility towards cyclists, which is so common back home. But they'll still mow you down, just without the hostility ...only half kidding :-)
I had once more chosen the road less travelled. This time it was a paved one. Little did I know that it would be an ass busting 22km uphill climb as soon as I left La Paz City limits. Oh sure, there were a few flat sections of about 200 metres each, as well as a few gentle downhills, perfectly designed to give you some hope just before the next hill comes into view around the corner. The road surface was downright crappy for cycling as well. In other words, major rolling resistance. I kept scanning the desert for a spot to camp, just in case I couldn't make it to La Ventana. The peaceful desert setting did make up for the grind.
Mexican drivers are such a mixed bunch of people. Many a friendly toot greeted me, and many drivers put their four way flashers on as they disappeared in the distance ...to warn other drivers up ahead or behind. Then of course there was one oncoming pendejo "asshole" who decided to pass another vehicle with me coming at him and no place for me to get off the road. I just hugged the gravel ditch, shook my head in disgust, but didn't have the time to give him the customary aerodynamic wave. He never once flinched as he sped by within about 12 inches of me.
Rest Stop Near La Ventana.
with one of Baja's fine camionetas in the foreground.
The landscape was downright beautiful once more. Looking back down, I could see the bay in which La Paz sits for hours on end. I finally made it to the top exhausted and then froze my butt off on the 12km downhill with the sun starting to hang quite low in the sky. Now I had no choice but to head to La Ventana, a slight detour, since that was the only place with accommodations nearby.
I tiredly stumbled into La Ventana and found a large colony of wind freaks. They're all camped out here to wait for that perfect wind for windsurfing, kiteboarding, and whatever else one does with wind. They're pretty much all Canucks and Yanks. So I set up my tent in an arroyo, hoping the fee collector wouldn't be around again tonight to collect the rather outrageous $8.00/night.
This is What Passes For a "Paved" Secondary Road.
Heading Into La Ventana.
The Main Highway is Actually Quite Good.
OK, we'll see how tomorrow goes. I'm not completely worn out from this little climb, so I should be able to do some more in the morning.
An Easy Day In La Paz
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Public Art Along The Malecon.
One Of Two Vegetarian Restaurants in Town.
Stefan From Switzerland Showing Off His Stuff.
Malecon in La Paz.
Another One Of Juan's Fantastic Sand Sculptures.
Juan, The Artist.
Originally From Oaxaca. Now Living All Over Mexico.
Public Art Along The Malecon.
One Of Two Vegetarian Restaurants in Town.
Stefan From Switzerland Showing Off His Stuff.
Malecon in La Paz.
Another One Of Juan's Fantastic Sand Sculptures.
Juan, The Artist.
Originally From Oaxaca. Now Living All Over Mexico.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Lazy Day to La Paz
Monday, January 28th, 2008
On the way out of Ciudad Constitucion traffic suddenly stopped. I was puzzled as to why, until I realized that there was an actual traffic light. The first one I had encountered since arriving in Loreto. Looking at the map, the drive from Ciudad Constitucion to La Paz looked a bit flat and boring. To make matters worse, I had vowed to keep the speedometer at 100km/h or less. It's a good thing I had a hammer to smash the glass and some duct tape to tape the needle in place at 100 ...just kidding. Even though I caught myself creeping up to 110 now and then, I did consciously try to keep my vow. It made for some interesting driving with annoyed Mexican truckers becoming frustrated at only being able to do 100 in an 80 zone because of some silly turista. Now the road and desert was lined with small yellow flowers, to beautifully contrast the green cacti and dusty, brownish desert.
And there it was!! another road less travelled. What does one do with a rented, low clearance Chevy when confronted with a dusty, sandy, bumpy road heading off into the distance? One takes it! So off I clattered to Punta Chale, to see what that was all about. Only 3 other vehicles came the other direction during the 30km drive. But I could see them from about a kilometre away due to the tornado like funnel of dust behind them. None slowed down the least as they went by. At the entrance to the village a "Scareturista" greeted me. I'm assuming it's the head of the last turista on a stake, as a warning to others.
Scareturista
Punta Chale is a little ramshackle fish camp, complete with modern looking school and a bunch of outhouses interspersed between the little shacks. Happy, laughing children were playing and curious villagers looked at me, probably wondering what some lone gringa was doing here. They're all basicaly there to fish and make a living. As everywhere else in Baja so far, people were cleaning everywhere. I observed a woman raking her yard, which was a bit odd since the "yard" was basically just the sand surrounding her shack. Very clean people, as far as I can tell.
Fishing "panga"
One of the nicer shacks in Punta Chale
So off I went back to the highway. Nature was calling and I wasn't too keen on exploring the Punta Chale outhouses. Like outhouses all over the world, including back home, they're not exactly the highlight of any trip of mine. So I had to do a roadside squat once out of sight of the village. I was intently listening for vehicles rattling up the road, and I had amusing visions of jumping up and pulling up my pants in mid stream ...don't laugh, it actually did happen to me some time ago ...there I said it, and I'm not ashamed of it.
Shrines dot the highways all over.
But this one was the biggest, honkin' kickass one I saw.
One trucker tried to give me a little bully message by coming within 1/2 car length of my bumper on an uphill, while I was following another slow vehicle at a safe distance until I could pass. Of course, the troublemaker in me just had to take advantage of this perfect low speed situation. Truck, uphill, lots of gears, double clutching, hard to shift gears uphill ...hehehe. So I slowed down ever so gently and made him suddenly drop a few gears. Anyone who knows anything about loaded trucks on an uphill, also knows that it's not that easy to shift on the uphill. The truck quickly became a speck in the distance as I continued at the same speed as before. I can only imagine the Spanish words coming out of that trucker's mouth, as he got stuck in some low gear up the hill ...heehee!. Probably involves crushing the next gringa he sees. Maybe he won't get that close next time ...yeah, I know ..dreamer.
The landscape turned from boring and flat, to drier desert with huge mesas all over the place. The road once more became twisty with dire warning signs imploring drivers to slow down to 40km/h. These slow speeds are quite ridiculous, I thought, as I went around a corner, only to suddenly see a small spill of strawberries on the road, right beside a little shrine to some poor sap who bit the dust at this very corner. I guess they have to put up these incredibly low speed limits, knowing that the average Mexican will slow down to about double the speed limit. Within a few minutes, at another curve, there was yet another strawberry spill. I could have used some fresh fruit, but there was no place to pull over.
Suddenly La Paz appeared off in the distance, right by the water. A wide four lane road led up to it, including the usual undercarriage ripping "topes" (speed bumps) appearing out of nowhere. Four out of the 5 RV parks listed in my Moon guidebook were no longer in business. The one recommended by my friend Ulrike (El Cardon) was now "El Cardon Real Estate Development", with a bunch of soulless condos popping up. I was becoming cranky and starting to drive like a Mexican again, so I checked into the only Chinese hotel/restaurant in town, the Nuevo Pekin. Run by an actual Chinese, Chinese speaking family.
After getting all my crap out of the car and up two flights of stairs, it was time to take the car back to Budget. I parked the dusty sardine can, took a deep breath and walked in expecting a host of problems. The agent went to examine the car, and let out a surprised whistle upon laying eyes on the mud caked, dust cloaked little machine. I cringed as he came back in. He professionaly filled out the paperwork, my credit card slip from Loreto had already been sent down to his office, he calmly filled in all the correct amounts, explained the charges (all legit), and made absolutely no mention of the deplorable state of cleanliness in which I had returned the car.
On the way out of Ciudad Constitucion traffic suddenly stopped. I was puzzled as to why, until I realized that there was an actual traffic light. The first one I had encountered since arriving in Loreto. Looking at the map, the drive from Ciudad Constitucion to La Paz looked a bit flat and boring. To make matters worse, I had vowed to keep the speedometer at 100km/h or less. It's a good thing I had a hammer to smash the glass and some duct tape to tape the needle in place at 100 ...just kidding. Even though I caught myself creeping up to 110 now and then, I did consciously try to keep my vow. It made for some interesting driving with annoyed Mexican truckers becoming frustrated at only being able to do 100 in an 80 zone because of some silly turista. Now the road and desert was lined with small yellow flowers, to beautifully contrast the green cacti and dusty, brownish desert.
And there it was!! another road less travelled. What does one do with a rented, low clearance Chevy when confronted with a dusty, sandy, bumpy road heading off into the distance? One takes it! So off I clattered to Punta Chale, to see what that was all about. Only 3 other vehicles came the other direction during the 30km drive. But I could see them from about a kilometre away due to the tornado like funnel of dust behind them. None slowed down the least as they went by. At the entrance to the village a "Scareturista" greeted me. I'm assuming it's the head of the last turista on a stake, as a warning to others.
Scareturista
Punta Chale is a little ramshackle fish camp, complete with modern looking school and a bunch of outhouses interspersed between the little shacks. Happy, laughing children were playing and curious villagers looked at me, probably wondering what some lone gringa was doing here. They're all basicaly there to fish and make a living. As everywhere else in Baja so far, people were cleaning everywhere. I observed a woman raking her yard, which was a bit odd since the "yard" was basically just the sand surrounding her shack. Very clean people, as far as I can tell.
Fishing "panga"
One of the nicer shacks in Punta Chale
So off I went back to the highway. Nature was calling and I wasn't too keen on exploring the Punta Chale outhouses. Like outhouses all over the world, including back home, they're not exactly the highlight of any trip of mine. So I had to do a roadside squat once out of sight of the village. I was intently listening for vehicles rattling up the road, and I had amusing visions of jumping up and pulling up my pants in mid stream ...don't laugh, it actually did happen to me some time ago ...there I said it, and I'm not ashamed of it.
Shrines dot the highways all over.
But this one was the biggest, honkin' kickass one I saw.
One trucker tried to give me a little bully message by coming within 1/2 car length of my bumper on an uphill, while I was following another slow vehicle at a safe distance until I could pass. Of course, the troublemaker in me just had to take advantage of this perfect low speed situation. Truck, uphill, lots of gears, double clutching, hard to shift gears uphill ...hehehe. So I slowed down ever so gently and made him suddenly drop a few gears. Anyone who knows anything about loaded trucks on an uphill, also knows that it's not that easy to shift on the uphill. The truck quickly became a speck in the distance as I continued at the same speed as before. I can only imagine the Spanish words coming out of that trucker's mouth, as he got stuck in some low gear up the hill ...heehee!. Probably involves crushing the next gringa he sees. Maybe he won't get that close next time ...yeah, I know ..dreamer.
The landscape turned from boring and flat, to drier desert with huge mesas all over the place. The road once more became twisty with dire warning signs imploring drivers to slow down to 40km/h. These slow speeds are quite ridiculous, I thought, as I went around a corner, only to suddenly see a small spill of strawberries on the road, right beside a little shrine to some poor sap who bit the dust at this very corner. I guess they have to put up these incredibly low speed limits, knowing that the average Mexican will slow down to about double the speed limit. Within a few minutes, at another curve, there was yet another strawberry spill. I could have used some fresh fruit, but there was no place to pull over.
Suddenly La Paz appeared off in the distance, right by the water. A wide four lane road led up to it, including the usual undercarriage ripping "topes" (speed bumps) appearing out of nowhere. Four out of the 5 RV parks listed in my Moon guidebook were no longer in business. The one recommended by my friend Ulrike (El Cardon) was now "El Cardon Real Estate Development", with a bunch of soulless condos popping up. I was becoming cranky and starting to drive like a Mexican again, so I checked into the only Chinese hotel/restaurant in town, the Nuevo Pekin. Run by an actual Chinese, Chinese speaking family.
After getting all my crap out of the car and up two flights of stairs, it was time to take the car back to Budget. I parked the dusty sardine can, took a deep breath and walked in expecting a host of problems. The agent went to examine the car, and let out a surprised whistle upon laying eyes on the mud caked, dust cloaked little machine. I cringed as he came back in. He professionaly filled out the paperwork, my credit card slip from Loreto had already been sent down to his office, he calmly filled in all the correct amounts, explained the charges (all legit), and made absolutely no mention of the deplorable state of cleanliness in which I had returned the car.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
It's Warm! Freakin' Warm!!!
Sunday, January 27th, 2008
Holy cow! It's actually warm today. I could cruise down the transpeninsular numero uno at 140kh/h with the windows open, without freezing to death. After having had days with maximum temperatures of 15-16 degrees celcius, and 11 degrees at night, this is simply wonderful. It should get close to 20 degrees today. The cold outside and the cold inside of me are both gradually vanishing. Soon, I'll be ready to do what I came down here for, some cycling.
South of Puerto Escondido.
Before starting to head inland.
Still part of the Sea of Cortez.
Driving on Mexican roads is a thrill in of itself. Speed limits mean nothing, and my average 120km/h in 80km/h zones meant that impatient Mexicans were constantly barrelling up behind me and passing like I was standing still. The roads are good, but that's a bit extreme even for me. One woman passed me and I decided to try and keep up. I had it up to 140km/h and she still left me in the dust. A shortlived stint of 160km/h didn't seem to make any difference either. I'm not sure what shocked me most ...how fast that woman was driving, the fact that I tried to keep up with her, or the fact that my little 1.1 litre tin can could actually do 160km/h and still feel reasonably smooth.
Dusty Baja towns came and went. All were very friendly, with none of the Latin American machismo that can be so annoying to single women going into Central America. I was basicaly left alone ...just the way I like it. I'm now in Puerto San Carlos, hoping to see some grey whales. On the paved road into town, the desert became even greener than before. Pretty little flowers lined the roadside and surrounding desert. Yellows, pinks, and whites all over the place. Nicely contrasted with some strange brown lichen growing on the shrubs ...this is apparently a high fog area, and I'm assuming the source of moisture for the lichen. I simply soaked in the pretty scenery and visions of Patti entered my mind. My 120km/h reverie was rudely shattered by the sudden apparition of a Mexican pickup truck within one car length of my rear bumper. Before I knew it the Mexicano loco had passed and was out of view in front of me.
Puerto San Carlos, on the pacific side of the peninsula is devoid of tourists right now, and that surprises me to no end. No real campsite, only empty hotels all over the place. This is where the grey whales come to calve in the winter, before migrating back up to Alaska for the summer. I would have thought there would be more tourists here for whale watching. As I sat in the car looking at the guidebook, two young men in a VW Jetta pulled in across the road and offered to lead me to an RV park. Of course he just happened to also be offering whale watching tours. I followed them in this small village, always keeping track of where I was and knowing that I can outdrive just about any Mexican ...well, more or less. The RV park was closed and I got his phone number, just in case I decided to go for a $200 whale watching excursion.
I cruised the bumpy sand roads of Puerto San Carlos for a few hours, trying to find a reason to stay. The village had its' own dusty, ramshackle, frontierlike charm. But it was essentially dead right now, and a bit depressing with nothing to do. Probably too early in the whale watching season.
Soooooo, off I zoomed back to Ciudad Constitucion, once more taking in the pretty flowers along the way. Tonight is a vegging night in a hotel. I finally get to lie on a bed and watch Los Simpsons, en espanol. Tomorrow, it's on to La Paz to drop off the little tin can and do something a bit more active.
Posada Del Ryal Hotel
Holy cow! It's actually warm today. I could cruise down the transpeninsular numero uno at 140kh/h with the windows open, without freezing to death. After having had days with maximum temperatures of 15-16 degrees celcius, and 11 degrees at night, this is simply wonderful. It should get close to 20 degrees today. The cold outside and the cold inside of me are both gradually vanishing. Soon, I'll be ready to do what I came down here for, some cycling.
South of Puerto Escondido.
Before starting to head inland.
Still part of the Sea of Cortez.
Driving on Mexican roads is a thrill in of itself. Speed limits mean nothing, and my average 120km/h in 80km/h zones meant that impatient Mexicans were constantly barrelling up behind me and passing like I was standing still. The roads are good, but that's a bit extreme even for me. One woman passed me and I decided to try and keep up. I had it up to 140km/h and she still left me in the dust. A shortlived stint of 160km/h didn't seem to make any difference either. I'm not sure what shocked me most ...how fast that woman was driving, the fact that I tried to keep up with her, or the fact that my little 1.1 litre tin can could actually do 160km/h and still feel reasonably smooth.
Dusty Baja towns came and went. All were very friendly, with none of the Latin American machismo that can be so annoying to single women going into Central America. I was basicaly left alone ...just the way I like it. I'm now in Puerto San Carlos, hoping to see some grey whales. On the paved road into town, the desert became even greener than before. Pretty little flowers lined the roadside and surrounding desert. Yellows, pinks, and whites all over the place. Nicely contrasted with some strange brown lichen growing on the shrubs ...this is apparently a high fog area, and I'm assuming the source of moisture for the lichen. I simply soaked in the pretty scenery and visions of Patti entered my mind. My 120km/h reverie was rudely shattered by the sudden apparition of a Mexican pickup truck within one car length of my rear bumper. Before I knew it the Mexicano loco had passed and was out of view in front of me.
Puerto San Carlos, on the pacific side of the peninsula is devoid of tourists right now, and that surprises me to no end. No real campsite, only empty hotels all over the place. This is where the grey whales come to calve in the winter, before migrating back up to Alaska for the summer. I would have thought there would be more tourists here for whale watching. As I sat in the car looking at the guidebook, two young men in a VW Jetta pulled in across the road and offered to lead me to an RV park. Of course he just happened to also be offering whale watching tours. I followed them in this small village, always keeping track of where I was and knowing that I can outdrive just about any Mexican ...well, more or less. The RV park was closed and I got his phone number, just in case I decided to go for a $200 whale watching excursion.
I cruised the bumpy sand roads of Puerto San Carlos for a few hours, trying to find a reason to stay. The village had its' own dusty, ramshackle, frontierlike charm. But it was essentially dead right now, and a bit depressing with nothing to do. Probably too early in the whale watching season.
Soooooo, off I zoomed back to Ciudad Constitucion, once more taking in the pretty flowers along the way. Tonight is a vegging night in a hotel. I finally get to lie on a bed and watch Los Simpsons, en espanol. Tomorrow, it's on to La Paz to drop off the little tin can and do something a bit more active.
Posada Del Ryal Hotel